Rebecca York (21 page)

"Who does?"

Jordan turned one hand palm up. "How about Todd Hamilton and Glenn Barrow?"

She sucked in a breath. "You mean, because they broke into Maple Creek and zapped the security guards with some kind of mind ray?"

"Yeah, that." He gave her a piercing look. "If I had to make an educated guess, I'd say they have the same talent we do. Wait—let me rephrase that. Make that—the same talent we'd have if we figured out how to zap someone's mind with a lightning bolt."

"You think we can attack people?" she murmured. "With our minds?"

"Who the hell knows? We just... forged ... some kind of psychic bond last night. These are early days for us. Todd and Glenn must have practiced their talent."

The way he said it, or perhaps the future facing them, made her shiver.

They were both silent, thinking about the implications.

"The more intimate the contact, the deeper the link," she murmured.

"Um-hum."

"So if Todd and Glenn bonded . .. they must have been lovers," she said slowly.

"Well, Todd was definitely gay. I got that from my research. I have to assume he and Glenn got as close to each other as we have."

She nodded, thinking about the two men. "Before they met, they were probably lonely—like us."

"Probably it was worse for them. In addition to everything else, they had a whole bunch of social-sexual issues to deal with."

"Yes."

"So they found each other—and everything changed."

"Why did they go after Maple Creek?" she asked.

"I have to assume they were peace activists—opposed to chemical and biological weapons. And they were feeling confident enough to attack a secret weapons installation."

"And they got far enough into the facility to get a dose of ...of Granite Wall?"

"Or they were captured before they obtained their objective. And somebody decided to give them a taste of the nasty medicine they came to destroy."

The theory made her grimace.

"Either way it happened, they got overconfident."

Lindsay was still struggling with the broader implications. She paused, swallowed, then asked, "And how did they get the way they were?"

Jordan gave her a direct look. "Good question. We need to try and answer that."

"Not just about them—about us, too. Do you have any theories?"

She saw his Adam's apple bob. "I'm getting the feeling that Leonard Hamilton knows something."

"Why?"

"Well, because he picked me specifically to look into Todd's murder. And. .." He stopped and started again. "And he's hiding a secret. Something about me. I called him on it, but he wouldn't give it up."

"Can we ask him—together?"

"Unfortunately, we can't risk it. They could be watching him, too. In fact, that might be how they picked up on me. They had his mansion staked out."

She spoke around the lump blocking her windpipe. "So what are we going to do?"

"Well, we're not going back to my apartment—or yours. We have to stay undercover—until we can figure out who's running Maple Creek and how to get them off our backs." He pulled out his wallet and counted the money. "I just went to the bank. I've got five hundred dollars. How much do you have?"

She checked her own wallet. "Just under two hundred."

"We can't use our credit cards."

"What happens when we run out?"

"We rob a bank."

"Oh, sure." She looked down at her hands. "Staying out of the bad guys' clutches is going to be a problem."

"But we've got an advantage that they don't—the power we've developed."

"Unfortunately, it doesn't always work real well."

"But we'll keep practicing. You don't mind practicing, do you?" he asked, leaning closer and nibbling at her lips.

It was only a light touch. Maybe it was designed to distract her. It did that, all right. Once again she was engulfed by a wave of heat.

God, Lindsay, I never wanted a woman as much as I want you. It's like a craving that won't let up.

Yes.

We shouldn't.

Yes, we should. Because it strengthens the bond between us.

That's not the only thing you're thinking about.

True.

He shifted so that he could cup her breasts, taking their weight in his hands, molding and squeezing.

Flames shot through her. Through him. She knew that as certainly as she felt her own desire.

She was instantly wet and wanting. And suddenly, neither one of them could fight the urgent need clawing at them. It was built of the connection they'd discovered— and the knowledge that someone could snatch away their lives before they had a chance to explore the amazing link.

Jordan took her mouth in hot, desperate kisses as he tugged her clothing out of the way. She did the same, unzipping his fly, freeing his penis, exclaiming when she found him hard and heavy in her hand, loving the feel of him, and knowing at the same time what that intimate touch was like for him.

She shoved away from him. He might have protested, but she knew he understood why she needed maneuvering room. He helped her pull down her pants. As she kicked them away, his hands tore at her panties.

She heard the silky fabric rip and felt a moment of shock that she was with a man who wanted her so much that he couldn't wait another few seconds. She had never understood the wild passion she'd read about in romance novels. With Jordan, the out-of-control urgency drove her to a place of white-hot need.

"Yes," she moaned as his hands clamped onto her hips, so he could lift her up and into his lap. She came down facing him, calling out again as he filled her.

She was the one on top. The one in control. And she began to move frantically, sliding his cock in and out of her, driving them both insane.

Jesus. Lindsay.

I know. I know.

Something flickered in her mind. Information. It was like the other times—when the joining had been more than physical. But she pushed everything else aside to focus on the sweet, urgent need for sexual climax.

It didn't take much to send herself over the edge, because arousal had simmered below the surface every moment they'd been together.

Once again the heat of orgasm burst forth—over her, through her, and she felt him follow her, felt how it was for him, that pumping sensation as he poured himself into her.

She collapsed in a sweaty heap against him, and they stroked and kissed each other as they came back to earth.

She could barely move, but a question bubbled in her consciousness.

Who is Henry Remington?

You picked up his name from my mind? Just now?

Yes.

He's a doctor who ran a fertility clinic. Where Todd was conceived.

What else?

That's all I have. He clipped out the denial. She knew that was true. Yet she sensed his disquiet as her head rested against his shoulder.

She felt his arms around her, and she wished everything wasn't so complicated. She wanted to enjoy the peaceful sensations of sexual release. But they weren't living in a peaceful world.

Maybe when we were in. . . hypercommunication, we should have focused on Mark, he suggested.

Hypercommunication. Did you just make that up?

He answered with a soft mental laugh. Yeah.

Let's see what we can do together.

He clamped his fingers around hers and cradled the back of her head with his free hand while they both tried to bring up another picture of Mark Greenwood.

Jordan's penis was still inside her—the closest contact she could imagine. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus. But they couldn't find Mark.

We don't know him.

But we saw him with Sid.

She nodded against his shoulder, then tried to cast her thoughts in a wider net. She saw Mark running through the woods. But she suspected she was simply making that up.

Perspiration broke out on her forehead.

She felt Jordan give up on the joint effort.

"Please. Help me!" she cried out, unable to hold back her frustration.

"We can't do it. We're not strong enough yet."

"But..."

He stroked her hair, kissed her cheek.

The talent isn 't reliable. We need to learn to control it.

She felt his restless need for action. Or was it her own? It was a kind of tingling in her mind and body, a sensation of urgency that she wouldn't have been able to describe to anyone besides Jordan Walker.

But she knew that he understood, because he felt it, too.

"We can't stay here," he muttered.

"Where are we going?"

"Darien, Connecticut."

"That's where Dr. Henry Remington had his clinic?"

"Yeah. But it's long gone."

They were in sync with each other now. Talking was simply a polite alternative to direct mind-to-mind communication. Still, she knew there was something he was leaving out. Something neither one of them wanted to acknowledge.

Reluctantly she climbed off his lap. As he put his clothing back into place, she picked up her ruined panties, stared at them helplessly, then stuffed them into her purse.

Jordan looked embarrassed. "I assume you brought underwear in your overnight bag."

"Yes."

He reached back and handed the bag over the seat.

Then, while he stood staring down the driveway, she stepped into the detached garage, rounded a Saturn much like hers, and put herself back together.

When she was dressed again, Jordan walked to a workbench that was pushed against the back wall.

Above it, tools were neatly arranged on a Peg-Board. Jordan selected a large screwdriver, then squatted beside the car and went to work.

"Why are you stealing license plates?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she stepped forward and laid her hand against his neck, as she tried to dip into his mind. But an unexpected sensation stopped her. There was no way to describe it. In visual terms, she might have said it was as though she'd walked up to a clear window and started to look through. But before she could focus, the window glass turned opaque.

She tried to slide around the blackened window. To her surprise and dismay, it moved, blocking her again.

She could see Jordan's body had gone rigid. Her own muscles tightened as she tried to fight her way into his mind.

The silent mental struggle sent a sick wave of panic through her.

LINDSAY WATCHED JORDAN'S fist clench around the handle of the screwdriver. "Are you trying to break the connection between us?" she managed to say.

"No, but I'm doing my best to block your intrusion into my mind," he answered.

She wanted to firm her jaw and pretend he hadn't hurt her. But that was impossible with this man.

So now what? Walk away? That had always been her fallback position when someone slammed at her.

He kept his head tipped down. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then why are you doing it?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"It's necessary."

"Why?"

"Don't you think it's a little inconvenient reading each other's thoughts every time we touch?"

She dragged in a breath and let it out. "Too bad I was ... so thrilled that we could do it."

"So am I."

"Then why did you stop me?"

He lifted his head so that his eyes met hers. "There are times when we both need privacy."

Her mind flashed back to the unsettled feeling she'd experienced earlier, and she asked, "Because I wanted to ask you questions about the Remington Clinic? And you didn't want to answer them?"

He shrugged. "Partly."

When she didn't say anything more, he added, "But I... should have warned you—instead of just going ahead and trying to block you out."

Determined to keep her voice even, she said, "No, it was the right approach. If I'd been prepared, it would have altered the experiment."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "I'm not used to consulting anyone before I act."

"I think we're both like that."

"What's happened between us has been like a speeding train."

"And you want to get off?"

"No." He cleared his throat. "But part of why I'm good at my job is that I'm an excellent poker player.

It's difficult to cope with the loss of that ability—with you. There's no hiding my strategy. Or my emotions. They're on direct display."

"I'm hoping you'll find some compensations."

He reached for her hand and folded his fingers around hers. "You picked up on the part about the Remington Clinic. The subject makes me uncomfortable. And I'd like to think about it before I comment."

"I understand."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't the main reason 1 wanted to hide my thoughts. What you said about illegal activity made me remember something that happened in high school. And suddenly I realized it was something I always hide ... and you would know about it—if you dipped into my mind."

"I have some pretty gross teenage recollections myself," she murmured. "Like in middle school, when I got my period and walked around half the day with blood on the back of my skirt—and nobody bothered to clue me in. Imagine how a teenage girl would react to that little embarrassment."

"Christ!"

"Or the sick feeling of sitting there in chemistry class— shrinking into my seat when nobody wanted to be the lab partner of 'weird Lindsay.'"

He gripped her hand tighter, before deliberately easing the pressure. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It made me self-sufficient."

"And lonely" he muttered. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, holding tight for long seconds before saying, "Okay, here's my deep dark secret."

"You don't have to tell me."

"I didn't want you to pull it from my mind. But telling you is my choice. When I was fifteen, I got arrested for shoplifting."

The words were a small shock. "Oh."

"I had a juvenile record, but it was sealed."

"Why were you doing it?"

"Partly because we didn't have a lot of money, and I wanted things the other kids had. CDs, electronic toys, nice clothes. But partly it was a game. A game I played because of my special talent for reading people. I'd go into a store and sense whether or not the clerk was focused on me. Unfortunately, in a big Wal-Mart, I didn't spot all the security cameras."