Fatal (24 page)

“You couldn’t have known, Cassie,” she said over and over again. The girl said nothing, until one day Wesling found her in the kitchen. She had managed to get out of the bed and make herself something to eat. Beuhl was working out in the garden. Karen Strait was with him and they were making their way down a long row of six inch corn stalks, pulling weeds as they went.

Cassie saw Wesling and began to weep.

“I’ll take care of you, Cassie,” Weslinf said as she held the girl in her arms. “Clay and Karen and I will take care of you. Nobody knows you’re here.”

It took another month before Cassie felt well enough to go outside. When she did, she often sat on the porch with Beuhl, rocking and talking of nothing. Eventually she began to help in the garden. The sun and the air did her good. One night she laughed at something Beuhl said. She took an interest in Wesling’s job, asking her questions when they went for long walks on the property. They were standing on the other side of the garden one day when she finally cleared the air with Wesling.

“Ronnie is gone,” she said. “It seems to me that the only thing I’m really good at is killing. I killed all those men. I killed Ronnie. Without him, there isn’t anything left for me.”

Wesling put her hand on the girl’s arm. “Don’t talk like that. None of this was your fault. It’s going to take a long time to get over it. Give yourself some space.”

Cassie shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’ve thought about it for a long time now. Killing is the only thing I’m really good at. God knows there are plenty of people out there who need killing.” She turned to Wesling. “I want to work for you.”

*****

The heat came off the road in shimmering waves as Dr. Jennifer Wesling guided the Lincoln Continental down a highway just outside of Las Cruces, New Mexico. The landscape was barren around her, a vast expanse that made up a large portion of the White Sands Missile Range. It was here at White Sands that the Unites States Government tested a vast array of weapons. Some of them would determine the course of battle in the future. Others faded into obscurity. One such weapon had left a permanent scar on the landscape. Not far away, scavengers could still pick up bits of molten glass, formed from sand glazed by the first atomic blast.

In the 1940s, mass destruction was the name of the game. The politicians, and the people, demanded bigger and better weapons. They wanted visible results. Annihilation was not only acceptable, it was demanded. Over the course of thirty years though, the tone of warfare had changed. It was 1982, and while the American people wanted strong defense, they did not want war. Vietnam had been enough. The Russian threat, though still formidable, was fading. The biggest battles were now fought out of the public eye. Covert operations and political maneuvering had taken over. The less said the better, and if someone was to be eliminated it was best done in subtle ways.

Jennifer Wesling was now in control of perhaps the deadliest weapon in the American arsenal, a weapon that could operate with pinpoint accuracy and ruthless efficiency. Wesling had earned that control on a horrible night in the countryside of Virginia. The weapon itself came to her damaged. She’d bundled it up, put the pieces back together, coaxing a working system out of shambles. It was Wesling who’d orchestrated the coverup and the rebuilding, Wesling who paid off the right people, assumed command when all seemed lost. It was Wesling, the political analyst, holding all the cards when the dust settled. It had taken more than three years of her life to reach this point. It was worth it. There was no other weapon like hers in the United States, or the world for that matter. God knows she had searched. Now her creation sat poised and ready to be unleashed. She took a long drink of water from the bottle beside her and turned into a stringy dirt road that wound through cactus and sand onto the great rolling plain, toward a set of low hills.

The sun was turning orange by the time she reached the isolated farmhouse. The driveway curved off to the left, and she parked her car next to a new corral and an old barn. A fat lizard stared at her from a fence post. She checked for snakes before stepping out of her car. She would check underneath before she got back in. In the cool night, rattlesnakes sought out the lingering heat of an engine. The front door of the house opened and a young woman stepped out. She was wearing jeans that outlined good hips, a denim work shirt, and lavishly tooled boots. Her hair was a mass of brown curls tied up in the back with a piece of bead-strung leather. Her already olive skin had deepened from working in the sun. When she spoke, her voice carried the faintest tinge of a Southern accent.

“Hello, Doctor,” Cassie Reynold said.

“Hello, Cassie,” Wesling replied. Somewhere out in the gathering darkness a coyote began to sing.

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Fatal is the second book in the Remote Psychic Thriller Series. Be sure to check out the others.

Origins
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New Orleans, 1973 - The CIA uncovers two young kids with uncanny psychic ability. A renegade agent wants them for his own. When Ronnie Gilmore and Cassie Reynold fight back, things get deadly fast. 
The ability to Remote View makes Cassie and Ronnie high value assets in the Cold War contest playing out in the early 1970's. The discovery of their power sets off a battle that ultimately means full scale war between factions within the government. 
Backs against the wall the two young psychics must face overwhelming odds to maintain their freedom and control of their own lives. When push comes to shove, Cassie Reynold proves to be the deadliest 13-year old girl you'll ever meet.

Artist
– Cassie begins a new life, traces of the old still clinging like vines. Her new job? Government assassin. Her new love? It may be Kurt Dupond, New Orleans Homicide Detective. Cassie and Dupond tangle with a bloody serial killer working in New Orleans. They also tangle with each other.

Short Stories by Eric Drouant

Horror Murder Life War
– Contains a selection of short stories by Eric Drouant written while he was in Afghanistan.

Revenge and Redemption
– Pat Lane is a good man driven to an extreme act. Who is the bad guy here, the killer or the victim?

Machines
– Life perspective from a dying old man.

Corners
– The decisions we make when we’re young will color our lives. What happens when we turn the corners we didn’t see coming?

Mortar Stories
– The author spent almost four years in Iraq and Afghanistan, working with American and Afghan troops. These are some impressions of an unforgettable experience.