The Unwanted (A Novella of the FBI Psychics) (13 page)

Nausea churned inside her and the breakfast she’d forced down her throat threatened to make a return appearance as she relived hours of confusion, memories of pain and fear and cold. Nothing concrete. Nothing certain.

And nothing from the bastards she needed to connect with…at least nothing solid. There were plenty of threads, but they were all disjointed and loose and when she tried to weave them into a fabric, nothing happened.

She
should
have enough to get a lock on the rapist, but…

Fifteen minutes later, she put the file down and shoved her damp, sweaty hair out of her face. “This is a waste of time. It’s a fucking mess, sheer chaos.”

She shot a look at Caleb and went to climb out of the car, only to pause, glancing back at him. His face could have been carved from rock, but his flesh was damp, as though he’d been sweating, and his eyes were glassy.

It was, she thought, almost exactly how she’d look, if she’d bothered to check. Not at all the way he usually looked when they’d come out of one of these connections before.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Unlike the way he looked, the answer was level and even. Completely poised.

He didn’t look fine. He looked on edge, his control more than a little shaky, but neither of them had time for this right now. Sighing, she climbed out of the car and met his gaze over the roof.

Unspoken words passed between them. A shared history and so many years of working together so well, it was like their minds were one. Even before he went to ask, she knew what he was going to say.

“Does she go here?”

Destin shook her head. “I don’t know. Oz doesn’t have a good relationship with her anymore. After the divorce…”

A car pulled into the parking lot and a rush of hot and cold chills broke out over Destin’s body while a knot of fear gripped her hard and tight. She’d lied to Caleb. No, she didn’t know for a
fact
, but her gut had already given her the answer.

Oz’s out-of-character actions, why she’d pulled strings and gotten Caleb out here.

Caleb’s odd feeling something just wasn’t right.

Destin’s inability to see the pieces she needed…it was because she didn’t
have
them all.

As the silver Lexus swung into a parking spot across the lot, Destin swallowed and then looked over at Caleb. “She knows how we work, you know,” she said quietly. “She knows you withhold the information until it’s something you know I’ll need. She knows I trust you to work it that way. And I bet she tried to get a glimmer off the information she had and didn’t succeed.”

A muscle ticked in Caleb’s jaw as Oz climbed out of her car. “So she sends somebody who feels a connection to this sort of crime.”

Destin nodded. She understood. She really did. She wasn’t concerned because her boss, her friend, had decided to keep her in the dark…what worried her was
why
.

What was Oz up to?

As the long, lean blonde started across the parking lot toward them, Destin stared at her, tried to pick up something,
anything
beneath Oz’s sturdy, solid shields.

But there was nothing.

“Mom?”

Oz’s mask…and her shields…cracked.

And Destin stumbled against the car under the avalanche of emotion that came pouring out.

Chapter Eleven

“I didn’t want to prejudice you with my personal connection to the case,” Oz said, a bland smile on her face.

Bullshit
.

Destin and her boss followed along behind Caleb and Oz’s daughter, a petite brunette who shared Oz’s eyes but nothing else. Well, that wasn’t true. Oz was a strong woman and although it wasn’t the same sort of strength, the girl Destin had just met in the parking lot had strength in her. A lot of it.

Just a quick handshake had been enough for Destin to realize what the girl had gone through.

She remembered more of it than the others had.

Not all, but the memories were clearer.

But instead of calling Oz on her lie, Destin just smiled. She still had a job to do. It was complicated by the fact that she now had to figure out how to keep Oz at bay, get the information to the cops, and all sorts of fun shit, but the job was still there.

Up ahead, Caleb and Oz’s daughter, a quiet, solemn girl with big, serious eyes, stopped in front of a glass-fronted restaurant. Monica gave them a tight smile and waved toward the door. “This is one of my favorite places for lunch—a couple of my friends work here…” Her voice trailed off and she looked away. Destin picked up on the unspoken words. She felt
safe
here. She only went to places where she felt safe now. After an awkward silence, she said, “I love the sushi. If that’s okay…?”

Destin could have told the girl there was no way she could eat, but she didn’t have to be psychic to know Monica was walking on an edge right now. No point in making her feel more nervous than she already was.

“Sushi is fine,” Caleb said quietly. He gently touched a hand to the girl’s shoulder and next to Destin, Oz tensed. Destin could feel the other woman’s mama-bear instincts flaring but it was unneeded.

Monica looked up at Caleb with the sort of smile people usually saved for lifelong friends.

Yeah, he had that effect on people. He’d always had the ability to calm even the most jumpy of souls.

“Good.” She shot her mother another nervous glance and Oz smiled at her as well, but it didn’t seem to have the soothing effect that Caleb’s had had.

As the other two pushed inside, Destin loitered out there with Oz another moment. “You two don’t get along well.”

“We don’t get along at all,” Oz said, her voice grim. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re here about a job, right?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Destin said quietly. “But you’re here because your daughter was one of the victims… Oz, why didn’t you tell me?”

Oz flinched. A visible shudder wracked her body before she got her emotions under control. The emotions, though, they continued to twist and torment her and because Destin had yet to shield herself the way she needed to, she picked up on that uncomfortable little merry-go-round.

“You work best when you have no connection to the job you’re working, Destin, you know that,” Oz said, her voice cool and level.

And if Destin hadn’t just taken that little ride through Oz’s emotions, she might have bought it. As it was, her gut was twisting and turning, full of too much emotion, too much chaos.

Oz could play the unaffected bit all she wanted, but Destin didn’t know why she bothered.

Whether they were estranged or not, the girl inside that restaurant was Oz’s daughter. She was affected by this no matter what.

The past thirty minutes had been one long, awful headache.

Destin had tried to ask Monica questions.

Oz fielded them.

This is getting nowhere fast
, Caleb thought moodily.

Sliding Destin a look, he caught her eye. A thousand words passed unspoken between them and Caleb shifted his attention back to Oz. “Oz, maybe you and I should go for a walk outside.”

“Not necessary,” she said, waving a hand.

Caleb looked over at the girl and saw that she had her attention almost completely on her hands. Her food was untouched and she’d drank an entire pot of tea. Running on too little sleep, too much nerve and all kinds of fear.

“Monica.”

She looked at him, her mouth pinched and tight, her eyes too dark in her face.

“You know what your mom does, right?”

She nodded, a short, jerky nod while she clenched her hands together in front of her, her fingers knotting and twisting over and over.

“You know what she does.”

Now some of the fear flickered and she looked up, the fear fading away until when she looked at them, her expression was clear and smooth as a doll’s. “I know. Lovely, honorable job…and she was never there for me. Never there for my dad.”

“Monica, I—”

She shook her head. “Enough, Mom. It’s old news. You saved so many, but you couldn’t save those closest to you. Not us, not your family…and not me.” Blowing out a breath, she passed a hand over her eyes and then glanced over at Oz. “Let me talk to your…agent. Whatever she is. You had her come here for a reason, we might as well get this done.” Then she curled her lip. “She’s wasting her time, though. Nobody has been able to find this bastard. She’s not going to be any different.”

“If that’s what you think, then you don’t know as much about what your mom does as you think,” Destin said quietly. As she leaned forward, she covered Monica’s nervous, pale hands with her own.

Caleb felt that familiar little hum when Destin reached out to connect with Monica.

Monica barely felt anything. It happened that way sometimes. Especially when the person had no psychic skill.

But Caleb felt that hum spread, rising to a steady roar in the back of his mind as the connection built.

“Oz.”

She lifted her head to stare at him, refusal glinting in her eyes.

Part of him wondered if it mattered, though. Destin wasn’t looking at her, and neither was Monica. The two women seemed intent on each other and neither of the other two mattered.

Oz clenched her jaw as she eased back from the table and rose to her feet. Her eyes slid past Monica’s head to rest on Destin’s face for a moment and then she looked at Caleb.

As she circled around the table, Caleb decided it was a good thing he no longer worked under her. She would have made the next few weeks, the next few
months
of his life difficult.

They were barely outside when Oz cut the silent routine. “I don’t need to be cut out from matters concerning my daughter,” she said, her voice icy.

“The problem is, you’re getting in the way.” Caleb shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, staring in through the glass. It wasn’t as easy to follow out here and he had to keep a tenuous connection or Oz would figure it out—

“Can you still read her?”

Mentally, he cursed. He’d never told Oz about the weird connection he shared with Destin. But apparently, it didn’t matter. She’d figured it out on her own. With an easy shrug, he lied through his teeth. “It’s been a long time, Oz. We’re trying to find our groove again and it’s taking a while.”

The look in her eyes said she didn’t believe him.

Caleb didn’t care.

Destin was upset. He could feel it, although he wasn’t tuned in enough to figure out the cause.

Images more than anything. Darkness. The scrape of concrete against his back—residual memory from Monica.

A panicked cry and then hands covering her mouth, slamming her wrists down onto the pavement. Hurried, low voices.
“What the fuck—she’s not out…”
That voice… Monica knew that voice. And he sensed it as Destin thought,
Gotta remember that…one of the other girls recognized a voice…

It was straining Destin’s control, though. Uncertain if he could make this connection without touching her, he reached out anyway and watched as some of the tension faded from her shoulders. Saw as she flicked him a quick glance when Monica bowed her head.

The connection between them deepened and some of that misery she was feeling, he pulled it into himself, watched as a bit more strain faded from her eyes.

Everything else around him faded, burning away into white noise. Oz said something and he knew he replied, figured it was probably a logical answer because she didn’t keep yapping at him. But he had no idea what she’d asked. What he’d said.

Just Destin, as she relived a girl’s attack.

He felt the pain as powerful hands threatened to crush fragile bones. Felt his rage tear through him only to all but drown under the onslaught of fear.

Laughter cut through the strange spell that gripped him, piercing the silence, but never quite penetrating it. That part of his mind that still functioned, kept him upright, kept him from drooling or walking out in traffic, made a mental note that the place was getting crowded. People flowing into the restaurant. None of them mattered.

Just Destin. Just her.

And through their connection, he felt Destin stiffen.

Chapter Twelve

It hit too hard.

Monica had remembered far more than she realized, buried under a thin, tough shield that had gotten her through the awful days, the horrible nights. Destin kept that thin shield in place, determined not to damage it. If that was how Monica needed to get through this, more power to her.

But now the images were dancing through Destin’s mind.

A face…

That security guard.

It
had
been him.

Destin didn’t know how, didn’t know why she couldn’t get a read on him, but he was involved.

And…

Her mind fought to lock on the next face.

It was hard, though, because Monica was rebelling, resisting the connection even as Destin fought to keep it. Resisting, because Monica
knew
the boy. Those memories were hidden, muzzy by drugs and fear and denial… Denial because she
knew
him. Knew him. Liked him. Trusted him.