“Right,” he mumured. “Whatever you say. I loved that thing you wore. What was it, a white negligee?”
She choked on her laughter. “Um, no. It was more like a—”
A wedding dress.
She bit the words off just in time.
He nudged her. “Like what?” he prompted.
“An old-fashioned ball gown,” she hedged. “A vintage prom dress.”
“Huh.” He sounded dubious. “Whatever it was, it made me hot. Barefoot, hair hanging down. Mmm. I thought I’d created my own ultimate sexual fantasy, so I could just go for it, you know? Sorry about the cave man vibe. If I’d known I was interfacing with an actual person, I’d have been more . . . fuck, I don’t know. Polite, maybe? Restrained.”
She shook with silent laughter again. “I liked how you were.”
That lazy grin transformed his lean face. “And then, you start typing messages to me,” he whispered. “My head just about popped.”
“Sorry I made you think you were crazy,” she said.
He shrugged. “I was used to it by then. Talking to you was great. Kinky, but fun. I was lonely, too. The last few months have been a weird time for me.”
“Tell me about it,” she whispered.
The smile vanished. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologize,” she said, swiftly. “I would still be in the rat hole if not for you. You can say anything you want to me. Don’t guard your words. I can take anything you say. I won’t break. Got it?”
“Okay, okay, calm down.” He kissed her knuckles again, methodically pressing his caressing lips to each one.
“There’s one thing I still don’t get, though,” she added.
He rolled his eyes. “Just one? You’re doing better than me.”
“Stop,” she scolded. “I mean, the Citadel. How do I get into it when Greaves can’t? It makes no sense. He’s so strong. You felt him. And I’m just me. I’m not even a telepath.”
Miles tugged the comforter up to cover her bare shoulders. “Nina had a theory about that.”
“Nina who?” she asked.
“Nina Christie,” he said. “Remember her?”
She shot bolt upright in the bed. “Nina Christie? You know Nina Christie? How do you know her? Oh, I love Nina!”
Miles rolled onto his back and folded his arms behind his head, displaying the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and chest to amazing advantage. “Of course I know Nina. She started this whole thing. When your mom got away from Rudd . . .” He paused, delicately. “You knew about her death in the fire being faked, right?”
She willed her jaw not to shake. “Yes. And dying anyway, a few months ago. Anabel and Hu told me. Greaves confirmed it. I was hoping it wasn’t true.” She tried not to hope he would tell her it wasn’t true. She tried so hard, she didn’t even dare to look at him.
He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it is true.”
She nodded, exhaling slowly. So. Moving on. “And Nina?”
“Your mom had escaped. She’d been trying to blackmail Rudd. Rudd was one of Greaves’ stooges. Your mom had created a new formula of psi-max. A binary dose. If you don’t get the B, the A dose kills you after a few days. She hid the B dose, and tried to get Rudd to take the A, so she’d have leverage to make him let you go. But he didn’t take it. They injected her instead, and she’d already sent the B dose away.”
“I see,” she said, although she didn’t, not yet. “And Nina?”
“Your mom chased Nina down in New York,” Miles went on. “By then she was dying. She only had hours left. She’d lost her English, from the brain damage. She injected one of the last A doses into Nina, and left a recording on Nina’s phone, with instructions on where to find the B doses. Begging her to save you. She died that same day.”
Lara drew her knees up to her chest, and hid her face against them. Miles sat up crosslegged beside her, stroking her back with long, soothing, gentle strokes. They did not speak for a long time.
“I missed her so much,” she said, voice choked. “She was alive the whole time. And now she’s not, again. It’s like a cruel joke.”
“She put everything into saving you,” Miles said. “She loved you. It was all she cared about. Getting you out.”
She lifted her face, wiping it defiantly. “Injecting Nina with a dangerous drug? That doesn’t sound like the mother I remember.”
Miles looked uncomfortable. “That move was iffy, but I’m not inclined to judge. She was desperate. She knew she was dying. She had to pass the torch, and Nina was her last hope.”
Lara shook her head, trying to shake the image away from herself. “So did Nina get the B-dose in time?”
“She did. I was there. In Colorado, at this big fundraising bash held by Greaves. Lots of blood and drama. It was . . . well, special.”
She smiled at him. “A talent for understatement is another of your defining character traits. You have to tell me the whole story some time. The story behind the laconic understatement, I mean.”
He snorted. “This shit is so way out there, it desperately needs understatement or no one will believe it at all. But anyhow. We’ve been looking for you ever since. Me, Nina. And Aaro, Nina’s fiancé.”
She sniffed the tears back. “Well. You found me. Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me,” he repeated softly. He stroked her cheek, the point of her jaw. His finger was rough and thickened, but his touch was so delicate, like being stroked by a feather. “Here you are. In flesh and blood. Amazing.” His arms slid around her, tightening. Pulling her against his bare, hot chest. It felt so good.
“Thanks for looking for me,” she said.
His body tensed. “Lara. Please. Stop thanking me.”
“I thought there was no one left who cared about looking for me.” She squirmed in his arms until she was facing him. “I thought I’d just die in there. I was hoping it wouldn’t take too much longer.”
“Matilda Bennet kept looking. She never gave up on you.”
She was so pleased to hear the name, she didn’t register his tone. “Oh, Matilda? She was so good to my father. I have to thank her for . . .”
Her voice trailed off, as the look on his face sank in. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit, no. Don’t . . . don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“They got her, too?”
“A few days ago. Home intruder, they say. Threw her down the stairs.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to see it in her head, but she had a very powerfully developed capacity to visualize, and it did its thing without her permission or consent. Oh, God. Matilda.
“You should have left me in there,” she said. “This is terrible. Everyone who tried to help me has died badly.”
“Not me.” He leaned his forehead against hers.
Her eyes opened, in spite of herself, and she stared into his intense dark eyes. She cleared her throat. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“I’m hard to kill,” he said.
The contact of his forehead against hers was as intimate as a kiss, but she didn’t dare give into the sweetness of it, or she’d melt into a weepy puddle again. She leaned back, biting her shaking lip. “You said Nina had a theory,” she said. “As to how I get through your wall.”
“Yeah. Nina was the one who introduced me to the concept of mind shields, on that very special night at Spruce Ridge. Her shield’s like a smoke and mirrors setup, and Aaro’s is like a bank vault. She said, pick an analog that works for you. So, hopeless tech nerd that I am, I picked an encrypted, password-protected computer.”
That was a lot to take in, so her mind latched onto the trivial bits first. “Nerd?” She looked him up and down, the deep, weathered tan, the battered hands, the sinewy, ripped muscles. “You?”
“Me,” he said. “Total geekitude. To the core of my being.”
“That is such bullshit.” She put her hand on his chest, catching her breath at the solid heat, the throb of his heart. “Tech geeks don’t tend to be heartthrob gorgeous.”
His grin flashed. “Right. With this nose.”
“Yes,” she said, forcefully. “With that nose.”
“Whatever. As I was saying, I picked a password. And I put your name in it.”
She was startled and moved. “Me? You put me in your password? Why me?”
“You were on my mind,” he said simply. “I used all the usual tricks, of mixing up numbers and symbols. But essentially, yeah. You.”
“But . . . but how did you ever know about me at all?”
“Nina already knew you’d been abducted. Aaro contacted me to do some research about your mom. I found pictures of you at your father’s house.” He hesitated, and added gently, “I was the one who found him.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
She shook her head, lifting her hands. Silently begging him to leave it alone. Which he was smart and sensitive enough to do.
He waited a few minutes, and went on. “Anyhow, to get back to what I was saying. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that.”
“So that’s why I can get through the wall?” she said. “Because I’m in your computer password?”
His big shoulders lifted and dropped. “You got a better explanation?”
She shook her head. All out of brilliant ideas.
“You’ve been my only social contact for weeks now,” he said.
“
That’s
what you call social contact?”
That earned her a flashing grin. “I was hiding up in the mountains until yesterday because I couldn’t bear to be with people. I got pretty messed up in Spruce Ridge. Rudd, the guy who locked your mother up, he was heavy into psi-max. It gave him coercive power, and he used it like a billy club. He bludgeoned me with it, basically. I spent time in a coma. Brain swelling, the whole deal.”
“Oh, God, Miles. I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t trolling for sympathy. Just filling you in. Anyhow, afterward, it was bad. Lot of pain, and the sensory input was disproportionate. Like, the filters in my brain got messed up. Everything bugged me. Smells, light, sound, radiation from computers and cell phones, smog. There were drugs I could have taken, but they sucked. So I ran off. I was out in the woods camping when you started visiting.”
“Social contact,” she murmured.
“Yeah, very social.” He pulled her back down on top of him, and kissed her. A gentle, questioning kiss.
But she wasn’t done questioning him yet. “Do you still have the sensory overload problem?”
His eyes went thoughtful, narrow. “Not exactly,” he said, slowly. “I did until a few hours ago. My senses are as intense as they ever were, but when you started visiting my head, I started keeping my shit together without the meltdowns or the stress flashbacks. And now, after today . . .” His voice trailed off for a long moment. “It’s weird.”
“What’s weird?” she burst out. “Besides absolutely everything?”
“That it doesn’t bug me anymore,” he said. “Once I hooked up with you, I got extra bandwidth. I grew into it. It fits me now. You know how when you hit puberty, suddenly your legs are too long or your arms, or . . .” He stopped, looked her over. “No, never mind. Not you. I bet you’ve always been perfectly proportioned. Since babyhood.”
She swatted that away. “So you’re inexplicably cured, then?”
“Who said anything about inexplicable? I just explained it.”
“When?” She shook her head, frustrated. “What cured it?”
“You did,” he said.
“Me?” She squinted, uncomprehending.
“What?”
“You fixed it,” he said. “You cured me. Pulled me together, somehow. When I’m with you . . . hell, I don’t know. It’s like, the better to see you with, my dear, the better to smell you with, you know?”
She snorted, helplessly. “Oh, come on. Give me a break!”
“No. Totally. You’re the one who gave me a break. I don’t know how else to describe it.” He lifted a handful of her hair, pressed his nose to it, inhaled with obvious gusto. “Mmm. I feel better. Thanks.”
“Ah . . . you’re welcome.”
For some reason, his admission scared her. She felt so small and lost. The thought of having had such a powerful effect on him, with no idea how or why, unnerved her. Like she’d suddenly found herself with a loaded gun in her hands. Vast, unexpected power, and she had no idea where it came from, or what to do with it.
“No pressure,” he said, sensing her unease. “It’s just a feeling. But it’s a really good one. So don’t sweat it.”
“Um. Yeah.” Right. Just a feeling, her ass. It was a feeling with a million complicated implications. And dangers.
“You go to art school in San Francisco, right?” he asked.
She shook her head. She was so far distant from that previous Lara Kirk, it was hard to remember who she’d been. “I don’t know,” she said. “I did before they took me. But the things I did then, the things I thought were so important . . . they all seem so small, now.”
“So if all this was magically resolved, and Greaves disappeared from the face of the earth, you wouldn’t go back to art school? You were getting pretty famous, from what I could tell.”
She laughed at that. “No, that’s just promo spin from the website. I was maybe on track to make a decent living, but I wasn’t famous. And I wouldn’t want to live in a city now. The one thing I dreamed about, besides you of course, was being someplace beautiful in the mountains. Big towering trees. A waterfall. I went there in my mind, every day. If I could do anything, I’d go find myself a waterfall and just sit there, listen to the water rushing for a few centuries. And then we’d see.”
He gave her a smile, the amazing one that made the deep groove carve itself sexily into his cheek, that flash of gorgeous white teeth.
“How about you?” she asked. “Vital stats?”
“I grew up in Endicott Falls,” he said. “Not far from Seattle. You’d like it. It has good falls, as the name indicates. The Gorge does, too. Toward Portland, Old Highway 30. I could show you lots of great falls. We could do a tour. You can listen to them all. One after the other.”
She smiled her appreciation of the lovely, impractical thought. It was only the sweetest, most lovely thing anyone had ever suggested to her. In fact, it made her want to burst into tears again. She distracted herself by rushing into another question. “Where do you live now?”