Weakest Lynx (30 page)

“So, I won’t see him?” I frowned.

“You’ll see him—I bet he’ll be showing up for dinner every night. He may even hang out here, doing computer searches on your case. He won’t be charged with your safety, though—not until he’s a hundred percent.”

Quiet filled the room. I couldn’t read Striker’s mood. Or my own for that matter.

“Can you help me understand what happened here tonight?” Striker’s voice was strength and warmth.

I cleared the debris from my throat. “I was trained in Healing Energy work, and I’m a Reiki Master. These are both forms of energy healing that I learned to help my mother through the end of her terminal illness.” I felt self-protective, formal, a soldier in a debriefing. “When the men came in, I understood it was going to be some time before they could get traditional medical care, so I applied what I knew in order to help them.”

“I’ve seen energy healing done in various ways, in the different countries where the military had us posted. I know, in some cases, it can be effective.” Striker seemed like a tourist in a foreign country, taking in the landscape, trying to make out the language, nonjudgmental. “My men described their experiences to me. Very interesting. Blaze said you whispered something to each of the men, and they seemed to fall into a trance. Did you use hypnotism? Did they need to be in an altered state for the energy to work?”

“Not at all. I asked them to trust me and to make themselves available for healing. I have to give them kudos. It had to have been a very strange experience. I was putting out enormous amounts of energy.”

“Energy from you?” Striker’s concern was tangible. “I don’t want you to exert or injure yourself to help my men.”

“That’s not how it works. I don’t give them my energy; I channel energy sort of like an electrical conduit.” Well usually. I was still trying to wrap my head around what happened after I stopped doing Reiki. I wished I could talk to Miriam and Kim.

The sensations I experienced sitting in the rocking chair unnerved me. They felt otherworldly. Like I was connecting to something bigger. Stronger. Something dangerously threatening. But not Wilson. I was sure it had nothing directly to do with Wilson. Though …  no, that wasn’t entirely true. Wilson shimmered around the edges of my consciousness, and the omnipresent stench was denser—acrid in my nostrils. Two entirely different scenarios played out. Two layers. Which probably explained my confusion. With Wilson, I sensed he was physically closer than any of us would have guessed. With the other … I just didn’t know. Something was brewing.

I wondered if I could sweep away the first layer—the thick, heavy one that wrapped around me so tightly when Striker touched my hands—would I pick up more information about Wilson? I didn’t like the idea of Wilson being physically close. Had he discovered the safe house?

“Then later, when you sat in the chair?” Though spoken gently, Striker’s question snapped me back from my thoughts, jarring me.

“I don’t know. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

“You weren’t able to stop the connection?”

“I wasn’t connected to either Jack or Gater; I was still pumping energy—just not energy I recognized.”

“When I touched your hands, my whole body lit up.”

I shifted uncomfortably around in the bed. My breathing came in shallow puffs. I sat up, hoping to find more oxygen. To gain more control. “Near as I can figure, when you approached you were a creative force. You wanted to help me, to make sure I was all right. At the time, I generated an equal force. I think our energies knocked up against each other, like two positive ends of a battery trying to meet.” I bumped my fists together to demonstrate the idea. “To me it felt like sparks, like getting shocked. Had you approached in a receptive way, then my energy would have flowed into you.”

Striker gave me a long, appraising look. Finally, he said, “I’d like to try. Can you do it now?”

“Sure,” I put my palms over his heart, making the symbol and whispering the mantra to start the flow of energy. When the Reiki stopped, Striker took my hands in his, turned them over and searched my palms, rubbing them with his thumbs. “Thank you,” he said.

“Striker? Did this energy seem different from the energy when I was sitting in the chair?”

“Very different. Why?”

“I’d like to tell you something. It has to be confidential. You can’t share this with anyone. Promise?” I whispered.

“This sounds intriguing.” An odd tone colored his voice—maybe he was bracing himself for a new Lexi surprise. Maybe he should be.

“You didn’t promise.”

“Lexi, I’m not sure I can. I’ll try to respect your confidentiality. I can’t give you anything more.”

“Okay. I guess.” I crisscrossed my legs and looked down at Striker. “The backstory first. My mom started hospice with our favorite nurse Kim. Kim trained people in Healing Energy and Reiki. When she saw my interest, Kim taught me how to use both forms of energy work to help Mom.”

“This has to do with your healing work?”

“No, not really. Over time, as I became better at using the energy to help, I noticed that sometimes the energy shifted, and I had these strange experiences. They’re hard to describe, sort of like standing between two planes. I call it ‘going behind the Veil.’”

“Like an out of body experience?”

“Sort of—at least that gives you a frame of reference. At the time, I didn’t know what was happening. So I asked Kim about it, and Kim introduced me to her wife Miriam who is a professional psychic. Miriam worked with me a little to see what I could and couldn’t do. Now, Miriam isn’t a wannabe. She’s a respected authority. Law enforcement up and down the East Coast hire her to help with missing persons and to find clues on cold cases. Dave and Stan both know her.”

Striker interrupted me. “Is this Miriam Laugherty we’re talking about?”

“You know her, too?”

“I know
of
her. The agents hate to call her in. They don’t want to believe she can do what she can, but she’s undeniably effective. She has a good track record and an impeccable reputation for professionalism.”

“Thank you. Your saying that helps me to tell you this story.” I rubbed my thumb into the palm of my hand. “Miriam started working with me. It turns out I have a talent for remote searches. I trained with Miriam to build my skills until I could ‘go behind the Veil’ at will and gather information like Miriam can. Miriam wanted me to help her work on some of her cases. She always has more requests than she can handle. I thought I’d like solving crimes with her.”

Striker pulled his brow together. How should I read that? Worried, maybe. “Did Spyder know about this?”

Why would that matter? “Uh, yes.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. You trained with Miriam …”

“Right, and I started being able to leave my body and retrieve information at will. Miriam did a lot with imprints, that is to say, a crime that happened in the past. I couldn’t do much with that at all. My skills were present tense. This would have been good, had things worked out better. Miriam would have worked on cold cases, and I’d take the immediate cases.”

“Things didn’t work out?”

“Not at all,” I said emphatically. “One night Miriam brought me this case—a woman in imminent danger—Miriam wasn’t having any luck picking up on her. Long story short, I found her. The process was horrific, and I decided I couldn’t use those skills ever again.”

“Why? What happened?” Striker asked.

“When I went behind the Veil, the crisis seemed to suck me in. I merged with this woman. I could see what she saw and feel what she felt. I experienced all of it. When I was able to separate myself, I had to sleep for three days to recover. It was physically and emotionally painful.” My gaze searched along the seam separating the ceiling from the wall. My fingers worked the soft cotton sheets convulsively. “When I talked to Miriam, she and I agreed that doing psychic police work wasn’t going to be the right thing for me. She said I should do what felt comfortable, and decline the rest. That was pretty much it. I haven’t felt a pull toward the Veil, that is, a pull to leave this plane, since Mom died. I definitely felt it tonight, when I sat in the rocking chair.”

“Do you think it has something to do with finding Wilson?”

“Not directly. His information is unrelated to the pull.”

“What?” He shook his head, his eyes quizzical.

“I felt Wilson, but his energy was kind of coattailed on. Like the energy attached peripherally.”

“I’m not sure I know how to ask questions about this. Did you get any sense of why you felt this way?”

“I’m pretty sure it had to do with you. It started when you came into the room. When you touched my hands, I felt like I should pull you in to see something, something incredibly important. It was such a demanding sensation. I couldn’t wrap my brain around what it meant, though, or what I should do about it. The energy stopped when you left.”

“I don’t have any answers for you. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not in any trouble, are you? Any danger?” I reached out to grip at his arm.

“My job is to be in danger. I’m in danger all the time. So far, I’ve made it through. Talk to me about the Wilson coattail thing you said.”

“If I’m right about danger surrounding you, it doesn’t come from Wilson’s direction. I’d say that because you are invested in finding Wilson, you’ve picked up on his energy along the way, and I sensed it. He isn’t far.”

Striker stilled. “We aren’t far from the capture? Or he’s not physically far away?”

“There was too much. Everything happened too fast … If I had to guess, I’d say both. You’re on the trail. He’s nearby. What nearby means is relative. It could mean here in the vicinity or DC.”

“Right here? In the neighborhood?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t understand the impression. I definitely picked up on a woman and a child though.”

Striker’s eyes dilated, and he pushed up to sitting. “What did you get about the woman and her child?” he asked very quietly, barely moving his jaw.

“Just their vague presence. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you if I get anything more.”

He nodded.

“You didn’t seem surprised by all this,” I said.

“That’s because, Chica, I’m learning to pace myself around you. You need to sleep.” With that, Striker leaned over and turned off the light. And, as if responding to a command, as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out for the night.

M
y sheets enveloped me in a damp cocoon as I pushed through the surface of a horrible dream. No, not a dream. An impression. A foreboding. I glanced around Striker’s room. I was alone. Well, whatever scary-ass thing that was headed my way would come whether I was ready or not. Might as well face it dressed.

My feet were light on the tread as I scooted down the stairs, hoping to find Striker eating breakfast. In the kitchen, Axel balanced on a stool at the counter, drinking coffee and tapping on his computer.

“Striker’s gone already?” My voice sounded breathy, like I had just stepped off a treadmill.

“He had an early meeting at Headquarters. Left at six.” Axel reflexively glanced at the clock.

“Is he going to be gone all day? Are you my watchdog?”

“I’ll be here ’til noon. I expect Striker back then.” Axel squinted at me. “Is everything alright? Something I can help you with?”

“I wanted to go over the puzzle with him.” I pointed at the string and Post-its all over the table.

Axel nodded, and I went into the kitchen to get a cup of tea.
I’m unsettled,
I thought, and my stomach sloshed violently in response. I burst into the bathroom, vomiting up my anxiety. When I sheepishly exited, I lay down on the couch for a few minutes with a cold cloth over my eyes, but it didn’t help anything.

Heebie-jeebies sparked under my skin and across my scalp—my early warning system. But could I trust it? Before the attack, I experienced this specific prickle—this urgent need to move, run, get out—only when imminent danger hovered close. I’d been having the heebie-jeebies off and on since I’d arrived at the safe house.

At first, I thought it was a symptom of my brain injury. But when I thought it through, I realized this didn’t happen at the hospital—only since I came to the house. Odd. This was day five. Nothing had happened to
me
yet—only poor Jack and Gater. According to Striker, Gater and Jack got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just bad luck.

I tried to meditate and center myself. Big flop. I couldn’t exercise to burn off this frenzied energy … I ended up looking out the window, pacing the floor, and vomiting again, only to move toward the window and start the cycle over. I was driving poor Axel nuts. He kept peering over his computer at me with scrutinizing intensity.

“Ma’am, are you alright?”

“I feel weird, Axel.” I moved one hand over the other, like I was peeling off gloves.

“Do you need medical assistance?”

“I’ll be fine. A little stir crazy, maybe.” I picked up the channel changer and tried to find something on TV to distract my attention away from the despair my sixth sense was picking up from the woman and her child.  

The phone rang. I had been waiting for it with so much tension that I jumped.

Axel gave me a sideways glance and answered it. “Striker’s coming up the drive, ma’am.” He spoke in a placating voice as if he were trying to coax me off a ledge.

When Striker strode in, he studied me with his hands on his hips. I stood in the middle of the room, digging my thumb into my palm. He glanced at Axel. “Has she been doing this long?”

“Since she woke up this morning.” Axel stood to gather his paperwork. “She hasn’t eaten anything either—just tea, and she vomited it back up.”

Striker walked into the kitchen and looked around. “Did you make something for lunch, Lexi?” I shook my head. Eyes wide. Panting.

Striker took cold cuts out of the fridge, made me a sandwich and a bowl of fruit, and brought them to the sofa. “Can you try to eat something?” he asked.

I nodded and put the food mechanically in my mouth, not tasting a thing.

“What needs to be done?” Striker’s low tone ensured only I would hear.