Rebecca York (29 page)

The bed was too far away. He wanted her, needed her now. When he lifted her naked body in his arms, she wrapped her legs around him, and he braced his shoulders against the door as he dove into her.

Orgasm was like a quick rush of joy. Of affirmation. Of relief.

When he thought his legs were working properly, he pulled out of her, then cradled her in his arms as he carried her across the room and laid her on the bed.

She snuggled against him, and for long moments they both drifted in feelings of contentment.

For a little while they relaxed together. Then he sensed her thoughts.

I have an idea.

He didn't have to ask what. It was there in his mind.

Todd and his friend decided to go up against Maple Creek by themselves. What if we don't have to do it alone? You said that we might have to protect ourselves against other people like us. But what if they want to work with us? What if we can find the others and tell them what happened? Get their help?

It was a plan. And for the first time he felt hope rise in his chest.

Do you think there are others who have bonded—who are already living their lives—together?

The Trinity twins. We know about them.

Jordan climbed out of bed again, brought his computer from the desk, hooked it into the phone line, and booted up.

While they waited for the machine to run through its initial routine, Lindsay asked, Do they have a Web site?

Everybody has a Web site.

I don't.

Your boss, the senator, does.

He used Google to find the twins. Then clicked on the link. The front page opened with a starburst of color that faded to a picture of a dynamic looking man and woman standing shoulder to shoulder. Both had blond hair. The man wore an expensive navy suit. The woman was dressed in a demure white jumpsuit. He was handsome in the Nordic god sort of way. And she was an equally striking woman, her blond hair shimmering around her heart-shaped face. They looked cool and confident.

Linsday climbed off the bed and started gathering up her clothing. Jordan puttered around the site.

First he looked at the twins' biography and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Lindsay called from across the room as she pulled on her panties. Then pulled a T-shirt over her head.

"This piece of fiction." When her head was visible again, he gestured toward the screen. "Come get a load of their bio. It's totally made up. They talk about being descended from a long line of psychics who lived in Hungary and cultivated the 'old ways.' then passed on their gifts from generation to generation."

"Maybe they are," she countered, laying his clothing on the end of the bed.

"Are you keeping house?" he teased.

"Right. Even in a motel room." She cleared her throat. "Maybe they do have Hungarian blood."

"Come on. We know they got their psychic abilities the same way we did."

"Maybe they have both. That would certainly give them an edge on everybody else."

"I think the fact that they were together from birth gave them an edge. They bonded early."

"Became sexual partners early?"

"I guess so."

"It's a little creepy. But I can see how it happened."

He was about to make another observation when the screen rippled like a pool of water into which someone had thrown a stone.

"What the ..."

"Jordan?"

Before he could finish the sentence, a blue-tinged hand emerged from the screen and grabbed him around the neck, choking off his breath.

LINDSAY LOOKED AT Jordan, who had only moments before been speculating cynically about the Trinity twins.

His face was contorted. The skin red and blotchy.

Fear leaped inside her. "My God, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer. When he tried to speak, no words came out. Lindsay watched in horror as he raised his hands toward his throat and pulled at something she couldn't see.

Jordan, what?

His lips moved, and she heard him scream in her mind.

Oh, Christ... The computer... The silent words choked off as he raised his hands—clawing at his own throat.

Something was choking off his life with horrible speed.

When his hands fell back to his sides and he slumped sideways, she knew that he couldn't even defend himself— and she had only seconds to save him from death.

In those moments of terror her mind made crucial connections. He had gone to the Trinity Web site.

And this horror was coming from them.

It didn't make sense. But she knew on a gut level that if she looked at the screen, they would get her, too. What if she touched the computer? Was that just as deadly to her?

They could both die in the next few seconds. But what did it matter? Without him, she would only drift through her lonely existence. It hadn't been so bad before. Now she knew the difference.

When she reached for the laptop, she felt a jolt of electricity travel up her arms.

The shock made her gasp, but she didn't let go. Keeping her gaze averted from the machine and ignoring the horrible sizzling sensation that crackled through her body, she fumbled to spring the catch on the little clip that attached the phone line.

It wouldn't move. She couldn't do it with her hand because her fingers were too numb.

She wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she focused her mind on the catch, squeezing the plastic with her thoughts instead of her fingers.

Maybe it took only nanoseconds. But it felt like centuries before the phone connector came free.

It was like slamming a metal door on a firestorm. The sizzling stopped. Jordan gasped in a breath.

She pushed the computer out of the way and turned back to him. He had sunk down against the pillows, sucking in air.

"Jordan? Say something, Jordan. I need to hear your voice."

"I think... we'd better not consider Saxon and Willow Trinity best buddies."

He said it with such deadpan sincerity that she couldn't stop herself from barking out a hysterical laugh.

"You mean because they almost killed you?"

"Yeah, that."

She had been afraid to embrace him, lest the pressure against his chest interfere with his breathing. But when he held out his arms, she came into them with a small sob.

"Thank you for saving my life," he whispered.

"I was terrified."

Likewise.

What happened?

My guess? They found out about us, and they don't want to share the psychic stage.

They'd kill you for that?

Apparently, they're not very nice people.

How do they know about us ?

I'm guessing again. Somehow, they've found out about Crandall and Maple Creek. His thoughts came rapidly now. Suppose they never knew that anyone else like them existed? Suppose they thought they were unique. And now suddenly they get the news that there's a whole bunch of us out there. Maybe they want to ensure that they 're the only ones with that kind of power.

She nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of using psychic power to do evil.

"Not everyone's going to have the same reaction to finding out they have special gifts," he murmured, his voice raspy. "Some people will grab for all the goodies they can get."

She burrowed into his warmth, and he held her against himself, stroked his hands over her shoulders and into her hair. The physical contact and the mental contact helped ground her.

She swallowed. So my idea of getting a big happy family of us together was a little naive.

Sorry. It was a good idea. We just didn 't know what these people would be like—as individuals. And we have no idea how bad it was for the Trinity twins—how they got to be what they are. If the twins felt they had to make up their background, maybe the real story is so horrible that we can't imagine it.

That could be true, but it's no excuse for trying to kill you.

He held her more tightly. They would have done it, if you hadn't been brave enough to grab the computer and yank out the phone cord.

I knew I couldn 't look at the screen or it would get me, too.

What did it feel like to you ?

Like grabbing a live wire.

You didn 't see... a blue hand coming out of the screen ?

No! Oh, Lord. That's how it was for you?

Yeah.

She heaved in a breath and let it out. One more thing you should know. I... I couldn't work the catch with my fingers. They were paralyzed.

He moved so he could give her a direct look. What are you saying?

I... I used my mind—to uncouple the catch.

He stroked a hand through her hair. Good for you! Something else we need to practice.

She felt a shiver go through her. "I just want... to be left alone ... with you."

"Soon."

She tipped her face toward him. "You mean after we escape from the Crandall Consortium, from the police, and from the Trinity twins."

"We will."

"'Jordan—how can we fight the world?" she whispered.

"I think we have to be keep working on our gifts."

"That didn't do Todd and Glenn much good."

"I think they went off—if you'll pardon the expression— half cocked. We have the advantage of knowing what happened to them."

"Yes," she managed as she struggled for strength she didn't know she had. She felt a question from Jordan flickering at the edge of her mind but she blocked it.

"What are you thinking?" he demanded.

"You're always coming up with clever ways to practice. There's another skill we have to try."

"You're getting better at blocking me," he said, his voice not quite steady. "What is it that you don't want me to know?"

"I want to tell you in the regular way." She gulped. Getting off the bed, she moved a few feet away from him.

"We have to practice fighting off an attack. A mental attack."

"Jesus," he whispered, because he grasped the implications immediately.

"Do that to me. What they did to you."

She saw his hands clench and unclench. "No!"

"Now that we know what kind of power they can call on, we have to be prepared," she insisted. The hardest thing she'd ever done in her life was launch a sudden spear of energy at Jordan. But she made herself do it. Imagining a small thunderbolt—and hurling it toward his head.

He cried out, then threw up a shield. Not a pane of glass. A metal wall. She was about to praise his quick thinking when his eyes turned fierce.

He'd given her a moment of warning. Still the force of his counterattack was a steel spike ramming into her head.

Gasping, she struggled to call up a shield—the way he had done just moments earlier, but it was hard to do anything when the pain in her head made it difficult to think. She'd sent him a thunderbolt. But it was like a girl kicking a football. And he'd launched a man's attack.

"Stop," she gasped, even as she tried to fight him off.

His face contorted, and the pain mercifully cut off.

She collapsed onto the bed, her skin cold and clammy. The headache receded, and she was pretty sure he had taken pity on her—not that she'd fought him off by herself.

When he stroked her hair, she could feel his hand trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't like hurting you."

"Back to you."

He held her and stroked her, but she knew he was thinking about the attack launched through the computer.

Her gaze darted to the laptop. "Is it safe to use that machine? Is it safe to use your own e-mail address?"

"Shit. I didn't think of that. I just don't know. Maybe it's safe if I stay away from their Web site."

"Or maybe not. Now that they know who you are—and that you were poking around on their site."

They stared at each other, and he cursed again. "We are in one hell of a fix. Because if I can't use the Internet, I might as well be on an atoll in the South Pacific."

"Maybe that would be safer."

"For a while."

She felt like someone caught in a terrible psychological experiment. As if a diabolical scientist was testing her, but she didn't know why—or for what.

She rolled onto her side, looking like she was weak and defenseless. Before he could reach for her, she attacked him again. Despite the emotional cost of hurting Jordan, she had a flash of satisfaction at seeing the shock and surprise on his face, even as she felt beads of sweat form on her own forehead.

While she still basked in the glow of her small victory, he gave her back what she'd sent him. She gasped and struck out again. And for several minutes, they engaged in a battle royal that no one else could see—or understand.

She wasn't even sure how long it went on. But finally her mind and body were as limp as a beached jellyfish. Maybe Jordan felt the same way, because he stopped.

She lay on the bed, her breath shallow, and he moved beside her, clasping her hand, stroking her damp hair back from her face. You are very strong.

No.

Stronger than I am.

Are you sure?

Yeah. I gave up because you were winning. That's the truth.

I was sure I was losing.

I guess we both were.

He opened himself completely and let her see for herself.

Can your male ego take that?

I hope so.

They lay quietly for several minutes.

Finally she asked, So where are the other children Dr. Remington created? What's happened to them?

You mean Dr. Frankenstein.

Don't call us monsters.

What would you call us?

"People struggling to cope with powers beyond ordinary human conception," she murmured.

Okay. I'll go with that for now.

He settled down beside her, and they both dropped quickly into an exhausted sleep.

Sometime later she woke up. Panic surged through her when she realized he wasn't in the bed.

Jordan?

He stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed.

"Where are you going?"

"To get us some food."

It had been hours since breakfast, and eating hadn't entered her thoughts. But apparently he was being practical again.

"Let me come with you."

"It's better not to go out together," he answered.