Sentinel Lost (Mind Sweeper Series Book 5) (6 page)

“And she will not let me drive it.”

Misha’s chuckle morphed into a full belly laugh.

We made our way into the front reception area, where the desk sergeant buzzed the door open and directed us down the hall to the Captain’s office. The Captain’s assistant greeted us and then led us into an interrogation room to wait, he said, until the Captain finished his meeting.

Five minutes later, Talia opened the door and joined us.

I shrugged. “We could have waited for you.”

“It’s okay. I just careened into a man in the hall. But it was worth it. He was one fine-looking human.”

Jean Luc frowned, and Talia gave him a hip bump. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

“Isn’t the honeymoon stage over with you two yet?”

After ten minutes of waiting and not discussing anything too relevant, since we were in an interrogation room and the walls had ears, my antsy came to the forefront. Morrison said we needed to be there at nine sharp, and now we were twiddling our appendages.

I stretched and walked around the table to the mirror, where I stared at my reflection. Maybe I should let my short hair grow out? Change the color again? It hadn’t been blue for a while, and blue looked good with my gray eyes.

The longer I stared in the mirror, the more my skin tingled. Either someone was watching us, or my usual paranoia had kicked in. I winked at the mirror. If someone was watching, I wanted them to know I was on to them.

A minute later, Morrison came into the room.
Coincidence?

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said. “Have we learned anything new?”

I smiled. “Before we get started, why don’t you invite whoever’s watching us to come in too so we can get this party started?”

He nodded at the mirror and then walked to a switch on the far wall and flipped it on. “No one can hear us now.” He rubbed his hands together and beamed at us like a proud parent. “I was able to pull some strings and bring in someone from the Feds who knows about the supernatural and will help us hide it as best he can. Added bonus is, he used to work for me, so he knows Cleveland, too.”

Oh, God.

The door opened behind me, and I turned slowly, knowing, but not wanting to believe, who would be standing there.

I locked onto his face and my vision narrowed, black closing in until I was staring down a long tunnel. And at the end of the tunnel was Dalton.

He studied me while I stared right back at him. He was still lean, and his dark brown hair was shorter than I remembered. Maybe it was a regulation Fed haircut.

And, of course, front and center were his iridescent turquoise eyes. But they were different. They lacked warmth and recognition. They were the eyes of a stranger. The eyes of a cop who was busy assessing who he was dealing with. Eyes that took in every angle so he could accomplish whatever was needed to get the job done.

I had wanted so much to see him again. But not like this.

I took a slow, deep breath to stop the tunnel vision from closing in on me completely.
Not now.
You can’t lose it now.

After a moment, he turned to the rest of the group and gave them a once-over. Both Misha and Jean Luc pushed their chairs back with loud scrapes and got to their feet. Talia watched their reactions and got up as well, obviously sensing something was wrong, but since she’d never met Dalton, she was clueless about what a cluster this was.

Morrison clapped Dalton on the shoulder and grinned. Of course he had no idea we all knew Dalton, since I’d also changed Morrison’s memories relating to the Key case. The case that had almost cost Dalton his sanity. And was about to make me lose mine.

“This is Special Agent Joe Dalton. He used to be my media relations contact for the department and helped keep the press from finding out about some sticky cases involving the supernatural. He’ll be working with you on the case. Joe, let me introduce you to the team.”

Talia’s eyes widened, and she gaped at me. I looked away from her to keep from crying, laughing—hell, I didn’t know which.

Morrison gestured. “Jean Luc Delacroix and Misha Sokolov.”

He shook their hands. “Gentlemen.”

The sound of his voice sent my memories into overdrive. The deep tones reverberated along my spinal column, waking up my nerve endings.

“Talia Walker and Kyle McKinley.”

“We’ve met.”

I flinched.
He remembered me?
But he offered his hand to Talia.

“Sorry about almost flattening you in the hall.”

She glanced at me before shaking his hand. “No worries. We both should’ve been watching where we were going.”

He nodded and then turned to me with his hand outstretched. The last thing I wanted to do was touch him. His eyes narrowed on me the longer I paused, so I grasped his hand and then dropped it quickly. Too quickly, as if his touch burned me. But that wasn’t the case. There had been no heat between us.

Dalton scanned the group. “If the Captain hasn’t already told you, the FBI has jurisdiction in this case now. Because of the supernatural angle, the Captain was right to call me in on it. But I can’t promise to cover up everything. A man died, and the government will be watching closely to make sure I handle things the right way.”

Jean Luc answered. “Of course.”

“The Captain has filled me in on the museum incident.” He looked at me again. “You had a run-in with the perp and ended up in the lagoon?”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Wasn’t expecting to deal with telekinetic powers.”

Dalton frowned. “I wanted to talk to the other witness, but you somehow changed his memory?”

“I was able to change it with my thrall,” Jean Luc replied.

I barely stopped my mouth from dropping open at the lie.

Dalton focused on Jean Luc like he was a specimen under a microscope. “What are you?”

His tone made me grind my teeth. “Just to clue you in on supernatural etiquette, that’s a rude question.”

He frowned. “We have a murder to solve. Etiquette is not a top priority.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but Jean Luc looked at me and gave his head a small shake.

“I am vampire.”

“And what is your thrall?”

“Some vampires have the ability to make suggestions to humans, and they follow them.”

“And you used your thrall to make the security guard forget?”

“Yes.”

Except Jean Luc was leaving out an important piece of information. Namely his thrall only worked on humans he’d bitten. I struggled for a breath. The lies had begun. Who would be the keeper of these lies? ’Cause at some point they always had a way of biting you in the ass.

“And you made him forget because you wanted to cover up the supernatural?” Dalton’s mouth flattened as if he had eaten something bitter.

“Didn’t you do the same thing—cover up the supernatural—when you worked here?” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to defend our actions to Dalton, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

Before Dalton could answer, Jean Luc continued, “Yes, we wanted David to forget, but we also did it to protect him.”

Morrison nodded. “Heller would have been labeled a psych case if I had taken his testimony as is. Or, worst case, he would have been considered a suspect since his story was so far-fetched.”

“What do you think killed the security guard?” Dalton asked Jean Luc.

“Based on David and Kyle’s description, we believe it might have been a high-level demon. We are attempting to cross-reference demons with the abilities David described to us to see if we have any matches.”

Dalton asked. “And what else have you discovered so far?”

Misha jumped in to tell about our visit with museum director Hamilton while I watched his lips move. At some point, his words no longer made sense to me, as if he were an adult from a Charlie Brown cartoon “wah-wah-wahing.”

Misha stopped, and then Dalton said something, and the room went quiet. After a few more seconds, all the faces in the room turned my way. Whatever he’d asked had been directed to me.
Shit.

“Sorry?”

“I said, do you have anything else to add regarding your visit with the museum director?”

“No. Misha told you everything.”

He stared at me for a moment, and now
I
felt like a specimen under a microscope.
Not now. Hold it together a little while longer.

“I’m going to review the autopsy results and the police case notes, and then I think we should regroup later,” Dalton said in clear dismissal.

As everyone else said their goodbyes, I hurried out the door. I had to get out of the building. I shoved open the precinct door and sucked in damp air. It had started to rain, which was no surprise since it was springtime in Cleveland, and I rushed across the parking lot, my boots smacking the wet pavement.

I reached the van and yanked on the door handle. Pain shot up my fingers into my hand when it wouldn’t open. I laid my forehead against the cold window, waiting for Misha to come out and unlock the damn door.

Footsteps thundered up behind me and stopped a few feet short of me. “Are you okay, little one?”

He touched my shoulder, and I jerked away and spun. He held both palms out in front of him, as if trying to calm a trapped animal. Jean Luc and Talia watched from behind him.

“I’m fine.”

Talia came closer. “I’m sorry, Kyle.”

I shrugged. “There’s no need to be sorry. He doesn’t remember me, which is a good thing. Everything is hunky dory.”

Jean Luc and Talia exchanged a cryptic vampire look.

“Okay. I’ll meet you all at the office,” Talia said and walked away, but Jean Luc remained.

I glared at him.

“I am going to ride with you.”

“I’m fine, Jean Luc.”

He opened the door and held out his hand. “Kyle, get in the van. You are soaked.”

I climbed into the backseat. Jean Luc sat next to me, and Misha clambered into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the lot. I reached up and wiped the rain off my face and rubbed my hands on my damp jeans. And I kept rubbing them, letting the repetitive motion distract me. He was fine. I was fine. Everything was fine.

“
Ma petite
, are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that!” I yelled, my nerves jangling up my spine so hard that I shuddered in my seat. I knew what was coming next.

I hadn’t had a panic attack since I was sixteen and first discovered my gift. Fourteen years later, it felt like it was yesterday—heart pounding up into my throat, blocking my ability to breathe.

Jean Luc pushed my head between my knees and rubbed his hands along my back, his thrall warming me and slowing my heart to normal. At the rate I was going, I would need to bottle his thrall and keep it on me at all times.

I don’t know how long I stayed with my head between my knees, but when I started to breathe easier, Jean Luc helped me sit up. At some point, we had pulled to the side of the road, the rear door was open, and Misha was now squatting in front of me.

I stared into his worried face. “He’s different. So guarded now.”

Misha cradled my hand. “He works for the Feds.”

“It’s more than that.”

Jean Luc nodded. “In his mind, he remembers being attacked by a serial killer last year and barely escaping with his life. That would profoundly change anyone.”

“So you’re telling me I screwed him up by changing his memories?”

“No,
ma petite
, I am telling you he has much to work through. The real memories of his torture almost drove him insane. You saved him by changing his memories. Do not lose sight of that.”

Chapter 8

Claustrophobia alert, line one. Misha and Jean Luc hovered while we walked into the office, like they were afraid I was going to have another meltdown.

I acknowledged Dolly, who sat perched behind her reception desk wearing a designer red dress with her blond hair twisted up to enhance her supermodel face. She set down her
Guns and Ammo
magazine to greet us, and once again, I wondered what she did in her spare time, but was oh-so-afraid to ask.

“Boss man is here,” Dolly announced.

I closed my eyes. Of course he was. Nicholas never stayed away for long, and he seemed to have a sixth sense about trouble. And he wasn’t shy with his opinions, but then neither was I.

Misha opened the door to the back office and ushered me inside, probably to keep me from bolting in the other direction.

Nicholas took up the center of the room as if he owned it. And technically he did. He was the same as always. Impeccably dressed and oozing a Cary Grant type of vibe—except he had blond hair. I was not impressed.

Before any of us could get a word out he said, “Joe’s back.”

“How the hell could you already know?” I blurted.

“I have my sources. Why is he here?”

“Didn’t your ‘sources,’” I said using air quotes, “tell you why?”

I leaned forward to get into the boss’s face, but Jean Luc put a calming, thrall-charged hand on my shoulder. I forcibly tamped down my anger and continued, “The FBI was going to horn in anyway, so Captain Morrison requested him because he knows how to control the fallout from the museum break-in.”