Dream Bound (14 page)

She felt it with a powerful sense of certainty—this job was going to change her. In fact, change already had begun. Her telepathic skills were blossoming. She’d sensed Cam’s arousal, but she’d heard his thoughts, so clear and vivid, he might have spoken them aloud. Except she knew he hadn’t, or they probably both would have been embarrassed. She knew now that he found her attractive. She’d been certain he was gay, but now she knew he was pure heterosexual male with enough curiosity about guys to at least wonder what it was like.

And he really wanted to get naked with her.

And with Kiera and Lizzie, and Morgan and Finn while he was at it. She should have asked him why he didn’t add Mac to the mix, but then she’d be giving herself away.

No, it was nice to know what someone was thinking, but probably safer all around not to admit it. At least not until she got to know him better.

That was going to happen. She was almost positive. After that kiss, Rodie was absolutely certain she’d like to get naked with Cameron Paisley, too.

And with Kiera and Lizzie and Morgan and Finn as well. But she’d invite Mac along. You couldn’t have an orgy and leave out the guy who bought the beer.

Walking across the open area to her cabin, Rodie stopped, trapped once again by the beauty of the stars overhead. Was there really a star cruiser loaded with captive aliens up there? Had anyone heard her? Did that fantasy of hers—along with her orgasm—make it to Mac’s Nyrians? She hoped so, though there was no way to know.

He had said he really didn’t expect anyone to make contact until each of them had spent at least one shift in the dream shack.

He’d told them to think of it as introducing themselves. It was the first step in letting the Nyrians know someone was down here actively wanting to help, that these human minds were receptive and that the power in the array would help the Nyrians draw the strength they needed to come to Earth.

The biggest problem, as far as Rodie could tell, was figuring out how to get the Nyrians’ soulstones before they escaped. Maybe just knowing there was a whole group of people with telepathic abilities waiting to help them, they’d be able to come up with a workable plan.

Mac was so certain they’d make contact. Was he basing his feelings on fact, or on his dreams of lost love?

She wondered if he’d heard from the one he knew, from Zianne. And then she thought about the kind of love a man could carry for twenty years, focusing his entire life—his professional career along with a fucking fortune—on finding his lost love.

It said a lot about the kind of man Mac was—one capable of loving with absolute certainty, with a deep emotional connection and no promise that he’d ever again see the woman he loved.

It would take a very special man. And it changed everything she’d thought about MacArthur Dugan. He was definitely much more than a very wealthy, very smart man. He was suddenly so much more human, his emotions, his absolute loyalty to Zianne and her people a huge part of the whole package.

And it was probably the most romantic story Rodie’d ever heard. Blinking back tears, she sent a private little thought winging off on its own. Sent it to Zianne, just to let her know that Rodie hoped she was okay, that they would all do their best to bring Zianne and her people to safety.

Then, trying not to feel foolish over the tears streaming down her cheeks, she slipped inside her cabin and locked the door behind her.

She probably didn’t need to lock it, but she couldn’t get that fantasy out of her mind, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that third guy hadn’t been more than a mere figment of her imagination.

What if he’d been one of Zianne’s fellow travelers? Had Rodie made contact without knowing it? Maybe she’d ask Mac tomorrow when she saw him. It wasn’t the sort of question she was ready to ask in front of the others. Not yet.

She stripped out of her clothes and took a quick shower, but before she climbed into bed, she checked the lock on the door one more time. Satisfied the cabin was secure, Rodie pulled the blankets over herself and drifted off to sleep.

7

M
ac stared at the illuminated dial on the clock. Midnight. Seven minutes later than the last time he’d looked. Rodie would be heading to bed and Cam should be hooked up to the array. He didn’t worry about anyone missing their scheduled time—there’d been so much excitement that the kids practically buzzed with it once they’d left Rodie inside the dream shack.

He thought about walking over to her cabin, about asking how her shift went, but they’d had a long day, and he imagined she’d head straight to bed.

He’d love to be inside her head right now, but that was one of the problems with telepathy. He had to be really close to people to pick up their thoughts. Except with Zianne—they could communicate from a fairly good distance, though his abilities weren’t anything like hers. She’d found him through time and space, though they couldn’t actually communicate across that distance.

Still, she’d followed her sense of him in the beginning, some sort of psychic imprint that she’d picked up, and the closer she’d gotten, the easier it had been for her to find him.

Then she’d latched on to his sexual fantasy and the rest was ... unbelievable. Good lord, but he missed her.

He’d tried calling her for days now, sending his thoughts out on a direct line to Zianne in the hope she might answer, but there’d been nothing. He wasn’t discouraged. Not yet—she might just be arriving at her ship—hardly long enough to find him and come back in his time.

Time. It was all so confusing, and yet as far as Zianne was concerned, she’d just left his bed and returned to the ship. She wouldn’t know the loss he’d experienced, the sense of being so damned alone for almost half his life. Hell, he didn’t even look the same. He’d been a young man of twenty-six, still in his prime, still filled with hopes and dreams and so much in love with her that nothing else had really mattered.

He still loved her, but he was so different. When he looked in the mirror Mac saw a middle-aged man who’d worked his ass off for the past twenty years. A man who’d known both success and failure, who had followed a dream for two decades—a dream powered by hope. That sense of hope was there, though not nearly as fresh and shiny. Some of his dreams had come to pass, others waited out there, but that’s where hope came in.

The love hadn’t changed. If anything, he loved her more now than he had so many years ago, back when he thought he’d always have her. Loss had a way of doing that. When you loved someone as much as he loved Zianne, and then lost that love ... well, it changed a man. Changed him in too many ways to count.

Would she even know him now? He wasn’t that bright-eyed youth who had fallen head over heels for a beautiful, mysterious woman. No, he was a grown man, jaded, a bit world-weary and definitely world-worn. He’d fought more battles than he’d ever imagined, had lost more than a few, and yet the warrior in him would never rest. Not until he brought Zianne home. Not until he brought all of her people to safety.

But what if he failed? What if ...

He flipped over to his side and punched the pillow. Damn, but he was tired. So physically and mentally exhausted that his mind seemed to be spinning in circles. He really needed sleep, but nervous tension had him strung like an overstretched rubber band. Hell, he needed a drink or he needed to get laid if he expected to sleep.

“Well, fuck.” Where the hell was Dink when he needed him?

He’d been in the same shape last night before his buddy arrived, but the two of them eventually slept like the dead. He’d forgotten how effective sex was at relaxing a guy, but unless he wanted to handle the problem himself, that was out of the picture tonight. Except he knew jerking off wouldn’t work. He might get a moment’s relief, but he’d still be just as wired and every bit as worried.

Disgusted, Mac threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. The wood floor was like ice against his bare feet and it was too dark in here. Rubbing absently at his chest, he gazed about the room, fascinated by the fact that it was so dark that he couldn’t see anything beyond the green numbers on his clock.

Twelve-oh-four. It was going to be a long night. He held up his hand just inches from his face. Nothing. He might as well have had his eyes closed. He’d forgotten what it was like in the mountains—without the glow from the city, there was absolutely no light at all.

And, like an idiot, he’d neglected to put in a bedside lamp. First thing tomorrow morning ... “Right. Along with a million other details I probably screwed up.”

Grumbling, he ran his hand over the covers and found the pair of sweats he’d left at the foot of the bed. He slipped them on and walked carefully in the direction he thought the door should be. Took three steps and stubbed his toe on one of his boots. “Crap.” He lifted his foot and rubbed the offended toe, then flipped on the light switch once he found the wall.

He really needed a bedside lamp. He’d had them put in the cabins, but hadn’t given much thought to his own room. He hadn’t planned on staying here for the project, but why? Like he was going to leave if there was any chance at all of finding Zianne?

He’d never really thought ahead, had he? Never thought of the actual search. He’d put all his energy into creating the array, but it was like he’d been afraid to think beyond that part of the project, mainly because that part was out of his control.

He hated this phase of a project, when the physical work was complete and everything depended on someone else getting the job done. It was like this at BGV and it was even worse here, where he was depending on his dream team—young people he’d hand-selected but still didn’t know all that well.

He hated it more than he’d imagined.

He opened the door and stepped out into the dark hallway. The main floor just below had a couple of low-wattage lamps burning so the stairs were visible. The lodge was quiet. He’d left the main doors unlocked in case anyone wanted anything.

Sort of like he wanted something now. He thought of going downstairs to the gym, getting in some laps in the pool, but a drink sounded like a lot less work. He should have brought a bottle of Jack up to his room when he first went to bed. At least the kitchen was well stocked.

A drink would help him relax, maybe get some sleep. He had to sleep.

The long drive today had been exhausting. The selection process, going through everyone’s records, figuring out exactly who was going to work, who wouldn’t. Too many sleepless nights, too many details to keep track of. A company to run, politicians to lobby, the pompous jackasses at the Pentagon. Shit. The list was endless. There’d been too damned much of everything.

Hell, the last twenty years had exhausted him. He went straight to the liquor cabinet, grabbed a new bottle and a shot glass, and headed back up the stairs, but his mind was still spinning, still working through the question that, once broached, now seemed to have captured his mind.

Why hadn’t he planned to stay up here? Why had he given so little thought to remaining on site? Like he was going to leave when there was a chance of making contact. Was it his fear of failure? If he’d made plans to stay during the search and nothing was found, would that somehow make things worse?

Was it the lack of control, the fact that he’d been in charge of the development, but now it was out of his hands? So many screwed-up reasons.

He stepped inside his room and closed the door behind him. He’d ordered king-sized beds for all the cabins, including his own. If he’d been so sure of failure, there’d be a damned twin bed in here, right? But he’d gotten one big enough to share with Zianne. Hell, big enough for Dink as well, should the occasion arise. Grinning, he flipped off the light switch and walked across the room in the dark.

At least this time he managed to avoid tripping over his boots. He poured the glass full of the whisky and sat on the edge of the bed in the dark, sipping the fiery drink. Finished it and poured another.

Even without the lights on, he didn’t spill a drop.

After the third, he set the bottle and the glass aside and stretched out on top of the covers. A minute later he pulled the comforter over himself. He’d forgotten how cold it got at night, too. Dark and cold, and lonely without Zianne beside him, but that was nothing new.

He’d been lonely for twenty fucking years.

His head was slightly muzzy, but at least the buzz of nerves and too much adrenaline was gone. Closing his eyes, Mac consciously relaxed his taut muscles, felt sleep claim him.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute later when he smelled that familiar sweet scent he’d always associate with Zianne—vanilla and honey—and the moment his mind recognized her seductive aroma he lurched upright, heart pounding double-time, and stared into the darkness.

“Zianne? Where are you? I know you’re here, sweetheart, but where?” He shoved the blankets back, stumbled across the room, and scrabbled for the light switch. It took a minute, but he finally found it and flipped the damned thing and stared frantically about. Nothing. He couldn’t see her, but she was here. He knew it. He sensed her presence, her nearness. Her scent filled his nostrils, so rich he could practically taste her, but where the hell was she?

“Zianne? I know you’re here. Don’t do this, sweetheart. Show yourself to me. Please?”

God, was he losing his mind? Was it the booze? Three shots shouldn’t have him hallucinating, but where the fuck was she?

He stood there, body rigid, heart thudding in his chest. He had one hand on the light switch, the other flattened against the wall. Air rushed in and out of his lungs in huge, desperate gasps for what felt like forever. The scent of honey and vanilla slowly faded. His heart rate finally slowed. After a while, Mac slid down the wall and sat on the floor.

Nothing. No sign of her. Not even a lingering bit of her scent. He must have dreamed it. Dreamed her, like he had so many nights before, but damn, not now. Not tonight. The array was finished, his team was in place, the time was right, and if she was going to return to him, she should be here now.