Virtually Hers (29 page)

“Be right there.” Jed turned to her and said, “If Diamond has secured the trigger, we’ll fly back to Center immediately. I want you examined by Dr. Kirkland ASAP.”

Helen cocked her head. He was just too serious. “Won’t you prefer another day near Lake Matka?” she teased. “I’m not sleepy at all, so the brain entrainment machine’s going to be useless. I can think of other ways to use up all this serum-enhanced energy.”

The corner of his lips lifted slightly but his light eyes were still watchful. “I’ll find a way to tire you out.” He caressed her face with the back of his hand. “Food. Drink.”

She gave a mock salute and watched him go. Damn, but she loved watching his ass in those faded jeans.

***

Nooo! The bitch had killed his monitors! They were his only connection to the serum! He hadn’t ever considered the danger of his job, that he or his handlers might die. What would become of him?

Jonah hadn’t dared go closer to the dead body. He never liked the energy that still clung to the recently deceased. He followed one man, then another, trying to figure what to do next.

Despair raged through him. He didn’t even know how to get back to the States. Alone. In the darkness.
No serum.
The thought of being left all by himself brought him into near panic. He willed himself to calm down. There was nobody monitoring his physical body back in the room and he couldn’t afford a cardiac arrest right now.

He heard English. American English. Turning, he saw two men conversing in low voices. Definitely American. Following them was easy, of course, and listening in made his blood boil. It was that bitch from COMCEN again, interfering with his life. He continued following them till they reached a hotel room, knowing he would find her there.

The sight of her made him angrier than ever. She was looking down, studying something in her hand, a small frown crinkling her forehead. She held it up to the light and it was a vial, the kind of medical glass container that held drugs to be drawn out through a syringe. He was very familiar with them because his handlers had carried them for his second dosages.

Jonah glared with hatred at the source of all his trouble. The bitch caused this. If he were to be stranded out here, with no serum, so should she. She was going down too.

He wasn’t sure what he was doing but he understood his abilities a lot better now. It all made sense. Remote viewers gauged sights and sounds, recording them in an objective way, but he’d managed to cross the invisible line with his special talents. He could see more than that when he remote viewed. Somehow he’d found a way to “record” energy. He recalled the one whose “painful” energy he’d inadvertently taken by mistake—what if he crashed into the bitch now and returned that unwanted gift? What if he took everything from her and left her in pain? Could he do that? He didn’t know how, but he was even more powerful now, wasn’t he? They’d told him that some remote viewers could be trained to kill. He didn’t know how, but he would find a way to damage her.

He’d always known he was far better than the other candidates and he could prove it by trying something new on the one person whom they had deemed better than him. And look at all that glorious sexy glow coming from her. What a goldmine.

Jonah rushed at her, his channels open at full strength. He would suck everything from her. He would find a way to hurt her back. He had nothing to lose.

“Dragan Dilaver is no longer an asset,” Jed told Hawk McMillan, giving permission to the SEAL to do what he’d been wanting to do with the drug lord before cutting off the video transmission.

Dragan Dilaver had only been useful as long as he was the only one who could give them the coordinates to the missing explosive trigger. But Hawk had found the crates and the trigger was no longer in it. The SEALs’ newest information was also worrisome. A sleeper agent, Llallana Noretski, had it, and Jed had a feeling that she was heading to Skopje, and not back to Dilaver, looking to use it at one of the venues where the international visitors and diplomats were congregating.

Dilaver wasn’t running this particular show back in Velesta. He wasn’t interested in assassinations when there was no profit involved. No, he was just someone who was to keep that particular weapon for a while and now the person had set his or her plan in motion.

It made sense. A decoy to distract from the real target. Not during the most obvious day—today, with its significant treaty-signing and speeches—but on one that was less suspicious, when a few of the more influential VIPs would be gathered. Like a photo-op during an art exhibit, for instance, that was coming up in a few days. Everyone would be more relaxed because they’d be thinking that the main danger had been taken care of, and with the treaty already signed, the danger was passed.

A sleeper cell program connected to the CIA, ran by rogue operatives for the last ten years, activated. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. They could activate any number of cells to do their bidding, especially now when the traitors were on the run. They’d had ten years to set up a complex system in D.C., invading the very heart of the CIA HQ, before they were caught. And Jed and his team had—what—these four months to play catch up with just a fucking list of the missing weapons.

Providence had brought Elena to them. Jed could guess how much time she’d saved COMCEN. She, her skills, and the COMCEN Total Immersive VR program had come together at exactly the right time.

He pulled out his cell phone. So many more details to take care of now. He couldn’t possibly leave; he had a sleeper cell to take care of. Elena was going to fight tooth and nail to stay, but he was going to send her back to Center. Her headaches and spontaneous remote viewing worried him. And now there were flashes of colors, she’d said. He frowned. He remembered her talking about some beautiful colors in the last RV session they had together, when he had trouble getting her attention to return from the ether. He wasn’t liking all these incidents one bit. Elena needed to be in a controlled environment, under the watchful eye of her doctors and COMCEN scientists. He wanted to be with her, but he had a bomb to stop. He’d be back at Center immediately after he’d done his job.

He paused outside the connecting door, mentally getting ready for a fight. It was just a matter of compartmentalizing his desire to be with her, that was all. He was under no illusion that she would figure out immediately that she was taken off an assignment not because of performance, but because of his personal wish. It wouldn’t sit well with her competitive spirit. But it had to be done. If necessary, he’d manipulate her to do what he wanted. She would hate him all over again. Couldn’t be helped. He’d just have to make it up to her somehow.

He opened the door. All thought froze.

Elena was on the floor, in a seizure. Her body flopped about helplessly and he could see the white of her eyes and her mouth open, silently screaming.

“Elena!”

Jed rushed to her and fell on his knees. He reached out to hold her but she was violently flailing now and her pants came out in a strange monotonic syllable, like an old vinyl record skipping over a scratch.

“Elena!”

He pulled her into his arms and the shaking died a little. Her eyes came back down and he could feel her struggling for control.

“Elena!”

For once, Jed couldn’t pull his thoughts together, couldn’t string any sentences. He looked up and found Heath staring from the doorway.

“Get a doctor,” he breathed out through his clenched throat, then stood with Helen in his arms. “Get help.”

Heath disappeared. A low animalistic growl came from the back of Helen’s throat, chilling Jed to the bone. It kept on going, becoming a howl, as if some form of possessed spirit was inhabiting her body. The sound was heart-wrenching, a desperate cry for help. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

“Elena! It’s me, Jed. Hold on. Hold on!”

Her awful howling stopped. Her dull eyes lit up at the sound of his voice.

“Jed!” she gasped.

“Yes, it’s me.” He pulled her higher in his arms, her head rolling back against his racing heart. “Hang on for me, Elena.”

“Something smashed. Into…me. Taking over. Ea…eating…eating my brain.” Her hand fisted, hitting him on the shoulder. “Stop it! Stop him! Inside. Jed! I…fighting him…”

Jed leaned forward, trying to catch all her words. Smashed into her? Like the incident in the stairwell? “Get him, then, Elena,” he urged. “Don’t let him win.”

“I can’t hear. He…screaming…in my head. Pain.”

The rumbling growl started again. Helen’s body shook uncontrollably. Where the hell was Heath? His inability to do anything shredded him like a knife. All he could do was rock her, trying to absorb whatever it was that was hurting her.

“Jed!”

“I’m here.” She seemed to be fighting herself and something else and he couldn’t help her.

“Jed!”

“I’m here, baby.”

His reassurances reached her and her trembling became less violent again.

“He…it…in pain, Jed. He can’t…control…he…wants out. Can’t.” Her breathing grew labored. “My head’s exploding. Can’t…see.” Her eyes rolled back again. “Going with it…him. I know…it’s him…Stratter’s. Colors. His pain…I can’t take it.”

“No, you aren’t fucking taking her with you to see colors,” Jed roared, wanting to shake whatever it was out of her. He held her even tighter. Must control himself.
Think, Jed
. She was still connected to him through the trigger. This was the unexpected event he’d been anticipating, wasn’t it? He was going to keep her safe through sheer will alone. “Elena Ekaterina Rostova, do you hear me? You aren’t leaving me. Checkered flag, damn you, listen to me. Checkered flag! You’ll not leave me, Elena.”

He pulled her face close to his, crooning over and over into her ear so she could hear him The trigger was already activated but right now, repeating it was the only hold he had on her. Her eyes widened, registering it, and for a moment he thought she was winning her battle within her.

“Something’s terrifying him,” she gasped out. “He wants to…use me…to escape. F…fight…must…fighh…”

Helen’s fisted hand slowly uncurled as her whole body went terrifyingly still.

“Nooo!” Jed shook her. Swung her higher in his arms, burying his face in her neck. Panic like he’d never felt before enveloped him. He couldn’t lose her. He hadn’t told her how much she meant to him. Despair punched a hole in his gut. He shook her again, willing her to open her eyes.

Nothing.

“Nooo!”

Complement

From Jed’s dictionary: ~verb ( used with object), to complete, form an addition to, supplement to make a complete whole

INTERMUNDIA

Latin, meaning the space between worlds. The past shapes the future and explains the present. A story within a story makes a more complete picture.

Dublin, Ireland

Full moon in Dublin. Conor didn’t look at it long. It was too bright and he was too hungry. He was growing out of his clothes again, so he’d better stop eating and growing some more or get some money to buy a new pair of pants. The last option, in his opinion, was doable.

Of course, right now the tightness of his jeans was more because of the administration of a certain pretty female’s hand. He was hungry for food. His body was hungry for women too, but when one was jobless and homeless, there wasn’t much one could do about either. And when there were plenty of food and a pretty female… Conor narrowed his eyes in anticipation as he watched the young Asian woman release his full erection into the open. His hips involuntarily jerked forward at the sight of her pink tongue licking her lips.

“You look like a young man who likes dangerous women, honey,” she said to him. “Yes?”

“I don’t know,” Conor replied.
Just put your mouth on me.
“Why do you say that?”

“You don’t rob an IRA stash and then wait around in one of their houses to get laid by one of their women, sweet thing.”

She had a point. But then, he bet most thieves didn’t go looking for food in the fridge and then have a half-naked attractive lass serving him when he had trouble pulling out food when he’d trouble holding on to his gun. And then she hadn’t protested when he’d leaned in and kissed her.

“You convinced me,” he told her boldly.

“How old are you?”

“Why do you care?”

“Honey, as a rule, I don’t sleep with boys.” She was a beautiful woman, with big eyes and a ripe mouth. She looked at him up and down before adding softly, “But I think I might break that rule tonight. It’s been a while since I’ve had me an inexperienced boy.”

“I’m not a virgin,” Conor told her arrogantly. “If I fuck you, lady, you’re going to beg for me all night, and I don’t have time. Your man’s gonna be back soon.”

“And if you take that whole big sack of weapons with you, he’ll hunt you down and kill you,” she warned.

Was that supposed to scare him? “He can stand in line,” he said scornfully. Lots of men were after his blood.

He’d been on his own for a while now. He considered himself old enough to take care of himself. After all, when one had been kicked out of the house enough times because his ma happened to be taking care of a customer, when one’s da was hiding somewhere in a drunken stupor, and when one’s older brother had spat at the door the day he’d left for good, one had to grow up really quickly.

It hadn’t taken long, and he’d already learned how to live on the dangerous side of life. Stealing had become an art. Just stay out of the gangs; they would kill anyone who was in their territory. He possessed two guns and knew how to use them. He had a knife in his pant leg because sometimes guns made too much noise. He knew what the smell of blood on the hands was like, the way the red could stain one’s hands for hours if one didn’t wash it off immediately.

“And he can try,” Conor continued. But he told himself to hurry because the lady’d said IRA stash. That meant trouble. And yeah, she was a dangerous female to mess around with. He flashed his trademark grin, a wicked devil-may-care smile he knew worked with lots of lasses. “So if he’s gonna be mad anyway, ya better come here and let me ravish you a bit, eh?”

Ain’t no tellin’ when he was going to get laid again. And if he were to be on the run from the IRA, might as well have a good fuck to go.

The woman kneeled down in front of him, putting her hands on his hips. Conor continued chewing on the drumstick, watching her, making sure she didn’t have a knife or something. You never know with these bitches. One moment they said they wanted your dick and then the next, they had a knife at your throat asking for your wallet. He wasn’t a stupid and starving boy on the street any more. Not even for…he almost choked on the chicken when she took his penis into her mouth. It took several seconds before he could actually focus again.

She paused, looking up. “How old are you?” she repeated her question, running a long index finger under his cock. “I’m debating about turning child molester.”

He didn’t want to talk. He wanted her to continue doing what she’d been doing, but adults were weird because they always wanted a reason to do something bad. Obviously, the lady needed his permission or something.

He rubbed his sticky fingers on his rain-soaked tee shirt. “I’m eighteen,” he lied, then lunged forward, pushing her onto the floor as he quickly parted her legs. He didn’t need his jeans off; he was more than ready.

He put his hand between her legs. She didn’t have any underwear on and was wet. That was good. The girls he’d been with told him they became wet when they got excited, and he’d discovered that they got wetter if he played with them a bit. He ran his fingers lightly over the woman’s pussy. A year ago, he’d never have thought that he would be having sex with a stranger in somebody else’s kitchen. A year ago he’d never have thought about checking a woman for weapons either.

The woman squirmed under him. “Oh my,” she breathed. “You have clever fingers for a young boy.”

“I have more than clever fingers,” Conor said brashly, feeling more confident than he actually was. “And I’m gonna show you I’m a man.”

She laughed. “You do that.”

The woman looked to be in her mid-twenties and was undoubtedly more experienced; he’d better make it last. He hoped he could hold off coming for…he slid into her slickness and bit back a groan. Shit, no way was he going to last more than a minute. Why did a woman feel so good when he was inside her? He clenched his jaw, trying to make it last.

The woman wrapped her legs around his waist, moving her hips up to meet his in unison, going faster and faster. He felt a bit intimidated at how eager she was, at how she took charge of him. The other lasses mostly just lay there.

Maybe if he didn’t give her what she was asking. Maybe if he slowed down a bit.

His eyes crossed as he forced himself to move slower, to take his time. He used his strength to keep her swiveling hips in place, his thighs forcing her parted legs down as he buried himself deep and hard, then pulled out slowly. He did it again. The woman started moaning, asking him to go faster. He could feel her getting wetter. Oh yeah, she liked this, all right.

Not. Giving. Her what. She. Wants.
He gritted his teeth and repeated, battling the need to come with the need to show her he was a man. Her moans became groans, long and drawn out, and he felt her insides spasming around him. The feeling was incredible. He paused at the wonder of it.

“No…!”

Her shriek took him aback. “No?” he asked, confused, thinking he’d done something wrong.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Her voice was urgent and her nails scored his shoulders.

Conor looked down at her, realization dawning for the first time. She wasn’t in control any more.
He was.
He liked the feeling very much.

“So you like that, hmm?” he asked. He moved. She shuddered, urging him to go faster. Curiosity had calmed him enough so that he kept his speed nice and steady. She shuddered again, her insides milking him. So, women felt pleasure deep inside and the longer he lasted, the more they came. Could they come indefinitely? Lucky creatures. He could only come once and that was it.

He jerked up, suddenly tense. He’d left the kitchen window open after he’d entered, for a quick exit. He thought he heard a car pulling up outside the building. The sound of doors slamming. The woman under him was suddenly tense too.

“That’s my boyfriend, Seamus,” she said, her eyes wide. “Get up!”

Three long flights of stairs. Conor cocked his head. “No, I gotta come first, lady.”

“What? Are you crazy? Have you no idea what the IRA is?” She started to push him off.

He did, but suddenly, he didn’t care. He just wanted to feel her squeezing him again, enjoying him and him enjoying her. Walk from car. Unlock the stairway gate. Three long flights of stairs. He could do it. He grabbed her hands and leaned forward, trapping them against the floor, spreading her legs further apart. He thrust inside her, hard and fast.

“Come again for me,” he whispered.

He pushed in all the way and heard her gasp. This time his pace was relentless as he let himself go, concentrating on her heat. Her breathing grew uneven again, like before. Just for the hell of it, he took a deep breath and slowed down. It felt like his whole head was going to explode from the roar inside his brain. He heard the woman cry out and felt her coming all around him. He plunged in deep and his orgasm was like nothing he’d ever felt before. His hips moved like pistons as he kept coming and coming.

His breathing was ragged even as he pulled out of her and quickly jumped to his feet, tucking his sensitive dick back inside his pants. The woman just lay there, her eyes half-closed, her breasts bobbing up and down as she panted.

Her parted legs were lax and he could see exactly where he’d been.

“Got to go,” Conor said, feeling cocky. He’d just made this older lady come three times. “I told you I’d leave you begging for more.”

He grabbed the sack with the stash of weapons he’d gathered from the other rooms. He had one leg out the window when he heard the front door opening.

“Kitty?”

The woman continued to lie there, her mouth half-opened, watching him. Then she smiled sleepily and blew him a kiss.

Conor grinned. So that was what dangerous women were like. He disappeared into the night.

One month later

Conor stared at the bright moon, with what looked like its twins on each side. Someone told him that was called a blue moon. He’d never actually seen anything like it.

The world had so many things he would like to see. He heard the pyramids in Egypt were bigger than the tallest building. Could one climb up a pyramid? And wouldn’t that be cool, he, Jed Conor McNeil, on top of a pyramid with the blue moon shining over it?

He’d get to Egypt some day. He didn’t want to remain here, always hiding from one thing or another. Of course, he wouldn’t have to hide if the IRA guys weren’t so pissed at him for taking off with their stash of weapons. He didn’t think he’d committed that big a crime. They were the IRA; one would think they had more weapons than that.

But they were pissed, all right. There was word on the street for the kid with gray eyes. That would be him, cursed with eyes everyone remembered.

“They ain’t gray either,” Conor said aloud. His eyes were distinctive because they were light, the color of a shiny silver florin, his ma used to say.

And the boy’s worthless like a florin too.

Conor grimaced. That line was his da’s tag whenever his ma brought up the florin comparison. It hurt. He didn’t show it to his father but it hurt to be told he was worthless.

Well, he was worth something on the streets, apparently, because there was a price for any information on him. No one knew his name because he didn’t make friends that easily. That was a good thing too, or the IRA bastards would have gotten hold of him by now.

Conor grinned. He had their loot, that was why. He hadn’t known they would be this angry this long; he’d heard the IRA had a lot of important things to do, fighting and bombing buildings in one country or another. I guess they had some time to play hide-and-seek with him.

The only person who’d seen him that night was the woman named Kitty, so she must have given a description of him to her boyfriend, Seamus. He wondered whether Seamus found her the way he had last seen her—on the floor, with her legs parted suggestively. If he’d money, he’d bet that Kitty did just that and got that boyfriend of hers so angry that he was using all his time and energy to come after him.

Stupid. Conor lifted his head at the moon again and resisted the temptation to howl. Stupid because everything was about something else other than what was important. He was wasting time here, hiding, when he should just dump the weapons at the guy’s front door and then leave town. Maybe they would let him off and wouldn’t come after him any more.

But he was stupid too. He wanted to keep the weapons and play hide-and-seek. He wanted to see how angry he could make Seamus and his thugs. The longer they kept the word out on the street that they wanted him caught, the more obstinate he became.

Besides, he’d never seen so many new guns and weaponry in his life. He was very careful when he handled them—didn’t want any sudden explosions. He thought of all the men who would be using them. Why did they do what they do? He understood hunger and homelessness, so maybe they did it to provide themselves with a place to stay and lots of food. Not to forget, a girlfriend.

He thought of Kitty again. She’d had a funny accent, not quite British or Irish, as if she was a foreigner. He wondered what country she was from and whether he’d know where it was. China? Hong Kong? He really needed to get hold of a world map, so he could memorize all those fancy names.

He chuckled. Like he would have the chance to impress any ladies with his knowledge of the world map any time soon. He had to find out how to sell shiny new stolen weapons without the IRA fellows finding him. Then he had to figure out what to do with the money he’d get from the sale. Definitely wasn’t going to stay in Dublin, but where would he go? He could take the train and visit his cousin but what if Seamus got wind of that and sent men after him there? He was learning fast that men like Seamus would waste time and money for revenge. No, he couldn’t do that to Killian.

Conor froze at the sound of footsteps below him. His eyes darted into the shadows of the far right corner of the alley below. Very few people came around to this abandoned building and usually his “guests” were mainly noisy and drunk folks, not one with the quiet footfall of a policeman. He moved back against the building wall so that the moonlight was no longer on him, keeping a clear view of the narrow alley below him.