Rebecca York (34 page)

Eyeing the gun still in his hand, she edged slowly away, wondering if she could get into the office and find out what was wrong with Jordan.

He made a grating sound in his throat, stopping her in her tracks. But he wasn't speaking to her.

"I got him for you, Sid. I got him."

Lindsay's mouth fell open, as the contorted features and the bald head resolved themselves into a pattern she recognized.

"Is he dead?" she managed to ask, hearing the raspy quality of her own voice.

"Yeah. Mr. Big Shot won't go after anyone else now," he spit out.

"Mark? How did you get here?"

His eyes narrowed, and he seemed fully aware of her for the first time. "Who are you? How the hell do you know who I am?"

She scrambled for a coherent explanation. "They were holding me captive here. I escaped."

"Oh, yeah? Why?"

"I... I work for Senator Bridgewater. Your cousin, Sid, came to me. He asked me to help him find out what had happened to you."

He trained the gun on her. "Explain what's going on."

She swallowed hard, knowing that it would be dangerous to say too much. Mark had just killed a man.

Now his gun was trained on her. And he didn't exactly look friendly. "I was helping Jordan Walker dig into the Maple Creek break-in."

"Who the hell is Jordan Walker?"

"An investigative journalist. You might have read some of his books. Or—"

"I don't read that kind of crap," he snapped, and she knew he wasn't in good enough shape for a logical conversation.

"Okay. Well, he's legit. MacArthur was hunting us down. He ... he caught up with us and brought us back here. He was going to get all the information out of us he could. Then he was going to kill us."

"Why should I believe any of that?"

"Because it's the truth." As she spoke she tried to project the message into his head, the way she knew Jordan had done in the office with MacArthur. It's the truth. You believe me because it's the truth.

He stared at her, and she wondered if the silent directions were sinking in. She knew he held her life in his hands— and his decision could go either way.

Mark, please. I need your help. I—

She never got a chance to finish because the office door opened and a blond woman stepped out.

Lindsay's breath stilled in her lungs. The woman was Willow Trinity.

Willow gave her a passing glance, then focused on Mark, and he crumpled to the floor, screaming, his hands clamped to his shaved head.

Aghast, Lindsay tried to go down on her knees beside him. But her muscles went rigid. An outside force had frozen her in place. She could feel static crackling inside her head. It hurt, but it was obviously nothing compared to what Mark had experienced.

Questing fingers probed her mind as Willow lifted her head, sniffing the thickening air. "You fool.

Did you torch the place?"

Lindsay pressed her lips together, but she couldn't hold back her answer. "Yes," she moaned.

"That makes it simpler. We can leave you to burn up in your own fire."

She yanked Lindsay forward, and she stumbled as her legs suddenly unfroze. Willow gave her a shove, propelling her into the office—where she saw Jordan and a blond man.

Saxon Trinity.

With a sick feeling, she focused on Jordan. He was sitting at the desk, his hands on the keyboard. She sent her thoughts toward him, but his brain might as well have been a block of wood. He didn't look at her, and she felt her guts clutch.

"What have you done to him?" she moaned.

Saxon ignored her. "Get the data out of there," he growled to Jordan.

Willow slammed the door behind them, shutting out the worst of the smoke.

"The bitch set her curtains on fire," she said.

"We've still got time."

Willow pushed Lindsay backward onto the couch, where she flopped like a bag of grapefruits.

Again she tried to reach out to Jordan with her mind, but the way was blocked by a powerful force that made the flimsy shields they'd constructed in their practice session seem like tissue paper. Obviously, they had been fools to think they could fight these two experienced telepaths with their own fledgling powers.

Willow must have caught the thought, because she turned and gave Lindsay a satisfied look.

Yes, your miserable little life is going to end right here in a burst of flames. You'll never have what Saxon and I have found together.

Willow's focus was divided. Part of her attention was on Lindsay. But she was also helping her brother direct a beam of raw energy on Jordan—forcing him to sit at the computer and work. Below the surface of her mind, Lindsay could sense him struggling to break free. She wanted to help. Maybe together they could do it—if she could figure out a way to reach him.

When the printer began to chug out papers, she knew their time was almost up.

She couldn't link with Jordan. She couldn't hurt Willow or Saxon. But was there anyone else here who could help them?

She cast her mind outward, frantically searching for someone who might come to their rescue.

She detected men and a woman out by the cliffs. And another man, making his way toward the house.

When she caught his thoughts, she lowered her gaze and tried to keep her expression and her brain waves neutral. She wasn't even sure what that meant. But she knew she was struggling to do it.

Hurry, she called out. We're in the office. Saxon and Willow are going to kill us. Can you stop them?

Lindsay risked a glance at Willow, but most of her attention was focused on her brother and Jordan now.

"We don't have time for a printed copy. Just take a disk," she said.

"I want to read it on the way home," Saxon answered.

They exchanged a look that told Lindsay the twins didn't always think in lockstep.

All the time she kept up her call for help. In the office. Can you get to the office? Hurry. We need you.

Time ticked past with horrifying speed, and at the same time she felt like she was in some kind of slow-motion, underwater bubble.

From the corner of her mind she caught the knowledge of a new presence. A man was just on the other side of the door—not the door to the hallway. The back way into the office.

It was the man she had summoned, creeping forward in the shadows, and she had to keep Willow's focus away from him.

Around the buzzing in her brain, she managed to say, "We can work together. We have the same goals."

"I doubt it."

"We want to learn from you. We hope you can teach us what you know."

Willow's gaze bored into hers. "We don't need you. We don't need anyone but each other."

In back of Willow a bloody hand gripped the doorjamb. Slowly a face came into view.

SAXON WAS THE first one of the twins to sense the intruder. Whirling to face the newcomer, he stared in shock. "Christ! You're supposed to be dead."

As Saxon spoke, he momentarily lost his focus on Jordan. And Lindsay knew that gave Jordan the opening he needed. He might not be able to fight the Trinity twins on a psychic level, but he had another option. With a mighty push of his feet against the desk, he sent the rolling chair hurtling backward—and into Saxon, who cried out as he tumbled sideways, his thoughts now totally disrupted.

Lindsay's gaze flicked from Saxon and Jordan to the doorway, where Daniel Bridgewater leaned against the jamb, holding a pistol in a two-handed grip.

"You bitch. You'll never mess with my head again." His voice was a dead man's wheeze as he fired at Willow, fired again. She and Saxon both screamed as she toppled to the ground.

Saxon was already on the floor. Hoisting himself to his hands and knees, he dragged himself toward his sister.

Lindsay felt the life leaking out of Willow. And Saxon felt it, too. Howling like a wounded animal in anguish, he crawled toward his sister. Jordan reached for a brass paperweight on the desk and brought it crashing down on the blond head, caving in Saxon's skull and putting him out of his misery.

Lindsay rushed toward Bridgewater. "Senator..."

He coughed. "The bitch did ... something ... to ... my mind." He blinked and gave Lindsay a startled look.

"What are you doing here?"

"Kurt MacArthur captured us."

"Did you have something to do with the break-in at Maple Creek?"

"No. We were investigating it."

"Oh, shit. More lies from that bitch."

He gave her a commanding look—a look she recognized from the office when he was exercising his authority. "Get out of here."

"I can't leave you."

"You have to get out."

"You, too."

"I was tough enough to make it up the side of the cliff. I'm tough enough to haul my ass out of the building."

Jordan ignored him. "We're leaving together. Now." Now. Before the whole place goes up inflames.

Jordan reached for Lindsay's hand, holding tight as he continued sending a message to the senator, hoping it would work, now that he had broken free of the Trinity twins. He had put up defenses against them, but not against her and Jordan. You didn't see us here tonight. You can say you came to question MacArthur about the cover-up of the Maple Creek break-in. You'll tell the press how MacArthur was using Defense Department money for his own dirty work. But you won't remember you saw us here.

Lindsay thought of something else. But you do remember Mark Greenwood. He came to talk to you about Maple Creek. He was with you in the afternoon three days ago. She named the date. He came to your house. You remember Mark was with you. He told you about Maple Creek. You were talking about the break-in. So when the police try to put him in the park where his cousin Sid was shot, you'll know he was set up. You'll help him.

In the corner of her mind she picked up on what Jordan was doing. Turning, he opened the bottom left desk drawer and took out his wallet—along with her purse.

The action jogged her brain, and she put the computer disk into her purse and grabbed the papers from the printer.

* * *

After manually flicking the switch below the desk that opened the gates, he wiped that clean, too.

We have to get Mark.

Yes.

When she opened the door, the reception area was filled with smoke, and she began to cough.

Crouching on the ground, she and Jordan crawled to Mark. Jordan took the gun from the unconscious man and stuffed it into his waistband. Together, they hauled Mark into the office. He was like a dead weight, but she felt him returning to consciousness as they pulled him out of the smoke-filled hallway and into the office complex.

The senator was staring down at Willow and Saxon. Jordan grabbed his arm, too, leading him back the way he'd entered the room—down a flight of stairs and out a side door.

You won't remember we were here, she said again, joining her thoughts with Jordan. This time they addressed both Mark and the senator.

Jordan added his reinforcement to the message, speaking to Mark. But you will remember going to Senator Daniel Bridgewater's house. You know Sid was killed, but you weren't there. You were with Senator Bridgewater. You were in his house. In his den.

Lindsay kept talking to him, giving him details about the house, about the room where he was supposed to have met the Senator, stopping when they stepped outside into a smoke-filled night.

Bridgewater pulled away, staggering across the lawn. Lindsay let him go, reminding him silently that he hadn't seen her or Jordan here tonight. She had a good chance of affecting his thinking, she told herself, because she was telling him something he would want to believe.

She was still coughing as they dragged Mark to one of the cars and threw him in the backseat. Lindsay climbed in after him. There was no ignition key, but they didn't need it.

Jordan started the engine, and they sped down the drive. When she turned around, she saw flames shooting out of the upper windows. Then a roaring sound leaped toward them, and she was pretty sure the upper floor had just collapsed.

As they screeched onto a side street, she heard sirens in the distance. Someone had called the fire department. She wondered if the bodies in the office complex would burn. She wondered how many people knew she and Jordan were in the house. Would they talk about it?

Probably not, since their capture and confinement had been illegal.

Mark moaned, and she stroked his shoulder, sending him soothing thoughts.

"My ... head ... hurts. It's like ... Maple Creek."

"No. You're all right. You're all right," she said aloud, sending him the same message with her mind, knowing Jordan was adding his reassurance. "Where were you staying?"

"Oak Hill Cemetery."

Lindsay shuddered. Can we take him to the cathedral? To the Bishop's Garden ?

I don't think we should, Jordan answered. If we do, he'll be even more confused. He probably left some stuff in the cemetery. And he'll wonder how he lost it if he wakes up somewhere else.

You're right.

Jordan headed across Key Bridge and into the city. They drove up Wisconsin Avenue and turned onto R Street. All the way they talked to Mark, asking him questions, giving him the information they wanted him to remember.

As Jordan pulled up near the cemetery gate, she asked, "Are you sure you can get back inside?"

"Yeah. I know a back way in."

They gave Mark final instructions. "Tomorrow, go to Senator Bridgewater for help. He'll remember meeting with you. He'll stand with you."

"Yes," Mark croaked.

She couldn't be sure it would work out the way she and Jordan wanted. But they had done as much as they could.

After Mark disappeared into the darkness, Lindsay moved into the front seat of the car.

"What about us?" she whispered. Jordan reached for her, and they held each other for a long moment.

"MacArthur's no longer a problem. And any of his guys who are left are going to be a little busy. I'd say we're in the clear. But just to be sure, we'll stay out of sight for a while."

She nodded against his shoulder, then eased away so he could drive. But she kept her hand on his arm and knew where he was going.