Fatal Strike (12 page)

Seventeen years he had been like this. Seventeen endless years.

“Leave us,” Greaves said.

Maura hesitated, wary of a trap to test her dedication. “Ah, there are still sixteen minutes left for this massage session, sir,” she said. “You told us that we must not for any reason skip or shorten—”

“I said, leave us! I will finish the session myself. Out!”

Dan and Maura peeled off their latex gloves and scurried out.

Greaves approached the padded table, with its sheepskin covering. Soft and yielding, to constantly stimulate Geoff’s mottled, prone-to-ulcers skin. Geoff was continually turned, continually massaged, disinfected, and exfoliated, his skin hydrated with carefuly formulated unguents to improve his circulation.

Greaves stared down at his son’s skull-like face. His thin, fragile skin was pulled taut across strong cheekbones. The slack mouth, the sunken eyes, the eyelids a fragile, veined blue-violet.

Geoff’s bone structure was so like Greaves’ own face, but the resemblance was no longer possible to see, his son was so pitifully thin. Geoff used to have Carol’s glorious golden hair, but it had thinned to a sparse, colorless fuzz, unsavory flakes of dead skin suspended in it. Geoff lay on his side, clad in briefs, his limbs twined with the snaking tubes that were permanently lodged in his orifices.

Greaves ignored the large box of sterile latex gloves mandated for the medics to use when they handled his son’s body, and scooped up a handful of the thick unguent, going to work on Geoff’s left leg. The slow, rhythmic, familiar movements soothed him. He massaged Geoff often.

His son seemed even thinner than usual. He should tell the medics to up the caloric load in the IV drip. Or to increase the duration of the muscle stimluation sessions, though the sessions he dictated were already many times over what any physiotherapist would recommend, or even consider useful.

But why not? It wasn’t as if Geoff had anything better to do. Greaves had no constraints of budget or time. He could hire a staff of fifty or five hundred to work on Geoff around the clock. And would do so, in a heartbeat, if only it would help.

His anger bubbled up, over, and out. “You were unfair,” he announced, as his hands slid up and down Geoff’s shriveled calf. “You and your mother both. You refused to listen to reason.”

The silence that answered him was eloquent. Carol had been a master of the speaking silence, since he met her back in middle school in Blaine, Oregon, and Geoff had inherited her gift. He had always read the subtext of Carol’s silent protests with ease. Even before the brutal experiments that had jolted his psi to life.

It was one of the things she had loved about him, at first, when they were young and madly in love. Him, heading off to Germany, a private first class in the army. She, already pregnant with Geoff, stuck back in Blaine, in her mother’s trailer. He’d sworn to break her out of that place someday, as if it were Alcatraz. It hadn’t proven to be so easy.

Then, one day, on the base in West Germany, he’d gotten the call. He’d been chosen for a special assignment. A secret training protocol, run by the legendary Colonel Holt. A small group of soldiers had been selected, based on some rare gift that testing had revealed. Colonel Holt had explained that if these gifts could be developed, they would be incredible assets for their country. The training was rigorous, and he would be moved to another facility, isolated from his buddies, unable to tell his family back home what he was doing, or where. But his family would be well taken care of. Until he could see them again, which might be quite some time.

Of course, he’d consented. Who didn’t want to be an incredible asset for one’s country? Particularly if it benefited Carol and Geoff.

He couldn’t have known what the “training” would be. The pain was crushing. The blood vessel-bursting, crazy-making agony of those torture sessions with Colonel Holt had almost driven him mad. Each one had left him helpless, unable to move, speak, even turn his head. He spent weeks unable to do anything but rock in his cot, hiding from the light, flinching at the faintest sound. He’d hoped for death, but he didn’t die. He’d healed. And changed.

Oh, how he had changed.

Gradually, he’d discovered that he could do those things that Colonel Holt wanted from him, and more. He also realized quickly that he had to underplay his abilities, out of self-defense. He was quite sure that no one had ever intended for him to develop this much power.

Colonel Holt clearly had suspicions, but that didn’t stop him from using Greaves for years to conduct intelligence missions, using his telepathy to gather crucial intel for national security. Greaves never let on about his growing capacities for telekinesis and coercion, or his burgeoning ability to organize, multitask, assimilate, and organize information. There were other talents, too, hard to pinpoint or define.

His cognitive ability skyrocketed. He could learn a language in a few days, sound like a native, and retain the knowledge like a bear trap. One dull weekend, he’d taken on the stock market and all of its tricks and games, and over the following weeks had earned a fortune by investing and deftly reinvesting his earnings.

Fun at first, but not all that interesting in the long run. Money was useful, but over a certain sum, the number of zeros on the bank balance ceased to matter.

Carol and Geoff saw little of him, but they were well provided for. They wanted for nothing, lived in a beautiful Victorian house on the lake in Blaine. Geoff could have art and music lessons and go to an exclusive prep school. But on Greaves’ visits home, things were not as they should be. Carol could not hide her inner tension from a telepath.

She was afraid of the changes that she sensed in him.

He was not at liberty to explain the truth to her, or anyone. At that point, no one knew the true extent of what he could do. Colonel Holt had been poised to sound the alarm and close him down, but sadly, the good colonel’s heart had stopped unexpectedly, one night, at a hotel in Berlin.

Greaves had been in the next room. He had telekinetically constricted a vessel in the man’s heart. Useful trick. Subtle. Traceless.

Those of his superiors who knew of his telepathy treated him as if he had a deadly contagion. As if he cared about their secrets.

He cared about Carol’s secrets, though. Her fear had driven a wedge between them. Even when making love, using all his powers to please her, that dark spot remained. And grew.

Then he began to sense it in Geoff, too.

Geoff had been twelve when his father had realized that the boy had as much psi potential as he did himself. Flashes of strong natural telepathy, precognitive ability that showed in his remarkable artworks. By then, he’d given up hope of real intimacy with Carol, but Geoff was another matter. With the boy’s capabilities, Geoff could join him on a higher plane, guiding the world to a better future, as a loving parent guided an innocent child.

The thought was so seductive. His gift was a great burden, but Geoff could stand beside him. Help him to give it all back.

It became his obsession. Geoff was sensitive, compassionate. A healer, a mystic. He would provide the gentler traits his father lacked, and they would rule like two gods, complementing each other. As perfect as mortal flesh could be.

But Carol had objected when the training began. Her unreasonable panic had been disastrous. The training was as frightening to watch as it was stressful for Greaves to inflict, but Carol refused to understand the value of the pain he inflicted upon their son. It was Thad’s duty to help his son reach that potential—at all costs.

The necessity to silence Carol had broken his heart. Geoff’s newly forming psi ablities had made it impossible to hide. He had seen what his father had been forced to do before it even happened.

Geoff’s grief and anger at Carol’s death had caused the boy to retreat behind an impervious mind shield, from which he had never returned.

No brain activity showed on any monitoring device that was attached to Geoff. All doctors who examined him pronounced him brain dead, and yet, his mind continued to generate a shield the likes of which could only be the product of a highly functioning mind and will. A shield that only Greaves himself was capable of perceiving. And his growing army of pharmacologically enhanced psychics, of course. A lesser breed, true, but they had their uses.

Geoff’s shield was the psi equivalent of a light-sucking black hole. A loud, reverberating, constant fuck-you. His son was still in there, alive, conscious. Constantly taunting his father with his stubborn silence. He was almost thirty years old now. Seventeen years of wasting muscles, wasting possibilities, wasted potential. So infuriating.

That damned shield. Just like the one Lara Kirk generated. It maddened him. It made him want to just break . . . them . . .
apart.

He was clutching Geoff’s thin calf so tightly, his nails had broken the skin. He dropped Geoff’s leg, and watched the bluish, poorly oxygenated blood well up sluggishly into the small wounds. Geoff’s circulation was poor. His medication clearly needed adjustment.

He clenched his teeth, and forced himself to daub disinfectant over the small wounds. An infection would be devastating to Geoff’s weakened immune system. He flung the cotton swab to the ground.

His son’s insolent silence made his teeth grind.

“You were unfair to me,” he told Geoff again. “When you come out, you will understand. And you will see that I was right.”

D
avy dragged out his cell after a few minutes and tapped into it. “Where are you?” he barked into it. “Yeah. Okay. My head hurts like hell, but I’m good now that we’re out of range. Miles extracted me. Kid is bad ass.” He listened. “Understood. Logging road .4 miles after the junction of Mary Creek Road and Muller’s Grade. Got it.”

He closed the call. “We’re switching drivers,” he said. “Connor wants to drive. Aaro will drive your rig.”

“That’s insane!” Miles protested. “Connor was practically unconscious fifteen minutes ago! What the fuck is he thinking?”

Davy slanted him a glance. “He’s thinking you’re the lucky bastard gets to deal with the girl.”

“Deal with what? How? I already dealt with the girl! I got her out, right? Haven’t I dealt with enough?”

“Evidently not. Shut up. My head hurts.”

Miles bit his tongue. He’d become accustomed to being the poor chump with the soul-crushing head pain. He felt bad for Davy, but he felt no pain himself, and the absence of pain made him giddy.

That thought sparked the sudden awareness of Lara, still inside.

you ok? he queried.

yes

think we r out of range now

There was a pause, and then, can i stay anyway? i like it here

Heat rose in his face. His heart quickened.
Get a grip, bonehead.

sure whtevr he replied. c u in a few

Aaro, Connor, and Sean waited outside the vehicle at the meeting point on the logging road. Lara remained in the backseat, face pressed to her huddled knees.

Aaro held out his hand. “Give me the keys,” he said. “Connor drives the SUV. You sit in the back.”

“But I should be driving!” Miles protested. “I’m the only one who wasn’t compromised by the—”

“I’m fine,” Connor said. “Deal with your lady friend.”

“She’s not my lady friend!” Miles protested. “I just met her!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sean said. “She’s your problem now, buddy.”

“She’s crying,” Connor added, darkly.

“I’m not dealing with that,” Aaro said. “My quota is full. She’s all yours, my man.”

“You got her out. You comfort her.” Sean splashed a handful of water from a bottle onto his hand to rinse the dried blood from his pallid face, and looked Miles over. “What’s with the naked torso under the jacket?” he said. “That’s a new look for you. And the caveman hair? Are we trying to impress someone with the sixpack abs, my friend?”

Miles exhaled, counting down from five. “She needed the shirt.”

Sean’s eyes widened, and flicked to Lara, who was still hiding her face. “She didn’t have a shirt on? Oh, man. I’m so titillated.”

Miles got into the vehicle, ignoring Sean’s jibes. Connor picked up speed. Lara had her hands clamped over her face. She gave him a wet-eyed look between her fingers. Shook her head, mouthing
sorry.

Aw, shit. His throat tightened like a lug nut. Fuck this.

He reached for her, hauled her up onto his lap. Not that there was much effort involved. She was so thin and light and fragile. Though the lovely tits did not reflect that at all.

Her ass felt nice against his lap, too. He tucked her head under his chin, to preclude eye contact, and tried not to think about that. His synapses would overload if he had to look at her in addition to feeling her. And having her tucked up tight inside that secret private place in his head was titillating, too. Titillation every damn place he turned.

Her body had that delicate, baby-bird vibration, like she was afraid to be held or touched, but she didn’t pull away. He could hear her heart racing as if she’d been running. And her subtle female scent made his hormones zing. His animal instincts knew that she was aware of him, too. Her body was answering this glandular racket his own body was making, but he could not trip out on that response. She was in no way responsible for anything her body might non-verbally say in the wake of this craziness. She was fucked up to hell and gone.

But he was so aware of her face against his chest, the hot moisture of tears, the tickle of her eyelashes. His collarbone had become as discerning as eyes or fingertips.

Her hand was splayed over his chest. So pale.

Sean caught the vibe, human antenna that he was, and craned his neck with a grin. “That’s more like it,” he said. “Do your duty.”

“Shut up,” Miles snapped. “She does not need your bullshit.”

“Ooh, aren’t we protective.”

“I mean it, Sean.”

“Lighten up,” Sean said. “We all have our coping mechanisms, and getting in your face is one of my favorites. So shoot me.”

“I will,” Miles warned. “I swear, I will.”

Thankfully, Sean turned around, still grinning. Miles felt guilty about letting himself be needled. Sean always got manic after intense danger. He’d crawled up that hill at risk to his own life, and gotten his brain zapped by a psycho monster, all for Miles’ sake.

But sad experience had taught him that an apology just encouraged the guy to be annoying again. Best to zip it. Let it pass.

His torment was not destined to cease, though, because Connor promptly started in on him. “We need to talk,” he announced.

The edge in Connor’s voice made Miles’ stomach sink. “It’s been a tough night,” he said. “Let’s not and say we did.”

Connor ignored him. “This Greaves. He fucked us up from a considerable distance. With his mind. All of us. At the same time.”

“Yes,” Miles agreed. “That he did.”

“So, he’s like that guy Rudd, then? Same deal?”

“Not exactly,” Miles said. “Stronger. A lot stronger. To a power of ten at least, and I think he has other tricks up his sleeve, too. Though I don’t have any evidence to back that up.”

“He does.” Lara’s voice was soft, but steady. “Telekenisis. He moved me across the room like a doll. Telepathy, too. Stronger than Anabel’s. Other things, as well. He hinted at them.”

“Yikes,” Sean muttered, under his breath.

Connor ruminated on that as he drove. “And yet, you were not affected by the attack. How is that possible?”

Miles felt defensive. “My shield just happens to work well against his psi energy,” he said. “I don’t know why.”

“And where did you learn this technique? After running away from everyone, refusing all help when it was offered it to you?”

“I don’t know!” Miles flared. “Maybe it’s because of the brain damage from Spruce Ridge. I was trying not to go crazy with the stress flashbacks. I worked on the shield day and night in the mountains, and it just so happens to ward off this guy’s particular style of mind-fucking. What, does that offend you? You’re pissed about that?”

“Yeah,” Connor said, belligerently. “Yeah, I am pissed about that! I’m pissed about you distancing yourself, keeping secrets from us!”

“Look, man, I never meant to—”

“What about her?” Connor jerked his hand toward Lara. She’d stopped crying and was following the conversation, wide-eyed and attentive. “How’d she keep from getting fried?”

“I was fried,” Lara offered. “For a while. But then I got inside.”

“Inside what?” Sean swiveled his head, his bright eyes fascinated.

Lara jerked her chin at Miles. “Him. Inside his shield, I mean.”

Baffled silence, for some seconds, until Sean took it upon himself to break it with a low whistle. “Whoa,” he said. “Talk about titillating.”

“Shut up, Sean,” Miles growled again, and turned back to Connor. “It’s like she said. She, ah . . . got inside my mind shield somehow.”

“I’ve been hiding out there. I’ve done it for weeks,” Lara said softly. “It’s the reason I’m still alive.”

The car was deathly silent for a long moment. When Connor finally started up again, his voice was even colder. “So are you going to tell us when you got the mysterious superpowers?”

“Bullshit,” Miles said wearily. “It’s not a superpower, it’s just—”

“Yeah, yeah, we heard that. It’s just brain damage. Combined with random chance, and dumb, blind luck. You find the girl nobody can find. You give her a long-distance telepathic mind shield. You rescue her singlehandedly, without waiting for our help. Now you’re the only one who can get near that freak Greaves without getting mentally ass-fucked. Are you bullet-proof now? Can you fly? And you never told us anything. It’s headaches, and hallucinations, and you’re considering taking the meds. Oh, poor me! Stress flashbacks! What the fuck is your problem, Miles? When did you stop trusting us?”

“It’s not about trust!” Miles yelled.

“The hell it’s not!”

“Dudes. Calm down,” Sean soothed. “Now is not the time for a—”

“I practically got my head exploded, putting myself out there to save his ungrateful ass and rescue his girlfriend!” Connor raged. “I can yell at him if I damn well feel like it. He is righteously pissing me off!”

Miles glanced nervously at Lara to see how she took her new title. She didn’t meet his eyes.

Sean swiveled his head. “He’s just uptight because neither of us could help Davy,” he said. “Davy would be dead if not for you. That burns his ass, but I know he’s grateful, underneath. Aren’t you, Con?”

“Shut up, Sean,” his brother snarled.

“See? He still loves you.” Sean turned wistful eyes on Lara. “Everyone tells me to shut up. But you won’t, sweetheart, will you? You’re nicer than them.”

Lara looked up, shook her head. “I don’t know how nice I am. But I’m certainly grateful for your help.”

“Ah.” Sean closed his eyes, in exaggerated bliss. “So polite.”

Miles suddenly registered the sensation, tickling against his shield. “Slow down, and pull over,” he said. “Right now.”

Connor promptly did so. “What is it?”

“Telepath ahead,” Miles said. “Scanning the cars that go by. Greaves posted someone at the highway exit out of Kolita Springs.”

“Look at that. A brand-new superpower,” Connor said sourly.

Sean shot them a grim look. “Con and Davy and I don’t have time for a crash course in mind control against invasive telepaths.”

Miles thought furiously. “Breakfast,” he said.

The brothers gave him identical baffled expressions.

“Think about breakfast,” Miles said. “Fill your mind with it. Eggs, bacon, coffee, orange juice, hash browns, whatever. Full sensory panorama. You both like food. It should work. Don’t try to block, just let him read that and only that. Sex might work, too. Take your pick.” He yanked out his cell, and tapped in a message to Davy with the same directive. His phone burped almost instantly with a returning text.

spanish omelet xtra guac

He looked at Lara. “You just stay where you are,” he said. “Inside. And get down, out of sight. Come to think of it . . .”

He slid off the seat and stretched out on the floor, beckoning to her with his arms.

She reached out, timidly. He grabbed, yanked. She lost her balance in the moving car, and toppled onto him with a soft thud.

He steadied her, forcing himself to breathe. She was half-straddling him. One knee on the floor, the other clamped between his. They thudded over a bump in the road and he reached up reflexively to cup her face so she didn’t bang her jaw.

And found he couldn’t take his hand away. Her skin was so soft. The bones of her face so delicate. She was struggling to breathe.

She felt familiar, in his arms. He already knew the shape of the bones in her face, the texture of her skin, her hair. Hell, he knew what she tasted like when he lifted her skirts and—

Stop it right there
.

She was perched squarely on top of a hard-on that she could not fail to notice. He stared, hypnotized by her gorgeous eyes. As he had been from the first photo of her that he’d ever seen. The one he’d picked up from the floor of her father’s trashed living room.

The day he’d found Joseph Kirk’s mutilated body.

That jolted him back to business. He felt that questing tendril of invasive telepathy getting more intense, more palpable.

Concentrate.
“You guys got your mental breakfasts ready?”

“Home fried potatoes, English muffins oozing butter, ham steak, fried eggs on top. Lots of coffee. With half and half,” Sean said dreamily.

“Black coffee, for God’s sake,” Connor said. “Half and half is for pussies. Sausage with lots of pepper and sage. And hot biscuits.”

The McCloud banter brought a smile to Lara’s face. First one he’d seen, ever. Even in photos, she was always solemn. It was fleeting, luminous. Magic, like the elusive glow of starlight.

He would do any crazy thing to score another one of those.

Then it was gone, and another bump in the road jolted her on top of his body. She wiggled, deliciously. Shifted, to steady herself.

Her lips were so close to his, the slightest movement would turn them into contact with his. Tension built, tugging him.

He felt the pinch, the probe, seeking. “We’re passing him.”

“I feel it.” Sean’s voice was remote, like he was in a trance.

“Me, too,” Connor added.

Silent seconds ticked by. No one breathed. He was locked, motionless on the floor, staring into Lara’s huge eyes.

The ticklish prodding faded, then vanished.

He gave her a nod, and she clambered off, onto the seat. Her cheeks were flushed a faint pink, along her sharp cheekbone. Pretty. A hint of color. He craned his neck to stare behind them. No one appeared to be following. His phone burped. Davy, texting.

clear no one following

Tension released in a shuddering sigh. He closed his eyes. “Davy and Aaro made it past,” he said.

“Good. I’m hungry now,” Sean said. “Do you suppose—”

“No,” Miles cut in.

“By the way. Tam found a place for you to rest,” Connor said. “I tried to text you the info on the drive from Portland, but of course, you wouldn’t answer us. It’s a couple of hours from here, taking back roads. She figured you’d need to chill someplace real quiet. Since you were having such a hard time at the wedding. You know, with the noise.”