Touching Darkness (12 page)

Lucas nodded. “I saw you getting shot. The images come
so fast and violent I can hardly get a handle on the details. I saw the woods and Jerryl coming up behind you, and blood and…well, you get the idea. I knew we had to get you out of there.”

“You get premonitions then.”

Amy said, “Lucas is also a dreamweaver; he can get into other people's dreams.”

“Are you also immortal? Jerryl said you wouldn't die.”

They looked at each other, silently deciding what to tell him. Eric said, “I don't think we should—” at the same time as Amy said, “One of us can heal.”

“Like miraculously heal?”

Eric held up his hand. “Don't tell him any more.”

Amy said, “Darkwell already knows what some of our skills are. He knows I see glows, people's auras. Eric remote-views and—” She turned when he cut his hand across his throat.

“Wow. Wow.” Nicholas scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
This is wild.

Eric turned back. “What can you tell us about this other Offspring Robbins warned us about?”

“I heard nothing about someone else coming aboard. But Robbins was very nervous those last few days.”

Lucas's face was still haunted. “He said the new Offspring was the last straw.”

“A month ago we were all normal”—Amy looked at Eric—“well, mostly normal people going about our lives. We had our secrets, of course, but mostly they were just annoying or embarrassing and isolating. But we're here. And we're not isolated anymore. We have each other. That makes us more than a team; it makes us almost family. We expect your loyalty, and we'll give you ours. Unless you go off half-cocked”—Amy shot another look at Eric—“we have your back.”

Nicholas said, “I'll have your back, too. But I'm not willing to put anyone who's innocent at risk of getting killed in the cross fire.”

Lucas tilted his head. “None of us want to kill, but this is a war. Like tonight, we have to do things we never thought we'd do.”

Nicholas shivered at those words and something that would forever be seared in his memory. “I saw you jump between a bullet and two women at the asylum.”

“One of Darkwell's men was about to shoot her.” He looked at Amy. “You do that kind of thing when you love someone. Petra's like a sister to me. And Amy…she's my life. I'd die for either one of them. I'd kill for them, too. You might end up in that same situation. You'd better think about what you're prepared to do.”

“Killing someone goes against everything I believe in. Everything I am.”

Lucas's words were low and ominous. “Everything you are, my friend, is about to change.”

O
livia waited for word in her father's office for what seemed like hours. She had the overpowering urge to nibble her thumbnail, an old habit her father had hammered out of her long ago. Fonda, the other independent contractor in the program, stood, worry for her lover's safety wracking her features. She could chew her nails all she wanted; she didn't have a father who'd slap her hand and tell her how undignified it was.

Gerard's phone rang, and he snapped it up. Olivia tensed as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

“All right.” He huffed a long, disappointed breath she'd heard many times. “Come on back.”

As soon as he hung up, Fonda asked, “Is Jerryl all right?”

“He's fine.” He met Olivia's gaze. “The Rogues were there to rescue Nicholas. He was obviously in contact with them.”

The betrayal cut so deep, she realized she'd been holding out hope for some other explanation. The pain engulfed her like a tsunami, stealing away her breath. He had chosen lawlessness over her, just as her mother had chosen freedom. Nicholas had used her, and the worst part was, she'd misjudged him terribly.

“The bad news: No one on their side was killed.” Gerard
continued, “The good news is no one on our team was killed either, though Paul Emmert was shot in the upper chest.”

Olivia's hand went to her mouth. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He's being taken for treatment now.”

“Did…Nicholas shoot him?”

“No, it was one of the others. We're going to have to step up security around here. Nicholas has undoubtedly told them where we are. It's a good thing we didn't tell him much.” He gave her a pointed look.
Like that you're my daughter.

Her face blanched, a dead giveaway she'd been unable to tame. Luckily, he'd looked at the computer that contained views from their security cameras. “You both have to be very careful. Now that an insider has turned traitor, you're in danger.”

Fonda jumped to her feet, her hands fisted at her sides. “I've been taking care of myself for a long time now. Instead of rapists and drug dealers, my enemies are terrorists. No big deal.”

“Terrorists with weapons different than anything you've ever encountered,” Gerard reminded her.

She gave him a smile. “But I've got a weapon, too. I'm going downstairs to wait for Jerryl.”

For a small woman, Fonda packed more energy than anyone else Olivia knew. And passion. Subdued dignity had been drilled into Olivia. She could never display that kind of piss and vinegar in front of her father.

She
did
have that passion, though. Hadn't it roared out of her in the kitchen with Nicholas? And at other times.

“Nicholas wouldn't hurt me.”

“Did you think he'd turn traitor on us?”

She paused, then shook her head.

“Exactly. I saw that romance novel you stashed in your desk drawer. Whatever you think love is, it's not what's in those books. That's fiction. Those insipid feelings that make
you giddy and your eyes hazy also numb your brain and make you stupid. You're a Darkwell, and with that comes intelligence, cunning, and sensibility. While I've tried to instill in you feminine values, this is war, and you are now a soldier. Every time he talked to you, flirted with you, he had one goal in mind: find out what he could. Use you. If that hurts, good. Next time you'll listen to me.”

She stood, every word like a dart aimed at her heart. “Thanks for setting me straight.” She left, needing to release all of the anger and pain inside her. Damn, if it were only Thursday night. She desperately wanted to knock someone down.

She went down to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. The hell with it. She grabbed the whole bottle and started up to her room. As she crossed the bridge that led to the east wing, she heard Jerryl's harsh voice.

“I'm going to
kill
him, him and Nicholas. I knew he was up to something the night Robbins got whacked. He was there, too, remote-viewing it. I could sense him. I could have had him tonight if Eric and Lucas hadn't showed up. I don't understand it. Those sons of bitches won't die. Nicholas went for me, and I lost my gun. Then Eric comes after me, and we end up in the creek slugging it out. I was too busy fighting to get into his head.”

He paused when he saw Olivia standing on the bridge. His wet—and bloodstained—clothes were plastered to his muscular body. His eyes were swollen with bruises beneath them.

He'd said Robbins had gotten whacked. Killed. Her father said they only suspected he was dead, but Jerryl seemed to know for sure.

What did he mean by “remote-viewing”?

She locked herself in her room and cranked her stereo, choosing the classical channel. She took off her blouse and pants and put them in the hamper. She started moving to
Swan Lake,
trying to remember those ballet moves from years ago when her father had forced her to take ballet les
sons. Neither the music nor the dancing was soothing her, so she changed the channel to Octane, Pure Hard Rock, and felt the drumbeat pulsing inside her. This she could move to, not to relax but to exorcise her anger.

She was stuck in the trap of pretending to be someone she wasn't and worrying about disappointing her father. But right now, while she was completely alone, she could be herself.

And who is that,
a voice challenged. She ignored it and kept dancing.

 

Nicholas was about to learn what Darkwell most sought: the Rogues' hideout. They drove down a formerly residential street that was now galleries and stores. Shortly after, they pulled onto a gravel road, then into a stand-alone garage. Rand was already inside, waiting by his motorcycle.

Once the garage door went down, everyone got out. The air was fresh and cool, filled with the sound of rustling leaves and the distant hum of traffic. They walked across the yard to an old shed. Eric unlocked the door, and, when they were crammed inside, relocked it.

Lucas knelt and hoisted a trapdoor in the floor. “Follow me.” He disappeared into a vertical tunnel.

Nicholas climbed the metal rungs and landed on the ground a minute later. Once they were all at the bottom of the ladder, they headed down a concrete tunnel. Footsteps echoed, and the air was damp and still. It was eerie, like being led to slaughter. His throat tightened at that thought. Lights dimly lit the long expanse. They walked for several minutes before reaching what looked like a blank wall at the end of the tunnel. Eric blocked Nicholas's view as he punched in a code on a keypad. The wall slid open with a beep.

Nicholas blinked, bombarded by both light, color, and two more faces looking expectantly at him. One was a tall beauty with long, straight, blond hair. She smiled with
relief. “Back safe and sound.” After a nervous laugh, she stepped forward. “I'm Petra.”

“The one who told me the truth.” He'd studied her picture often enough when he'd been ordered to target her. He turned to the looker with short, dark red hair and plump lips he'd met before. “Zoe.” He shook her hand. She wasn't wearing as much makeup as the first time he'd seen her.

After hearing how vicious the Rogues were, he was relieved to see there weren't piles of guns and ammo on the long dining table near the kitchen. In fact, their hideout looked homey. He took in the space, one large room with a big pit group and artist's easel in the other half. A hallway led to more rooms. Each wall was a different vibrant color, and each was adorned with a painting of a different style. On one wall someone had painted a “window” looking out onto a mountainous scene so real he wanted to touch it just to make sure. They'd made this basement abode livable.

Petra looked at Eric. “What happened to you? You've got a big bruise on your cheek.”

Eric touched his cheek where, indeed, a bruise marred it. He winced at the pressure and explained about the fight in the creek.

“And you're all scratched up.” Petra, he realized, was studying him. “I'll get some ice for Eric and antiseptic for you.”

“It's okay.” But she was already heading off on her mission. He looked down and saw the scratches on his arms. His face, no doubt, looked as bad. “I had a run-in with some hedges.”

Rand said, “We've all had run-ins, dude. My face was black-and-blue for a while.”

Amy surveyed Nicholas. “They're not bad, but you do need them cleaned.” She was shorter than the other two women, with a head of frizzy, dark blond hair. Not her natural color, if the pictures he'd seen were any indication. “Want something to drink? Water? Beer?”

“Water would be great.” His throat was sand dry. “I can get it—”

“You sit.” She walked into the kitchen.

It was odd being waited on. He was used to taking care of himself.

Petra handed Eric a bag of ice and went down the hallway, returning with some cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She waved toward one of the dining chairs. “Sit. Hopefully it won't hurt much.”

“You must be the healer.”

Her eyebrows arched. “How did you know?”

“Because of what you're doing.”

“I can't do the psychic kind of healing too much.” She placed her hand over one of the scratches on his forearm, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths. The others wandered over, except for Eric, who remained by the door, his body rigid.

When Petra removed her hand, the scratch was gone.

“That's amazing.” Nicholas nodded to where she was rubbing her forearm in the place the scratch had been on his. “You take on the injury?”

“Yeah, something like that. I've never done a small wound before.”

She started to place her hand over another one, but he stilled her. “It's okay. They're not worth your feeling my pain. But thanks, anyway.”

She continued treating the rest of his scratches the conventional way.

These people were amazing. He could see why they had survived. As Lucas said, they looked out for each other. But he wasn't one of them yet. To be, he would have to give up the estate's location—and put Olivia at risk.

G
erard sat in front of the grand fireplace in the parlor and tossed another red folder into the flames. He had suffered another loss tonight. The dark side was winning. The anger ate away at him just as the fire incinerated the cardboard. If only
he
had the ability to kill from a distance, to find someone no matter where they were. His mouth tightened in bitterness. He had to believe he would prevail. Jerryl was eager to begin targeting someone other than Eric. And then there was Andrus…

“Are you all right?”

Olivia's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Wearing silk pajamas beneath a robe, she looked beautiful but for the shadows in her eyes.

“You're up late. It's what, two in the morning?”

“Had a bad dream.” She wrapped her arms around herself. He had seen her do that when she was a girl and had woken him in the night. He'd been woefully inadequate in consoling a child scared of something that wasn't real. He'd told her to toughen up and go back to bed.

She stepped closer and looked at the folder in his hand: Robert Braden's folder. “What are you doing?”

“Now that Nicholas is a traitor, the Rogues will know about these files. They'll do whatever it takes to get them.
I'm going to ensure their safety.” He tossed the folder in the fire, and the flames flared.

He hated destroying the files. They contained the original notes from the first program and weren't on any computer. He didn't trust computers, not even encrypted ones. He knew there were ways to decipher anything. He had relented and put the basic information on the new program on the computer and backed it up to his home computer. But this data would only exist in his head.

She sat down on the wingback chair opposite him. “Did his father work with you twenty-five years ago?”

Gerard wanted to give her only enough information to sate her curiosity. “Yes. We had great success, as we're having now. Then someone sabotaged the program, and it fell apart.” He gritted his teeth. “But not this time.”

“Why did Nicholas want that file so badly?”

“Because the Rogues told him to get it, probably to get all of them.” He tossed the next folder into the fire.

“What happened to Robbins? I overheard Jerryl telling Fonda he'd been…the word he used was
whacked
. How could he know that?”

His mouth tightened. “We know.”

She paused for a moment, absorbing that. “He also said something about remote-viewing. What is that?”

She wasn't ready for the truth.

“There are things you mustn't see or know, things that would change everything forever, that would age you by decades and tarnish your golden light. I have spent my life protecting you from that and more.”

He'd said this to her before, about other things, like her infatuation with the gardener's son. Usually she accepted it.

“What if I don't want to be protected?”

“You have no choice in the matter.” He narrowed his eyes, studying what he thought was a shadow on her shoulder. “Is that a bruise?”

Her robe had slid off her shoulder, and she pulled it
up again. “I wasn't paying attention and rammed into the doorframe.”

He'd seen other bruises on her. If she'd been dating someone, he would suspect abuse. “What was the point of signing you up for ballet and gymnastics, if not to teach you coordination?”

“Don't sidetrack me. I want the truth. You're going to have Nicholas killed, aren't you?”

“They all have to be terminated. They're a security and safety risk.” He was annoyed to see her attachment to Braden on her expression.

She stood, hands fisted at her sides. “You can't kill him.”

“Why not?”

Her mouth trembled. “I couldn't bear it. Have him arrested instead.”

“Get it through your head: If I don't kill them, they'll kill me. Could you bear that?”

Her face blanched. It gratified him that the thought of his being killed seemed to terrify her.

“It's imperative you report anything out of the ordinary. It may seem odd or ridiculous, but if you notice it, there might be something more to it. Trust your instincts, just as I've taught you since you were a girl. Be on alert. And until they are eliminated, I want you to move into your suite of rooms here full-time.”

“But—”

“No buts. I want you safe. I'll be here, too.” He sent another folder into the fire. “I'm flying to Florida tomorrow. I'm appearing in court to take custody of a prisoner. He's going to be working with us for about four months.”

“A prisoner? What kind of prisoner? What did he do?”

“He'll be under guard at all times. You will have no contact with him. In fact, I don't even want him to see you. He's quite charming, from what I've heard. Until he gets his hands around your neck. Don't be taken in by another one of our subjects. Especially this one.”

Her mouth twitched in anger. “I'll heed your warning, Father. Good night.”

Robbins also deserved his lesson. The search of his house had revealed that he, too, had gotten into these folders. He'd drafted a letter to Gerard, threatening to expose DARK MATTER if he disappeared. Fortunately, Robbins hadn't had time to set his plan into action. The copies were in an envelope with an attorney's name on it, and a note in Robbins's calendar indicated that his appointment was for the following day.

He threw the last folder into the flames. The past was over. All he cared about was the future. With Andrus aboard, the Rogues would finally be destroyed.

 

Fonda scowled at Petra Aruda's picture on the bulletin board above Jerryl's desk next to Eric's. “What's her picture doing in your room?”

Jerryl smiled at the jealousy in her voice. “I've always had a connection to her. She was the first one I could find. Then I tuned in to Eric and was able to mind-control him. So I focused on him. But I realized, what better way to get to Eric than taking her out?” He grinned wider. “I like the thought of him going berserk.”

She was still looking at the picture. “She's beautiful.”

He pinched her chin. “So are you.”

“Not like her. Not like anyone, really.”

He knew she'd had a hard childhood, but she hadn't talked much about it. She'd been drawn to him, and to his anger. He seemed to ignite it in her, allowing her to release it for the first time. Once she'd told him she was afraid to let it out, that it might consume her. She allowed those pent-up emotions out when they had sex, as though the act freed her somehow.

“What about the shield?” she asked.

“I've been thinking. You know how Gerard said Lucas and Amy had a psychic connection? That's how he knew when she was in trouble. What if I have that same
kind of thing with Petra? Maybe I can get to her even if she's protected by the shield. I can't remote-view her, but maybe I can get under the shield to her head.” He kissed her forehead. “Which means you'll have to sleep in your own room tonight. No distractions.”

She never begged or whined. Despite her hurt expression, she simply left.

He settled into bed and looked at the picture of Petra. He filled his mind with her, so intensely his head hurt. For a second, he felt…something. Feminine energy. He could feel her, just like he could with Eric. He couldn't hold on to it, though. Maybe it was the shield or maybe it was that he'd already used his skills tonight and was too tired, but he lost the connection.

He would try again tomorrow.

 

Nicholas woke with a start, breath coming hard, other parts of him hard, too. He'd been dreaming of Olivia, kissing her, touching her, and just as he was about to slide into the warmth of her body, he'd woken. He sat up, rubbing his face.

She hates me now.

The thought hung in the dark, cool air of the room that was temporarily his. He was on the lower level of what he now knew was a bomb shelter. Zoe and Rand shared the room next door.

Forget about kissing Olivia or doing anything else.
All he could do was keep her safe. She was the enemy to the Rogues, but he'd never see her that way. Her loyalty stood firmly with Darkwell, with her family; her self-worth was tied to her heritage. But he'd also seen the conflict on her face. She sure as hell hadn't wanted to alert her father to his presence in his office.

He dropped back in the bed, letting out a long sigh of frustration. They were a lost cause. So why was he dreaming about her?

The idea crept into his mind, as quietly and cleverly as
a snake. He could check on her. She'd be torn up, angry, probably lots of things. He'd just make sure she was sleeping tight.

He focused on her beautiful face, her delicate beauty, her smile, hell, she had such a gorgeous smile that started small, then bloomed, filling her hazel eyes. And the wonder that filled her eyes when he'd first kissed her. She was shy and sweet, so outrageously sweet. She had definitely been overprotected, and damn, but he wanted to show her what being made love to felt like.

There's no point in checking on her. What good is it going to do?

So he wasn't going there.

He shifted in bed, resettling on the soft mattress.

Yes, he was.

He sank into her, smelling her candy-sweet perfume, feeling the silk of her long hair, zoning in on her until he felt his body disappear. Then the
whoosh
in his stomach. A similar sensation to what he felt when he'd kissed her, he realized. His body twitched.

He expected to find her sleeping, so he was surprised to see her stalking angrily up the stairs.

I thought you were only going to check on her. You have. You've torn her up. There's nothing more to do but thrash yourself later.

He couldn't pull out. She walked into her room and let her robe drop to the floor, revealing white silk pajamas with thin straps over her shoulders. On one shoulder, he could see a shadow, dark as a bruise. She leaned against the French doors for a minute, pressing her forehead against the glass, her breath creating a foggy circle. She pushed away and started unbuttoning her top. Her fingers trailed inside the edge of her top, brushing against the curve of her cleavage as she continued undoing the buttons.

Time to get out. It's not right, spying on her like this.

She reached the last button and turned as she slipped out of it and tossed it to the chair. The moonlight shone
through the part in the curtains, washing over her back and the dimples on either side of her spine. Her long hair fanned across her skin as she bent over and began to slide down her pajama bottoms. Black lace covered an ass so exquisitely shaped, so perfectly rounded, that his hard-on ached with throbbing.

She started to turn around.

Don't be a jerk.

He pulled out and threw himself out of bed. “Hell.” He paced the small room, thinking of anything that would push those erotic images from his mind and punish him for lingering longer than he should have. He pressed his palms against the concrete wall and banged his forehead against it.

He could never have her, not now. All he could do was make sure she was safe until his death. It would come soon.