Touching Darkness (19 page)

He zoned in on those earrings, coming down into her condo, looking around at the cozy and cluttered living room, kitchen, then her bedroom. He saw the jewelry box the earrings were in, but he was more interested in checking for Olivia.

A few minutes later, he opened his eyes. “She's not there, either. How am I going to find her?” Nicholas ran his hand through his hair and started pacing. “I've got to do something. I can't let”—he looked at the sketch—“that happen.” He implored them with his eyes. “Don't any of you have some skill, anything…?”

Amy shook her head. “I'm sorry. Seeing auras and talking to dead people isn't going to help. Rand can see ten seconds ahead, but that only helps in the moment. Zoe's got telekinesis, but moving things…” She shrugged.

Nicholas came to stop at the sketches, which were all laid out in a row. “Lucas, didn't you say you got images of things that were going to happen?”

“Sometimes, but I can't control them.”

Nicholas studied the sketches, then the map. “He's going to take her to the water. There are two lakes near her condo. And there's the Potomac River…miles of it. But you saw a lake.”

“It definitely looks like a lake.”

“I'm going to search Woodbridge, see if either of the lakes matches the sketches.”

“That's what I did when I saw Amy being attacked. I had a few details, and I was a man mad to find the marina that matched those details.”

Nicholas could see the fear in Lucas's eyes at the memory.

“I can't let that psycho get her. If he touches her—” Nicholas stopped, his eyes widening, his cheeks flushing.
He turned to them. “I couldn't imagine having the urge to kill someone, for any reason other than self-defense. But now I know why you shot that guard, Lucas. And Eric, why you beat the guy who had Amy and Petra at gunpoint.”

“When you love a woman, you'll do anything for her,” Lucas said softly, looking at Amy.

“I don't know if I love her, but there's this feeling I've never felt before of…of doing anything to protect her. And I will.”

N
icholas drove toward Woodbridge, his head a jumble of frantic thoughts. Rand had offered to go with him. Nicholas's first reaction was to refuse; he did things on his own. He could see, though, the value of having a team like these people behind him. Two things ultimately pushed him to refuse: Olivia was, in their minds, the enemy, and if something happened to Rand because of her, the Rogues would never forgive Nicholas. The second: the fear in Zoe's face at the thought of losing someone she was obviously crazy in love with.

It still stunned him, the intensity of his feelings for Olivia. He'd never thought he could feel anything like that. Like what his mother had felt for his father, which had then destroyed her when he was killed.

It was easier to admit his feelings for Olivia because he could never be with her. He'd save her from whoever it was that had the nerve to think he could touch her, then they'd be adversaries again.

What if you can't save her?

No, don't think that.

And what was he going to do if he
could
find her? Lucas had given him a knife, which was tucked beneath the seat. He'd offered him one of their guns, but Nicholas had de
clined. It would be too dangerous without his having had any training.

So this was what it was like to care about someone so deeply he'd forsake his beliefs…his identity.

They were right. Love was a bitch.

 

Lucas pulled Amy close for a kiss. His last one, but he couldn't let the emotions washing over him give that away. “Eric and I are going to do a little male bonding down in the range. Don't wait up for me.”

“Male bonding, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you two up to?”

He leaned close, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair. “I'm going to get him to try remote-viewing Olivia. I'll have a better chance if he's not doing it in front of everyone else. He's got to keep up that blustery façade, you know.”

“That's not a façade.”

She looked at him with those green eyes, so innocent, so full of love. Her hair was sticking up, wild in a charming kind of way.
God, how I love her. God, how I hate to hurt her.
Hadn't he always known he would? She was strong. She'd survive, and she had a family here to protect and comfort her. At least they'd be safe from him.

His chest felt heavy as he and Eric went down two flights to the large room in the lowest level. They'd set up the storage area as a makeshift range, with white buckets as targets. They'd drawn faces on them, including one with Darkwell's thick eyebrows and moustache.

Eric closed the door and leaned against it, his arms over his chest. “You're sure about this?”

“Yes.” Lucas laid out a tarp on the floor. “Eric, you look like hell. I thought you were going to take a nap.”

He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. “My mind won't shut down. It's this…this thing you've got me doing tonight. It's got me wired.”

“Then let's get it over with. It's almost seven.” Oddly,
he felt calm. He'd heard that when people were about to drown, a sense of peace overcame them. This was what it must feel like. “You're going to need time to clean up and explain it to everyone. Then you can get some sleep.”

“Oh, yeah, like that's going to happen. You were always the sensible, calm one. This shouldn't be you.” He braced his hands on the concrete wall, lifting his face and closing his eyes. “I've always had this streak of anger. Dad—the man I thought was my father—told me I was an angry baby.” He turned to face Lucas. “Why do you suppose that was?”

“You were always mad and distrustful, even as a kid. It's probably the Booster.”

“I've done some stupid things. You're the only person I'll ever say this to. But yeah, I admit it. Rage takes me over. I can't control it. I know it worries all of you. Sometimes it worries me, too.”

“You have to master it. When I'm gone, you'll be in charge, at least unofficially. You were the first one to figure out something was going on.”

He laughed, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, I was the paranoid one. I guess that's in my DNA, too.”

“Something is. Amy's determined to find out what it is. Watch over her. She's going to get a bit crazy after…well, you know. Don't let her go find this scientist guy alone.” He lay down in the middle of the tarp. “If you stand over me and shoot, the mess should be contained on the tarp. Wrap me up tight and put my body down in the mechanic's room before you tell Amy. Don't let her see me.”

Eric hefted the gun in his hand. “You're the meanest son of a bitch I ever knew, asking me to do this. And I'm insulted that you think I'm ruthless enough to do it.”

“Not ruthless, Eric. But you don't mind killing people.”

His eyes took on a sheen. “The enemy, not the man I consider a brother. I love you, Lucas. You're asking me to take your life to save the life of an enemy.”

“Not just her. You're saving yourselves. And me.”

Eric aimed the gun, though it looked off by a couple of inches. He took in a deep breath. Released it and turned away. “There's no way in hell I'm shooting you. But I am going to keep you down here all night. And awake. You can't leave, you can't dreamweave, so you can't hurt that woman.” He spun a chair around and sat down on it. “So…should Lulu Lalane pick Bonehead Mike or Tom the Tool? Petra and I got our money on Tom, since she chose him to wax her pube hairs a couple of episodes back. What do you think?”

Lucas shot to his feet. “Don't be a freaking coward, Eric. You go off and do stupid things that endanger our lives. You owe all of them this one way to keep them safe.”

Eric tilted his head, a smile on his face. “You're just trying to rile me up. Ain't gonna work.”

“Fine, I'll do it myself.”

Eric pulled the gun away. “No, sirree.”

Lucas sank back to the floor. He was physically no match for Eric, who, as Amy liked to say, was built like a Hummer. “Okay, so you keep me from killing Olivia. Then what? Are you going to watch over me every second?” He pressed his palms against his forehead. “What if I hurt Amy when we're alone, and there's no one else to stop me? My coming after her like that would destroy her a lot more than my being dead.”

“Jerryl's gone now. He was the one who got into your head, only it worked differently with you. Let's wait and see.”

“If I blank out, like I did with Robbins, you have to promise me—and keep it this time—that you'll take me out.”

The flash of a woman walloped him so hard, he tilted sideways. The storm of images. He closed his eyes, ready for the onslaught. They ripped through his head like lightning, crackling across the crevices of his brain.

Olivia. A vacant stare on her face. Driving in a trance.

He felt his body fall back to the floor. Before he hit, Eric grabbed him and eased him down.

“What do you see, bro?”

Man's face. His face. How? How could he kill her with Eric holding him hostage? Unless it was when he was passed out after the storm.

“Me,” he managed. “Taking off her clothes. Folding them.” More lightning flashing through his head. More images. “Raping…oh, jeez. He's…I'm raping her.”

The image was horrifying, so bizarre and against his nature.

“Keep me lucid.” He tried to mentally sort through the images.
Go back to where they're driving.
He felt his brain shutting down as it always did.

No, not yet!

He saw headlights on a street sign.
Look. What does it say?

“MacArthur…Street…call Nicholas.”

He slumped, his brain grinding to a halt.

“All right, but I'm sending Amy down here, so don't try anything.”

His last cognizant thought was,
As if I could.

 

Sayre focused on Olivia, sensing her, feeling her essence, and sinking into her dreams. Hell, she was having some pretty nasty dreams even without his interfering.

He moved closer to her dream self, facing her, looking into her eyes.
Let me in, darlin'. Time for me and you to play.

He merged with her, then made her get up and scan the bed to make sure she was alone. She looked down at herself. As much as he was looking forward to seeing her naked, he didn't want her driving naked in case she was stopped.

She was wearing bloodred silk jammies. She grabbed her keys, went to the door and down the stairs to her car. He hadn't had the pleasure of driving in some time, and
even that small thing was a delight. Nothing compared to what would come, of course.

Just past the estate, there's a park, kind of a grassy, open area.

He'd searched the area online for the best rendezvous point. Having her park in the street might attract attention, and he certainly did not want that.

Traffic was light, and it didn't take long.

Kill your lights and sit tight, darlin'.

He pulled out and probed the guard outside his door. Asleep. He wondered what all those men outside hiding in the bushes were doing. Probably some of them were snoozing, too. Whatever Mr. Darkwell was preparing for—and he was sure it wasn't his escape—hadn't happened yet.

Now, some people might look at that as a bad thing, having heightened security on the one night he was planning to take a little R&R. Not Sayre. It upped the challenge, the risk. Yeah, the last risk he'd taken had bit him in the ass, but this was a whole different situation.

He sank into the guard's dreams and opened his eyes to the dimly lit hallway. The guy turned and unlocked the door.

You're going to walk me downstairs to the kitchen entrance. If anyone stops us, you'll say I'm sick, and you're taking me to get help.

Then you're going to come back up and take your position. You're going to stay in this deep state of sleep until I come a' calling again. And tomorrow, you're going to tell Mr. Darkwell I knocked on the door at about four in the morning and asked for an antacid. You said you couldn't leave your post to get me one, so I was out of luck.

He waited for the door to unlock. The man had a blank look on his face, and, interestingly, Sayre could see himself in a green sweatshirt with a hood through the guard's eyes. The man turned like a robot and walked him downstairs. Sayre took note of the mansion. He kept his orientation, just as he had when they'd brought him in. Too bad he couldn't
zip down the banister again. He needed to stay low-key this time. The kitchen was enormous, bigger than his quarters. It was dimly lit by two small lights.

Go back to your post, keep that badass in his prison.

If, somehow, Sayre was discovered missing, it would be evident when he returned. They wouldn't expect him to come back, so the whole place would be lit like a circus. He'd be a fugitive much earlier than he'd anticipated, and without the funds he needed, but he was flexible. Free was free, after all. Otherwise, he'd use this as a test run.

He pulled an impressive knife from the butcher block.
Never know when you might need some additional persuasion.
He doused the lights and opened the door just enough to slip through. That was the good thing about being wiry. According to his mother, he'd been sick a lot as a child, and that had set his growth behind. He'd put up with a lot of teasing over the years. Prison food hadn't exactly beefed him up, though he did work out. Not to bulk up but to stay fast on his feet.

He closed the door without making more than a soft
click
and kept close to the house. Bushes and ornamental hedges were planted in beds around the outside edge. Hyperaware of any movement out in the yard, he slowly dropped to the ground. Inch by inch, he slithered across the grass next to the base of the hedges. The guards could have night binoculars. The key would be not to arouse their interest in the first place.

It took a painstakingly long time, but caution was worth it. He got to the place beneath his windows and aimed for the bush he knew was shaped like a bear. He curled around the bear's feet and took stock of his surroundings. A twig creaked in the distance. One of the men had shifted positions. By now, though, they would be sagging with boredom. He probed in the nearby area. Someone was drifting in and out of sleep, waking with a start, only to drift off again. Through the man's eyes, he could barely see himself in the shift in the shadows.

He continued, finally reaching the edge of the wall. He rose in imperceptible degrees. He'd been practicing in his room since he'd arrived. He could have waited for his time with Olivia when he broke out for good, but who knew what her circumstances would be that night? He would have to scram immediately, so he might lose his chance.

He couldn't risk that. Why was he so compelled to take her? She hadn't pissed him off, after all. No, she intrigued him. She had haunted his dreams as much as he was haunting hers.

He finally reached his full height and moved his shoulder into the tight space between bars. He exhaled deeply, turned to the side, and pushed his way through. His movements didn't quicken once he was outside. He followed in the shadows along the wall.

Once he reached the sidewalk at the far corner of the estate, he took off toward the road. It wasn't very far to the park, and his hours on the treadmill had upped his stamina. He saw a car waiting. His chest nearly burst, from both pleasure and exertion, at the sight of her in the front seat, her head slumped.

Come on back. I need you to do the driving.

If she was spotted, a witness would see her driving alone. Who knew what kind of trouble she was up to?

From his place low in the front seat, he instructed her toward the park he'd seen. Though it was closed, it was a simple matter of moving two cones to drive through.