Touching Darkness (2 page)

That was it? They weren't going to interrogate him? Try to force him to give up the new location?

Rand crossed his arms in front of his chest. “There's something you need to know. If you stay on Darkwell's side, you may not get out alive.”

The seriousness in Rand's eyes made Nicholas's throat tighten. “You'd kill me?”

Rand nodded. “If you're the enemy, and you help him find us or set us up, we'll have to. Or you may get hit in the cross fire. This is a war between Darkwell and us. And
like any war, people are going to get killed. We're going to make damned sure it's not one of us.”

Zoe said, “But if you join us, you'll be a target like we are.”

Either option sucked. He felt as though he were straddling an alligator.

Zoe walked toward the hallway. “We'd better get you back to your car. If Jerryl remote-views and sees you with us, you're toast. Unless you're a setup.”

“I'm not.” Nicholas met their hard glares. “Either you or Darkwell is lying. I'm going to find out which one.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and followed Rand out of the building.

N
icholas returned to the Darkwell family estate in Potomac, Maryland, his head buzzing with what Zoe and Rand had told him. It had been strange seeing faces that matched the pictures of people he'd been targeting, especially since they hadn't looked or acted like terrorists.

More importantly: Darkwell had lied about their intentions. If they'd gone to his house to kill him, why had they not taken him out today?

From the beginning, Darkwell hadn't lived up to his side of the agreement, making excuses and empty promises. Dishonesty was usually a deal breaker, but Nicholas understood that the government had secrets it couldn't share with the general public. This program was one of those secrets. But now…now he knew he was being lied to personally. He'd walk, screw the money, forget that he always saw a job through to the best of his ability. Before he could do that, though, he had to find out the truth. This went beyond him; it involved his father.

He waited until the armed guard opened the gate. The mansion was a hell of a lot better than that creepy hospital where the program had started. He parked his Nissan Frontier in the small parking area. The house was two stories, painted white, with columns flanking the grand entrance. Mahogany paneling and trim, a winding staircase,
leather accents, marble floors, the smell of old wood and older money. He'd take his place in the Eastport section of Annapolis any day—three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a nice little yard where he could work up a sweat mowing and trimming bushes.

He sprinted up the stairs that split midfloor to head to the right wing and the left wing, where the offices and his suite of rooms were. He spotted Olivia, Darkwell's assistant, in the hallway. Whenever he saw her, he felt an odd ping in his chest. She spent most of her days at CIA headquarters and the evenings here.

Her face, a perfect oval framed by long, brown hair, transformed into a smile when she saw him. She tamped it down, though, which he suspected had something to do with Darkwell's glower when he'd spotted them talking in the hallway the other day.

A spark ignited when she'd come to his room at the asylum with employment papers to sign. She'd perched on his small desk and told him a joke about two rabbits and a fox. Then Darkwell walked by, and she'd dropped to her feet, the enchanting smile and glow in her incredible hazel green eyes gone. Later, he told Nicholas there was a rule prohibiting staff/contractor relations.

Since then, the few times he and Olivia had been alone together, she'd dropped a flirty line but quickly retreated. It was clear by the fire in her eyes she hadn't wanted to, and he hadn't wanted her to, either.

Nicholas paused a few feet from her. “Can we talk? Alone?”

She ran her finger down the sensual spiral of one silver earring. “I, uh…maybe that's not such a good idea considering the rule that staff and contractors shouldn't be, uh, socializing.”

“This is about work.”

“Oh. Of course.” Her face flushed in that sweet way that told him she had been sheltered as far as men were concerned, which intrigued him even more.

He leaned close, inhaling the faint scent of perfume that reminded him of cotton candy. His eyes held hers. “I'd love to
socialize
with you, but I don't want you to get into trouble.”

Her mouth opened for a second before the word, “Oh,” emerged.

“Where can we talk?”

She turned. “Come this way.”

They passed Jerryl Evrard's room, where he and Fonda were noisily going at it, as usual. Hadn't Rand said the Booster made the subjects randy? Olivia's face flushed again as she looked everywhere but at him. Oh, yeah, he'd love to make her moan and cry out. He'd entertained the thought of hooking up during his time here if Olivia didn't want anything more than that herself. Getting involved in anything long-term was, unfortunately, out of the question. He'd dismissed the fling idea after her reaction to Darkwell. That didn't mean he couldn't fantasize about running his fingers through her hair, tugging it back to expose her neck…

He shook off the thought before he grew a full-bore hard-on.

At the end of the hallway, they walked into one of the rooms where he and Jerryl undertook their missions. The balcony had been enclosed as a sunroom, but Darkwell had installed a heavy curtain to block out all light. She pulled it open, and he was still looking at the way the sun burnished her hair with auburn highlights when she turned around, a look of both curiosity and anticipation on her face.

She was dressed much less conservatively than she did during the week, wearing tight yellow pants and a black shirt. It was unbuttoned just low enough to show the creamy skin of her collarbone and the edge of a red bra. In comparison, he felt slovenly in his centuries-old black T-shirt and black workout pants.

He placed his hand against the warm curved glass that
overlooked the courtyard and what he called the east wing, where Olivia stayed. “Darkwell signed me on to DARK MATTER with the promise that I would be locating hostages. So far all I've been doing is finding the Rogues. What do you know about them?”

A shadow crossed her face. “He hasn't told me much about them, either. I…I took care of one of them when he was at the asylum. I remember thinking he must have done something pretty bad to be there. You saw what the Rogues did when they broke in. They're ruthless.”

He didn't even know he was going to reach out and touch the faint scar on the side of her temple where Eric Aruda, the most dangerous Rogue, had coldcocked her two weeks ago. Her eyes widened at the touch.

“He could have killed you.”

“I know.” Her voice quivered, and the shadow of violence still haunted her eyes. “Look what he did to one of our men.”

His fury returned at the memory of blood running down her cheek, her stark fear. He wanted to teach Eric Aruda a lesson about assaulting innocent women, especially sweet, delicate, soft Olivia. His thumb rubbed her temple in slow circles. Her pupils dilated, and her mouth slackened. His eyes felt heavy as he looked at her mouth, pink and glistening, ready to be kissed.

What are you doing?

He dropped his hand. “No, I mean, he could have killed you. Easily. But he only knocked you out. They broke in to rescue their friends, not attack. Our guy was holding Eric's sister at gunpoint.” Then he realized what she'd said. “So there
were
prisoners.”

Now her face paled. “I wasn't supposed to tell anyone.”

“I overheard Darkwell talking about prisoners right after it happened though he denied it when I asked. You only confirmed it. I don't like being lied to.”

“We have to trust he's doing the right thing. He has his way, but he's a good man.”

Nicholas narrowed his eyes. “You're not…involved with him, are you?” He did seem territorial about Olivia, and she acted reverential and obedient toward him.

A bark of laughter erupted from her mouth. “No. God, no. He's just…been my boss for a long time.” She tilted her head. “Please don't let him know I told you about the prisoners.”

He moved closer, his voice lowering. “Only if you”—
kiss me
. He cleared his throat—“tell me what's really going on here.”

“I'm strictly administrative. All I know is Darkwell brought in three people with special skills to break up terrorist cells. You obviously have some kind of skill.” She paused, as though to let him add what that skill was. When he didn't say, she continued. “The Rogues are one of those cells. They're trying to sabotage the program.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

“Why were they going to kill me?”

“Darkwell has your best interest in mind. If he thinks they're a danger to you, I'd believe him.”

She definitely believed in the man. Maybe a little too much.

A man's voice stopped them both. “If you want answers, ask me.”

They both jerked around to find Darkwell standing in the doorway. He'd opened the door so quietly, they hadn't heard him. His winged eyebrows gave him a menacing look when he narrowed his large, dark brown eyes.

Nicholas walked up to him, face-to-face. He had to be careful what he said so as not to give away that he'd talked to the Rogues. “Fine, answer my questions.”

Darkwell gave Olivia a look, and she left. Only when she'd gone did he say, “Why were the Rogues out to kill you? Simply because you're on the good side. Having strong psychic abilities themselves, they found out about my program. They're antigovernment terrorists who want to
impede our progress. You've been a tremendous help with stopping them. I know that's not what you signed on for, but you will be doing what you want soon. In fact, I'm getting information today on a contractor, father of four from Alabama, who's gone missing in Afghanistan. This is our first official chance to show everyone what we can do.” The carrot. And then the sense of obligation. “I've invested a lot of my time and energy to enhance your skills.”

“I don't like being kept in the dark, not when what I'm doing could cause someone to die. What's Jerryl doing, besides Fonda?”

Darkwell's mouth tilted up in a sardonic smile, his moustache stretching with it. “I'm not pleased with their association, but I'm less pleased about anything that might start between you and Olivia.”

Nicholas hoped Darkwell hadn't heard their conversation about the prisoners. “You have nothing to worry about. She's made the policy clear, and I respect that.”

“But you have doubts about my intentions.”

“I overheard you talking about prisoners, but when I asked, you denied it.”

“I thought it might make you uncomfortable, and, frankly, it didn't concern you. Either way, that's no longer a problem.” His voice thickened on those words. “I'm going to ask you to trust me a little longer. For now, focus on the missing man.”

Nicholas leaned against the back of a chair. “When you first approached me, you said you'd been impressed with my father's location skills.”

“Yes, he was very talented.”

“What was he doing when he died?”

“Why all these questions, Nicholas?”

Darkwell's eyes were as dark as the underwater caves Nicholas explored in his free time. And potentially just as dangerous.

“The more I get to know my skills, the more I want to know about his.”

“He would be very proud of you.” With two pats on Nicholas's shoulder, Darkwell turned and left.

He hadn't answered the question, and Nicholas intuitively knew not to press.

Darkwell kills curious cats.

According to the Rogues, Darkwell sent an assassin after Zoe Stoker. If that had succeeded, Nicholas would have indirectly been responsible for her death. The thought crackled like electricity in his chest.

He headed back down the hall, spotting Darkwell talking to Jerryl through a crack in the door. Nicholas strained to hear what they were saying, but Darkwell moved away and went into Olivia's office. A minute later, he emerged with a folder and headed to the end of the hall. Jerryl walked out of his room and toward the same mission room Darkwell had gone into.

Nicholas loitered, hoping to catch Olivia and apologize for getting her into trouble. She, however, didn't meet his gaze when she exited a minute later and strode around the corner.

Nicholas tried to look as though he were waiting for his assignment, bored even, as he meandered toward the end of the hall. Robbins, Darkwell's lead man, was focused on something on his desk and didn't even look up as Nicholas passed. The mission room door was closed, posted with the sign
SESSION IN PROGRESS
. He leaned closer and tried to hear what they were saying.

“Comfortable?” Darkwell asked. “Good. Now, find Eric Aruda. Get into his head and quickly dispatch anyone in his vicinity. We want him to take out his comrades.”

“Gladly.”

Get into his head? Take out his comrades? The thought of Jerryl mind-controlling someone shot alarm through him. Zoe and Rand had been right about that, too.

Olivia came around the corner, and their gazes locked for a second before she went into her office. Damn, why did his chest have to tighten at the sight of her? He focused on
the room again. Silence, while Jerryl did whatever he was doing.

A few minutes later, “Can't get in, sir. He must be in their hideout.”

Darkwell said the Rogues had a psychic shield over their hideout. Now Nicholas was glad. The door opened sooner than he'd anticipated, and Darkwell stepped out and closed the door behind him.

“What are you doing out here?” he nearly barked.

Nicholas was good at remaining calm in stressful situations. It had saved his life during his diving expeditions. “Waiting for you to get me started on something. I'm bored.”

Darkwell narrowed his eyes. “You didn't seem so sure a few minutes ago.”

“Just frustrated.”

He held up a manila folder. “Then this should make you happy.” He nodded for Nicholas to follow him into the mission room opposite and closed the door behind them. “I have information on the hostage.”

For the next half hour, Nicholas studied the data. Darkwell had even thrown in pictures of his children, a move so blatantly manipulative it rankled. Had the man forgotten that if Nicholas became emotionally involved in the case, he couldn't connect?

Darkwell checked back with him. “What do you think?”

Nicholas set the pictures and notes aside. “I'll give it my best shot.”

“I know you will.” Darkwell sat at the desk next to the recliner where Nicholas would undertake his mission and clicked on the tape recorder.

At least he wasn't tracking down someone who would then be targeted. Or would he? He didn't know anymore. He glanced at the man's picture, a typical American-looking guy. Not a Rogue; too old.