Beyond Fearless (10 page)

She gasped, moving her hips to create friction, but it wasn't enough. Not for either one of them.

I need…

Yes.

He circled her clit with one finger, then circled the finger just inside the sensitive opening of her vagina, sending jolts of heat through her—and through himself.

He didn't have to tell her it was time. He knew neither of them could wait a second longer for this.

She rolled to her back and opened her legs for him. He knelt between her thighs, then plunged forward. There was no need to guide him to the right place. He knew exactly where to find that delicious opening.

Yet he sensed her fear—and his. And the fear was as great as the pleasure. As he slipped inside, heat lightning flared within his head, sending sparks crackling through his senses.

And he realized in that moment of joining that he would lose his mind if he didn't finish this with her.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

She pushed at his shoulder again, trying to pull away. Mentally. Physically. Her fear came through to him, loud and clear. She wanted to stop.

No!
he silently shouted.
Stay with me. For God's sake, stay with me. Not just your body, but your mind.

When he heard her silent protest, he steadied himself—steadied her.

Trust me.

The classic male cliché. Yet he knew it was true. Knew it to the marrow of his bones.

He felt her shudder, felt her settle into the rhythm of sex—their hips moving in concert, both of them pushing toward orgasm.

As he climbed toward that peak of sensation, he felt the pain in his brain recede to a level he could push aside.

There was only room for the hot, greedy desire created by the friction of their bodies and the joining of their minds.

I need.

Yes.

He reached between them, pressing his fingers over her clit, giving her the extra jolt of stimulation that would push her over the edge.

His own orgasm was only seconds away. And he knew that she sensed that peak, felt her lifting her hips, pushing to join him.

The first spasm of release took him. Hot semen pumped through his cock and into her as climax took them both.

He shouted in satisfaction. Shouted in shock as the fury of it claimed him.

Never like this.

Never.

He cradled her against himself, absorbing new truths.

What happened?

We can talk to each other. In our minds.

How?

We must have done it when we were kids. Long ago. Somehow we connected back then. Now it happened when we made love. Well, when we got…aroused.

But now it's stronger…deeper. A connection between adults
—
not children.

He laughed, pressing as far as he could inside her.

She reached to stroke damp hair back from his forehead, then locked her arms around his shoulders, holding him where he was.

The feeling of closeness was incredible.

Yes.

Now we're…

Complete.

And nothing can separate us again.

Yet the wondrous result of their joining brought something else. In that moment of deepest intimacy, they sensed something bad, something hovering just outside their range of perception.

Someone had been following her. Now the stalker wanted to know what they'd been doing. And he would kill them if he knew that they'd been making love.

The thought was ridiculous on the surface. Who would react that way to their private liaison?

Neither one of them made a conscious decision. Yet both of them instantly joined their minds, broadcasting a lie to whoever might be listening.

We haven't done anything physical. We're just talking. We're just friends.

Because their bodies were so intimately linked, they could send out that message together. They repeated it more than once, both of them squeezing their eyes shut and linking their hands tightly in concentration.

It was hard to do. Especially when they didn't know if they were really sending a message or just fooling themselves.

When their heads began to ache, they stopped and looked at each other.

“That was weird,” Zach murmured. “Why did we do that?”

“It seemed important,” she whispered.

It didn't seem important now. Looking down at Anna's body glued to his, Zach laughed. “Just friends, yeah.”

“Oh my.” The idea was so absurd that she joined in the laughter, shaking the two of them apart. For a few moments, their focus had been turned outward. Now it snapped back to this time. This place. Them.

Something had happened between them. Something Zach couldn't describe or explain to anyone else in the world.

Soul mates,
she whispered in his mind.

The concept startled him. It was too new. Too strange. But when he turned it around in his mind, it felt right. Especially since he was sure now that they had reached out to each other long ago.

Who would understand it?

Only another couple like the two of them.

Were there any others like them?

Or were they alone?

FROM HIS HIDEOUT
in West Virginia, Jordan Walker stared at the computer screen.

Dead end. Again.

After he'd lost Anna Ridgeway's trail, he'd put in a phone call to her agent and been told that her schedule was private.

He snorted. Private! What entertainer didn't want people to know where she was going to be?

Unless…

He stood up and paced the office, trying to hold back his frustration. But he knew it was rolling off him in waves when his wife, Lindsay, came to the door, a worried look on her face.

What's wrong?

Has Jim Swift found us?

They knew he'd changed his name, because he'd disappeared, but several deaths around the country had clued them in that he must still be hunting Dariens—their word for the other people like themselves, who were born as part of an experiment at the Remington Clinic in Darien, Connecticut.

Jordan reached for his wife and pulled her close, letting her know in every way available to him that they were safe.

It's Anna Ridgeway,
Lindsay whispered in his mind, answering her own question.

Yeah. I can't find her. She's disappeared off the face of the earth.

They didn't have to speak to each other out loud to communicate. Since they'd discovered the special link they shared, they'd become very good at sending their thoughts back and forth and increasing their psychic ability.

But worry sent words tumbling from Lindsay's mouth. “You think she's dead?”

“Not dead. In trouble,” he answered.

He pulled Lindsay more tightly against his body, the contact comforting them both. But it was more than comfort he felt. The closeness brought sexual awareness that sparked back and forth between them. It was part of the equation, part of what made them what they were.

But they had learned to make the sexual need work for them. It had triggered their mental powers, and it still helped fuel the psychic bond the two of them generated.

Jordan turned his head so he could stroke his lips against Lindsay's cheek, and she slid her fingers against his broad shoulders.

For the first thirty-three years of his life, Jordan had been alone. So had Lindsay. More alone than any human being should be. He'd thought he was defective in some way. Apart from the human race.

Then he'd met Lindsay, and he'd connected with her—mind to mind—in a way that was impossible for ordinary people.

The joy of finding each other had been dulled by the knowledge that they were being hunted by Kurt MacArthur, the head of a powerful Washington think tank called the Crandall Consortium.

They'd thought MacArthur and the rest of his top lieutenants were dead. Then they'd realized that one of them, Jim Swift, had escaped and was searching for them.

Jordan and Lindsay were well hidden. Nobody in rural West Virginia where they were living had a clue about their real identities.

They'd both sold their D.C. condos and hidden the money trail, using a new last name, Jordan and Lindsay West.

Jordan had also continued his writing career, switching from nonfiction to fiction, using the real-life stories he'd investigated as a jumping-off point for creating plots that would fit into today's popular fiction market.

His agent, who was keeping his identity secret, had gotten Jordan a contract on the basis of a proposal. And they'd also contacted Lindsay's parents, who had helped them out with some cash that couldn't be traced.

But their real job was trying to save the other people like themselves. They'd thought they had a list of the other Dariens, but the data had been corrupted.

Now they were reduced to tracking their fellows down using their Web skills—and their own psychic talents.

They were sure Jim Swift had already killed several of them. But he was proceeding slowly. So they assumed he didn't have the list, either.

It was a good bet that Anna Ridgeway was one of the children from the experiment. And also that she'd tried to disappear. Because she knew Jim Swift was on her trail? Or was something else dangerous going on in her life?

In their research, they'd also discovered something very interesting about Anna—she didn't just have latent psychic talent; she was already using her mental powers. At least, she was using one ability, psychometry, since she supported herself with a nightclub act where she picked up memories from objects she touched.

She must be very strong,
Lindsay whispered into Jordan's mind.

Yeah. But that won't save her if Jim Swift is after her.

Jordan closed his eyes and slipped his hand under the bulky sweater his wife was wearing, caressing her warm skin.

Do you think we can find out where she is?

I hope so.

Lindsay joined her hands behind Jordan's back, pressing against him, and he felt the link between them deepen.

After a few moments of silence, Lindsay said,
She's on a boat.

Yeah.

And I think…

Jordan was the one who said it aloud. “Yeah. She's found another Darien.”

Elation spiraled through them.

Who is he?
Jordan asked.

I wish I could bring that into focus.

I wish we knew where they were.

Somewhere warm, I think.

So not around here, where we're stuck in the middle of a cold, nasty winter. California? Florida?

Maybe the Caribbean,
Lindsay answered.

Why do you think so?

The color of the water.

We'll keep trying to get a closer fix on them.

 

BILL
Cody stepped from the afternoon sun and into the shadow of a warehouse and pulled out the secure cell phone that Jim Stone had given him.

He wasn't supposed to make a call unless it was an emergency, but he was sure this situation qualified.

He dialed the number, then waited.

“Yes?” a grating voice answered after the first ring.

It was Jim Stone. No matter what time of day or night, he always answered his own phone, and he always sounded like a man who'd had his vocal cords burned in a fire. Bill had never seen him. He wondered what he looked like. Probably scarred.

“I have Anna Ridgeway cornered.”

“Where?”

“On a boat.”

“You idiot! Boats can sail away.”

“Not this one. The crew quit.” Quickly he explained what had happened.

“Then why isn't the woman dead?” The question was direct and to the point.

“Too many people around. And now she's with the guy who owns the boat.”

“What's his name”

“A man named Zachary Robinson. He's a diver.”

“Just a moment.”

Stone was away from the phone for several minutes. What the hell was he doing?

When he came back, he asked, “What are they up to?”

“Talking.”

“Just talking? You're sure?”

“Yes,” he answered, his voice hard and positive. A little while ago when he'd been on the dock, he'd thought they were screwing. Now he blinked, trying to bring that thought into focus. It stayed blurry, wrong.

“Has she met with him before?”

“No.” Bill knew
that
for certain, since he'd been following her around.

“Okay, this is what we're going to do. I'll line up some freelancers to help you. You stay down by the docks. If Ridgeway and Robinson leave the boat, let me know.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll have your reinforcements there as fast as I can.”

“Okay.”

“I want Ridgeway and the guy off the island. Away from other people. I'll give you further instructions later. But keep them separated. I mean, I don't want them touching each other. You got that?”

“Yes.”

“It's important. No physical contact—once you scoop them up. Stay near them, and make sure nothing's going on.”

“Yes, sir,” he repeated, adding the honorific for effect. He didn't know why the touching part was so important, but he'd follow Stone's directions.

“I'll call when I have this set up.”

“How will they find me?”

“They know what you look like.”

“They do?”

“Yeah.” Stone clicked off, and Bill stood by the warehouse, staring off into the afternoon sunlight reflected on the water.

He'd been sure of himself this morning. Sure of himself a little while ago. Now his brain felt fuzzy, and he welcomed the idea of reinforcements. Which was odd, because he liked to work alone.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then walked back to the dock.

He should check on the couple. Make sure they weren't doing anything nasty.

No, he knew they weren't. He'd just wait across the street until the freelancers came.

 

JIM'S
mind was racing. First he took care of the immediate business—getting a line on a couple of thugs who could work with Wild Bill.

Then he went back to his computer. On the face of it, he didn't think Zachary Robinson was one of the freaks from the Remington experiment. The background was wrong. He was from Montana, not from the East. And that meant that his mother would have had to travel a considerable distance to go for treatments and follow-ups.

But what if she'd heard of Remington's work and decided he was the best?

He scanned the information he had quickly found on Robinson. The man was a diver. Had he shown any evidence of psychic abilities?

Jim dug for more material, trying to figure out if Robinson was a real threat or just some guy Anna Ridgeway had met. The Remington children tended to stick to themselves. But sometimes they did get together with members of the opposite sex.

In this case, better safe than sorry. Robinson would have to be eliminated, just to make sure he wasn't one of the gooks.

But Jim didn't want two murders on the island drawing the media down there. So they'd have to be transported somewhere else.

By boat? No, a plane was better. Faster. Unless they were both Remington's freaks and they were already bonding. In that case, the only safe course was to kill them immediately—then figure out the disposal of the bodies later.

 

ANNA
lay curled against Zach under the duvet, enjoying the gentle slap of the waves against the side of the boat.

She felt different. Sharper. Better. Closer to reaching her potential.

“Yes,” Zach murmured.

The glow of their lovemaking embraced them. And she should be relaxed and happy. But questions circled in her head. In his, too. She could feel them buzzing around, but she didn't try to read his thoughts. She was too worn out. Not just from making love. From the work of connecting with him.

“Why did that happen to us?” she murmured, unwilling to expend the energy to speak mind to mind.

“Somehow we found each other when we were kids. Then we both turned up on Grand Fernandino.”

“That doesn't explain the part when we were little.”

“We were lonely.”

“So are a lot of other kids.”

“You're a psychic. Somehow, you…recognized me.”

She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I don't know. I thought I had one talent—picking up objects and knowing something about the owner.” She went on quickly. “And you…have some kind of special ability that helps you find shipwrecks.”

“That's nothing like what you have.” He looked thoughtful. “The important point is that we have…more now. Together.”

She moved her face against his shoulder, smiling. “It feels…good. I never thought this would happen to me.” She didn't say what “this” was, because she was still afraid to give it a name.

She'd read a lot of articles and books about male-female relationships. They'd counseled caution and getting to know a guy before you thought about a long-term relationship. But she
had
known Zach—then had lost him.

“You can't always believe what you read,” he murmured.