Touch of Betrayal, A (21 page)

In the first one she was teaching me the fine points of knife work. In the second, she watched while I ate dinner with Mitch and a blond man at the Chinese restaurant I’d visited the day before. Neither picture was threatening—we both appeared relaxed—but there had been an undercurrent of anxiety weaving through the scenes that had me tossing my latte in the trash after one swallow.

Future images were rare enough that I didn’t really trust them, but couldn’t completely discount them either. In the past, they’d been fairly accurate.

My phone beeped with a text from Adam. Time to move. Have Boulay walk you upstairs. Ditch the disguise. You’ll see me signal when it’s time to text Mitch.

I handed my cell to Whitney. “Right. Let’s go, then,” she said after reading the text.

We wandered into an upper-level restroom, I shook out my hair, stripped off the maternity shirt, and… “Oh, damn. I forgot I had to buy new sunglasses.”

“Here.” She whipped hers off and handed them to me. “We’ll trade. I won’t put these on until I’m back in my car and headed out of the airport.”

“Thanks.” I slipped them on and looked in the mirror. “What do you think?”

Whitney grinned, the beauty mark over her upper lip almost disappearing. “This you is much better than the faux-pregnant you.”

She stuffed my disguise in her bag. “I’ll discard these things in a dumpster away from the airport.”

“That’s a great idea. The farther away from here the better.” And then we strolled out of the ladies’ room and leaned on the railing overlooking the lower level. I spotted Adam immediately. “There he is, in that pocket of shadows just beyond baggage claim.”

“Um-hmm. Got him.”

Adam pointed at me. I typed in an arrival message for Mitch, and punched Send.

The Sent-message flashed on the screen, and a chill raced over my arms. “Something’s off.”

Whitney touched my shoulder. “Off or not, you’re up. I’ve got your back, Everly Gray Hunt. Knock ’em bloody well dead.”

I waited for a group of people to descend the staircase, then moved in to blend with the throng. By the time I reached baggage claim, Adam had shifted to another location, and Mitch was jogging toward me with a huge welcome smile plastered on his face.

He caught me in an awkward hug, twirling me around like we were starring in a romantic musical. Nothing like overdoing his part in this fiasco. “Enough,” I whispered in his ear. “Put me down. Now.”

“Handler with me. Need to introduce you.” The fear in his voice grated against my ear.

Mitch set me down, but kept an arm around me. It was a good thing, because my knees had dissolved, and there was no way they’d support me.

“Any baggage, Sunshine?”

“Not this trip. I have enough at Annie’s.”

A stocky man stepped in front of me, clean cut, buzzed hair, Hawaiian shirt over khakis, blank brown eyes. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Mitchell?”

“Everly, I’d like you to meet a colleague of mine. This is Chad Burr. Chad, this is my wife, Everly Gray.”

Chad reached for my hand.

I inhaled a shallow breath and grabbed hold.

A video slammed across my internal movie screen, and I fought to keep a blank face. They were all brutal, and came from a very sick mind—torture with water and dental tools, a desperate need for power while he raped vulnerable women, and dead bodies. He liked to kill. The conveyer belt buzzed a warning that it was about to deliver the bags. Or maybe my head was buzzing.

The images wouldn’t stop. A continuous flow of three repeating nightmare scenes.

I jerked my hand free. “He’s going to—”

“Everly.” Mitch planted a kiss on my lips to shut me up.

“Kill you,” I whispered against his mouth.

I groped for the stair railing behind me. Missed. The room wouldn’t stop spinning. And the insane buzzing got louder, tearing a hole in my brain.

I hit the stair railing on my way to the floor.

TWENTY-ONE

The buzzing had stopped.
It was my first clear thought before I opened my eyes. Mitch had me propped on a chair at the far end of baggage claim, with my head on his chest, sunglasses digging into his muscles, and his arm keeping me from slipping to the floor. Wild guess: he’d whisked me away from Chad Burr, pretending I had a bit of a dizzy spell.

My nose was buried in the fabric of his shirt, and his fear permeated my senses. Were we in danger? Well, duh. A shot of adrenaline kicked through my veins, and without moving anything but my eyes, I scanned the area as best I could. I didn’t spot anyone I recognized except Mitch’s handler. Chad Burr was on the far side of the baggage carousel. He wasn’t pointing a gun at me, so I braved a question. “What’s our—?”

“Flying gives you migraines. Don’t try to talk, just nod. Can you stand?”

I forced my mind to focus on my role. I’d supposedly just flown across an entire continent and a good part of the Pacific Ocean. Enough to give anyone a migraine. I wiggled my toes, tightened my leg muscles. If the baggage buzzer didn’t start again (and not counting the permanent damage to my psyche and frayed nerves) I’d be fine. I nodded, bumping my head against him, and knocking Whitney’s sunglasses askew.

Mitch straightened them. “Best to keep you away from bright lights, Sunshine. Up we go.” He lifted me to my feet, keeping an arm secure around my waist. “Hang on, I’m going to bend down and grab your handbag.”

“Gun.” I tried to reach around him to rescue my bag.

“Shush, now,” he hissed in my ear, his body vibrating with tension. “No talking until you have your feet under you and a cold drink in your hand.”

It was a warning, but I couldn’t figure out why since Mitch’s handler was watching from across the baggage carousel. There was no way could he hear us over the rumbling of the belt. I searched my muddled brain for facts. There’d been the flashing red light and warning buzzer before the luggage started spilling onto the conveyer belt, and then I shook hands with Chad. I grabbed my head, pushing into the pain with my knuckles to stop the images rolling over my internal screen. “Demon,” I whispered.

His shoes came into view first. Brown wing tips. Tied in double-knotted bows. I carefully raised my head to meet his stare, and forced my lips into a tight smile, grateful for the huge sunglasses covering my eyes and a good part of my face. Now if I could just keep from puking all over his shoes. Or maybe that was the perfect thing to do. A smile tugged at my lips.

“Is your wife all right, Mitchell?” His voice etched another hole in my brain.

“Migraine. They hit her like this when she flies, but it should ease up after I get her outside.” His hand bit into my waist, and he dragged me toward the elevator.

Chad the Demon followed, all but stepping on my heels.

“I’ll check in with you later, Chad, soon as I get Everly settled.” It was a tacit dismissal.

The demon ignored it, crowding me, his breath hot on my neck. My stomach burned with nausea and a hefty dose of fear. And those hideous shoes were looking mighty pukeable.

Mitch pounded his fist on the elevator call button.

Chad tapped his watch. “I’ll be waiting.” And then his blank-eyed stare focused on me. “You rest now. Get rid of that headache so you can join us for supper.”

The elevator doors opened, and Mitch tried to hustle me inside. I stopped him and groaned, pressing my palm against my stomach. “Can’t. Too sick.”

It wasn’t a total lie. I’d be okay as soon as I got away from Chad Burr’s disgusting energy, but no way could I endure a meal with him, not until I had time to deal with the images.

Mitch took a step toward Chad, slightly intimidating. “Everly won’t be able to eat much for at least twenty-four hours. The migraines make her very ill.”

Way to go, Mitch. I buried my smile against his chest.

Chad harrumphed. “Tomorrow night. I’ll see you then. Check with me for the details.”

Mitch nodded, and, without another word punched the number for our floor, then put his finger against my lips, playing the role of a loving husband like he’d been trained for the part. But then he had trained. For over a year now. My stomach lurched. Questions lined up waiting for answers. I clamped my lips shut and tried to shut off the nausea—and the images racing through my head.

The elevator doors closed, locking us in blessed silence.

“Who…?”

Mitch slapped his hand over my mouth and shook his head again.

When we got to the truck—he’d rented one just like Adam’s, only blue—he tossed his new phone in the bed with a loud clatter. “Damn it. Slipped right out of my hand.” His grin belied his tone. “Come on, let’s get you comfortable, Sunshine.”

I remained mute while he helped me into the passenger seat, and then I mouthed, “Bugged?”

He dipped his chin, circled around the back of the truck and slid behind the wheel. After he revved the engine a few times, he took a thin notebook out of his pocket and wrote,
You okay?

I nodded as best I could without jarring my headache, snatched the pad and pencil from his hand, and wrote while I talked. “I’m just gonna sleep on the way to Annie’s, okay?”

“Whatever works, Sunshine. These migraines are a bitch for you, I know.”

Shivers stole along my spine, anxiety spiking with his every word. Mitch sounded scared. He was hiding it well, but I’d been living with the man long enough to recognize scared when I heard it. I jotted down my most pressing questions.
What happened to me? Adam? Whitney?

His eyebrows arched, and he shook his head, scribbled
Not sure. Later
, and then zipped out of the parking lot.

Not that I’d ever wondered, but now I knew for sure that it was pure hell to keep my mouth shut when my brain had a list of questions stacked up that I was desperate to have answered. It gave me triple-espresso shakes.

Not being able to talk put a real damper on conversation, so I squinched down in my seat and rested my aching head against the corner of the headrest.

No time like the present to work on learning how to shield myself from the monster scenes that had embedded themselves in my brain. I built an energetic shield similar to the one I used to protect Mitch from my ESP fingers, only this time I tried to block myself from my video screen.

Not an easy task. The energy kept slipping away, like it wanted me to watch Chad murder Mitch over and over again. I gave up and shut out everything but the rumble of tires rushing over pavement, finally dropping into an uneasy meditation.

“Wake up, Sunshine.” Mitch tapped my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said, unfastening my seatbelt.

“Did I sleep?” I wasn’t sure. My mind was groggy, and exhaustion penetrated every single muscle.

Mitch wrapped his arm around me. I shook him off. “No. I want to do this alone. It’ll help wake up my brain.”

I wobbled on the way to Annie’s house, but made it with only one stumble, when I attempted to open the screen door and pivot around the edge to get into the kitchen. Annie caught my arm, and glared at Mitch. “What happened? I watched you coming up the drive, and way too fast, I might add.”

“Bugs?” he mouthed.

She held up a finger and grabbed a wand off the kitchen counter, and then waved it over both Mitch and me. “You’re clean, and I swept the house right after I put Maddie down for her nap. Not that anyone could get in here without me knowing, but it’s a habit. I check every day. Always have.”

Mitch rolled his neck until it cracked. “My handler showed up unexpectedly and Everly fainted. Made for an interesting afternoon. I’m not sure what happened to Adam.”

I stretched to my full height, my balance almost back to normal. “I did
not
faint. The images from Chad the Demon short-circuited my brain cells, and I shut down to stop the slideshow. He’s as evil as they come—torture, rape, murder—a pro at anything and everything diabolical.”

“Diet Coke or Irish whiskey?” Annie asked, jerking out a chair and motioning me to sit.

“Coke with lots of ice. I’m sucking the Sahara here.” I slipped off Whitney’s sunglasses, and laid my head on the kitchen table. “Maybe a handful of Aleve while you’re at it.”

Mitch wandered to the sink and filled a glass of water for himself before he sat across from me. “What happened, Sunshine?”

I rolled my forehead against the cool wood table then sat up. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Annie handed me two blue tablets and a glass of Diet Coke, the ice cubes crackling with comfortable familiarity. I chugged half the glass, washing down the painkiller. Panic broke through my pretend calm. “Only thing I know for sure is that you’re going to be caught in a fire. It looked like the rental truck exploded and you burned to death. The thing is, it was one of those future ESP visions, and they’re rarely exact. Details can be off, and sometimes…rarely…they don’t happen at all.”

Dead quiet.

Mitch scrubbed his hands over his face. “Annie, I’ll have a double of that Irish whiskey, if you don’t mind?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Your ESP fingers showed you that?”

I nodded then slugged down the rest of my drink. It helped to settle my stomach.