Designed with a Destiny (11 page)

***

The four-mile run from the beach to
Brandon’s plane does a lot to cool me down, but it isn’t until I
connect mentally with Cat that I’m able to let go of some of the
irrational thoughts that fueled the energy sucking rage within me.
Her excitement when I tell her I’m on my way can be felt as well as
seen, and suddenly I am overcome with guilt for allowing myself to
question her loyalty. Neither of us brings up the fact that she
missed my telepathic calls or that Zane’s yacht crashed because he
was too busy trying to make a pass at her. All that really matters
is that in a matter of minutes, we will be together again.

“Did you get lost?” I ask impatiently when
Brandon arrives at the airplane ten minutes behind me, his jacket
tucked under his arm, and sweat trickling down his forehead. He
ignores my question and hops in the pilot’s seat not bothering to
pre-flight or check the airplane. He’s as eager to get going as I
am and wastes no time getting us airborne, making one final pass
over the beach where he left Sophia and Austin before heading
toward the mainland. Fifteen minutes later, I get the first glimpse
of my wife that I’ve had in two months and something inside me
melts. Even from eleven hundred feet away, I can see her smile and
it still takes my breath away. She’s more beautiful than ever with
her long brown hair falling around her face as she jumps up and
down, waving her arms. It’s all I can do to keep from jumping out
of the plane right then and there. We make one more pass just to
let her know we have her in view then head inland to find a place
to land.

“Land it over there,” I say, pointing to a
nearby dirt road, the only possibility within our range of
vision.

“I can’t, it’ll tear the tires up,” he says,
checking his aviation book for nearby runways.

“I’ll buy you a new set of tires—land it
please.”

“We could end up flipping this thing. I’m
sure they have a runway somewhere around here,” he says, circling
around to go farther inland.

“Just land the damn plane!” I shout, pulling
back on the throttle with such force, the knob snaps off leaving
only part of a metal rod protruding from the instrument panel.
Almost immediately the airspeed drops and the plane begins to
vibrate signaling a pending stall. Brandon springs in to action
lowering the nose of the airplane and advancing the throttle until
it’s flush with the panel, but it’s not enough to gain airspeed or
lift, and he’s left with no option but to attempt an emergency
landing. His face freezes in concentration as he does his best to
keep the wings level of what is now a big powerless glider. Without
a Designer on board with telekinetic abilities, we are vulnerable
to the same outcome as anyone else in our situation and I
regretfully whisper “Sorry,” as I brace myself for a crash
landing.

“Come on—get that nose up!” Brandon yells at
the drifting aircraft. The unwelcomely loud sound of an alarm warns
us that we’re in danger as if plummeting nose first to the ground
isn’t enough. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of Brandon’s
face, and in the last thirty seconds left of my life, I silently
say goodbye to Cat and the rest of the Designers, asking for divine
forgiveness for stealing Brandon’s life in what would be the most
selfish and foolish act I’ve ever committed.

“Brace for impact,” is all he says, when
we’re within eight feet of the ground. I close my eyes and wait,
the pounding of my heart drowning out the sound of the alarms like
a Tibetan drum. When we hit, it’s not at all what I expect from a
nose first contact and my eyes fly open to find the plane skidding
along the road, wings level to the ground. A slow smile spreads
across Brandon’s face as the plane comes to a complete stop, and
neither of us says a word as we unbuckle from our harnesses and
exit the plane. I slowly walk around to the tail, where I meet up
with Brandon.

“How in the hell…” I start to ask. I can’t
say for sure if Brandon has gorilla DNA, but when he slugs me in
the gut, the force knocks me off my feet and I somersault
backwards, landing in the ditch on the side of the road. The impact
takes my breath away, and I struggle to stand up, knowing full well
I had it coming.

“If you want to act like a crazy
son-of-a-bitch, you do it with someone else’s life!” he screams,
pointing a finger at me. I slowly climb out of the ditch, gasping
to catch my breath.

“Sorry man. I’ll make it up to you—I
promise. I didn’t think I’d ever see her alive, and I just want to
get to her before something happens and she disappears again,” I
choke, walking up to him and patting him on the shoulder. In spite
of the pain, I can’t help but grin, as I fully come to realize how
close we were to death, and not only are we alive, but I am now
within minutes of seeing my wife. If he ever had a valid excuse for
clocking me a second time it would be now, but he doesn’t. Instead,
he reluctantly smiles back, and says, “Go get her.”

Still clutching my gut, I take off in the
direction of the beach, jogging at first, then speeding up until I
can barely feel the ground beneath my feet.

***

The sound of Cat’s voice is like a sweet
melody drifting through the trees, and I am suddenly transported
back in time to the first day I laid eyes on her, licking banana
slugs with Claire in the forest back home. I close my eyes
recalling the moment, trying to ignore the fact that today her
gentle words of encouragement are for a man unworthy of living.
Silently I proceed towards them until I come to the clearing in the
trees, where kneeled on the ground behind Zane, I find her. Unlike
the other Designers, my gift for color screening is weak, but the
halo of light being emitted from Cat can’t be missed, and I
instinctively know she’s fulfilling whatever purpose Lawrence says
she was designed for. Her brown hair tumbles over his shoulder as
she leans forward whispering something in his ear, and something
deep inside of me aches when I see her smile. I want to interrupt
the scene, but instead quietly fold my arms across my chest,
tucking my hands under my armpits to keep from clenching them into
fists. I can barely hear her words over the pounding of my own
heart, but when Zane, eyes transfixed on the trees, smiles
knowingly I know her mission is complete. She stands and turns to
go, leaving him there with a color screening almost as light as
hers, and walks right by me as if in another world. Her face is
full of tranquility and her eyes misty with unshed tears. Whatever
the experience, it’s somehow touched her in a meaningful way. I
hold my breath, resisting the urge to reach out and grab her into
my arms, waiting instead for her to detect me on her own. Finally,
she stops dead in her tracks three feet from where I stand and
slowly turns around, the look of shock and surprise giving way to
the most exuberant smile I’ve ever seen.

“Hello, Mrs. Callahan.”

Without a word, she launches herself in my
arms, and in that instant nothing else matters—for the first time
in two months the world is finally right again. Balanced and
complete. Her body molds so tight to mine that a pry bar couldn’t
separate us, and just when I begin to worry I might crush her, she
claws away my jacket in order to get closer.

“My Cataryn…” I whisper, brushing my lips
along her neck…then her jaw…finally finding her mouth with lips
slightly parted as the sound of my name leaves them in a soft moan
that ignites a need so intense, I forget we’re not alone. Slipping
my hands inside her jacket, I wrap them around her waist, pulling
her hips against me, as my mouth steals whatever words she’s
started to say. The heightened need to feel her warm flesh against
mine is nothing more than reassurance that she’s real, and I’m
eager to strip away the barrier of clothes that hang loosely over
her body. Had my hand not brushed against the crusted wounds on her
lower back, I would easily have succeeded in disrobing her. The
second she winces under my caress, the memories of her being
whipped flash through my mind like a bolt of lightning, and a
predatory growl escapes me as I become acutely aware of the man who
put them there.

“Ronan don’t…” she cries as I pounce like a
mountain lion. Even had he seen me coming, it wouldn’t have made a
difference. He has neither strength nor speed that would give him
even the slightest advantage. Instead of snapping his neck on the
spot as I’d like to do, I pick him up and slam him hard against a
tree, allowing his body to slide down until his face is at eye
level with mine.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t
pound you into dust?” His eyes widen with fear, but wisely enough,
he doesn’t struggle or attempt to fight—doing so would only make
things much worse.

“I have none,” he says calmly. “But I am
sorry…for everything.”

The last thing I want is an apology from the
man who nearly destroyed my life—it’ll never be enough.

“
Hasn’t he kept you from me long
enough?”
Cat interrupts mentally with a question that makes the
decision to let him go much easier. She’s leaning against the tree
with her arms folded across her chest, head cocked to one side
watching me calmly. A slow smile spreads across her face when I
start toward her and my heart skips a beat.
Goddamn she’s
beautiful,
I think to myself, fully captivated as I feel her
energy like a magnet pulling me back to her arms, all thoughts of
Zane gradually fading away. Her arms fold around my neck like silk
ribbons, and she grips my hair, hungrily pulling my head down as we
pick up where we left off—only this time I make a conscious effort
to keep my hands away from her lower back.

“Ahem.” Brandon clears his throat, politely
interrupting his way into a world that for a short time belonged to
only Ronan and me.

“It’s nice to see you again Cat,” he says
shyly, politely diverting his attention away from my half
unbuttoned blouse, as I embrace him in a warm hug.

“So, you’re a Designer after all—can’t say I
saw that one coming.” He smiles widely causing his face to go
cockeyed as one side turns up and the other stays frozen in place.
Even with the deformity, he is strikingly good-looking, and people,
especially women, tend to warm up to him instantly.

“I guess you could say delayed genetic
maturity,” I laugh. He gives me another light squeeze before
releasing me, and his face sobers when he turns to Ronan.

“Austin got us out of that little mess
earlier but I’m not sure that he can get me safely to the island to
pick them up. I’ve called for a driver to get us in to town, but
they said there’s no one available until tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I can help with that,” Zane says
hesitantly, reappearing from the thick forest where he retreated
after being confronted by Ronan. To my relief he still color
screens light yellow, evidence that the change in him isn’t
transient or easily affected by unpleasant situations. Ronan
stiffens, and places a protective arm around my shoulder, pulling
me closer to him.

“You must be Harrington?” Brandon says,
studying him in the way I’m used to seeing Claire do when she’s
getting a screening on someone. His brows furrow as he tries to
make sense of the unexpected color screening of the man guilty of
kidnapping, extortion, and possibly murder.

“Brandon, this is Zane. He risked his life
to help me escape from his father’s men,” I announce as much of a
reminder to Ronan as anything else.

“Yeah, than he drugged you to prevent me
from finding you,” Ronan responds angrily.

“
Please don’t. We need him to help me
find my brother—trust me okay?”
I wonder if influencing the
energy or thoughts of my own husband constitutes a violation of
trust, considering the advantage it gives me. But in a matter of
seconds, when his tense body relaxes under my suggestion of peace
and unity, I let go of my guilt completely.

“
We’ll find your brother without Zane’s
help,”
he says, stubbornly not giving in so easily.

“
We’ll find him quicker with his help
though.”
I turn and slide my arms around his waist and press my
cheek to his chest, using as much of my body against his for
transferring the flow of energy particles. He sighs and kisses my
forehead.

“Alright, let’s hear it—what can you do to
get us out of here?” he asks unenthusiastically.

Zane’s knowledge of the area and reputation
with the locals makes getting a driver dispatched from a nearby
local town relatively easy. I try not to take offense when Brandon
declines my offer to get the airplane airborne without the use of
the throttle. Who could blame him—after all, pilots are known for
being control freaks of their aircrafts, and my newly acquired
telekinetic skills had yet to be proven.

***

The old man who arrives in an old Ford
Mustang has a lot to say about the earthquake that destroyed the
Bakken oil fields and Keystone Pipeline in North Dakota.

“Gas prices are already starting to rise,”
he complains, spitting tobacco juice out the broken window. None of
us say a word when he announces that the death toll in the
earthquake reached twenty-nine people, but Zane squirms
uncomfortably in the front seat next to him, and on either side of
me, Ronan and Brandon flinch in response. I immediately think of
Claire and hope that Alisha has enough sense to keep her from
watching the news. No six-year-old should have to carry the burden
of responsibility for lost lives.

“I bet Harrington celebrated with a
five-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne. You know he’s been
fighting the pipeline going in ever since they acquired the
Burlington Northern Railroad,” he says wryly, obviously ignorant to
the fact that he’s sitting next to a Harrington.

“If a person didn’t know any better, you’d
think they had something to do with it,” Ronan says casually,
shaking his head with a bemused grin on his face. Benny, the driver
of the Ford seems to like the idea of blaming the Harringtons for
the natural catastrophe and with Ronan’s clever encouragement,
spends the remainder of the half-hour long drive digging himself
into a very deep hole with derogatory stories involving the
Harringtons. The only time Zane’s color screening darkens is when
his mother’s name is mentioned in the old man’s rant; otherwise he
stares aimlessly out the window, seemingly unaffected by the
unflattering tales about his family.