He’s found the woman of his dreams—in the midst of his worst nightmare. Carlotta Phelps never considered herself special, except for a peculiar ability to control the course of her dreams. Other than being a handy cure for nightmares, it’s a pretty worthless talent. Until she’s recruited for the One Hundred, a team of lucid dreamers whose combined visualizations have been proven to affect reality. With a giant asteroid hurtling straight toward Earth and the scientific technology to avert it uncertain, the dreamers are the fallback—the last line of defense. And the man who’s been assigned as her bodyguard is messing with her focus, big time. Ex-Special Ops soldier Parker Munroe has no idea why he’s been assigned to protect the luscious, gentle-eyed Carly. She’s a frustrating temptation, but he’s a hard-core realist. The only power he believes in is brute force. Then he learns that his charge, who practically lives in lacy negligees, wields an awesome power—and an even bigger responsibility. She and her kind are being hunted by an enemy he can’t even identify, against which all his skill with weaponry is useless. If he can’t find a way to protect her, the world is as doomed as the heart he’s already lost. Warning: This title contains a hero who packs a really big gun, government conspiracies, hot-buttered murder, witch hunting, and drop-your-drawersthere’s-a-new-sheriff-in-town-and-she’s-carryin’-cuffs kinda sex.
eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Lucidity Copyright © 2012 by Raine Weaver ISBN: 978-1-61921-090-5 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2012 www.samhainpublishing.com
Lucidity Raine Weaver
Dedication
To Vanessa Jaye, for reading, sharing, and unwavering support; To Cody, for hanging in there with me; To Linda Ingmanson, for making this dream more lucid; All my gratitude and thanks!
Chapter One
The fact that she had a penchant for long, clinging nightgowns had made his job difficult from the beginning. The fact that he wasn’t supposed to notice made the situation ridiculous. And the fact that she looked sinfully sexy in them was making his life a living hell. Honestly—if other people weren’t trying to kill her, he might do the deed himself. Parker Munroe deliberately rattled the grocery bag, making as much noise as possible, just because he knew he shouldn’t. Yeah, it was a childish thing to do. Having a quiet, stress-free environment was important to her work, and he might very well piss her off, but he was tired of playing the good soldier. Daylight had nearly dimmed to darkness, and just because she could sleep anytime she pleased didn’t mean he could relax. The nighttime made him edgy. He didn’t like not being able to see what was coming at him. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he read the labels as he arranged the cans in the kitchen cabinet. Tomato soup. Tuna. Spam. Gag. He’d kill for a grilled steak right now. Being slowly starved and forced to live with this woman was taking a toll. He had to complain about something. “Man, couldn’t we manage some real rations on one of these junkets? Microwavable stuff, or even a little fast food?” His frustration boiled over in a long, slow hiss as he pulled a small jar from the sack. Decaffeinated coffee? That was fine for the girl, but for a man trying to stay alert? “And how about some
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spring water next time around? Every time I have to drink this rusty crap from the wells, I get the runs.” Parker paused in his rant as Shepherd Bolt stared at him in the sallow kitchen light. Stained walls, cracked plaster and seedy furniture had become the norm to him, but his friend looked grotesquely out of place in this cabin with his Armani three-piece suit, gold watch and spit-shined shoes. Vindictive or not, the urge to kick dust onto his handler’s shiny new threads was nearly overwhelming. As if reading his thoughts, Shep shook his head, smirking. “This is the thanks I get for grocery shopping? You must be getting soft, Munroe. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you live on jerky for days at a time. You’re just grumpy about being stuck in this dump. And none of this has a damn thing to do with food or water. How can anyone complain about spending time with a hot babe?” “I’m not here to spend time with her. I’m here to keep her safe. You’re here to give me instructions. She’s here to do a job. It makes for nice symmetry. And she’s not just some hot babe.” Munroe unearthed a pack of generic cigarettes from the depths of the bag and gratefully tucked them into the pocket of his jeans. “She’s supposed to be special—remember? One of those secret vestal virgins or whatever the hell they’re called.” “Vestal virgins?” Shepherd threw his head back and howled. “This isn’t ancient Rome, Munroe. The lady is probably as advanced as they come. Rumor is she was part of that experiment. You know—that mad-scientist shit that produced the infamous One Hundred. The so-called mutants destined to be ‘the saviors of all mankind’. Or so the tabloids say. There are people who’d pay a pretty penny for that information. You’ve been living with her for three months, dude. Shouldn’t you know that?”
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There were a lot of things about this assignment that Parker didn’t know. But he’d heard enough about the One Hundred to know he didn’t buy the hype. Since some second-rate investigative reporter had unearthed classified documents exposing federal funding for the mysterious group, it was the latest rage in conspiracy theories. Why had millions in tax dollars designated for research been spent on them? Why were they being hidden and protected? And did he believe that some experiment in a top secret lab had produced a small clutch of superhumans? Not really. But it didn’t matter. He had an assignment. Keeping her safe was all that counted. “It’s not my business to know or to care.” Shepherd shook his head, fisting his hands around the worn rungs of the wooden chair he straddled. “I know how you operate. You don’t worry about a specific enemy, because everybody is the enemy. I know it’s worked for you in the past. But ignorance isn’t always bliss. Sometimes you carry this governmental need-to-know garbage too far.” Parker savagely crumpled the bag and tossed it into the trash. “Fine. If you’re so hip to all this covert-cult and tabloid crap, maybe you should be playing bodyguard.” “Now, we both know you wouldn’t trust me alone with your pretty lady.” He was right. Parker might trust him with his life, but Shep had few scruples and none at all when it came to women. The thought of the two of them possibly getting together made him want to open the cans with his teeth. “You couldn’t handle her. The chick’s determined to undermine every safety precaution. She’s a disaster waiting to happen.” “That’s pretty much what the members of the Temple believe. That the One Hundred are unnatural, evil spawns of a science that will, eventually, interfere with God’s plan for us. Their members are nearly as secretive as the mutants.
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And if they have to use intimidation and violence in the name of religion, so be it. It’s all about God’s will, and they are his instruments. So, legitimate reason or not, the threat against your girl is real enough.” Parker barked a short laugh, rummaging through a crowded utility drawer for a can opener. “You sound like you actually believe this bullshit, man. Mutant? The only supernatural thing about my charge is her ability to drive me crazy. And that she never seems to run out of lingerie. Ever.” Shep arched one eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” To a normal guy under normal conditions, it’d be a fantasy come true. The girl was more than easy on the eyes. But since involvement with a client was out of the question, it was more like standing outside a candy store window with a brick in his hand. Or something equally as hard. “I’ve got no say in what the lady wears.” “No. We don’t have much say in any of this—or much information, either. Frankly, it pisses me off. I’m not like you. I don’t like flying blind. I’d feel better knowing what was supposed to be special about these folks. Were there really gene-altering experiments? Why doesn’t the government even acknowledge them? And what the hell are these people up to? I assume she follows the same routine I’ve heard the others do?” “Pretty much,” Parker agreed. “She keeps that space-age cell phone with her at all times. The thing never loses power. And whenever it rings, day or night, she stops what she’s doing and heads for bed.” “Weird,” Shep said thoughtfully. “One hundred people, all diving under the covers at a given signal. Maybe they’ve discovered a mystical power in masturbating.” “Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a one-track mind?” “No.” He winked. “Which means I’m usually on the right track.”
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Parker shook his head, unable to resist a smile. “Seriously, man. It’s bizarre. Meals, showers, what time she gets up in the morning—everything in her world revolves around that phone. I’ve seen her curled up in bed with the thing, clutching it right to her heart, as if her life depended on it.” “Ah.” There was a note of satisfaction in that single word. “You’ve watched her sleep?” Damn straight he had. It was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself in this gig. She didn’t sleep fitfully, as he did, but in a completely relaxed state. And once in a while, a slight, blissful smile, like that of a newborn peeking back beyond the veil, touched her lips, making her look even lovelier. But that was none of Shep’s business. And Parker intended to keep it that way. “I’ve had to wake her up often enough—which doesn’t make me a happy man. It pisses me off to run away from these fights.” “But remember, you’re protecting a member of a group that isn’t supposed to exist. Brawls and dead bodies would attract unwanted attention. Besides, maybe they’re doing something simple after all. Prayer sharing. Or some kind of subliminal text messaging. Or they’re learning a new language in their sleep.” “Klingonese?” “Hey, why not? I don’t believe in labeling or judging the lunatic-fringe stuff. My old man always said, ‘Don’t be surprised if it’s the nutcases that bring home the truth.’ I’m just here to keep our lambs safe and do my job. Like fetching supplies for ingrates like you.” Shepherd stood, sliding the chair under the crooked table. “But vestal or not—if that lady’s still a virgin, mankind doesn’t deserve to be saved. And if you can’t see how luscious that woman is, you’ve been sleeping with your gun too long.” “You’re assuming that he ever sleeps, Mr. Bolt. And I’m not so sure that’s true. But he wears it well. He’s the best I’ve ever had.”
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Parker busied himself selecting soup as Carlotta Phelps breezed into the kitchen, presenting Shepherd with a handshake and a heart-seizing smile. Phfft. Easy enough for his buddy to take it all in stride. He didn’t have to live with the woman, keep his thoughts and hands to himself, or pretend that her delicate, feminine scent didn’t fill a room every time she entered. And Shep didn’t have to try to ignore this evening’s choice of nightgown—a little ice-blue satin number that flowed like water with every move she made. At least she wore a short, quilted bed jacket this time. It covered the mouthwatering nipples and a curve or two—but not nearly enough for his liking. Still too much cleavage showing. And the sensual movement of those hips was enough to blind an adolescent boy. No wonder he was going stir-crazy. Carly’s unfortunate habit of wearing lingerie 24/7 had always been a…well, a boner of contention between them. She claimed the gowns were necessary for comfort. Convenient, for someone who needed to go to sleep at a moment’s notice, for whatever reason. He was pretty sure they were carefully calculated to slowly drive her caretakers mad. Not that he really blamed her. Boredom made people do peculiar things. They were constantly on the run, so they couldn’t exactly tote video games around, and hotel cable service was notoriously dull. There was little else to do on these junkets other than pitting a man’s sense of duty against his libido. Invariably, it worked. He was already having a hard time resisting the urge to break Shep’s face for holding on to her fingers too long. “It’s almost dark, Ms. Phelps. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?” “I haven’t gotten my call yet, big guy. And I didn’t want to miss our gourmet supper, or Mr. Bolt. We don’t get many visitors.” Her voice was wistful as her
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smile for his partner blazed brighter. “It’s so good to see you again. Maybe you’d like to join us for dinner? I’d love to have somebody to talk to.” Parker battled with the blunted can opener in a useless effort to ignore the implication. It was fine with him if she thought he was incapable of holding decent conversations. It was an image he’d cultivated, an attitude he used to keep her at a distance. His ego could take the mild bruising, as long as it enabled him to do his job—and keep a platonic distance between them. And he knew how lonely she was. He couldn’t blame her for that either. “Won’t you stay?” she continued, earnestly clasping their visitor’s hands. Parker glared a warning at his friend, a well-known ladies’ man, whose eyes were bright with mischief. “Shep’s a busy fella, Carly. I’m sure he has to be moving along.” Shepherd’s grin was all for him. “Actually, I have a little time between contacts, Carlotta. I’d love to stay. Maybe we could… Excuse me.” Flipping open his chiming cell phone, he took it to a corner near the doorway, speaking quietly as Parker dumped their dinner into a pot and stirred it with a vengeance. He was being ridiculous. Overly protective. That was it. It couldn’t possibly be jealousy. He had no right to be possessive of the girl. This was a routine protection gig, short-term at best. And other than flirting out of sheer boredom, she had no real interest in him. If he could be objective, he’d say Shepherd would be a good match for her. He was solid and reliable, and nearly as pretty as she was. A stand-up sorta guy, not a rival. Hell, they took angling trips together twice a year. Parker never completely trusted anyone—but he’d shared the locations of his favorite fishing holes with his handler. The man had a casual way of putting people at ease, making them relax their guard.
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But when his buddy turned back toward them, his expression suddenly serious, Parker was all attention. Shep’s hazel eyes, so striking against his bronzed skin, narrowed to slits as he tucked his phone away. “My sources on the outskirts say you’ve got three minutes to bail, Munroe. Four, if you wanna leave me an extra gun to help discourage them.” Dammit. Barely time to breathe. How had her enemies found them already? They’d been here less than a day. Parker turned the stove off and tossed the soup into the sink, cursing as he dashed into the living room. “Get your ass in gear, Carly. We’re on the move.” Carly was one quick step behind him, making tracks toward the tiny bedroom. Time. There was never enough time for them. Rather than changing, she shimmied into her favorite old jeans, tucking her gown into the waistband. She jammed her bare feet into the short boots that had seen too much wear, slammed her single piece of luggage shut and made a grab for her shoulder bag. Parker was already behind her, snatching her suitcase and hauling it through the door. They’d done this so often in the past weeks they worked like a welloiled machine. “Do we know how many men?” she asked. “We’re not hanging around to find out.” “Front or back?” “Is that a proposition, Ms. Phelps?” She lost one hurried step to a wry laugh. “Why do you only get kinky when we’re on the run?” “Back door. Shep’s got the front.” She took a fleeting half second to admire the tattoo of a golden triangle bisected by a sword on the bicep that stretched the sleeve of his T-shirt, the way
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he effortlessly managed the baggage and the heavy case filled with ammunition. He was all powerful precision beneath that dark blond brush-cut hair. With his buff body and no-nonsense attitude, the man could’ve been a walking ad for the Corp—if not for the scruffy trace of beard that proved he didn’t give a damn. And that was the problem. He didn’t give a damn, didn’t care about anything other than keeping her safe, as ordered. He was the best bodyguard she’d ever had, and he’d move hell and high water, take on any living soul and a slew of the undead if it meant accomplishing that mission. Admirable, but unbelievably frustrating. She missed being thought of as a human being. “Carlotta. No time for daydreams. Let’s roll.” He glanced back at her, frowning. “I think you’re forgetting something.” Of course, he was also as straitlaced as her great-great-grandma’s corset. No wonder she enjoyed baiting him. “Don’t be such a prude, Munroe. If you’re gonna freak over the fact that I’m not wearing drawers at a time like this—” He stopped in his tracks, nearly dropping their baggage. “Drawers?” “Yeah. You know—panties?” Clucking her tongue in frustration, she bent at the waist to pat her behind. “See? You can hardly tell. And you were just about to waste time chewing me a new one for not—” “Panties? What the hell?” He spluttered, eyes glued to her rear end. “I was not referring to your… I didn’t mean… Oh, for God’s sake. I was trying to remind you it’s cold outside, woman.” Carly froze in the middle of the living room, her mind gone blank. Gawd, if only she could focus half as well in the real world as the other. Winter. Right. She needed a coat. Damn. Where had she put her parka? She’d been in such a hurry to respond to her sleep alert when they first arrived… A second later, the coat sailed through the air and into her arms. Parker wasn’t the easiest man to be stuck with, but he was the best.
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“If you’d wear clothes sometimes instead of lingerie, we’d cut our escape time in half, young lady.” “But gee, Dad.” She snickered. “All the vestal virgins are wearing these this year.” He flushed, obviously embarrassed she’d overheard him. “Then I’d say they need a sound spanking too.” “We’ve had this discussion, Parker,” she retorted, slipping her arms into the sleeves. “It’s important for me to feel comfortable and secure to do what I do.” “Forgive me. So, Victoria’s real Secret is how to look sexy when you get shot?” His neck snapped back as he eased the rear door open. “Shep?” “All clear so far. Spare?” Carly watched Parker toss a semiautomatic .45 to his handsome companion as casually as if it were a Frisbee. Four months ago, she wouldn’t have known one weapon from another. A few decades ago, she might’ve been a hippy, all peace and free love. Hell, she couldn’t swat a fly without apologizing first. She abhorred the idea of violence and wouldn’t have been caught dead around a gun. Now she not only recognized them but had been forced to learn how to use one in a pinch. Parker Munroe had also seen to that. Shepherd settled into a crouch before the front window, all glittering charm diverted to deadly intent. “Hey, why dontcha leave me that nice pearl-handled number you keep in your crotch?” Parker scanned the trees behind the cabin, barely sparing his friend a last look. “Always suspected you had the hots for my rod, Shep.” Poised with his weapon sweeping the premises, he crept cautiously through the rear as Carly huddled against his broad back, matching him step for step.
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She turned when he swiveled, listened when he stopped. She wondered if the enemy was upon them and tried to pierce the twilight with dry, weary eyes. Would Shepherd be all right? What kind of insanity made it acceptable for these two men to lose their lives for her? The people of the Temple weren’t monsters, any more than the One Hundred were mutants. They were average folks with staunch beliefs. And they were sure their cause was justified, as much as she was. In a world about to go rabid-dog mad, that was the most frightening thing of all. The angry clap of a single shot sounded behind them. Shep, sending a warning burst over their visitors’ heads, she thought. And then there was no time for thought. They ran for Parker’s Jeep, conveniently tucked beneath the towering evergreens in the nearby woods. As he tossed the bags into the back, she thought she heard angry voices shouting in their wake and said a silent prayer for Shepherd Bolt. The frigid air scorched her lungs as her heart pumped fear through her veins. She managed a quick peek at the indecisive sky as it fell victim to night—and then there was no time for that either. Carly scrambled for the door he held open for her, thumping her skull in the process and nearly falling back. “C’mon, c’mon.” Parker cupped her butt with one huge hand and propelled her forward, snapping impatiently. “Get that tight little tush on board!” Gasping at the unintentionally intimate contact and seeing stars, she folded into the car and assumed her familiar position—cowering low in the passenger’s seat, her cheek hard against her knee. The vehicle took flight, skimming over mounds of snow and lurching in ruts of mud until it leveled off, the tires singing along the smooth pavement of a highway. And still Carly remained huddled out of view, eyelids screwed shut.
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She didn’t want to see the blue shadows that rushed past like lost ghosts, or the fading away of yet another chance to rest from the insanity. Only when Parker grunted an “all clear” and lightly touched her shoulder did she resurface, only when the lights that signaled human habitations were few and far between. Only then did she rise to face the road ahead and stare into the darkness once again.
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Chapter Two
Carlotta breathed a small sigh of relief when they crossed the Pennsylvania state line without Parker shooting the toll booth operator. The middle-aged woman looked sleep deprived and harmless enough to her, but took much too long counting out their change. Carly had watched Parker’s fingers stroking the iridescent handle of the gun inside his vest, visions of Sonny Corleone’s murder dancing in her head, until the gate slowly lifted. Thank God. You could never tell about the big guy. This first week of spring in Ohio shared all the earmarks of a winter that didn’t want to leave the party. Six inches of snow followed by freezing rain had resulted in a polished Styrofoam landscape that glittered cold in the headlights of the Jeep. The huge pines that lined the freeway were dark, hulking shapes bearing no resemblance to their Christmas counterparts, swallowing the road behind them in a yawning embrace. Carly nervously fingered her cell phone, stealing glances at a silent Parker Munroe. Sometimes the man was impossible to read. Right now he was glowering at the gleaming asphalt ahead, the sharp angles of his face cool cobalt in the light of the dash. Was he angry with her for being so much trouble? Sorry he’d taken the assignment? God, she hoped not. He could be a piece of work, but she didn’t know what she’d do without him. “Should I call it in? We’ll need another safe house.” She thought his teeth might crack with the iron set of his jaw, and his knuckles were white knobs on the wheel. “Don’t bother. I know a place.”
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“But—” “Shep will contact our superiors. They’ll know you’re safe. I’ll touch base with him tomorrow.” “You seem awfully sure.” He gushed an impatient breath. “Worried about our dinner guest?” “Yes. Of course.” “Don’t be. Just because you’ve met Shepherd doesn’t mean you know him. Trust me. He’ll not only come out alive, but within the hour, he’ll be laid up with some babe in a four-star hotel. Her treat.” “And if he’s not?” The implication was there, as painful as it was for her to say it, but Parker didn’t flinch, barely blinked. Turning the heat up a notch, he kept his eyes fixed on the road. “Do you really think we were in danger back there?” she persisted. “I think we’ve avoided it so far, and that’s the idea.” “But—” “Why don’t you take care of the airy-fairy stuff and leave reality to me?” They’d spent the past ninety-three days together, sharing meals, bathrooms, even the same bed occasionally. Carly probably knew him almost as well as many women knew their husbands—better than some. It was true that the man rarely seemed to sleep. But when he did, it was in the buff—and he managed to look like a Greek god in the process. Yes, she’d had occasion to peek. It was worth the paltry pang of guilt. He loved animals and energy drinks, hated freestyle jazz and the color yellow. He believed in treating a woman like a lady and in honor before self. And she knew exactly what he was doing right now. Royally pissing her off.
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He was good at making her mad, and fury was better than fear. Knowing she was being played, however, didn’t temper her reaction. Oh, she could despise this man. Oh yes, she could. Carly turned on him, seething with anger. “It isn’t my fault these people are after me, y’know. I haven’t done anything wrong.” “Never said you did.” “And I really would feel awful if something happened to Shep.” She was rambling and she knew it. The weeks of isolation were finally getting to her. And she squeezed the phone tighter in her hand. “Couldn’t we just call to check on him?” “I’d rather he focus on getting out of there alive. We can all kumbaya together later.” “Love the way you wear your heart on your sleeve, Parker.” She imagined Shep being overwhelmed by a mob of gun-toting backwoodsmen and felt herself tearing up. She’d met him only twice. They’d barely exchanged a few words. But she’d never forgive herself if something happened to him. “I hate this.” “What?” “This. This sense of…impotence,” she fumed. “This ‘helpless woman’ feeling.” “‘Helpless woman’.” He chuckled, scratching at the scrub on his jaw. “My favorite oxymoron.” A man with a healthy respect for the female sex wasn’t as dense as he tried so hard to make her believe. “Stop deflecting. I hate all this running away. And dammit, you might have lost a friend back there. You never even said a civil good-bye, didn’t even wish him luck.” “He may not have needed it.” “Oh? I suppose you guys are bulletproof?”
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“No.” He dodged a fallen branch protruding onto the road, grimacing. “But that attack was a little suspicious. Too sudden, too soon. We were in the boonies, for shit’s sake. Only Shep and my superiors should’ve known where we were. Unless your enemies have some serious networking going on—” “You—you think Shepherd might’ve had something to do with it?” She turned to gape at him, amazed. “You actually believe your friend would betray you? Jesus, you’re crazier than I thought. He’s the one who helped us escape!” “Yeah. Because he happened to be there at just the right time and made himself look good in the process. Convenient, if you’re angling for a promotion or planning something bigger. The government thinks you’re a valuable commodity. And anybody can be bought, Carlotta.” She swallowed hard, trying to eliminate the bad taste that blossomed in her mouth. “But he’s your go-between, your link to your superiors. How can you suspect him?” Even in the muted light, she could see a taut muscle twitch in his neck. It reminded her that she might enjoy teasing him, but Munroe was not a man to anger. “Let’s get something straight. They may be my supervisors, but they’re not my superiors. And in a pinch, they’re neither. I go with my own gut. Is it telling me Shep is guilty of anything? No. I think he’s good people. It’s just something I have to consider. We have no way of knowing who might belong to the Temple, and since whatever the hell you do is top secret, I’ve gotta wing it.” She shook her head. Geez, what an awful way to live. It had never occurred to her that this insanity might be harder on him than it was on her. “Then knowing what’s really going on would help you do your job. Can we talk about this?” “No.”
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“Please.” Unlocking her seat belt, she swiveled to face him. “I know I’ve suggested it before, and I know we’re not supposed to discuss it, but—” “No.” “Damn you. Did it ever occur to you that I might need to talk about it? That I hate knowing you have the wrong idea about the One Hundred? About me? C’mon, big guy. We’re all alone here. Nobody needs to know—” “No.” “Stop being so bullheaded. Don’t you care about the reason for these sacrifices? After all this time, aren’t you even a little curious?” “As you said earlier—we’ve had this discussion, Carlotta. I don’t need to know.” He only called her Carlotta when he felt she was being childish. It made her want to scream. “If you would, just this once, let me explain—” “I really don’t want to hear it.” He paused to skillfully play the wheel as the car swerved on a patch of black ice. “I was told not to ask questions. I was given this assignment because I’m good at doing exactly that. I don’t work like most people. I don’t want to know the enemy. That way, I have no assumptions about who they are or how they’d behave. Makes it easier to mistrust everyone and be prepared for anything.” She tried to imagine maintaining such a mind-set. She couldn’t. Even after two years of hiding away, she still smiled when someone smiled at her, still responded to open faces and warm voices, and tried to give everyone the benefit of a friendly doubt. “How in the world do you sleep at night?” “Not well. But I wake up the next day.” “But the Temple—”
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“Carlotta. My orders were simple. Keep you moving. Keep you safe. That’s all I have to do. Avoid engaging the enemy if possible. And provide a secure environment for you to…meditate.” The man knew how to take his money shots. She practically bristled beside him. “I don’t ‘meditate’, Mr. Munroe. I’m not a freaking saint. I just go to sleep. And dream.” “Whatever.” His lack of interest in something so important to her—to everyone—was infuriating. If he knew what was at stake, he wouldn’t be quite so casual. “It’s not even about me, Parker. I’m only one member of the group. The One Hundred—” “You mean the ‘saviors of all mankind’.” He chuckled derisively. “Yeah, I know that much. I do read the rags in the grocery line, Carlotta. Your gang was featured there, right along with the flesh-eating frogs and the world’s largest cockroach.” She’d never wanted his good opinion—had, in fact, gotten kicks out of trying to make him think the worst of her. So why did it hurt to hear him say he did? “I strike you as some sort of opportunist? You think of me as some kind of fear fanatic?” “I try to think about you as little as possible, Ms. Phelps.” If she’d been standing, she would’ve staggered. Ouch. No heart on that sleeve. No heart at all. “You don’t need to feel guilty about running a gambit. Everybody’s got an angle. I’ve heard it might be studying the asteroid that’s due to miss hitting us by just a few million miles next week. Or predicting the long-overdue killer California quake. Maybe your people will lead us out of the wilderness of some
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anticipated financial collapse. Any apocalypse will do, right? You’re going to rescue us from whatever seems convenient at the time?” “You’re being unfair,” she fumed, crossing her arms defensively. “You don’t mind making fun of my group, but you’re more than willing to take our persecutors seriously.” He shook his head, slowing to take an off-ramp. “I’m not putting your people down. If you’ve conned the big government bozos into believing, good on you. No sweat off my skin. The suits didn’t see fit to tell me the silly details, and as I said—I don’t need to know.” It sounded like an easy way to cruise through life. No major decisions to sweat over, no shades of gray, no worrying about right and wrong. Just wear the appropriate blinders and do your duty. Did he really believe things were so easy? And he called her a daydreamer. “You should know, Parker,” she said quietly. “For your good as well as mine. C’mon. I need to tell you, to have you understand what I’m doing. Please. Will you stop the car?” “What? Out here? Get real. I’m supposed to keep you safe, remember?” Maddening. Inflexible. Infuriating. Over-the-top macho. All these things and more could be said of Parker Munroe. But he was also a fair-minded man—if you could wedge a crowbar far enough into that thick skull to get to his brain. She had one small point of leverage, a point that might make a dent in that rigid resolve. She’d been saving it, hoping to bargain for a covert trip to a mall. God, she missed shopping. But this would have to do. “Listen, mister. Since the day you first lumbered into my life, I’ve never asked you for a thing. Not a decent meal, a sympathetic ear, not so much as a freaking cup of coffee. I’ve let you do your job and drag me from city to piss hole, from swanky suites to shacks on stilts, without making so much as a single
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request. Now I’m asking you for this very simple thing. Pull over. Just for a few minutes. Please.” He slowly eased the car over to the shoulder of the two-lane road, muttering something to himself about “crazy women”. His gray eyes gleamed silver in the shadows as he threw the gear into park and stared at her. The silence was strangely unnerving, the quarters much too close. After weeks of trying to convince him to listen to her, this was her chance. And now she didn’t know what to say. There was only one way to do this convincingly. Before he could make a move to stop her, she opened the door with a decisive push and jumped out of the car. A brittle slap of cold air hit her in the face, and she ran, skirting the ragged, reaching limbs of sinister pines, toward a clearing some yards behind the Jeep. Of course he’d come after her. She knew it. His voice hit her ears just as she slipped on an icy patch and fell awkwardly, landing butt-deep in snow. “Carlotta!” He was beside her in an instant, pearl-handled pistol drawn, yanking her to her feet and hard against his side. “Don’t ever do that. Do I need to remind you that we just barely got away from whoever the hell’s after you? You never know who might be working these woods or following us, and—” “Would you dim the headlights?” she asked, trying to sound calm. Parker always wore an insulated vest rather than a coat, and having his strong, bare arm around her waist nearly took her breath away. A few inches higher and he’d be cupping her breasts. A little lower and he could feel the heat he inspired between her thighs. He never touched her unless it was absolutely necessary. So naturally, when he did, her heartbeat went haywire. It was a sad indication of how lonely she
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was. It couldn’t be the man who sparked such a strange fire in her. That would be against the rules. “Could we make do with the dark for a moment?” Grumbling thinly concealed obscenities, he trotted back to the car. Dousing the headlights, he left the engine running and returned to her immediately, his disapproval obvious in his expression. “Forget the moment. You’ve got thirty seconds before I haul your ass back to the Jeep. I’m counting.” Bully. Carly stuffed her hands into her pockets, shoulders shrugging off the cold. In some other world, other lifetime, it might have been a beautiful evening. The snow in the clearing was a silvery-white crust, the sky a vaulted lake of liquid dark. The night pressed in like plush velvet around them, and there was a restless stirring in the air, a sense of spring, even in the freezing temperatures. It could’ve been a perfectly romantic setting for intimate confessions, or even a first kiss—if she wasn’t busy running for her life and he wasn’t so determined to be a prick. She’d been attracted to Parker from the very beginning. Six foot three inches of rock-hard male was pretty hard to ignore in the close quarters they usually shared. But his reluctance to treat her as anything more than an assignment was an almost-tangible barrier between them. Oh, she got a kick out of getting under that thick hide of his, watching that anvil-like jaw clench when she said or did something ditzy, or the unvarnished flare of fire in his eyes whenever she debuted a new nightgown. Despite his dedication to duty, there were some things a man simply couldn’t hide. She wasn’t fool enough to think he wanted her, of course. But he wanted sex. And that meant there was something more than red, white and blue running through his veins.
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Sadly, it was a moot point. Acting like a hormonal teenager was out of the question. There were so many more important considerations, and unlikely to be such a thing as “the right time” for them. “Twenty seconds.” Tonight was no exception. Tipping her head back, she lifted her eyes toward the sky, allowing them to adjust to the night. Dammit, she’d never been very good at directions. Not knowing where the hell they were certainly didn’t help her get her bearings. The moon, barely a shimmering slit in the heavens, rose in the west, right? And she was fairly sure the last exit had read “south”. A second later, she’d sighted her target and pointed a rigid finger at it. “See that little light in the sky there, Munroe? Just to the right of the tallest evergreen? Pretty, isn’t it?” He shifted to move directly behind her, to view the exact angle, and she shivered from the warmth of his body. “You mean the small star?” “It’s not a star.” “Huh. You’re right. It’s not flickering. Planet, then. Or the International Space Station. Five seconds.” “It’s not a planet either. It’s an NEO.” “A what-the-hell?” “A Near Earth Object.” “Did we come out here to stand in the snow and play twenty questions, Carly?” She sighed, searching for words. Even with visual aids, this was going to be hard to sell. “That, Mr. Munroe, is Apothos 2012. The large asteroid due to breeze a few million miles by our little blue planet. So unimportant it’s barely a feature story on the cable news channels. It’s visible to the naked eye now.”
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Carly turned to look at him. The cold was making her eyes water, and she blinked, hard and fast. She wanted to make it clear she wasn’t crying. Yet. And she wanted to see his face when he heard the truth. “What your people are not telling you, Munroe, is that it isn’t going to breeze by. It’s all a lie. That big rock is on a steady course to strike the earth. And you’ve been assigned to protect me because my job is to try to stop it.”
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Chapter Three
Parker had no freaking idea whether his buddy’s name was really Vic. He wasn’t actually much of a buddy. And he was definitely not an uncle. But his place wasn’t far from the Pennsylvania border, and it was easy to guard. Uncle Vic’s Bed and Breakfast had proven to be a safe haven for Parker before, so he had no qualms about holing up there again. Uncle Vic, clad in faded fatigues and baseball hat, greeted them on his poorly lit porch with a grunt, a surly nod and an open palm into which Parker silently placed a large roll of cash. He had a notion that Victor Doyle was either an exgovernment mole or a mercenary with no loyalties and no ties. He liked cold cash and warm whiskey. They’d shared a bottle or two in years past, but no secrets. No questions were ever asked by either one of them. They had an understanding when it came to security, and a code of silence when it came to their separate affairs. The selling point right now was that Vic could have no hidden agendas. He wouldn’t know who—or what—Carly was, let alone what she did. He’d just assume they were lovers. There was also no rear door to the joint, and Vic rarely left his desk. It was basically where he lived, complete with computer, cable and comfy recliner. He sat at his station with his back to the wall, and no one got by without his knowledge—or without him alerting Parker. And since he’d recently crawled out of the bottle after half a lifetime’s addiction, the old guy would be more interested in keeping sober than he’d be in Parker’s business.
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The B&B wasn’t much to look at. A simple A-frame of split logs, washed-out metal sign on the roof, and a few surrounding acres. The inefficient glow of a single outdoor light glinted off the rusty iron balconies that staggered against the upper rooms, and the pebbled snow was deeper than the drifts they’d left behind. He’d hoped Carly would think of it as charmingly rustic. Instead, she’d gasped as they pulled into the drive and the headlights swept the desolate yard. “Please tell me that outhouse is a decorative touch and this guy’s mother isn’t mummified in the basement.” He’d flashed her a grin as a peace offering. “Relax, Carlotta. We’ve got running water, power and no basement on the premises.” She’d spoken the truth. He had dragged her to some pretty god-awful places in their time together, and she’d always been a good sport about it. Necessity was a mother, and for now they’d have to make do. “It’s quiet enough for you to do your thing, and fairly isolated—but you may have to ignore Vic. If he seems a mite grumpy, it’s because he’s a recovering alcoholic and misses the booze something fierce.” Carly had nodded, standing silently in what passed for Vic’s lobby. She took in their surroundings with eyes as glassy as the huge elk’s head over the cold stone fireplace, and he’d never seen such a forlorn expression on her lovely face. The woman needed a hot meal and a good night’s rest. She looked as if a long, heartfelt hug with a few comforting words would reduce her to tears. Angry that he couldn’t even make the offer, he hoisted the bags higher, helped himself to his usual keys behind the desk and gently nudged her toward the stairway. Most of the few customers Vic handled were people on their way to better places. Or the men who came fishing for the steelhead trout stocked in spring
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and fall in the manmade lake five miles down the road. Parker had met the old renegade on just such an expedition, and this B&B suited his meager needs. But the bald beams and uneven parquet floors accented with shoddy, almost impossibly beige furniture gave the place a masculine air that left Carlotta looking decidedly out of place. He couldn’t imagine her haunting these sullen hallways wearing one of her fairylike gowns. It would crush her spirit. And whether she expressed her feelings or not, he felt them for her. She seemed polite but shy in Vic’s presence, not her usual animated self at all. Parker could barely hear her footsteps behind him as he led her to their suite. “Do we really have to stay here?” she whispered. “It feels cold and clammy, and there’s a dead animal hanging on the wall. Couldn’t we drive on a little farther? Maybe pitch a tent outside? Sleep in the car until spring really comes?” She sounded exhausted, nearly defeated. There was no way he would allow her to take a single step more than necessary. “You’ll be safe here. That’s all that counts right now.” She didn’t argue the point. That was proof enough that she was damn near ready to drop. “We both need rest. Nobody knows about this place, and the old fella’s good at minding his beeswax. And, when prodded, he makes the best omelets east of the Rockies.”
Barely an hour later, settled into the largest of the three suites, Parker watched her devour a late-night version of one of Vic’s special dishes and rip into a second with a hearty appetite, wondering how she could be so calm. “Sorry if I seem to be stuffing my face,” she murmured, as if she’d read his mind. “I’m not sure why I’m so hungry. Maybe it’s just getting some of this load off my mind, y’know? Having somebody to talk to about this mess.”
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Great. He was glad one of them was feeling relieved. Carlotta Marie Phelps. Born twenty-three years ago in New Mexico to a middle-class mother. Her file said she was five feet five inches tall with an average build. In truth, she was a series of luscious curves that required a crotch adjustment every time he watched too closely. Her papers also described her hair and eyes as brown, but there it was wrong too. In the single-shaded lamp of their small common room, the long hair that fell nearly to her waist was a tumble of chestnut and cinnamon swirls, her eyes a rich nutmeg slashed with accents of antique gold. She was unfocused, undisciplined and frequently a pain in the ass. But she was also a natural at the fine art of temptation, even when she wasn’t trying. Despite his own need for sleep, he sipped coffee, appetite shot to hell. After her revelation blew him out of the water on the way here, she’d chosen to remain silent for the rest of the trip—leaving him with more than enough to think about. Enough to stop his sarcasm cold. The asteroid was coming. And it was bringing hell on earth with it. If what she’d told him was true, she was more than just beautiful. The secret she kept made her far more dangerous than he’d ever imagined. “We need to talk, Carly.” “Sounds like you’re breaking up with me.” She took a swig of diluted orange juice. “Was I that bad in bed?” She would be fabulous in bed. He had no doubt of that. Hell, he could imagine spreading her out on the table and losing his mind in the taste of her right now. “I thought you wanted me to take you seriously.” “Is that why you’re not eating? So we can talk? Can’t we do both?” Okay, maybe conversation was a safer way to go than what he’d been thinking. “Later.” When his mind wasn’t burning with the idea of burying his
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face between her thighs and licking her until she screamed. “The food will keep. They’re just eggs. Good eggs, but not exactly filling. I’d kill for a grilled steak about now.” “You should make a point of having one. And you should make it very soon.” The warning behind that tone was unmistakable. For somebody who never wanted to know the details of all this, he was about ready to strangle her to get them. “Carly?” “I know. We need to talk.” They were seated at a white-wicker bistro table with matching chairs before the room’s large patio window. Beyond the glass the night was a bleak landscape of grizzled snow spread beneath the thick, dark cream of night. It was like staring into the abyss. But at least nothing concrete was falling from the sky. Yet. Their host’s amenities were basic at best. The breakfast nook was barely large enough for two people to navigate, but it contained a coffeemaker, small fridge and—good ol’ Vic—a well-stocked minibar. A terrace, one shared bath and two small bedrooms completed their sumptuous suite. They’d take turns showering, and Parker would never turn on the lights in his sleeping quarters. Having everyone think they were sharing a bed made life a little simpler. The floor needed a good refinishing, and the curtains were a little too sheer for his taste. Ancient steam radiators heated the room well enough, hissing an edgy song, silver accordions along the blank vanilla walls. Not exactly living large, but it wasn’t the worst place they’d ever stayed. Maybe he’d risk taking her somewhere nicer after this. She deserved that, and more.
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But for now, safe haven or not, Parker still found himself glancing outside, making sure there were no approaching cars or wayward flashlights cutting through the night. They ate by the light of the bare bulb overhead, almost quietly, as if afraid to disturb…the truth? At least she seemed more relaxed, and a bit of color had returned to her cheeks. One of his greatest fears was that she might get sick at some point. Laying siege to some poor country doctor’s office wouldn’t go over well with the brass, but he’d do it if necessary. He’d do damn near anything to keep her safe. Parker leaned across the tiny table, speaking carefully. Gawd, he hoped she wasn’t insane. If the people he worked for had saddled him with a nutcase, he would go back to Washington and beat the shit out of somebody. “This information you claim to have about the big rock? Where’d you get it?” “From the same people who hired you. At least, I assume they are.” She shrugged, stabbing at her omelet. “Hard to say when nobody wants to step up and tell the truth.” “And who would these people be?” “Agents representing a coalition of governments, large and small. They’ve banned together to provide funding and security for the project. So far they’ve managed to keep everything out of the military’s hands and provide protection for the One Hundred. How long that’ll last is anybody’s guess.” “And your immediate superior’s name?” “I wouldn’t tell you that any more than you’d tell me yours. Because then we’d have to kill each other, and that’d leave an awful mess for Vic.” She almost made him smile. “They’ve kept this secret from the public for over two years, Parker. An amazing feat in this age of hackers and whistle-blowers.” She frowned. “The
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problem is that impact will occur in less than two weeks. It won’t be a secret for much longer.” Jesus. The National Security Council official who’d recruited him had told him this job was of earth-shattering importance. He certainly hadn’t taken the guy literally. “If I assume what you say is true—and that’s a big if—how do you and your ragtag gang fit into this grand conspiracy? What’s your story?” “Well, let’s see. When I was a little girl—” “Carly.” A small bit of the grated cheese she’d sprinkled on her omelet clung to her lower lip. Without thinking, he reached over to brush his thumb along the fullness of it. Amazing that anything could be so incredibly soft and inviting. It wasn’t the first time he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. These were lips to be tasted, taken, bruised in the agony of rutting heat. And that wouldn’t be nearly enough. What would it be like to have them wrapped around his throbbing cock, hot satin on steel, draining his body of every last tormented drop of need? Parker snatched his hand away, pretending to ignore her surprised expression. He was stressed. That was all. He’d held back wanting her for much too long. And, apparently, the sight of that little light in the sky had sent more than his mind reeling. What if she was telling the truth? What if disaster was right around the corner? He hadn’t touched bases with his family in a while and had no friends outside of the service. No one close who would mourn for him—if they managed to survive themselves. Yeah, he’d always done his duty. Now, it didn’t seem to amount to much of a life. “Since the destruction of the world is imminent, why don’t we skip the bio and cut to the chase?”
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“Right,” she whispered, her eyes large and liquid. Abruptly shaking her head, she dropped her fork, all business. “The crap about the ‘gene experiment’. I suppose you’ve believed half the stuff the rags say?” Parker shrugged, tasting his brew. Vic was an omelet savant, but his coffee was liquid shit. “The idea of a group of special people secluded in a top secret lab somewhere in Siberia would make a great TV movie.” “Of course. And it must be true because the Russians are so lax about leaking information, right?” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I can’t even remember to put my coat on, big guy. Do you honestly think I would’ve survived Siberia?” He hadn’t given any of it serious thought. It was smut for the masses, no concern of his. They made up facts if they didn’t have them, and nobody seemed to know anything about these people. “Supposedly, the lab gig was an experiment gone wrong, producing genetically altered freaks of nature with unnatural abilities—aka the One Hundred. And I only remember that much because—” He coughed, choking on his words. Swear to God, once he got through this, he was never gonna take on another female client. “Because what?” “Uh…because Shep said genetically altered puss—er, coochie was about the only kind he’d never had.” Her gentle laugh lent more color to her cheeks, and his heart heaved into his throat. Damn, she was pretty. “Do you believe them? The stories they tell about us?” He didn’t want to. Hell, when they were alone like this, when he could drown in the depths of those dark eyes, he was inclined to believe anything she said. “I don’t know. Why don’t we stop discussing the lies so you can tell me what the truth is?”
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“It’s all very simple, really.” He touched me. Not in a protective way or to chastise her, and not to get her into motion as he did when a threat was imminent. He’d actually touched her as a man intrigued by a woman might. Carly licked her lips, trying to calm the nervous fluttering of her stomach. Such silliness. She couldn’t let such a simple gesture affect her. He was probably horny, and she was feeling vulnerable. Loneliness and isolation were the only things drawing them together. She could only be so honest with him, after all. Against orders, she would talk about the experiment, the One Hundred, and the worldwide danger to them all. But to tell him how much more she really wanted from him, that she could barely sit this close without wanting to jump his bones, was courting complications. And they had enough to deal with already. Besides, she’d never agreed with her superiors about keeping this secret from the populace. And this man who regularly risked his life for her certainly deserved the truth. “I am what’s called a lucid dreamer. That is, a person who, while dreaming, is not only aware that they are, but they’re often able to control the dream itself.” He gave her a long, blank stare, as if waiting for her to get to the real point. Okay, this was not going to be easy if he couldn’t believe this was the point. “The gift wasn’t produced in a laboratory. It’s not unnatural, not even all that unusual. A significant percentage of the general population has the ability.” “Do they?” “Yes. Haven’t you ever found yourself in the middle of a dream and—” “I don’t dream.” “Of course you do. Everyone does.”
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“Then I guess I don’t remember them.” She blinked, at a loss for what to say. Most people experienced dreams for at least two out of every eight hours of sleep, three to five per night. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be totally unaware of such a huge part of one’s existence. “I’m sorry. How very sad for you.” “Sleep is for resting. Anything else just disturbs the process.” “Dreams are part of the process, whether we like it or not. They give us a chance to let our imaginations soar, to live in different worlds, learn the secret language of our minds, our spirits.” She paused, feeling his detachment as dead space between them. Lord, she didn’t want to start lecturing the man. But how was she supposed to reach someone who’d so firmly grounded himself in denial? “I could teach you. It would be fun! Remembering and understanding them just takes a bit of practice. Honestly, Parker, with a little instruction and some relaxation techniques, I think you’d love it, lucid or not. Once this is all over and everything’s returned to…” Her voice dissipated, and she swallowed hard. What made her think anything was ever going to be normal again? “My nocturnal fantasies are probably best left forgotten,” he muttered. The gruff tone of his voice and his sharpened gaze made her think he was probably right. “Go on with your story.” Not an easy request to grant when he was so much a part of her dreams. “Five years ago, I took part in a research project. It was at Stanford University, right here in the USA. I couldn’t afford to go to college on a cashier’s salary, so it seemed interesting to have them pay me. The researchers advertised for ‘lucid’ volunteers. Just average, everyday folks with a weird little gift, a common interest. You know, sort of like a gathering of those people who go to comic book conventions, or the ones who collect Pez dispensers.”
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“Pez?” His eyebrows beetled in confusion. “Are you fucking with me?” Sadly, no. But wouldn’t he be stunned to know how often she thought of doing just that. Too much, in fact, when her energy should be focused on her duties—and surviving. “Seriously. It was a sort of ‘dream tank’, manned by idealistic scientists and students genuinely interested in exploring the creative mind. It was glorious. I made so many friends there. People who didn’t believe in boundaries, just learning. Pure magic, Parker, a Disneyland for dreamers. But, after a few weeks, things got more serious. “From the original group, the researchers culled one hundred test subjects. Those they considered gifted. The ones who could imagine most vividly, maintain the strongest control over images and outcomes. Months of follow-up studies showed each of them not only had the ability to direct the course of their dreams, but, when given a real-life situation to focus on, they actually seemed to affect that as well.” “Okay, freeze.” “What?” Parker glared at her, shaking his head. “Such wide-eyed innocence. You know goddamn well you’re freaking me out. You just took a giant leap from ‘hey, that sounds interesting’ to ‘nice buzz, what’s the street value of your drugs?’ You’re telling me you honestly think someone can suggest a scenario to you, and when you dream about it, that thing becomes reality?” “I’m afraid so.” He laughed softly, stretching his long frame in the little chair as if someone had just pulled his leg. It was a lovely rumbling sound from deep in his diaphragm that made her want to tickle his abs. With her tongue. And work her way down. “You think I’m joking.” “I hope you’re joking.”
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“I’m afraid this is as serious as it gets.” His eyes narrowed to slashes of steel. “You do realize how that sounds?” “I realize what most people choose to ignore. That there is so much more to us than some animated bit of clay suspended on a frame of fragile bones.” She was so excited to finally be able to tell him the truth—to tell someone— that she reached across the table to pinch his arm to illustrate her point. And couldn’t grab hold. Jesus, the man had biceps the size of canned hams and twice as firm. “Not that all bodies are fragile,” she continued distractedly, watching the triangular tattoo ripple as he reached for his mug. She could imagine her name inked possessively across that hard muscle as it did push-ups over her bucking body… “But the creative mind is capable of amazing things.” “That’s crazy talk.” Parker tossed back his coffee and grimaced. “There are those who’d say genetically altered coochie would be more believable.” “Yes, I know how it sounds, but it is the truth. The evidence was undeniable. As individuals, on a small scale, it was little more than an oddity. Penny-ante stuff that didn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things. But the old adage is right. There’s strength in numbers. We kicked ass when we worked as a unit. So, the researchers began to wonder…what if all of us focused, concentrated—dreamed the same dream at the same time?” “And so was born the infamous, elusive One Hundred.” “Exactly.” He chewed his bottom lip, eyeing her skeptically. “You’re telling me you people actually believe you can dream away the catastrophe?” “Yes.” From the moment they first worked together, she’d believed it to be true. But now, facing the doubt of this man she respected so much, there was a
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quaver of uncertainty in her voice. “So? What d’ya say, big guy? Do you believe me? Want to help me save the world?”
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Chapter Four
Exulting in the satiny feel of the liquid soap, Shep hit the dispenser again, filling his palm with iridescent blue. He closed his eyes, glazing the svelte body of the woman in his arms, loving the pulsing beat of the shower’s water on his back. He liked it hot and punishing. And so, apparently, did Jillian. Or was it Gillian? No matter. Enough that he had his hands on her, his cock seated deep inside as he lazily spread another layer of suds up the heavenly slope of her breasts, tweaking the rosy nipples. She moaned, and he smiled at the small hairs that bristled at his nape, the predator’s hunger it aroused, encouraging him to take with a vengeance. This was more than worth the tedious flight to DC and allowing her to pick him up at the Starbucks in Georgetown. Exchanging his desire for espresso for her had been an easy choice. The lady had a kick-ass suite here at the Embassy, a slammin’ body and a three-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger. It meant she was beautiful and smart enough to cap a rich man. It also meant she wouldn’t be looking for a repeat performance from him. Jackpot. He slipped his hands up her back, curving his fingers over her shoulder blades as a cushion between his heated onslaught and the cold marble tiles. JillGill wriggled higher on his hips, her arms cinched around his neck, and he
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pistoned harder between her shapely thighs, barely noticing when she shuddered into another orgasm. Shep had lost track of how many she’d had, or how long they’d been playing in the water. He could, however, feel his toes pruning, and the soap was running mighty low. He enjoyed pleasuring the ladies, got off on that as much as getting a nut of his own. And this one was superb, with a tight, creamy little cunt that made him want to work it forever. He could hardly breathe, laboring with the effort it took not to erupt inside her with each thrust. His balls were heating, tightening against his body, but he wasn’t nearly ready for this to end. Yes, he had to remember the time. But if he wedged in a little closer, he could—oh, yeah. Right there. Another inch of the soft, slick sheath conquered, the most vulnerable hot flesh. What little logical thought remained told him he’d have to wrap this up. He handled ten of the One Hundred’s bodyguards, which meant juggling timelines and schedules. And Munroe was out there going fucking rogue on him. He hadn’t even bothered to call in. More screwups, more time lost. Then there were the two cloistered meetings he had near the Capitol in the wee hours of morn. He needed to be sharp for them and was hoping to eke out more situational info. Unlike Munroe, he was dying to know what the heathen One Hundred were up to. Having his boys take risks wearing blinders might be okay with the suits, but he didn’t like it one bit. But just a little longer. Just a little. Closing his eyes, he pinned her back against the shower wall and took all her weight, driving to the rhythm of her clipped, primitive pleas. Blood roared in his ears, his hips thrashing of their own accord. His hands moved to her ass, coaxing her to match his thrusts, to prompt the searing seed burning its way up his shaft.
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She was climbing again, stiffening in his arms, when the force that gripped his balls boiled over. His orgasm broke in a gasp and one last, powerful push that carried her with him and left her limp and panting in his arms. “Oh, my,” she murmured. Her manicured nails felt cold and plastic against the back of his heated neck. “You do that very well.” Shep gently lowered her to her feet, keeping a steadying arm around her waist. “My pleasure, ma’am.” His gaze slid toward the watch he’d left on the washstand. It wouldn’t be a good idea to leave evidence behind. He wouldn’t be responsible for the lady losing her meal ticket. Still, it was a pity there wasn’t time for a round two. He wouldn’t mind working off a little more stress. “Could I trouble you for a quick cup of coffee? Then I’ll need to be moseying along. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend showing up to shoot me.” “Ivan? Not to worry. He’s a pussycat.” They stepped from the shower together, and she grabbed two plush, royal-blue towels, passing one to him. “He’s also out of town for a couple of days. Checking on a condo in Silver Springs he’s interested in buying and launching a big public relations campaign.” Briskly scrubbing her short blonde hair, she licked her lips as she watched him dry himself. “If you ask me, he’s got a job on his hands, making those Temple fanatics look good. But that’s why he makes the big bucks.” Shep nodded absently, trying to remember exactly where he’d left his clothes. They probably formed a little Armani trail through the suite. They’d both started shedding as soon as they hit the door, and… Wait a minute. Her pussycat what? Shep blinked, bringing his attention back to the now. Had he just missed something important? “I’m sorry, but what did you say?”
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“I said he’ll be gone for a couple of days. So really, if you’d like a sleepover, it wouldn’t be a problem.” She wrapped herself in the blue velour and languidly exited the bathroom, wet feet leaving prints on white carpet. Seizing his Rolex, he followed right behind her, tucking his towel around his waist. Jesus. Had he tripped over his dick and fallen into something here? “Did you just say something about the Temple?” She moved past the rich walnut woodwork and opulent furnishings toward the kitchen, chuckling. “Ivan works for that quasi-religious group, Temple Malleus. He’s a pretty talented promoter. They hired him to improve their image among the moderate politicians, who seem reluctant to align themselves with witch-hunters. Go figure.” “Interesting.” More than a little curious, he fought to keep his tone casual. “Are you a member of the congregation too?” “Not yet. And it isn’t much of a ‘congregation’, per se. More like a flash-mob religion. They gather when the elders give the word. Smart. It’s easier to dodge their detractors that way. But I’ll be expected to join once we’re married in a few weeks. Until then, dear Ivan doesn’t hold with fornication. Which leads me to pursue my hobby of picking up good-looking strangers.” He paused as she turned to look at him, her eyes sharper than he remembered. “You ask a lot of questions, Mr. Holt.” Amused, Shepherd Bolt bit his lip. Apparently, names weren’t important to either of them. “Just wondering what goes on behind the scenes. They’ve been in the news quite a bit lately. Membership drives. Tent revivals. That good, oldfashioned praise-the-Lord-and-pass-the-ammunition stuff.” She crossed her arms defensively. “You thinking of getting religion?”
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Her gaze locked on his groin, which was rapidly coming back to life. Damn if he could help it. The thought of getting into this mystery’s pants gave him serious wood. Hell, for all he knew, the Temple believers might be right about the One Hundred. He’d worked behind the scenes long enough to know what powerful men were capable of doing. He was a long way from his spiritual roots. He knew it, often relished it. Striking metaphorical blows against the religious upbringing that plagued him like a lifelong case of herpes made him a happier human being. But he’d never stopped believing in a God of some sort. He believed there was order and purpose to the universe. He didn’t live his life waiting for four horsemen to come riding over the horizon, but he didn’t dismiss the mythology as bunk, either. Maybe the One Hundred did have an important part to play in the destiny of mankind. Hell, the very name of the group was iconic. Who could say? Something weird was definitely in the air. Maybe the Temple was on to something. And maybe the so-called mutants really needed to be stopped. If there was the slightest truth in what the Temple followers believed, he might have to rethink this covert mission of his, and who he should be working for. And possibly consider doing something about them himself. “Religion?” He lapsed into a grin. “Maybe I could be converted. If it’s God’s will.” “Sinner-man. And you wear it well.” She closed the distance between them, giving him a tentative kiss before her fingers snaked between the folds of his towel. “It would be a shame to see all that natural talent go to waste.” Shep ripped the damp garment away, flashing his wickedest smile. “Then what say we change that order for coffee to a nightcap. There’s a lot I’d like to learn. And you can give me the inside story on saving my soul. Maybe even
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introduce me to a disciple or two. Meanwhile, let’s see what we can do to stir up all the sin I can humbly confess to, hmm?”
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Chapter Five
“No.” Parker drummed his fingertips on the table, trying very hard to be patient. “I’m sorry. Can’t buy it. Fantasy as fact? You can’t really be this naïve, Carlotta. Universities are notorious for slanting research results to keep their funding. Dreams coming true are either coincidence or the fancies of people incapable of dealing with reality.” “Then this old planet’s about to get a megadose of reality, and so are you. So I’d appreciate not being patronized like the village idiot.” Carly’s eyes glittered with rare anger. “Do you honestly think the government is paying you to protect me because I’ve been in the la-la-land basket-weaving business for the past five years?” Damn good point. “Well…no.” “And who do you think I’ve been taking orders from over this fancy ET-callhome phone?” She waved the cellie she carried at all times before him, the titanium metal accented by an eternally pulsing blue light. “Spielberg?” “I’d really like to believe you, babe.” That much was the truth. Having some power over the harsh shit in the real world? Yes, it would be nice to believe in magic and wish fulfillment, or that humans were capable of something beyond base animal instincts. Of course, he was staring at the way her breasts strained against her cinched nightgown as he had the thought, imagining how full and ripe they might feel in
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his hands. So much for higher consciousness. “But I can’t take this on faith. Give me something definite, something that’ll rock my world.” “That’s exactly what’s on its way, big guy. But when it happens I won’t feel much like saying I told you so.” Parker stood, lit a cigarette and walked in slow circles around the room. Normally, he took his vice outside since she was a nonsmoker, but all the rules seemed to have flown out the window today. “I really don’t believe in this kinda crap, y’know. Astrology and magic and hunches and ghosts—all bullshit.” “Parker, I swear to God—” “Don’t believe in him either.” He’d anticipated her shocked reaction. Carly was a believer in things she had no right to have faith in. Including him. What he had not expected was his reaction to hers. For the briefest of moments, he was disappointed in himself, in confessing something that might actually make her think less of him. He’d never set himself up as larger than life to anybody. He was an imperfect man who made no apologies for it. But the idea of Carly being disappointed in him struck him like a mortal blow to his gut. He had no idea silence from a woman could wound him so much. Shooting her a sheepish grin, he nodded. “Don’t worry, babe. It’s okay. I don’t suppose God believes in me either.” She sat back, looking stunned. “What do you believe in?” He tried for nonchalance while becoming more uncomfortable with the conversation. He wouldn’t lie to her, but he wasn’t sure she really wanted to know the truth. “I believe in what I’ve seen with my own eyes, and the things I’ve experienced. Brute force. The dark side of human nature. And the persuasive power of a pistol.”
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“How can you live like that? You can’t seriously think that’s all there is to our existence. You’d put all your faith in a cold, metal machine rather than believe we’re bigger than the sum of our parts? What’s with you and that gun anyway?” “The pistol?” His hand went automatically to the frayed holster at his hips, distractedly caressing the layered-pearl handle. “It belonged to my old man, a paramilitary operations officer. He always thought of it as his good luck charm. Solid. Uncomplicated. Dependable. Even on special assignment in Afghanistan, when they were waylaid and he lost half his team, he came out unharmed. It was handed down to him by his father, a beat cop before him.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “A shared legacy of violence. Keeps me nice and grounded.” “That’s not grounded,” she whispered. “That’s haunted.” “And you think imagining you can control reality is a healthy state of mind? You’re convinced that you, as a group, really have such a power?” “I’m convinced that everyone does, to some degree. Whether it’s dreams, visualizations, focused prayer—whatever. Whether it’s for good or bad. But yes. We do.” He returned to his seat, trying to keep his voice gentle. “Proof?” She shrugged, staring at the food, now grown cold. “Do you remember that deadly drought in the southwest a couple of years ago?” “Vaguely. I was out of the country at the time.” “Meteorologists were forecasting that it’d last several more weeks with unimaginable damage to crops, and many people had already died from the extreme heat. We brought rain—a good, soaking amount that astonished every weatherman in the region.”
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“Lemme guess. One hundred people took to their beds and had wet dreams?” She looked stricken by his remark, and he regretted it immediately. Delusion or not, he needed to remember this belief was one she seemed to hold dear. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. Go on.” “Well, last summer there was that rash of killer tornadoes across the plains. We managed to disperse them. I remember waking with quite a headache after dealing with something of such immense power.” She continued hurriedly, as if afraid he might dismiss her again. “Or you may recall seeing that crippled jetliner wrangle a safe landing three months ago after it had lost all engines. That was an emergency call. But we worked together and got it done.” Carly squirmed in her chair, watching his reactions and nervously twisting a strand of her hair. It made him want to thread his fingers through the thickness of it, wrap it around his fist as he took her without mercy. “I know what you’re thinking, Munroe.” If there really was a God, he’d pray that she didn’t. “Do you?” “I know it’s all hard to believe. But it can’t be mere coincidence that everything we dream as a group actually became reality.” That, he thought, would depend on what she chose to consider reality. He remembered the incidents, each and every one. Yeah, the weather anomalies she mentioned had been freakish, apparently appearing out of nowhere. But so did lightning and swarms of locusts. Nobody claimed credit for those. The airplane landing had been hailed as something close to miraculous. He knew more than a few flyboys. The pilot who could bring that baby down had never been born.
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But it wasn’t possible that the One Hundred had anything to do with these things. Couldn’t be possible. “Forces of nature, woman, and a coincidence here and there. What else ya got?” “I suppose you want parting-of-the-Red-Sea spectacular?” “Thrill me.” “How about something personal instead?” Her voice softened, and she absently toyed with her glass of orange juice. “I’ve had a series of bodyguards. Did you know that? The government doesn’t want any of us to get too comfortable in one place or with one person.” “That’s not unusual.” “My last guy was a big Romanian bruiser. He liked to listen to heavy metal and didn’t speak a word of English. Efficient but not much fun.” Parker controlled his twitching lips. Barely. “Unaffected by the lingerie parade, huh?” “Totally gay.” “Lucky man.” He watched her hide her smile in her upraised glass. “Careful, Munroe. That was dangerously close to a compliment.” If it didn’t make him so all-fired horny, he’d love the way they always left so much unsaid. “So you asked your people for a thick-necked, hard-nosed straight guy?” “No. I never said a word. I got it into my head about three months ago that I’d dream up a new guard. A burly sorta guy with a little scruff and a big—er, protective instinct. A bodyguard with enough integrity to keep his hands to himself, whether I wanted him to or not. Somebody I could actually tease—er, talk to, have a little fun with, and still know for sure he’d keep me safe.”
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She grinned and pointed at the flat brush of hair on his head. “In my dream that was longer. Curled just over your collar, a sun-streaked, surfer-boy blond. And you don’t talk as much as I’d hoped. But the rest of you pretty well matched my order.” Parker pushed violently away from the table, his chair striking a harsh note against the floor. Shit. Okay, this must’ve been some kind of joke. The kind of sick joke that sonofabitch Shep might play on him. But his handler’s info and responsibilities were nearly as limited as his own. There was no way Carly or Shep would know he would be given this assignment. Four months ago, Parker was wrapping up a stint in the Gulf, protecting a fact-finding senator. And there was no way Carly would know he’d worn his sun-bleached hair longer then, curling just over his collar. He’d cut it short, just days before getting the call to protect her—three months ago. Shit. She squirmed in her chair, avoiding his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m some strange bug you found clinging to the screen door. I swear, my coochie’s the same as everybody’s. You said we should talk. I thought you wanted the truth.” “Having you creep me out was not what I had in mind. You’re saying you somehow ordered me to come to you?” “Of course not. You have your own free will. I wanted a particular kind of bodyguard, and you were in the protection business. We were pursuing the same course from different angles. You fit the bill. Except for the fun part. You can be so grim, Parker.” He almost laughed. Point man on the menu? Did she want fries with that? “It’s ridiculous. You’re talking about the ability to manipulate matter and energy.
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Do you know how scary that sounds?” He did. And he wasn’t a man who scared easily. Keeping a wary distance from her, he nervously flicked his lighter for emphasis. “If such a thing was possible, do you have any idea what kind of evil could come with misusing such a gift?” She solemnly nodded. “Now you know why our only shared communication is via that special-issue cell phone. And why our enemies hate us and manufacture lies.” “They’re afraid.” “Yes.” “Aren’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you worry about doing something wrong with such a power?” “It’s a risk. One of the chances we take.” Craziness. Insanity. But someone with authority had obviously been convinced. And her sincerity was starting to sway him too. “How does this work?” “Our superiors send out a call or text message to each of us. We’ve all been briefed on the appearance of the rock in relation to the planet. They give us a short description of what we’re to concentrate on. And at the specified time, we all dream about changing the course, as specified.” She paused as a clanking sound from the radiator seemed to rattle her. The woman was weary and definitely on edge. “It’s basically training. The sessions have been designed to gradually become longer, more intense, until the last big push.” “And if your little virtual reality game doesn’t work?” The brown eyes before him lost their lively luster. “Then I guess the dream ends, doesn’t it?” Christ. It was almost too much to take in. “Any change in the trajectory so far?”
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“I’m told there’s been an occasional wobble here and there, but no. No significant difference.” Dammit, she was going to be heartbroken when this crap didn’t work. “One hundred eyes turned inward?” “That’s the idea. I think we have a good chance, if everybody follows through. There are a couple of less talented backup dreamers, but only in case of emergency. There’s no skipping work on this gig.” He could tell how earnest she was but couldn’t seem to contain his own doubt. “And what if you’re not sleepy at just the right time?” “I’ve trained myself to drop off almost immediately as soon as they call. All I need is the right frame of mind and a safe place. Then I visualize the asteroid, and—” “Damn.” He extinguished his butt in his coffee and lit another cigarette. “I wondered why you’d chosen the theme from Close Encounters as your ringtone. That’s just wrong, woman.” She relaxed into a hesitant grin. “A twisted bit of lucid humor.” “Wouldn’t it be simpler to hold a meeting in somebody’s basement somewhere? Have one secure location?” “The participating governments are adamant about keeping us, as individuals, apart. Part of the contract for protection we signed was to never associate with another member of the One Hundred.” Of course. Keeping them separate would minimize their power. Wily bastards. “And there’s no such thing as a secure location. It’s almost like people can tell something’s wrong. You know, like that feeling you get, that anticipatory oppression, when you feel a storm coming on? They sense something. And while
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the Temple is busy convincing them we are the threat, we can’t tell the truth without risking worldwide panic.” Virtual daydreams versus a massive missile? It was an effing joke. “There must be surer methods of diverting the asteroid. The world’s scientists should be—” “They are. They’ve already sent an unmanned spacecraft to intercept and impact the rock’s surface, something to deflect the asteroid rather than blow it up into pieces that might do nearly as much damage as a head-on. Hopefully, it’ll be enough. We’ll know within a day or so if they’ve been successful. The One Hundred are simply Plan B.” He felt his heart thicken in his throat as her eyes glistened with a sudden sheen of tears. “But ohhh, Parker…can you imagine it? If everyone knew that we needn’t be impotent, just part of some cosmic pinball game? That we could play some part in forming our own destinies? And wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the wars, the scientific advancements, the greedy, pointless grabbing for power— wouldn’t it be something if the dreamers of the world were the ones to save it after all?” For the first time since they’d met, he saw true sadness on her face, the haunted look of near despair in her eyes. She twisted the fingers of one hand in the other as her shoulders slumped, and he realized what a toll this assignment must’ve taken on her. Two years of running and hiding and being one of the few to know the fearful truth. It would’ve been enough to crush a lesser spirit. And he’d wasted their precious time together stupidly brooding about the way she teased him? He’d cut off his right arm at this moment just to see her smile. “You’re only human, Carly. All of you. You’ve gotta keep that in mind.” “The asteroid is nearly three miles wide.” There was an unspoken plea in her eye, a quaver in her voice. “It could mean an impact of unimaginable
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proportions, a nuclear winter that would rival the Ice Age. Or enough earthquakes and tidal waves to wipe out a large percentage of the human race. In terms you might better appreciate, it would hit with the energy of a threemillion-megaton bomb. Don’t you think it’s worth the effort to try, whether you believe in what we do or not?”
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Chapter Six
Fuck it. Parker didn’t care if Carlotta Phelps thought she was Tinkerbell. She believed in helping people. She practiced magic and lived on hope. And as long as she looked at him with that expression of absolute trust, he’d defend her to his dying day. He eased his chair forward again and leaned across the table, careful not to touch her. She was actually shivering, seemed so fragile at this point. He was deathly afraid he’d take her in his arms and not want to let go. “I’m not saying I’m buying the New Age hooey. But the info about the asteroid must be top secret stuff, I’m sure. Why are you telling me, Carly?” She reached out for him instead. Her hand moved to slide along the stubble of his cheek with the gentlest touch he’d ever known. “You never asked, never seemed to care. But you had a right to know what you were fighting for and against. And I wasn’t sure whether you had someone… I mean, a family or a special person in your life you might want to be with if…well, if things didn’t work out.” The whole setup would be laughable if it wasn’t so sad. If not for this whole apocalyptic scenario, he would never have met her. And in his current role, he couldn’t tell her that he was staring at the only person he’d want to be with right now. “Can’t say there’s really anybody significant in my life. Got a brother in a similar line of business. Travis. Tough guy. I don’t worry about him. He can look after himself. My father and wife number four, a fine woman, live in a retirement
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home in Florida.” He thought of Benjamin Munroe, the tall ex-soldier who’d seemed like a god when Parker was a child. Until the past two years or so, when human frailty began nibbling away at his nobility. “His dementia is in its early stages. He spends his good days fishing and the bad nights reliving old firefights. I’d rather not hit him with this kind of reality. “And there’s my ex-wife, who wanted a nine-to-five husband—which she now has. I think it’s made her happy. I’ll let her think so for as long as she can.” It was, perhaps, the first time he’d been able to speak of his marriage without some small trace of bitterness. He wondered if his present company had something to do with that. “Oddly enough, your bizarre circumstances suited me perfectly. Restless nature. My mother, God rest her soul, claimed my father had gypsy blood. She always said I was just like him. Never could sit still for very long. But enough of all that.” He’d never been comfortable talking about himself. “I assume you have family?” “My mom never married. She was killed in a car accident four years ago. Otherwise, there was just the ex-fiancé who thought meeting him at the door with beer and whipped cream should be more important than my silly attempts to save the world. Go figure.” This time she smiled, that wide, sexy smile that sent his resolve winging south. “So, here we are, with all the gossip and no one to tell. Quite a pair, aren’t we?” “Not yet.” The words simply slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say them and was stunned to realize he absolutely meant them. In their short time together, he’d actually grown accustomed to waking up when she did, to seeing her safely to bed at night, even watching over her as she slept. She was everything bright and beautiful, and without the slightest effort
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inspired the most painful boners he’d ever experienced. That made it as legit as any other relationship he’d ever had. Now, if only they had enough time to work on it. “We’ll be fine. Just fine. You do your witchcraft thing, and I’ll keep the angry villagers at bay.” He grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He’d been right. Touching her was a mistake. How could she play the vamp one minute and manage such a charmingly old-fashioned blush the next? All signs of sadness were gone now as her eyes stared into his with absolute confidence. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He knew she never wore perfume. It wasn’t a good idea to carry it in luggage that was packed quickly and handled roughly. But the scented lotion she favored was subtle and distinctive, like the lilacs that had colored his mom’s garden in spring, and nearly enough to intoxicate him. Such soft skin. How would it taste? He absently twined his fingers between hers, marveling at how small her hand seemed in his, wondering what it would be like to have her body beneath him, to bury his hard, swollen need inside her welcoming warmth. Parker was neither monk nor martyr. He was no Shep, but he enjoyed having women, however briefly. He’d occupied himself with quite a few just before he took on this case, knowing his opportunities might be limited for a while. There was no excuse for suddenly feeling like a starving man. He gingerly shifted in the seat, in desperate need of his usual crotch adjustment but reluctant to spoil the moment. All else seemed hushed in the world. Beyond the hum of the kitchen’s electric clock, the simmering of steam heat waiting to serve, and the quiet kiss of snow upon the frosted glass door, there was silence. There was only the two of them. “Carly. I’m sorry.”
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“What in the world for?” For complaining about the nightgowns when he’d rather she’d worn nothing at all. For not seizing every opportunity he’d had for three months to touch and taste every inch of her. For not automatically killing every rat bastard who even thought of doing her harm. “I’m willing to go for the big-bang story. Every conspiracy theory has a germ of truth. But I’m sorry, I can’t believe in this—this dream fantasy your people have concocted. It’s all very nice and inspiring I’m sure. But frankly, folks with unrealistic expectations stumbling around with their heads in the clouds aren’t really helping those who live in the trenches. “However, I am sorry you’ve had to go through all of this alone. I’m a bullheaded idiot. Not knowing the truth made things easier for me. With no preconceived notions about who your enemies were, I could be on guard against everybody. I didn’t think how it might affect you. Keeping a little distance between us was the only way I could…” He hesitated and swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure. She was right. He wasn’t very good at this talking thing. “I mean, I needed something to—” The insidious theme song of Close Encounters abruptly waltzed through the air, and Carly jerked away from him, pressing the blue button that had changed to radical red on the phone. “Dammit,” she muttered. “Knew that would happen as soon as we started having an honest conversation. Just knew it.” He shrugged, noting the disappointment in her dark eyes. Actually, she was wrong. The summons had probably been a godsend. He was on the verge of making a fool of himself. “Duty will call. No problem. We’ll do it again in another three months or so.”
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That prompted another smile. The lie was worth it. “I—I hoped you’d believe me. About everything. But I didn’t really expect it. Thanks for listening, big guy—and at least not laughing in my face.” Parker ran a frustrated hand over his hair, feeling guilty as hell and fighting the urge to pull her back to him. She rose, heaving a relieved sigh, and casually climbed out of her jeans before him, having surrendered that modesty to necessity long ago. He watched her retire to the bedroom, wearing the hell out of the little iceblue gown, his shaft growing harder with every gut-clenching swing of her hips. For some time, long after the creaking of the mattress and rustling of sheets had ceased, he remained seated and still. Christ. He was an ass. As if news of a possible apocalypse wasn’t enough, he’d nearly forgotten who he was, almost dumped his feelings—needs—on the shoulders of a woman already carrying the weight of the world. With nothing more constructive to do, and a shitload of sexual frustration, it occurred to him he might consider praying. For the Earth, the future, and for this woman who’d become his whole world in these last frantic, full-of-life days. Prayer? Nah. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t even remember how. He’d never been a man to ask for help. He refused to believe there was anything he couldn’t handle. It was probably the reason he was still alive after all the covert missions and violence that had colored his recent years. Time and again, he’d managed to get over with barely a scratch. Maybe the pearl-handled pistol was a lucky charm after all. But there’d be no dodging this particular bullet. And if this was really the end of time, he’d have a lot of explaining to do to his maker. Carly, however, deserved better. She was a true believer in people and the power of miracles. And yes, a hot babe to boot. Whether her talent was some
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kind of delusion or not, he intended to make sure she was safe, that nobody ever laid a hand on her. Nobody, of course, except him. And the sooner the better.
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Chapter Seven
Parker Munroe had few vices. He enjoyed fishing occasionally, mostly for the sport of it. More often than not, he threw his catches back and wished them a long life. He smoked, but only when it suited him. A good bottle of wine after a fine meal made him happy with the world. But watching Carlotta Phelps scant minutes after she emerged from her shower was definitely his greatest weakness. Of course, he’d enjoy seeing her in the shower even more. But the thought of that didn’t make him happy. It made him horny as hell, made him want to storm into the bathroom and take her every way he could imagine, until that weakness was well-satisfied. Seeing her like this would have to do. And watching her now, as she drifted wraithlike through the suite, was almost enough to make him wonder if there was a God. Her face was luminous, her cheeks scrubbed clean and flushed. She wore one of the generic, frayed terrycloth robes Vic provided in each bathroom, which could only mean she was temporarily chilled. She’d switch into one of those groin-tightening gowns as soon as she warmed up, which would go a long way toward warming him up. It was probably the hair that did it for him. She usually wore it in a ponytail, or loose and swinging. It was simpler for her, knowing she might not have time to fuss with it.
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But post-shower, it was pinned up into a loose topknot, displaying the high cheekbones and slender neck to advantage. Casual strands of cinnamon swirls cascaded from the bun, framing her face in a soft, surreal manner, like some Victorian maiden, and made him want to crush her to his heart, to hold her there and keep her safe. There was just something about a gentle woman that brought out the best in a man. Even in the harsh light of the breakfast bar, she might have inspired a painting. A demure damsel. Fragile and feminine, everything soft and delicate that he could imagine in a lady, and— “What the hell are you staring at, Munroe?” Carly paused to glower at him. “Damn. Do I look that awful?” “Huh?” She grumbled incoherently as she tried to ease past him to the coffeemaker. There simply wasn’t enough space to maneuver in the kitchenette. Abandoning the effort, she deliberately bumped him with her hip to make him move. “I know I’m a fright in the morning, but you should be used to it by now.” He angled skillfully out of her way, retreating to the safety of the sofa with his mug. That mood of hers was enough to snuff out the stars in his eyes. His gentle woman was not a morning person. “I wasn’t staring. Well, not the way you think. I just—” “Do you like me, Munroe?” He eyed her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?” “I mean, don’t you think I’m a nice, deserving sort of girl?” Yup. She was angling for something. “Define ‘deserving’.” She smiled. A little too brightly. “I need to go to a store today, big guy. Is there a small town, medieval village or incestuous family compound hereabouts?”
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“No. To all of the above. No.” Carly poured coffee, then moaned in ecstasy as it worked its way down her throat. “God, I needed this.” She fixed him with a merciless stare. “Did you notice that I didn’t say I wanted to go to a store? I said I needed to go.” Ah. One of those days. The image of the demure little maiden was fading fast. “Did you notice that I said no?” “I need to see people, Munroe.” “You already played the ‘I never ask for anything’ card, Carly. No.” She leaned over the counter, her voice pleading. “Look. It’s almost sunny outside. Human beings require an occasional dose of the shiny stuff for their health, y’know.” “Yes. I know. No.” “Oh, c’mon. Women need certain necessities that men don’t. Like a flaming red bottle of nail polish with built-in microhardening shimmer.” “Your fingernails are hard enough. Unless you’re planning to take up eye gouging. No.” “I haven’t tasted chocolate in nearly two weeks!” “No.” “Please?” “No.” He hated feeling like the evil caretaker, and it was hard as hell to deny her anything. But, technically, he was in charge here. His word was law. End of story. “Munroe—” “Get over it, Carly. You’re not leaving the premises.” She drifted casually into the common room to join him, eyes bright and challenging. “Okay, then. You can go buy tampons for me.”
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Parker gagged on his coffee and lurched to his feet as if called to attention. “Get dressed. I’ll have the car out front.” Carly practically bounced for joy in the Jeep, silently swearing to make it up to Parker. She’d become an expert at this witness protection routine. Head in the clouds or not, there was no way she’d allow herself to run low on tampons. But she knew the big guy would rather face all the minions of hell than walk up to a cashier toting that little pink box. It was a tiny lie. She simply had to get out. Between the demanding calls to dream and Parker keeping her cooped up, she was going stark raving mad. And it would do him good to move outside four walls too. Stretch those hard-muscled limbs, maybe even crack a smile or two. At least it was the reason she used to justify her lie. And she really would make it up to him. Sometime. The sunshine was haphazard at best, a milky sky with an accidental patch of blue peeking through here and there, but it didn’t matter. She was enveloped in her thick parka, heavy sweater and winter cap, yet she sat expectantly on the edge of the seat, as if her cruise ship had just set sail for the tropics. Fifteen miles to the nearest town. Fifteen miles of freedom. Even Munroe couldn’t dampen her excitement. “You know the routine,” he droned. “Belvyn is a small town. They notice strangers. Look passive. Stop that sparkling thing you do. Don’t attract attention, don’t meet anyone’s eyes. If somebody seems suspicious, you let me know. We get what we need and get out. I’ve got the charge.” Yes. The government-issued charge card with the fifty-thousand-dollar cash limit, that automatically stayed at fifty-thousand dollars, no matter what they bought. The one she could shop with forever and a day. Their people were right
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to give it to him, not her. “And can I get cookies, Daddy? And a dollhouse? And a pony? Huh, can I, can I?” He pressed his lips into a firm line, despite the gleam in his eye. “You’d probably enjoy a spanking, wouldn’t you?” Carly laughed, loosened her seat belt and slipped into her favorite pseudomovie-star sunglasses. And, for the remaining five miles, she cranked the radio up loud, provocatively bumping and grinding in the seat until he too had to laugh. She could see the hunger in those flinty eyes. Good. He enjoyed watching her move. Let him imagine what it’d be like to have his hands on her ass. Let him dream for a change.
Belvyn, Ohio, was a tiny Norman Rockwell painting come to life. Parker had been to the town only once before. It was as simple and pretty as he remembered. Tiny shops in immaculate rows still bore the vivid sparkle of Christmas ornaments alongside the pastel fluff of Easter. Streetlights patterned after their Victorian counterparts were encircled by raised beds of bulbs, with purple crocuses nudging noses carefully through the snow. Rucker’s Pharmacy was, apparently, one of the hot spots of the community. Sports cars, rusted vans and Amish buggies all vied for parking space around the corner location where the perky voice of a persuasive woman announced store specials to all who would listen. Parker escorted a glowing Carly inside with his hand on her elbow, making a slow circuit of the aisles. No suspicious gatherings of men, no obvious threats. Still, he was reluctant to let her roam free—but she’d been right. Everyone needed an occasional breath of fresh air.
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He’d pick up razor blades, an extra pack of ciggies, deodorant and a prepaid phone for himself. Maybe glance at a few of the half-truth tabloids to see if the One Hundred had been declared enemies of the state yet. By then, his lady should be ready to go. But when he found himself finished and standing by the checkout, impatiently tapping his foot, he decided he’d waited long enough. What was the deal with women and shopping anyway? A cursory search of the mirrored domes that overlooked the aisles revealed Carly, still frowning over rows of nail polish, with a small shopping basket slung over one arm. And sneaking up behind her, unseen, was a disheveled young man in the company of a woman, fingers curved and extended to grab her. “No!” A colorful stand of the latest DVDs went flying in Parker’s wake as he charged blindly through the store, shoving startled customers out of his way. Guy stocking up on cheap wine—pushed into the cooler. Baby stroller blocking the row—hurtled over. Dammit, he knew this had been a mistake. Carlotta was paying no attention at all, and he was attracting too much. Taking the cut of a connecting aisle too sharply, he slipped, cursing, to one knee, his boots still slick with snow. That would smart like a sonofabitch later, but he couldn’t take the time to care. Stumbling forward, he swerved into the second aisle and found Carly’s eyes, wide and surprised, on him—just as the strange man reached out and covered her face with his hands. “Carly!” Charging toward them like a maddened bull, Parker roared as Carly kicked forward, pulled back into the arms of her attacker. And then Parker was on
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them, shoving Carlotta violently aside as his arm locked around the throat of the attacker. A woman screamed. He couldn’t tell whether it was Carly or the other. It didn’t matter. He had the man in a choke hold and his neck tilted at a dangerous angle. “Who are you?” His prisoner sputtered and tugged uselessly at Parker’s arm, but offered no answer. Not in any intelligible language, at least. “I said who the fuck are you, and what do you want with the girl?” “Parker!” He became dimly aware of desperate fingers digging into his other arm, his vest, as his prisoner’s face began to purple—as he was still trying to decide whether he wanted to strangle him or snap his freaking neck. “Parker, please.” The voice was Carly’s, and she was frantically trying to shake him loose. “For God’s sake, stop being an animal. Let him go! I know the man!” Wheeling to face her and maintaining his hold, he barely bit back a nasty retort. A dark, thin veil of murderous rage had fallen over his eyes, blocking out everything except the face of his quarry. He was hoping for a quiet killing. Why was she interfering? “Dammit, Carlotta, will you let me do my…what? You said what?” “Munroe. Let. Him. Go. This is Sam Lorrie.” She gasped, still struggling to put space between his bulging arm and the man’s throat. “He helped organize the group experiment at Stanford. And that,” she added, inclining her head, “is Violet Cushing. A member of the One Hundred. This guy you’re about to strangle happens to be her boyfriend.” “I…we…” the girl stammered, clutching a pack of pink marshmallow peeps to her chest. “Omigod, I’m sorry. Sam was just gonna cover Carly’s eyes while I
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yelled ‘surprise’. She was the last person I expected to see here. Please don’t throttle him. Honestly, we didn’t mean any harm.” It was the stunned expression on the girl’s flower-fragile face that finally got through to him. The modern-day Betty Boop, with pouting cherry lips and short, onyx curls, looked like a child who’d stumbled upon the Easter Bunny masturbating. Relenting, Parker allowed the thin body in his arms to slide bonelessly to the floor as she watched. “Sorry,” he muttered, not sure he was sorry at all. “I thought he was going to hurt her. Didn’t mean to make a scene.” Violet turned wide plum-colored eyes to her friend. “Wow. I think I’ve been shopping in the wrong places. Carly?” she breathed, sounding very impressed. “Does he belong to you?”
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Chapter Eight
Violet served her guests green tea with a twist of lemon and barely a dribble of honey. She made no secret of the smirks directed at her boyfriend, who sat on the floor, a safe distance from Parker, liberally spiking his tea with whiskey. “I may be having second thoughts, Sam. I didn’t know what I was missing by refusing to have a bodyguard.” “If the crushing of windpipes and near wetting of pants is a turn-on for you, I’m glad I was available, doll.” Carly liked these people. Not only because they were so down-to-earth and as much fun as she remembered, but because of how they’d handled the drama at the store. This was, apparently, Violet’s hometown, and she knew everybody. She had no trouble convincing the manager that Parker was her unstable cousin from Arkansas. Sadly, he’d gone off his meds and reacted violently when Sam tried to keep him from his favorite pastime—displaying his wee willy in a public place. Dear Mr. Rucker had been very kind. Especially when the magic credit card appeared to pay for any damage, plus a hefty tip. Carlotta was not, however, very happy with Parker. She might’ve been sympathetic, since the three of them had spent the past hour sharing pleasant memories from Stanford, and he was obviously an outsider. And yes, she understood he’d been protecting her, even if his all-encompassing rage had frightened her a little. He was her guardian, even if it meant being a menace to society.
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But his brooding demeanor and the way he kept a wary eye on Sam, even here, in the comfort of Violet’s petite loft, left her simmering with resentment. Carly loved the old, faded furniture, the garage-sale tables waxed to a high shine, and the oval eye of a window that made Belvyn look like a microcosm of the whole world. She thought she could sit here for hours, just watching people interact as if nothing was wrong. Instead, she was sitting across from Parker and feeling very guilty about the ruckus she’d caused, just for a taste of freedom. “I have to work a late shift tonight, but I hope you’ll consider staying for dinner, Mr. Munroe.” As she had for the past hour, Violet tried to draw him into the conversation. “As long as you can be discreet. Carly and I aren’t supposed to be meeting like this. In case we conspire to take over the world or somethin’. If the government found out, they might just rush in and kill us where we stand. Isn’t that right, Sam?” “Black helicopters and all, babe.” “Don’t worry about me.” Parker sat back and stretched his legs, and Carly made a mental note to despise him for having such thick, hard thighs. “I’m an antisocial bastard. But I’m not a snitch.” “You’re no such thing,” Violet chided. “You’re a warrior. That’s a Special Forces tattoo, isn’t it?” Carly caught the change in Parker’s tone. The more impressed he became, the calmer he seemed. “Good guess.” “No guess. I was an army brat. And I know the men who get them don’t take them lightly. Now I won’t need to worry about her. And you’re to be commended on how well you take care of our girl.” Violet sat on the floor beside Sam, curling into his arm. “Carly’s told you about the asteroid and what we do, hasn’t she? I can tell. You’re the kind of man a woman would trust, and I’m glad
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she has someone to share this with. She was one of the most talented members of our group, y’know.” Parker scowled. “No. I didn’t know.” Violet seemed amused, her gaze sliding back and forth between them. “Of course, she wouldn’t admit it. But her visualization tips helped a few of us land a place in the experiment. She’s got a powerful gift. She deserves to be protected.” “But you don’t have a guard?” “No.” She smiled gently. “Sam wouldn’t mind having an audience, complete with scorecards. He’s a little freaky that way. But I couldn’t have someone watching every time I wanted to hug my guy.” Carly caught the look that passed between them. Although none of them had been allowed to become too close, everyone at Stanford knew these two were crazy about each other. She was glad they’d stuck together. Violet was managing a near-normal life here with a guy she loved. Now, that was a miracle. Even Parker seemed to relax, gifting Sam with a genial nod. “You folks will have to forgive me. I’m not much of a believer in your cause. Just doing my job.” Carly knew it. He’d told her so often enough. But it seemed doubly hard to hear in the presence of people with a real relationship. Sam shook his long, dark hair. “Mister. I saw your face. That kind of anger doesn’t come with feeling protective. Possessive, maybe. Then again,” he added, noting Munroe’s cool stare, “I could be wrong. Don’t hit me.” “Nobody’s hitting anybody.” Violet linked her fingers through her lover’s and chortled. “Sam and I actually disagree about the lucidity projects too. A lot. He’s into the quantum physics angle of all this. String theories and the concept of like energy attracting like. Me? I just believe in the basic goodness of people. I can’t tell you how often we’ve glared at each other from those seats you’re sitting in right now. But you two are even cuter at it.”
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Carly opened her mouth to speak and found Parker watching her. Was he waiting for her to grin, to agree, after he’d publicly declared her his personal albatross? “Violet—” “Trust me on this, hon.” She winked. “We’re all going to get through this little crisis and become the best of friends. Sam and I will begin working on the project we really want to do and set up shop in the little country cottage we spotted a couple of weeks ago. With lots of chimes. I love the sound of chimes. It’s like dreams being scattered in the wind.” Her eyes, mulberry dark and so true to her name, crinkled with happiness. “And we’ll have a dog and a cat who glare at each other across the room, and seven children with curly dark hair who’ll learn how to make their dreams come true. And you two will be their godparents and spoil them rotten, and—” Carly nearly leaped out of her seat at the sound of twin ring tones going off. She was used to her own, but hearing Violet’s simultaneously was enough to strike a nerve—and to make Parker wearily scrub his face. As if the theme from Close Encounters wasn’t bad enough, her friend had chosen the tune “Big Rock Candy Mountain”. How fabulous was that? “Sam, Vi, I’m sorry,” she murmured, reaching for her coat as Parker rose. “We’ve stayed too long. We’ll be going now, let you get to your sleep.” “Don’t be silly. You’ve got to sleep too.” Violet pushed off from the floor and grabbed Carly’s hand. “C’mon. We’ll do it together. It’ll be like old times. Do you still wear those thick flannel pajamas?” “Flannel?” Parker barked. “No, really, hon, it’s okay,” Carly hedged. Parker would never let her live the pajamas down. “I can curl up in the car. I’ve done it before.” “Nonsense.” Violet was already dragging her to the rear of the apartment, grinning apologetically at Munroe. “The call is for two hours of dreaming, and
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I’ve got a soft, roomy bed. Don’t worry. Sam will entertain your guy. And frankly, I imagine he could use a break too.”
Carly turned down the plump scarlet quilt on Violet’s bed and sat uneasily on the edge. She carefully removed her stained boots and slid her legs beneath the covers as her friend pulled the shades in the tiny bedroom. “Vi, I want to apologize again. For the incident in the store, I mean. Parker’s behavior was unforgivable.” Violet snickered, sending her tennis shoes sailing across the room and joining Carly with an energetic leap into bed. “We shouldn’t have surprised you that way. It was our fault. And that’s quite some bodyguard you have there. Quite some body.” An old-fashioned windup clock metered minutes from the bureau, and the lacy border that lined the ceiling had been hand-stenciled with supreme care. Carly found herself smiling at the pot-bellied pitcher on the nightstand, loaded with a fresh batch of wildflowers, and warmed at the sight of the braided rug, crowded with too many colors. Hugging herself, she curled her toes into the crisp cotton sheet. She’d nearly forgotten what it was like to feel so at home. “I love your place.” “Aw, thanks. Rejecting the One Hundred’s protection means we’re not entitled to the ‘magic credit card’. But we manage.” She clucked her tongue sympathetically. “It must be very hard for you.” “There are benefits. I’ve become a whiz at on-line solitaire and timing microwave popcorn.” She allowed her sarcasm to soften. “I’m almost used to it. And he’s a good protector. A good man.”
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“With a great body.” Vi bounced back against her pillow and burrowed beneath the quilt. “I’m glad he’s with you. Can’t tell you how much I’ve worried about everybody they drafted for this head trip. Not being allowed to communicate meant not knowing how they were doing, whether they were all safe. And I love him to pieces, but living with Mr. Conspiracy here doesn’t help. He’s convinced the government guys would just as soon slit our throats as allow us in the same freaking room. So, it’s good to know you’re being taken care of, sweetie.” She surrendered a deep sigh. “And by that body.” Carly poked her with an elbow. “Stop. You know you wouldn’t have Sam any other way.” “Yes, I would. I’d have him married.” Carly watched Vi blush as if she was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. But I’m just corny enough to want the whole fairy tale. Give me the white picket fence, kids running me ragged and the husband who forgets our anniversary because he loves me more every day. He’s my best friend. What more could I want? Now,” she continued, tugging the cover up to her chin. “Why haven’t you told that man out there how much you want him?” How was it that everyone knew about her feelings except that thick-headed Munroe? “It isn’t that simple. I don’t want somebody who doesn’t want me, and the guy is all business. And even if he had those feelings, he’d never give in to them. Not Munroe. He’s so freaking grim, Vi. He never lets loose, never plays. Yeah, our situation is sort of unusual, but I don’t think he’d know how to have a good time. It’s a chore for him to crack a smile. Can you imagine making love with such a man?” “Don’t tell Sam, but it’s on my list of lucid dreams for tonight.” Carly shifted beside her, preparing for sleep. She was having trouble managing smiles herself lately. “I don’t really have to explain this to you, of all people. You know, Vi. It’s just not the right time.”
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“Ah. I see your point.” Violet frowned as she allowed her eyes to flutter closed. “Carly? Exactly how much time, right or wrong, are you counting on having?”
They stood, watching, at the portal of the shade-darkened room. Two men, both curious and quietly concerned, their long shadows furrows across the covers of the bed. As far as Parker was concerned, Sam was pretty accommodating for a man who’d been assaulted. The guy’s long, patriarchal beard didn’t work for him. Nor did the straight, stringy hair or round yellow shades perched halfway down his nose. Seriously. What kind of man wore yellow shades? Still, Sam had done as his lady asked. They’d enjoyed part of an early season baseball game. He’d shared his stash of ice-cold beer, keeping what little conversation there was to sports. But, after an hour and a half, they’d had enough of each other’s company. They were worried about their women. Parker drank in the sight of the two, idly studying their breathing. They might have been a pair of little girls, all innocence, snuggled beneath a colorful red quilt. Leaning against the doorjamb, he shoved his hand into his vest pocket, startled to feel his pistol there. It didn’t seem to belong in this setting. The apartment was as serene as a sanctuary. Carlotta slept peacefully on her back, her long hair rippling along the smooth surface of a pillow, breasts heaving a hypnotic rhythm in sleep. Violet cuddled against her side, her cheek resting on Carly’s shoulder as easily as if it belonged there.
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Shaking his head, he whispered, afraid he would waken them, “They make quite an interesting pair, don’t they?” Sam, slim and tall beside him, nodded in agreement. “It’d be even more interesting if Violet suddenly became madly aroused and shoved her tongue down your girl’s throat. But I’m a little freaky that way.” Doubling over in a fit of coughing, Parker felt a hand slap him companionably on the back. “Go ahead and laugh, Munroe.” Sam chuckled. “They’ve programmed their internal clocks for two hours. A little noise won’t disturb them.” Okay. He could actually come to like this guy after all. Wiping his eyes, he greedily gulped drafts of air. “I don’t know how you handle this, Lorrie. Or how you let her do it.” “Simple. Violet does it because she can’t help helping. My girl has a huge heart. This is who she is. I do it because there’s a much larger picture here than presents itself.” Parker grimaced. “Bigger than trying to save the world?” Sam stepped back from the door and reached for an elongated black box on a dainty end table. Affecting a casual air, he pulled out the largest blunt Parker had ever seen and lit it with a flourish. “Originally, the One Hundred didn’t come together to be an instrument of the government. Any government. We allowed them to step in when we learned about the impending catastrophe. But it wasn’t what we, the founders, planned.” “You mean, the coalition of governments took over your project.” “We could hardly refuse them access to our data, considering the consequences. And then, yes, their scientists grabbed the reins.” His teeth sank viciously into the cigar. “I think you can understand how furious that made me. I never told Vi, but I honestly thought of destroying all our records and lying
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about the results. It was our brainchild, our baby. Can you imagine how you’d feel if a complete stranger strolled into your pissing perimeter and took Carlotta away from you?” Blind, murderous rage was the first thought that came to mind. But he didn’t think that was what Sam needed to hear. “It’ll be worth the sacrifice if it works, won’t it?” “If it averts the disaster—yes. But it’ll kill the vision as a whole. We only meant to touch on the telekinesis aspect. The moving of an object, like the big rock, by nonphysical means,” Sam explained, in response to Parker’s blank look. “We’d already moved on to having the group work on other things. Violet was promoting her idea of teaching the process to kids. Imagine, a generation of children with this gift, a virtual creative ability, who are schooled to know how to use it. Or people doing remote healing via lucid dreaming, which is what I was quarterbacking for. Shrinking tumors by imagining them away. Eliminating diseases of the blood by visualizing healthy circulatory systems. But it’ll never happen now. The One Hundred will be ordered to disband after this operation, even if they succeed. They’re too powerful. And all our hard work will go to hell.” No. It wouldn’t. There was something in the inflection of his voice, a subtle flair of passion that said Sam Lorrie had no intention of watching a bunch of bureaucrats destroy his dream. “You’re not really gonna let that happen, are you?” Sam peeked over the rims of his glasses, stealing a look at the tattoo on his shoulder and the weapon bulging in his pocket. “Why, I would never think of disobeying the orders of a bunch of nameless, faceless men whose noble interests must be the common good, rather than the power they might wield.” He blew a
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puff of acrid smoke toward the ceiling. “You be sure to repeat that to your bosses when you’re asked.” Sadly, there was a pretty good chance they would ask. And he’d be sure to repeat those very words. Yeah. He definitely liked this guy. “Will do. And you be careful, Sam.” “This really isn’t the time for ‘careful’, Mr. Munroe, because there may not be much time left. I’ve sort of made peace with the idea. I’ve learned a little and lived a lot. And as long as Violet is with me, I’ll have no regrets, whatever happens. Can you honestly say the same?” “If you’re talking about me doing my job—” “I’m talking about you showing that beautiful woman in there the truth about how you feel. And stop looking so surprised. Any idiot could tell.” Sam offered him a toke and shrugged when Parker shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong. I understand. Wrong woman, wrong time, wrong circumstances. Fuck it. Stop being careful. Your orders won’t keep you warm at night. And there may be a very long night a-comin’, man. Make love to the girl. Make love to her while you still have a chance.” Bracing his back against the door, Parker glanced at his watch. It was getting late. Maybe the guy was right. Whatever he was going to do, this was the time to do it. He’d shut himself off from people and feelings for so long it was a way of life for him. Now, he wasn’t so sure he cared for that life. Squeezing a cigarette from his mangled pack, Parker lit it and thoughtfully watched the slow burn. “Sam? You and Violet busy this summer?” “You mean, other than getting married, moving into a new place, starting a family as soon as possible, and assuming there’ll be a summer? Why do you ask?”
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“Just wondered,” Parker said quietly. “How do you feel about fishing?”
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Chapter Nine
The room was still cloistered in dark. Carly refused to turn the light on, to acknowledge that it was still night when she felt sure she’d been lying in bed for an eternity. Training herself to fall asleep at will was one thing; staying asleep was another, and not so easy when forced to take two or three naps every day. She’d never minded sleeping alone before she had to. Her fiancé had snored something fierce, and seeking occasional solitude on the couch or a living room chair when he hit the high decibels was a happy escape. But this solitaire game had been going on for over two years now. No small talk over a breakfast table. No intimate whispering in the thick of night. Hell, half the time she was reluctant to masturbate when the urge came, embarrassed by the idea that one of her myriad bodyguards might overhear. She missed being spooned, feeling the touch of another human being, the comforting warmth. She faced the window, watching for the faint stirring of dawn beyond the trees and listening to the silence, the way the countryside seemed to hold its collective breath in anticipation of sunrise. Uncle Vic had retired around two. She’d heard him puttering around after coming in late, then heard his television go silent. Even Munroe had gone to bed fairly early, unusually quiet, perhaps still sullen about the day at the drugstore. So there was no reason that, without stirring or turning to look, she could suddenly feel the presence of someone in the bedroom. Someone furtive, purposeful, moving with the stealth of a creeping shadow.
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Trying to still her racing heart, she made a fist against her flattened pillow. It couldn’t be Parker. He never came at her this way. He knew she was on edge and always waited patiently for her to wake up, or roused her with a shout and a shake if there was danger. Maybe a member of the Temple had finally caught up to her, just when she’d be needed most. The wooden floor creaked beneath the bulk of the intruder, became louder as he drew closer, then stopped. Whoever it was stood between her and the door. She’d never make a successful run for it. Her pounding heart pumped fear into her veins with every pulse, keeping her frozen as she was. She could scream for her bodyguard, but a dry sliver of fear seemed to have lodged in her throat, silent and suffocating. When the edge of the mattress sank beneath his weight, the same fear that paralyzed her galvanized her limbs into life. Gulping air in one huge breath, Carly cried out and pushed against the bed, twisting and putting all of her body’s weight into the hard angle of her elbow against his face. She was rewarded with the sound of the sharp blow and his bark of pain—just before the bare chest of the intruder loomed over her, his massive body and strong hands pinning her back against the sheet. “Nice shot. Next time aim for the nose or the temple. You’ll get better results.” Relief made her limbs go weak as fury now fired her heart. “Dammit, Munroe!” “You were expecting Uncle Vic?” “I wasn’t expecting… I mean, no, of course not! I was thinking the soup and sandwiches at Violet’s were nice but didn’t amount to much. And I was silly enough to think I’d make up for the mess of yesterday by dreaming up
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something you’d really enjoy. Like, maybe, steak and potatoes smothered in butter, and I was all set to do the visualizations when you bust in here—” “Hungry?” Not at all. At the moment, food was the last thing on her mind. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. He stretched to his full length on top of her, holding both of her wrists above her head in an iron grasp, his suggestive smile bare inches away. His heart drummed hard against hers, the soft mat of hair on solid muscle exciting her breasts to aching awareness. This was totally unlike the Munroe she knew, the guy always on guard, prepared for anything. She’d fantasized about him like this, wondered how it would feel, but the reality was beyond even her imagination. She swallowed the urge to mew beneath the warmth of his weight, trying to focus on the bizarre situation. He was completely, devastatingly naked. “W-what are you doing here? Is anything wrong?” “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.” He nibbled at her lips, bit the bottom one sharply, then soothed it with his tongue. “It’s never been easy, imagining you all warm and silky in bed, just a few yards away. Thought I’d come see for myself. I’ve been thinking about you all night long.” “Have you?” Carly squirmed, a pulsing heat beginning between her thighs as hungry lips blazed a path down her throat. “Being around Violet and Sam got me thinking. Wishing. Wondering if we could possibly share more than the work. But, I wanted to be sure I gave you time to do your job, y’know?” His free fingers tugged the hem of the cool satin gown up to her waist as he shifted his powerful legs to settle between hers. “Did you manage to connect with your rock? Finish your little fantasy, Carly?”
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“Yes.” Her hoarse whisper became little more than a moan as his wandering hand traced the curve of her buttock, tilting her hips and drawing her hard against his throbbing cock. “Oh yes.” “Then you won’t mind if we work on one of mine.” Parker held her arms fast, adjusting his body, his solid heat seeking her soft, moist warmth. She raised her legs in response, wrapping them around his waist as she had imagined, dear God, so many times, her hips already moving urgently against him. Foreplay could wait for some other time when she didn’t want him so desperately. She didn’t need teasing or coaxing. She’d wanted him from the first. “God, you’re so hot,” he breathed. “You have no idea how often I’ve fantasized about this.” He cupped her breast, inhaled when she gasped, and rolled the nipple lightly between thumb and forefinger. A starburst of white-hot lust slammed into her belly at his touch, and he smiled when she lurched beneath him. “Open wider for me, Carlotta. Wider. I need to have all of you.” She breathlessly obliged, purring with the rhythm of his tongue against her nipple. He held on tight, lightly suckling, groaning in satisfaction at her body’s urgent response. He was driving her insane. Oh, she could screw this man to death. Oh yes, she could. “Let me go,” she whispered. “Please. I need to touch you.” “Not now. Can’t. It’s been too long. I don’t want to lose control too soon. I’ve been waiting for this since…since nightgown number three, the little off-theshoulder white number that became transparent when we had to run through the rain. Three o’ five a.m., in the parking lot of that Best Western motel. I wanted to throw you down on the ground and take you right there, duty be damned.”
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Carly struggled, desperate to free her hands. She needed to draw him closer, get him inside her. Why was he hesitating? Why was he taking so long? There wasn’t time for this. No time. “Shhh,” he murmured softly. “A woman who mercilessly teases a man until he’s half-mad with wanting her deserves the full treatment. I want to enjoy every minute, every second of this. I want you slowly, deeply, Carly. I want it to be something we remember when everything else is gone.” One searching finger slipped between her thighs, lightly brushing the tender bud of her clit and sending hammering waves of heat through her body. “That’s it. Let me have you, babe. Let me…” Parker smothered her moan with a hard kiss, his mouth taking hers with a feral hunger. His weight rested on steely arms, and his cock, weeping and swollen, was poised at her entrance. “Now, Carly. Now.” The sound of something like a distant blast shivered around them, over them, and the bed whipped violently across the room to slam into the opposite wall. The noise became louder, a thundering rumble, followed by the earsplitting crack of what could only be the earth breaking open beneath them. Parker fell to her side, then slid back over her as the earth heaved the old floorboards up, and shattered glass blew in like rain from the window. Carly screamed, holding on to him for dear life as he tried to protect her body with his. This couldn’t be happening. It was too soon, too cruel. They’d never had a chance… And then her scream went silent, his dead weight crushing her, her mouth and nose filling with sand-fine particles of dirt and ash that replaced the air in the room, in the crypt, until everything surrounding her was dark and cold and— “God!”
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Carly sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath, her wide eyes searching the darkness for some sign of life. A dream. An uncontrolled dream. An old fashioned scare-the-shit-out-of-you nightmare. God. Her trembling hand reached out, barely managing the switch on the lamp. She needed light, and then regretted it as the glare of the cheap yellow bulb seared her teary eyes. This was reality, at least for now. She’d had to remind herself of that more and more often lately. They’d been warned of the danger in being able to visualize so vividly. They might actually lose themselves in their own virtual dreamscapes. There was a rumor that one or two of the One Hundred’s first initiates had done just that, never to know sanity again. They’d been secured in private sanitariums, at least until the crisis was resolved. Word was that they’d relinquished all touch with reality, victims of their own fictions. Apparently, that risk included the night terrors that lurked, waiting for a chance to take root and ravage a too-fertile mind. She had to get a grip. To allow such a dream to shake her faith in their power could be disastrous. There could be no room in her psyche for fear right now. Panting for breath, she dashed the overflowing tears from her face a split second before a gentle knock pattered against her door. “Carly? You okay?” She’d been right. The man never slept, at least not soundly. “Fine.” She choked on the word, could’ve sworn she still tasted the terror. Pushing her disheveled hair back, she cleared her throat. “Just fine, Munroe. Sorry. Bad dream.” “You have nightmares?”
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Carly could hear the smile in his voice. How nice that she could be entertaining for him. Bastard. Falling back against the pillow, she sighed. A very realistic dream. Damn if she wasn’t still hot and wet for him. “I always knew that, if we ever happened, the earth would move.” “What?” Things didn’t have to be like this between them. She could invite him in. Toss her pride, have a taste of heaven before all hell broke loose. She could open the door, toss off her damp, wrinkled gown and bluntly tell him she wanted to ride him until she was raw. Yes, she wanted him to come in. She wanted him to come inside her. She could make that a reality. He might be tough, but he wasn’t immune to temptation. She’d seen more than one military salute in those civilian jeans of his. Carly rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms, still breathing hard. Who was she kidding? No way. Yes, the fireworks between them in the dream had been as explosive as she’d imagined they would be. But lest she’d forgotten what could happen if her attention was diverted, that lucid experience of the planet disintegrating was certainly terror enough. There was no way she’d manage any sort of intimacy after that horror. The nightmare had left her scared and uncertain. About him, herself, her ability and what was to come. Some heroine she was. Sure, she was going to help save the world. She couldn’t even control her own boogeymen. “I said steak and potatoes. I was dreaming of conjuring up steak and potatoes for you. You know, with that silly magic stuff you don’t believe in.” “Ah, well, Vic only does eggs. You can forget about that coming true, at least until we move on.” She could hear his boots shuffling restlessly outside. It didn’t take much to picture that big, finely honed body in perfect detail, pacing just
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beyond her door, ready to protect her from the rest of the world, if need be. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away. “You sound funny. Need anything?” He sounded odd too. A little nervous and, somehow, a distance away now. “Carly? Sure you don’t want me to come in?” No. She couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t afford these distractions, when so many more important things were at stake. Good Lord, the man was haunting her dreams. And as badly as she wanted him, she simply had to maintain her focus. “Yeah. I’m sure. Thanks anyway, but there’s nothing I need.” Beyond an icecold shower, and that would be a bit obvious. “Don’t sweat it. I’m fine, Munroe.” She extinguished the lamp and pulled the blankets over her head. Yes, she would work on that meal for him. She had to be good for something, after all. “Go back to your dreams, big guy. Hold ’em close. I hope they’re a damn sight better than mine.”
Parker settled onto his mattress with a grunt, viciously kicking the comforter off the bottom of the bed. Tonight was the end of it. As soon as it was feasible, he’d get her to a standard safe house and call in a request for transfer. It wasn’t enough that he’d made a fool of himself in the drugstore. Not enough that the slightest sound from her room was enough to send him running. He’d actually stood outside her door for a full hour after she’d settled down, listening like some candy-assed moonstruck kid—without his gun.
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Dammit all to hell, what if they’d been under attack? He’d been so anxious to get to her, he’d forgotten his weapons, left them in the common room. Which meant he’d officially lost what little mind he had left. Of course, he could always beat an intruder to death with his dick. It had certainly been hard enough. The faint edges of daylight feathered the horizon, and he doubted he’d get much shut-eye. Tossing restlessly on the bed, he realized his need was so strong he actually felt feverish. And he’d had every intention of taking Sam’s advice. He wasn’t much for the Cro-Magnon stuff, but he wanted to break into that bedroom, mount her and ask all the bullshit questions later. To thrust as far into her as humanly possible and pour out all the weeks of sexual frustration he’d endured. He could’ve helped her feel better too, kept her so aroused she’d forget about dreams. All of them. The noise from her bedroom had brought on this current testosterone attack. Just before his cautious interruption, he’d heard the moaning, the telltale movements on the bed and the climactic cry to her maker. Unless he missed his guess, something seriously sexy was going on behind that closed door. Had she been masturbating in there? She’d probably been touching and pleasuring that firm, full body, and he would’ve given anything to see it—even more to make it unnecessary. A woman like that shouldn’t need to do herself. She should have men standing in line, waiting for the privilege—and one idiot on retainer who didn’t have the right to ask. As if that behavior wasn’t stupid enough, he’d lurked like some lowlife outside her door. Waiting, long after she’d gone silent again. Not only out of concern for her but, disgustingly enough, because he’d fervently hoped she
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might want more, might let him in, that she might toss the rules to the wind, because he was too fucking anal to do so himself. He’d done everything but ask directly if he could open the door, climb on board and screw her silly. And she’d made it clear it was not what she wanted. Enough. This silly drama ended now. He would stop fantasizing and stop encouraging hers. He’d pass her safely on, let the next series of bodyguards deal with the blue balls, and lose himself in a different sea of nameless nightgowns. Forcing himself to turn away from the sunrise, he placed his favorite pistol on the pillow beside him and closed his eyes. Small, cold comfort after a long, chilly night. But they had a history, he and this gun. He knew what to expect from it, knew how to handle it. He could relax, knowing it was there. And tomorrow, after he’d made arrangements, he was going to sleep well for the first time in weeks. Damn the phantom asteroid. His world had been blown apart three months ago. It was the woman who would be the death of him. Once Carly was safe and temptation out of his way, there was nothing to keep him from resting easy from here on.
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Chapter Ten
The smell of hot coffee and sizzling eggs woke her early, and, fresh from the shower, Carly joined Parker. He was sprawled on the compact sofa in the common room, bare to his chiseled waist, eyes fixed on the small television broadcasting the national news. He smelled of soap, reeked of barely contained masculine power—and barely seemed inclined to acknowledge she was even there. “G’morning, Ms. Phelps.” “Mr. Munroe.” Huh. Apparently the bond they’d formed when she told him the truth had also been a product of her vivid imagination. Or he was still pissed about the drugstore caper. Was it her fault he’d missed an opportunity to slaughter someone? His greeting was as chilly as the first three minutes of her lukewarm shower. She made for the coffeemaker and poured herself a steaming cup. Morning hadn’t come soon enough. She’d tossed and turned for a couple more hours following the nightmare and felt all fuzzy around the edges. Discombobulated. If she’d been like any normal doomed human being she could’ve phoned a friend for comfort, maybe gotten dressed and taken a walk to clear her head. Here, she felt trapped, in every way imaginable. Hell, the slinky black peignoir she’d unearthed for the daily morning’s temptation hadn’t earned a second look from her chaperone. Yes, he’d seen it before, but she hadn’t bothered to unpack her collection. The closet door of her bedroom was stuck closed, and they’d been through so much in the past two
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days she hadn’t wanted to bother him about it or other pending necessities. They’d both need access to a washing machine soon. She was running out of clean clothes. If Munroe had a problem with her nighties, he probably wouldn’t approve of her running around naked. She warmed her hands with the coffee, wandering around the common area of the suite. Her new cell block was, obviously, not going to do much to improve her mood. Hardwood floors and rugged, exposed beams made it seem sturdy enough, but nothing had been done to personalize the place. It needed a woman’s touch. A pillow, a painting, even a silk flower arrangement would’ve done wonders. She tried the terrace door for a jolt of fresh air and found it was also stuck. Apparently, the house needed a workman’s touch too. Looking out the window didn’t help, only made her want to go back to bed and cry. More freezing rain, with a side helping of cold, dreary fog. Maybe she should dream up a little sunlight, since she was so freaking divinely gifted and all. And beneath all the thoughts of mundane details, she wondered if they’d actually live to see spring. It wasn’t just about her and how desolate and alone she often felt on days like this. It was the idea of having so many lives possibly depend on her, and the idea that she might, somehow, fall short. What if Munroe and all the naysayers were right and everything she believed in was some kind of wish-fulfillment fantasy? “Early rising, Carlotta.” “Lumpy mattress.” Was that a small smirk tugging on the lips that had turned her to mush in her sleep? And this was the man she’d confided her most important secret to? She clutched her cup so tightly her fingers began to burn. He had every right not to believe in her, but she was feeling shaky enough. She was not in the mood to be mocked.
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“Pleasant dreams?” “Screw you, Parker.” Well, actually, that part of the nightmare hadn’t been so bad… He reached for his cigarettes, slouching deep into the cushions. “I see we’re wearing the always-popular black silk today, complete with plunging neckline and barely there spaghetti straps? Don’t you ever get cold, woman?” “Why bother? You’re cold enough for both of us.” She hadn’t meant to snap. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything wrong. She probably owed him her life a few times over. He took care of her efficiently and well, just as he’d been paid to do. And it wasn’t his fault he’d only wanted her in a dream. “Sorry. Must’ve gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. But for what it’s worth, mister, I don’t wear the nightgowns just to tease you.” “Torture was the word I had in mind, actually.” Carly hid her flushed face behind her cup. So he wasn’t angry. That was definitely a compliment, and nearly enough to make her forget her nightmare. “I don’t suppose you’d understand. But dressing as I please is one of the few liberties I have. I have no say in where I go, what I eat, how I live—not even when I sleep. Trying to get an occasional rise out of my bodyguards may not have been sporting, but it’s the only power I haven’t been forced to surrender.” As if reconsidering, he tossed the cigarettes away, his gaze intent on hers. “You don’t need to explain, babe. If I’d been in lockdown all this time, I’d find a way to rebel too.” He was being understanding. That and the seeming surprise in his eyes made her a little too uncomfortable. “Heard from Shepherd?” she asked briskly. “Yeah. A quick text message.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Said we’re to head west, the gun I loaned him was made for sissies, your enemies ran away like weenies, and he was dangerously low on condoms.”
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“Oh, I’m glad. I was so worried. Not about his condoms,” she quickly added, catching the glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m glad he wasn’t harmed. Any news about Apothos?” “Nothing on the tube. Maybe the scientists have saved the day.” “I think I would’ve heard if the deflection had worked. But we should know something within the next twenty-four hours or so.” Carly sniffed the air appreciatively. “I smell bacon and eggs.” “That’d be Vic, working his magic in the kitchen. He’ll bring it up in a minute or so. You should eat hearty. I’ve got a couple of calls to make, but we’ll probably leave around sunset.” Another move. Another ride to Nowhere, USA. Another strange bed. More isolation. Once again came the urge to weep. “So soon?” “Yes. This was just a stopover, and—hey, here’s the food.” Vic delivered the hot dishes with his usual grunt as Parker gallantly blocked his view of Carly. Within a minute or two, he’d left, and they gathered around the bistro table to enjoy the feast. The omelet, complete with mushrooms and bacon bits, was as delicious as the previous one. But her appetite was lacking this time. She took a few bites and spent the next five minutes watching her companion enjoy his. Geez, he put the stuff away like there was no tomorrow. Ha. “Who the hell are you, Munroe?” “Come again?” “I said who are you? Here I am, letting you run me all over the country, and other than the fact that we both take orders from the same shadow segment of the government and you’re trying to keep me alive, I don’t know a damn thing about you. I’m sitting here with chilled, knobby nipples in front of a complete stranger. Does that sound right to you?”
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His gaze went directly to her bosom, and for a moment, he actually seemed to lose interest in his food. Carly’s breasts swelled and tightened, aching to have his hands on her. “I…um…” He wiped his mouth with a paper towel, eyes still fixed on target. “Er—what was the question?” She took a deep breath, a make-believe sigh that deliberately thrust her chest forward, and he squirmed in his chair. Served him right for being so snarky this morning. Maybe she wasn’t so impotent after all. “What did you do before you became a bodyguard?” “I started out as a marine. Overachieved. Moved on to Delta Force, then assignment with the NSA. I took different jobs here and there. Moved around a lot. But mostly I was assigned to protect visiting dignitaries here and abroad before I went freelance.” He managed a grin with a grim edge. “You have your gift. I have mine.” Carly nearly shuddered. It wasn’t a pretty thought, imagining him making a career of violence. Knowing it was a necessity didn’t ease the queasiness in her stomach. She toyed with her fork, making a show of resuming her meal. “Is that why your marriage failed? You were never home?” “Partly.” He licked his lips, still pointedly staring. Okay, definitely a boob man. She liked the way he used his tongue. Maybe if she dumped the omelet into her cleavage, she might get a little action. “Partly?” “After being away for so long so often, and being stupid enough to remain faithful to my wife, I’m afraid I’d vent all that charged-up adrenaline into days and days of aggressive, relentless sex when I did make it home. The woman complained that she was either husbandless or not allowed to get off her back.”
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He tasted his coffee, shrugging. “Kind of an exaggeration. She got snacks and bathroom breaks.” Days and days of relentless sex… Carly choked on a bit of bacon. “And she had a problem with that? Go figure.” Her sarcasm ran only so deep. She was so horny by now she’d pay cash money for a few unbridled hours with the man. “What about you? Don’t you believe in enjoying yourself in bed, Ms. Phelps? Relieving a little stress? Couldn’t blame you if you did. All that forced dreaming must be hard work.” Was it her imagination, or was he pushing all the wrong buttons this morning? This was one very careful guy. It couldn’t be an accident. “I’ve been playing dodge-the-bullet for two years, Munroe. That doesn’t leave much time for giving up the alien coochie. And picking up strange guys on the street isn’t exactly an option when my human shield is programmed to beat the shit out of them. I barely remember what sex feels like. But thanks for that tactful reminder.” “Well, damn, why so touchy? Just making conversation.” He shoved a forkful of egg into his mouth and viciously chewed. “I mean, hello? Have you met me, lady? I’m just the walking muscle hired to keep you safe. If you want diplomacy, call the ass-wipes who’re probably lying to both of us.” He finished his breakfast in silence as Carly stared. At her coffee. The table. The floor. Anything to avoid more miserable conversation. He was right. She’d chosen to be among the One Hundred. Nobody had forced her, so she had no right to complain. Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t the most insensitive hard-ass imaginable. Things might get ugly on the survival front soon enough. They didn’t need to waste their time hacking away at each other. Maybe it was time to contact her superior and ask for a replacement, for both their sakes.
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She’d request someone older. Wiser. And time in a big city, even if it meant being confined to a single room. Enough of this. She wanted time with a real hairdresser and pedicurist. She wanted an occasional drink without worrying about how it’d affect her focus. And she wanted more than two weeks in a place where she could really, really relax. These isolated little houses were probably better securitywise, but she missed noisy cars, sirens, people—life. Yes, she’d miss Parker and spend lots of wasted time wondering how it might have been had he really cared for her. But maybe that was the best reason to move on. When he finally spoke, she nearly jumped at the sound of silence being broken. “What’s it like?” “What?” “Doing what you do with your dreams.” It was his way of making peace. He didn’t believe in manifesting through the imagination and probably never would. But she couldn’t stay mad at him. He’d become more than her protector. He was her best friend. She’d welcome the damn olive branch if it ended the tension between them. “What’s it like?” She couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s like Galactic Home Shopping.” “Pointless, extravagant and addictive?” “You’d have to try it to understand. The trick is not to just imagine a thing, but to imagine it as you want it to be, in the here and now. Imagining a fine leather Coach purse down to the last stitch is one thing. Picturing that purse on your shoulder and owning the image is something else. “We’re trained to visualize things in such fine detail our brains are convinced they’re real. The felt texture and fine shading on a peach, from the pit to every curve imaginable, inside and out. Moonlight snaking over the surface of a
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rippling creek. The large cloud crowding the skyline that looks so much like a castle you can count the turrets, see the spires. “And if you’re really gifted, you can make yourself part of it all. There are those of us, the more experienced, who claim to have walked among those clouds,” she continued wistfully. “Sailed between the rings of Saturn. Strolled through the silt at the bottom of the sea, or visited other dimensions, other times. Me? Contrary to what Violet said, I’m just one of the average lucid loons. It’s all about the clarity, how convincing the dream.” His lip curled into a half smile, sending her heart soaring. “You must’ve been one creepy little kid.” Carly nodded, giggling. Geez, the stories she could tell him. “Sometimes I even scared myself. There was this guy in high school. Rodney-something. Captain of the football team, Honor Society, serious all-around stud. I was chunky and shy, with no special skills, and I figured he’d never notice me. So naturally, I wanted him bad. I remember dreaming about his little blue Toyota coming down my street every weekend as I sat on the porch, watching. In my sleep, I visualized what he’d look like by the light of the streetlamp near my home, the love songs drifting from his speakers, and how he’d sometimes bring takeout food, or even a little bouquet of flowers. And every single element of those lucid dreams came true.” “You’re kidding.” “It came true for the cheerleader who lived directly across the street from me.” “Oh, shit.” She nodded, agreeing. “It was a spring of pure torture, watching the two of them carry on my romance. I’d forgotten to make myself part of the equation. Lesson learned.”
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“He must’ve been an idiot anyway, not to see what he was missing.” His voice, low and raspy, nearly made her shiver. “But still, Carlotta. Imagination—” “Accompanied by conviction is unshakable.” She grinned at the doubt on his face. “Ask any man capable of fantasizing. Imagine having a beautiful woman, naked and eager on her knees before you. She’s been baking in a warm tropical sun, her slender body bearing no tan lines. Her breasts are double-D full, the nipples puckered, as if begging for attention.” Noting the rapt expression on his face, she moistened her lips, her words barely registering above a whisper. “Her smooth arms rest on your thighs, her fingertips barely tickling the curves of your balls. You can see it in your mind, feel it in the urgent movement of your hips, wanting more. And she hungrily takes your dick between soft, full lips, moaning at the taste of you, trying for all she’s worth to suck every drop of hot, salty seed from your body. Wouldn’t that get your sexual juices flowing, whether she was really there or not?” The eggs were abruptly forgotten. There was danger in the man’s eye, a smoldering hoarseness to his voice. He was imagining it, all right, with her in the starring role. She swallowed hard, sure she could taste him as she did. “You do that conjuring stuff well, woman.” “The devil is in the details, Munroe.” He stared at her with a ravenous expression, uncomfortably shifting in the chair. “Point made. Life must’ve been pretty interesting for your boyfriend.” “Fun and games, until I started participating in the experiment. He just picked up and left one day, without a word, while I was attending one of the last training classes. I’m afraid he had issues with my needing to go to sleep at a moment’s notice.” “If it gave him a chance to see you dressed like that, he would’ve been a fool to complain.”
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Carly dropped her fork again, her throat suddenly dry. The room was thick with expectant silence as she searched his face for some sign of sarcasm, both hoping and fearing to find it. His expression was deadly serious. Was this the time? Could she gather up the nerve to finally tell him that, somewhere in between the running and hiding and potential for tragedy, she’d actually developed feelings for him? Getting it off her chest might be good for her. It had always been a distraction, trying to concentrate on the lucid dreaming while this mass of walking testosterone prowled right outside her bedroom. Praying her phone wouldn’t choose this time to go off, she squared her shoulders and looked him right in the eye. “Parker, I—” He was on his feet, pistol drawn, almost before the loud noise registered to her inexperienced ear. A small explosion. Gunshot. Gunshot at close quarters. Carly jumped up and gripped her chair, only to be shoved unceremoniously back. “Down!” he ordered, squeezing her shoulder. “Get down. Under the table.” She scooted into the cramped space on all fours, cringing at the sound of another shot. A closer shot. “Take this.” He stooped, shoving his favorite .38 into her trembling hands. “Munroe, I—I can’t. I’m no good with—” “I said take it. Keep your finger off the trigger unless you absolutely need to shoot. Then squeeze, firm and hard. Stay hidden until I get back. Anybody but me comes through that door, you blow their fucking balls off. Understand?” He whirled through the room, snatched his ammunition case open and retrieved his Desert Eagle. Before she could cry out or beg him to be safe, he was
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closing and locking the door behind himself in total silence, as if he’d never been there. Carly held her breath, held on to the weapon in her hand, more because it was treasured by him than with any intent to use it. What in the world was she supposed to do with his gun? This didn’t involve shooting soup cans off a fence. If he hadn’t been behind her, urging her on, steadying her hand, she’d never have managed even that. Would she honestly be able to harm another human being? How could she justify trying to save lives if she could kill someone just to save her own? Another shot echoed through the frozen air surrounding the small B&B, and her finger curled around the cold trigger. It was a hard, effective killing machine, just like its owner. The fact that both were pretty to look at didn’t change that. And being a dreamer didn’t mean she didn’t have every intention of making it through this—even if it meant taking someone else out. Please, God. Let Parker make it through this—all of this—with me…
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Chapter Eleven
Please, God. Yes…God. If he should actually make it to his senior years, Parker prayed he wouldn’t become so thoughtless, thick and self-absorbed that he wouldn’t realize the sound of gunfire around a government agent who was obviously either bedding or sheltering a woman might be a cause for alarm. Furious beyond belief, he had managed to surprise Vic and disarm him before either of them got hurt. It earned him a hearty handshake from the older guy, who swore there were few men still walking the earth who could catch him unawares. Parker, in turn, had quietly assured him that, if it happened again, he’d unaware his ass to kingdom come. Of course, they were out in the boonies and Vic had every right to do a little target practice on his own property. And once Parker had oh-so-nicely pointed out that he was scaring his guests, Vic had humbly apologized. But holy hell in a handbasket—what was the man thinking? “Sorry, Munroe.” Vic squinted at the hollowed-out crescent moon carved on the outhouse he’d been pumping bullets into. “Old boozer like me, used to living in shit and trying to do without the juice, gets restless, y’know? And there’s nothing on television at this hour. Got so used to living underground, I don’t know how to act with a legitimate business. Swear, I’d be just as much at home burrowing under that woodpile out back, like some snake. But I meant no harm.
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Promise, I’ll make it up to ya. And to your lovely lady. Offer my apologies to your little lotus, will you?” Parker took his time getting back to the room, trying to silence his stampeding heart. Keeping Carly on the run from trouble had been a challenging game. It meant vigilance at all times, being ready to roll at the drop of a hat. And he’d thought dealing with the sexy sleepwear was the toughest part of all. Facing what he thought was an imminent threat to her safety had jacked up the odds tremendously. It would be even harder now. His feelings had, apparently, clawed their way to the surface. If there was one thing he’d always been brutally honest about, it was himself. He hadn’t gone out to investigate. He hadn’t gone out to see what the danger was, report back to Shep or his superiors, or to judge whether there was still time to possibly make good an escape. His actions had nothing to do with his assignment. He’d gone out there with every intention of killing whoever the sonofabitch was who might dare to come anywhere near her. Dammit, he was crazy about the woman. All his professional objectivity, shot to hell. How in the world was he supposed to do his job now? Violently clicking his cell on, he stalked before the front of the house, seeking a clear signal before jabbing in Shep’s private number. Yes, it was business, but he wasn’t quite ready to contact the suits, and he didn’t like the idea that someone else might listen in. It was a rotten hole he’d dug for himself, with no one to trust or turn to for information—except the handler who might be setting him up for the ultimate fall. The man he’d known for years and really wanted to believe in.
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It would call for a little artful dodging, but he’d get whatever dope he could without giving any away. Shepherd would cut him some slack and understand. After all, they were supposed to be friends. “What the fuck do you want, Munroe?” Another victim of lumpy-mattress syndrome. “You awake?” “Haven’t been to sleep yet. Got a little busy overnight.” The purring noise in the background bore little resemblance to that of a cat. “Make it good, make it fast.” “Fine. I want info.” “Oh, really? You take off, don’t report in, cop a squat somewhere without letting anybody know, and—where the hell are you?” Parker opened his mouth to respond, then paused. Shep was, for the moment, his handler. He had every right to know what was going on. And he liked the guy and felt pretty open with him under normal conditions. Still, there was nothing normal about any of this shit. Hell, Parker couldn’t even think of a reason to justify not telling him where they were. But for now the plan was to keep everyone—including Shep—at a distance for a day or so. He hated harboring such doubts, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. “Never mind our location. We won’t be here for long. The group that’s so against the One Hundred. The Temple assholes chasing Carly. Who are they?” “Why the sudden interest in—” “Answer.” “Their proper name is actually Temple Malleus.” Shep ticked off the facts like a kid reciting lessons. “Named after the Malleus Maleficarum, a treatise against witchcraft written in 1486.” Parker snorted. “You’re telling me we’ve been running from a pack of witchhunters?”
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“Don’t underestimate ’em, bud. They’re ultraextremists who believe that anyone with special abilities—genetically induced or otherwise—that extend beyond the ‘normal’ are in violation of God’s will. They make pretty whistle-stop speeches and pitch revival tents, but they’ve got a lot of political clout. All progress, all possible futures, should proceed by the book. And I mean the Book. Anything contrary to their biblical beliefs must be ferreted out. It’s that Exodus 22:18 thing, y’know?” “Cut me a break, man,” Parker grumbled. “I haven’t been to Sunday school since snow was safe to eat.” “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.” The phone crackled like the air before an approaching storm. “An interesting group. There’s actually something appealing about their fundamental simplicity. Been doing my own research. I haven’t gotten to the bottom of what the One Hundred are up to, but it ain’t popular with these peeps.” Parker had heard of the group—and pretty much ignored their existence. The pipe bombing of an empty abortion clinic. The trashing of a stem cell laboratory. Threats made against NASA. Penny-ante stuff. The idea that they, more than anyone, believed in honoring God’s will was deluded but not deadly. There were no seriously dangerous religious factions practicing in the United States. Uh-huh. “Why the sudden interest, Munroe?” “Just decided I wanted to know what I was dealing with.” “Why didn’t you just ask the girl?” “I didn’t want her to think I thought it was important. Which reminds me,” he continued hesitantly. “I want to request a transfer. Maybe something overseas. Away from this kind of petty political bullshit.”
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The silence on the other end lasted so long he wondered if they’d been disconnected. “Shep?” “Now I know something’s going on. You’ve never quit on a job before. Too much like giving up for your iron-studded ass.” “Yeah, well, maybe I’m tired. Need a change of scenery. And I’m sick of all this running. Give me a stand-up fight anytime, but not this cat-and-mouse crap. Just line up a replacement for me, okay?” he huffed impatiently. “Somebody good. I’ll stay until they check in.” Shepherd chuckled, and a muted feminine voice echoed the sound. “How about I take the gig? I wouldn’t mind guarding Ms. Phelps’s body. Anytime. Just give me your location and I’ll be—” “What? What’d you say?” Parker moved quickly toward the east side of the house, flanked by a massive woodpile covered by a bright blue tarp. The side of the house that seemed to have the worst reception. “Sorry, you’re breaking up. Can’t hear you. Touch bases with you later, man.” Clicking off, he permitted himself a gritty smile. A smile for the juvenile stunt he’d just pulled, because the thought of Shep being close to Carly, winning her over, becoming something more to her than a guard dog was enough to make him crazy. The grittiness was for the urge he’d suddenly felt to smash his friend’s handsome face to a pulp. And he didn’t like the persistent questions about where they’d holed up. Maybe he was being paranoid, but paranoia rarely got you killed. Trusting the wrong people would. And the more he learned about Carly’s situation, the more inclined he was to play it safe. Shep could certainly trace the call, but then he’d have to give a reason for doing so. There was none. Parker had always had on-scene prerogative to choose the safest course. Meanwhile, Vic would alert him to any perceived trouble.
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From now on he’d use the prepaid phones. And he’d make a point of thoroughly checking on whoever was chosen to replace him. Right now he needed to get back to her. It would be hard enough to walk away when he had to. They could relax here, if only for a few hours. They were safe. After hurrying into the house, Parker approached the suite’s door cautiously, remembering his instructions to her. Poor baby, she was probably scared to death—and he was rather attached to his balls. “Carly?” He knocked and whispered her name, wondering at the way it made his heart race faster than any danger could, before quietly inserting the old skeleton key in the lock. “Carly, it’s Parker. Put the gun down, okay? All clear.” Easing the door slowly open, his gaze fell on the revolver, lying harmlessly on the floor under the table. The woman he’d handed it to, the woman he’d been ready to kill for with a primitive savagery that stunned him…the woman he’d left alone and unprotected was not there.
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Chapter Twelve
Parker pounced on the table, turning it over in a fit of panic, as if Carly might still be there, somehow hidden from view. “Shit.” His eyes quickly scanned the room. Everything was as he’d left it. No sign of struggle, no blood. “Carly?” he shouted, racing into the bathroom. She might have felt ill, might be hiding in the shower. No. No one there. He ripped the curtain off the rings in frustration. “Carly!” How could he have been so stupid? He was not supposed to engage the enemy. He was supposed to keep her safe, not avenged. He should have stayed with her, had a backup plan, never left her side. Fuck. She’d vanished, while he was outside making arrangements to abandon her. How could anyone have gotten to her in the few minutes he was gone? It was his own fault for never taking any of this seriously enough, for not believing in her. He’d never forgive himself if— “Parker? I’m here, I’m here!” Carly shrieked at the top of her lungs, taking heart when she heard the crashing of furniture being tossed about and the familiar thudding of Parker’s boots charging through the suite. If she hadn’t been so afraid the old creaky balcony would give way, she would’ve jumped up and down for joy. She knew the bullish roar of her hero shouting her name, would’ve recognized it anywhere.
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A moment later, a tentative tug on the handle was followed by a nononsense assault, and the sliding door was ripped open, left hanging like a broken wing as he thundered out into the cold and she sprang into his arms. “Oh thank God, thank God you’re all right!” Carly wrapped herself around him, clinging as he hugged her tight. “I’m sorry. I got so scared just waiting under that damn table. And then I started thinking how stupid I was being and a coward for letting you risk your life while I sucked floor, and I fought with the stuck door and came out here on the balcony, because if anybody broke into the suite I could risk a jump, and if they didn’t I could stand outside and watch over you and even if I didn’t have the nerve to shoot I could scream if somebody came up behind you, but you must’ve been around front because I couldn’t see you, and then it seemed like forever before I heard whispering inside and thought somebody might’ve harmed you, and I was determined to be your backup bitch, and I was being such a girl about it all and then I couldn’t get the stuck door open again when I heard you and I felt like such an ass, and…and—” “Shhh. S’all right now. I’m here.” Parker hauled her inside, pacing the room in frantic circuits, supporting her bottom as she buried her face against his throat. He felt incredibly warm and smelled of freshly fallen snow. And he whispered to her, soothing words, words she couldn’t understand, didn’t care about, as long as he held her. It was impossible to tell whose heart was beating harder. Desperate to get closer, she twined her legs around his waist, arms tightening around his neck. She might have lost him. He might’ve gotten hurt or killed before she had a chance to tell him how much he’d come to mean to her, how much she cared. He paused before the ruined glass door and set her gently on her feet, running the fingers of both hands through her hair. His face was pale, his expression pained. “Are you okay?”
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“Fine. Just fine.” The gruff emotion in his voice made her feel even worse. “Don’t be nice about it, Parker. I’m so sorry. I locked myself out of the room, for shit’s sake. You might’ve needed help, an extra gun, and where the hell was I? I’d feel better if you told me it was a silly thing to do, or what a pain in the ass I was, or—” “Later.” He claimed her in a hard, fierce kiss, his mouth demanding against hers. “Jesus, I’ve never been so…” He braced her face between his hands, holding her still, forcing her lips to part for him. Carly tried to give as good as she got, her tongue tangling with his, her head spinning with excitement. None of her nocturnal fantasies about him had ever measured up to the reality of his touch, his taste. There wasn’t enough air in the room and too much space between them. Her shaking fingers fumbled with his shirt, gave up, then slid down to cup the swelling length of him. Holy wow, she’d hit the mother lode. She’d teasingly called him “big guy” since the day they’d met. Damn if he wasn’t living up to the nickname. He shuddered in her grasp, and his hands seized her shoulders, his iron eyes full of dark intent, holding hers. The straps of her nightgown snapped easily beneath his fingers, the silk settling with a seductive whisper at her feet. Parker kissed a burning trail to her throat and paused to suck the flesh, effectively taking her breath away. The searing heat of desire bloomed in her core, quickly flaming to wet warmth between her thighs. His fingers slid over the bare skin of her back like a promise, trembling slightly, before his thumbs, rough and sure, found her aching nipples. “God, that’s good.” Carly’s knees nearly buckled as a wave of wanton heat blazed through her. He rolled the stiff peaks between his fingers, his muscular thigh easing hers urgently apart when she nearly cried out for more.
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Greedy for him now, she squeezed the bulge that bowed his jeans, delighting in his guttural groan. Clothes. Why were there still clothes between them? Frustrated, she nipped his tattoo, needing to taste him, as his hands slid feverishly back to her butt, rocking her hard against him. The need for release was already pulsing inside her, the pressure swelling her clit, sending her climbing. Hell, another grind or two and she’d swear the earth was flat and fly off the edge. His eyes dilating into dark smoke, he forced her back against the door, one hand lifting her ass higher, the other barely steadying them. The cold glass shocked her skin, intensifying the heated craving below her waist, and she couldn’t seem to bring herself to care. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think when he wedged himself between her legs, the grating sound of his zipper slicing through the silence. “This is a mistake,” he ground out, freeing the solid length of his cock. “Carly—” “Parker, if you go straight-arrow on me now, I swear I’ll kill you.” “Just once. Goddammit, just this once.” And then he was inside her, stretching her, his strong hands tilting her hips against him as he pushed forward. Carly moaned, her eyes glazing over as one of his fingers sank into her from behind and everything but sensation faded away. He was murmuring again, his powerful legs bending to sink deeper, the thickness of his feverish cock filling every grasping inch of her. She had no idea what he was saying, but she wanted more. Her nails savagely dug into the strong biceps she’d fantasized about, urging him on. For now, this was her reality, the feeling of him wanting her, taking her, the only dream she wanted to dream.
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Parker’s gentle, senseless words were swallowed as he rammed into her, hurriedly, violently. He pounded her against the glass, one wicked finger working her anus from behind, his cupped hand kneading bruises into her rump. She matched him stroke for stroke, writhing in the iron grip against his steely rod, perspiring as he relentlessly pumped fire into her body, chilled by the cold mist that glazed her bare skin. He was rough, merciless, as if he’d waited a lifetime to have her and couldn’t go deep enough fast enough. She held on to his broad shoulders, panting for more, her pussy tightening, clenching, weeping. A tight coil of tension sizzled at the point of contact, curling outward to pique every nerve ending on her skin, demanding surrender as he punished her with pleasure, jarring the remains of the door behind them with every savage blow. He tightened his grasp on her buttocks, growling low in her ear as he bucked madly against her. Carly gasped in a surprise orgasm that slashed through her like the sting of a razor and held on tighter. Just the razor’s edge. She was soaring with him again, ready to beg for more. His harsh breathing deepened, became labored snarls as her body clenched around his, sparks of pure-white energy sending her over as he stiffened, shouted her name once, just this once, and burst inside her in an explosion of pulsing, liquid heat. Parker slowly came to his senses. He was still holding on to her full, round rump, still sublimely joined to her body. The body that still trembled in his arms, still enticed him to take more. He’d been right. It had been a mistake. This simply wasn’t supposed to happen. Stupid for him, dangerous for her. Still, he was reluctant to break the connection. Her lusty behavior belied those dark dreamer’s eyes and made him crazy. Made him lose control he didn’t know he had.
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Having a taste of her was worth any price—and then some. And with that admission came the awareness that he’d been fairly rough with her. He drew a deep breath, nuzzling the blossoming sucker bite on her neck. “You’ll have bruises tomorrow. I’m sorry.” “Are you?” Carly went still in his arms. “Are you sorry this happened?” “Fuck no.” “Oh, that’s good to hear.” He felt her smile against his cheek. “Please don’t apologize. I keep telling you I’m not some fragile little thing. You can bump bods with me anytime, big guy.” She drew away enough to brush a flat hand over his hair. “So you’re always the strong, silent type. Odd. You talked a lot in the dream.” He stood straight, carefully separating his body from hers, and placed her on her feet, giving her a long, lingering kiss. She looked drowsy and satiated, her lips swollen and flushed, and he already wanted her again. “What?” “I said when I dreamed about you—about us—making love, you used a lot of sexy talk. It was kind of hawt.” She laughed, and his heart lurched painfully in his chest. The relief of finding her safe had opened the floodgates to every feeling for her he’d so carefully kept in check. Damn, he’d fallen hard. “Sorry. Guess I’m not very romantic. I’m usually too preoccupied for talk.” “Works for me.” Her tresses fell in tangles over her eyes and breasts, silk over satin. He pushed it back, wanting to relish the sight of all of her. “You realize your dreaming of this had nothing to do with it happening, right? This was free will, babe. I just lost…” He paused, getting his emotions in check. He wouldn’t tell her that when she’d gone missing it had nearly driven him insane.
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If what she’d been telling him was true, if all the dream crap he didn’t want to believe was a fact, she was special. Gifted. Chosen for a higher purpose. He was just a grunt foot soldier in the grand scheme of things. Yeah, they both had jobs to do, important ones. But he had to remember they were very different people on diverse paths, and any flirtation—okay, okay, hot, mind-numbing sex—couldn’t be more than a temporary diversion. A luscious diversion. “Damn, you must be freezing.” “Not at all.” She slipped her arms around his waist, hugging him tight. “Some crazy man came in, ripped off my gown and rescued the hell out of me. Warmed me right on up.” “An overload of that adrenaline I was telling you about. Sorry.” “Don’t you dare apologize for making me feel…human again. Adrenaline is good. I like adrenaline.” Carly moistened her lips and squirmed against him, circling one of his nipples with her fingernail. “Got any left?” Parker laughed, and it had been so long he was amazed his face didn’t crack with the effort. Whisking her up into his arms, he carried her to the bed. Taking a second to snatch his T-shirt and jeans off, he joined her, lying between her soft, welcoming thighs, already feeling the stirring of primitive hunger again. “Loads and loads to come.” “Parker?” It had all happened too fast. He hadn’t taken the time to touch her, taste her, or paid enough attention to the exquisitely full breasts that now filled his hands. “Hmm?” “You never told me what the shooting was about.” He ran the tip of his tongue around one rosy, peaked nipple, pleased when she sighed. He already loved that sound. “Just Vic, practicing with his pistol. Some of us never get it out of our systems. He’s harmless enough. I may be in big
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trouble here, though. How is it possible for you to feel and taste even better than you look?” “Parker?” Her voice was barely a tense whisper. He wanted to hear her scream for him. “Hmm?” “I—I think I hear your cell phone humming.” She was right. It was an annoying, droning sound coming from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He should’ve buried the damn thing in the snow. It might be something important. Maybe Shep calling with the location of a new safe house. Or his supervisor, instructing him to stay put—or designating him for reassignment. Now, there was a gut-wrenching thought. Yes, he’d considered leaving her, for both their sakes. But he wasn’t keen on the idea of these people, these manipulators, pulling their personal strings. They were cold, they were blind, and they didn’t give a damn. They had the authority to take him away from her at any time. But right now, the scent of her creamy sex was intoxicating, and the taste of her skin was too sweet. For the first time in his career—the first time in his life— he ignored his duty. Let the world fall down around them later. These few stolen, secret moments were theirs. “The hell with the phone.” He kissed her savagely, claiming all her attention as she melted beneath him. “I feel another close encounter coming on…”
“At last. Mad Dog Munroe, safely in custody.”
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Carly barely managed to suppress a giggle, but she had no qualms about calling Parker “Mad Dog”. Only a crazy man with mutant hormones of his own could manage to jam so much sex into the two hours since he’d saved her from celibacy. But she was in charge now, and things were going to be different. Peering at him through one narrowed eye, Carly twisted her lips, swollen with his kisses, in an effort to switch her toothpick to the other side of her mouth—and failed. So much for trying to be a badass. How in the world did cowboys make it look so easy? She settled for grasping the splinter of wood in her teeth, baring them in a wide, taunting sneer. “It’s the end of the road, Mad Dog. There’s a new sheriff in town.” Parker matched her smile with an inappropriate leer of his own. Being handcuffed to the iron headboard of his bed buck nekkid hadn’t dampened that alpha spirit one bit. “I’m innocent, Sheriff. I swear. I never did any of that thar…uh, whatever I’m bein’ charged with.” Carly had figured her bodyguard had a softer side. Every man did. She just wasn’t sure her walking deadly weapon was capable of loosening up and having fun. His appetite for her had been nothing less than pure, savage lust, and she’d gladly allowed him the time—and unrestricted access to every orifice of her body—to work it off with blunt-force sex. But when she finally challenged him to set all of their cares and rules aside, to come play with her, even for a few minutes, she hadn’t guessed he’d be this willing to get into the spirit of the fantasy. One look at her nude body in his bulky vest, assuming a High Noon stance, and he was right on board. “Innocent?” Carly spread her legs, hands on bare hips, and spit the toothpick out. She was actually proud of hitting the floor. “No man’s innocent who can’t
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settle in one place. Man like that’s got the devil spurrin’ him on. Makes him figure it’s okay to just ride into town and take his pleasure of the young ladies until they can’t resist lov—” Holy shit. What monstrous slip of the tongue was she about to unleash here? She certainly cared for Parker, but a few orgasms did not a love make. Although that last one had been damn near enough… She coughed, clearing her throat of the word she knew she’d regret saying. She would not ruin what time they had together by obligating him to make some sentimental declaration. “Until the young ladies can’t resist him. That, bucko, is a crime.” Hunching her shoulders beneath the vest that nearly reached her thighs, she pointed an accusing finger at the root of his massive erection. “You and the twins there done had your fun. Time for a reckonin’.” Admittedly, she was rather looking forward to this. As much as she loved making love with Parker, she had to wonder about the big guy. He’d already fucked her in the window, the bed, over the bathroom sink, and across the length of the hardwood floor of the suite. Always with her satisfaction in mind, always the aggressive stud. But he approached his lovemaking exactly as he worked his job. Straightforward, with a single-minded purpose. He was going to come, hard and deep, and she was coming with him, dammit. Once they’d humped their way into his room, Carly had pounced on the metal cuffs she spotted in his ammo bag, twirling them teasingly around one finger in a silent dare. Would he set the rules, the guns, the assignment aside, even for a short while? Would he play with her? Would he be able to relinquish control?
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Instead of his usual mortified grimace, he’d stunned her with a sexy grin, freely offering his wrists. Game on. Climbing over his long body from the bottom of the bed, she nearly collapsed into laughter when he whistled just the right spaghetti-western theme music. A few rounds of sex had definitely loosened him up. This playful Parker would take some getting used to. But his libido was all business, she noted, observing the way his dick bobbed eagerly at her approach. It had barely rested at all in the two hours they’d spent groping each other. Avoiding the determined salutation of his shaft, Carly licked her way upward, inch by inch. So many textures, from the prickly hair on his legs to the smooth contours of his sculpted abs. Her tongue teased his navel, feathered the firm tips of his nipples, and ran along the straining length of his neck until her mouth was a breath away from his. “Git that happy-assed horse-thievin’ look off your face, Mad Dog. I’m here to make you pay.” “At your mercy, Sheriff.” He was practically panting, his gaze locked on her breasts, revealed by the opening of the vest. “If I’d known how purty the view from your jail was, I’d have surrendered long ago.” Carly stirred the coarse curls surrounding his erection with her flaming red fingernails. “Don’t be patronizing. If you behave yourself, this sheriff might consider an early release. If not…” She was lying to him. Again. Seeing his perfect body laid out like a feast for her to savor was arousing her much too fast to consider drawing this out. Carefully grasping his ruddy, thick rod with her left hand, she lapped the salty precome from the slit of the engorged head, nearly sending him rocketing off the
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bed. His glans felt hot to her fingers, and his wrists were parchment pale from straining against the cuffs. “God, Carly.” The Southern accent dissolved, hoarsened by need. She loved that she could make him lose control, thrilled to the gruff way he called her name. It was like an aphrodisiac. She slipped the satiny helmet between her lips. “Oh, fuck!” She purred, laving the silky steel with long, taunting licks. “If you insist…” Adjusting her position, Carly braced her hands against his chest and eased the pulsing head inside, her body already clenching, eager for more. Slowly, teasingly, she lowered her weight onto him, thrilling to every agonizing inch, holding her breath in pure bliss. The initial joining was her favorite part of the mating ritual. The bold intrusion of the broad head, the stretching, the claiming. The sense of letting go, of linking to something larger than self. She sighed once his pulsing thickness filled her completely, loving the tremor beneath her that said he felt the same, wishing there was a way to make it last. Undaunted by his bindings, Parker was the first to move, one slow, undulating roll of his groin that drove him even deeper inside her. His eyes were screwed shut, and the feverish pulse of his cock became a thick throbbing in her lush warmth, more demanding than breath itself. Her body tightened around his and instinctively rocked, the urgent undulating of her spine feeding the sizzling pressure that spread like a flame through her cunt. His hips responded to her every movement, each thrust weakening her resolve to draw it out. A new position, new discoveries. She shifted. Squirmed. Bit into her bottom lip with the urge to taste flesh as she grew dizzy with want. There. His probing penis surged forward, finding her most sensitive spot, a
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delicious friction that made her want to beg. Carly whimpered and rode him harder as the sensation intensified, each stroke a lover’s beckoning caress. God, she couldn’t wait, didn’t want to. There was no longer simple movement between them but a desperate drive for relief, for release, an urge to rut more primitive than anything she’d ever known. Parker growled beneath her, hips thrashing, cuffs clanging against metal as he virtually lifted her with the force of his final climactic jolts. And what began as a simmering quiver between her plumped lips quickly and violently possessed every muscle of her body, hurling her into darkness with a shuddering, take-no-prisoners surrender. The frantic pounding of his heart soothed her, slowly regulating her breathing long after she’d collapsed, satisfied and limp. Lazily stroking the broad chest, she found herself smiling. He made a nice, sturdy mattress. She could imagine herself sleeping there contentedly for a very long time. “I must say, ma’am,” he drawled decadently. “I do admire the way you sit a horse.” “Just a matter of breakin’ your mount right and proper, mister.” She drew in a deep breath, too tired to move. The steamy release of the radiator sounded from the opposite wall as he sluggishly stirred. “You’d best hand over the key now, Miz Carly. Fun’s fun, but I can hardly protect you like this.” “Key?” She snuggled closer, tugging at his tether and laughing into the curve of his neck. “Oh? Is there a key?” “You know very well there is.” His voice was muffled in her hair, but the meltingly gentle tone of it did not escape her. “The one that keeps me bound. Let’s not pretend anymore. You’ve had it all along.”
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Chapter Thirteen
Parker found her in the common room of their suite, curled up on the small sofa and wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts. Carly’s eyes were glued to the news report on television, a shadow of cleavage in the cut of the neckline. No sexy nightgown this time. But 100 percent cotton had never looked so good on anybody. Evening was already fast approaching. She’d lit a small blaze in the bricklined fireplace to help combat the room’s cold, since he’d been too busy to put the patio door back on its track. He’d lingered with her too long, couldn’t get enough of her. His wife had been right. He was a maniac once he got going. He couldn’t say whether there was a God, but burying himself inside this woman seemed pretty close to his idea of heaven. Hell, the snack break hadn’t even come into play. The phone messages he’d finally retrieved indicated that Shep had tried to reach him several times, but Parker’s attempts to return the calls had failed. He wouldn’t be surprised if Vic had a jammer on the premises. Leaving a trail by using the old man’s landlines was not an option. He’d find a clear space outside with less interference in a few minutes. He just needed to touch her once again. Stealthily moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed the crown of her head. He loved seeing her in his shirt, as if she belonged to him. “I fall asleep and let you off your back for half an hour, and you come in here to watch the news? Was the sex that boring?” “Come and sit with me,” she said simply. “You need to see this.”
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Settling in beside her, he was surprised when she resisted his effort to pull her into his lap, determinedly maintaining her seat. Second thoughts about what had happened? It would be the best thing for both of them, but he fervently hoped it wasn’t true. One day in bed with her had only whetted his appetite for more. Parker remained silent and watched news about the economy, foreign affairs, and extreme weather until Carly laid a hand on his thigh, turning up the volume. The news anchor was a young black woman. Beauty contestant with a brain he figured, and the ability to appear concerned when the script was serious, teasing when it was not. At this moment, her smile was coy and flippant. “That rogue asteroid astronomers have been watching for months is garnering a bit more interest in the scientific community. As it turns out, Apothos 2012 will be coming a few million miles closer than originally anticipated. It still presents no threat to our little blue planet, but scientists view this as a prime opportunity to study this visitor from the outskirts of our galaxy.” “The scientists’ deflection has failed.” Carly’s voice was flat, without emotion. “It’s coming.” Parker’s stomach heaved violently over. “Sonofabitches. Damn the sonofabitches. I’m beginning to see how they’re working this. If the problem had been resolved, we wouldn’t be hearing anything about it, right? They don’t want to incite a panic quite yet, so they’re dribbling information out a bit at a time.” “Exactly.” The remote trembled in her slim fingers. She looked pale, despite the warm glow of the fire. “We’ll begin to see drastic differences in weather patterns. More Homeland Security alerts. Frequent testing of the Emergency Broadcast System. Our politicians will become notably less visible. Long-vacant underground bunkers will come to see new life. Submarines in secret ports, filled
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with dignitaries, seeds and the frozen embryos of selected wildlife, will launch. And a few observant souls will notice changes in the behavior of the animals around them. The beasts will become edgy. Uneasy. But no one will take it seriously.” Jesus. The ramifications were unimaginable. This thing could alter the makeup of the entire world, be the cause of billions of deaths. Jesus. He squeezed her hand and found it ice-cold. “What does this mean for you?” She turned off the television but continued to watch the darkened screen. “I’ll be getting a call soon, letting me know exactly what time the One Hundred will be called on to…well, dream the big dream. And then I go to work. I’ve never been so afraid of failure in my life.” She forced a bleak smile that ripped a hole in his heart. “I’m sorry, Parker. I know you don’t believe in this mumbo jumbo.” “That doesn’t matter. I’ll see that you can do whatever’s necessary.” After the amazing day they’d spent together, this was not the way things should be. He’d just gotten his hands on her. He didn’t want to let go now. They should be able to take in a film somewhere, maybe go out on the town, have dinner and drinks before he brought her back here to have his fill of her again. “Try to relax, Carlotta. Keep your phone at the ready. I’ll see if I can convince Vic to conjure up some dinner for us. And I’ll try giving Shep a call. Maybe he’s got more news.” “It’s all very strange,” she mused. “When you’re young, you expect to have the time to grow old. I don’t think we ever believe we will—but there’s always the assumption that we’ll have the chance. I’ve barely given a passing thought to getting married or settling into a career or having children. Oh, nothing like Violet. Two. I think I’d like to have a boy and a girl. I—I didn’t think it was too much to hope for.”
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She peeked at him from beneath full, dark lashes. “If the lucid experiment doesn’t work, do you…well, have plans?” “Plans?” She picked nervously at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt. “Is it possible we could, maybe, stick together? Survive what’s coming, help other people? I mean, I was thinking of heading for the mountains somewhere. The quakes would be risky but the flooding even worse. I thought we might travel together. Mind you, it’s not like I’m needy or anything like that,” she added hastily. “You know how I despise that ‘helpless woman’ feeling. But—but you won’t just up and leave, will you?” “Just try to get rid of me, babe. Just try.” The look of utter sadness on her face pained him, made him angry. This couldn’t be allowed to happen. There had to be a way to fix things, if only for her. He began with the balcony door, easing it carefully back into its slide. The lock needed replacing, but he’d have to leave that to Vic. There were more important things to do now, and the urge for action simmered in his stoked veins. Carefully keeping his tone light, he gave her a gentle kiss, wishing he could think of a way to be more comforting. “Whatever else happens, I’m going to see to it that you’re safe, Carly. Trust me.” Shoving his feet into his boots, he didn’t bother looking for a shirt but grabbed his old phone and slipped into his insulated vest. “I’ll be right outside the front door, babe. Think good thoughts. You’re absolutely safe. If you get your call, give me a shout-out from the window, and I’m right back, okay?” Carly didn’t speak. She just watched him go, her eyes wide and uncertain. Dammit, he wouldn’t let their world come crashing down.
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Thundering down the stairs, he nearly ran into Vic, who was balancing a tray of steaming hot food. The sight of it made him miss the last step and nearly fall as the older man avoided him with an agility that surprised Parker. “Hey, Doyle. I was just gonna come looking for you. That for us?” “You’re the only ones here, aintcha?” “But—” “Told you I’d make it up to you.” Vic shuffled his scuffed army boots, caked in mud. “Felt bad about scaring your lady.” “Vic?” Incredulous, Parker leaned over the corked platter. “Is that… That looks like hash browns and steak. Grilled steak?” “Mebbe because that’s what it is.” “I thought you only did eggs, man.” “Had an urge to try something different. Happened to have this on hand. It’s just beef and potatoes, Munroe. Not the end of the world. Problem? Shoot me.” Parker laughed out loud. At the odds it could be a coincidence. At the ridiculous idea of dreams coming true. At himself, at the rigid walls of what he deemed reality crumbling right before his eyes. Vic? Changing years of routine for no reason? If anything could convince him of Carly’s power, this just might do the trick. “Appreciate the thought, oldtimer. But I’m catching a little air, so be sure to knock, okay? My lady friend’s a little nervous after your performance this morning.” Vic snarled back at him, heading up the stairs. “I said I was sorry. Get the hell over it.” An ill-tempered bastard after his own heart. He loved crotchety old coots— hoped he’d live to be one of them. Parker inhaled deeply as he hurried outside, the cold air invigorating, prickling his bare skin. Even the dregs of soggy hail that slapped his face in big,
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cold dollops helped wake him up, return his mind to the business at hand. Keeping an eye on the front door he’d closed behind him, he dialed his handler’s number and easily made it through. “Where the devil have you been?” Shep snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.” “Been preoccupied.” Images of the day’s marathon lovemaking flashed through his mind, and he paced to keep himself from becoming aroused again. That warm, satiny skin and the way she whispered his name, soft as rain, when he touched her… Curse him, he’d never made it to those sexy words Carly wanted to hear. Get him to talk about violence and he was in his element. He sucked at the romantic crap. He’d work on that—after they made sure there was time for it. “I’m here now. What?” “Listen, I’ve got the inside story about this whole shitstorm. I hated that they kept us stupid and pregnant, need-to-know stuff only. So I got a friend to arrange a meeting with one of the elders of the Temple. He seemed happy to talk to a potential recruit.” Parker froze, all of his reluctant doubts swamping him in a nauseating wave. Shep had found a way inside, and they’d trusted him with their secrets? “You actually spoke to those people?” “Yeah. And I’ve gotta tell you, man. The guy was impressive. They can be pretty convincing. They are so damn sure of themselves, so eager to serve what they believe are the wishes of their Lord. Their faith comes easy for them, rules straight from the book. No details or deep thoughts to lead them to doubt.” Parker cringed at his words. They reflected so much his own state of mind before Carly had pushed him to change. “And these folks really believed you were a candidate for their kind of crazy?”
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“I guess they could see my potential. And a lady friend was kind enough to vouch for me. I didn’t find them to be as bad as I’d thought. They have a few extremists in the flock, but honestly? Another few minutes with their rabbi and I just might’ve signed on.” Not funny. Shepherd had never quite shaken the mantle of his old-time religious upbringing. He’d often said so himself. What if he really had fallen for their propaganda? “But it wasn’t a waste of time. I learned enough to know we’ve been lied to. The suits can bust my ass if they want to, but I think you should know. There’s an asteroid—” “I know all about it. Carly told me.” “Did she, now? Then you also know there was no lab experiment.” He sounded oddly disillusioned about it. “Apparently, the extreme members of the Temple spread the Siberia story. It isn’t mutant coochie after all.” “No.” How could he possibly feel like laughing at a time like this? “It isn’t.” Remarkable how much better the reception was out here. He could actually hear the smile in Shep’s voice. “Guess she finally got you to listen to her, huh?” “Yeah, I listened.” His skin was heating up at the thought. “I was gonna tell you about it as soon as we caught up. Figured you had a right to know what might be coming.” “Correction. What is coming. Word is that the scientists’ defense mechanisms haven’t worked. All of the big brass will be covertly migrating to shelters within a few days. You won’t be able to reach them, and they’ll probably cut you loose.” Leaving those who didn’t know and couldn’t help themselves to suffer with what was coming. Nobody had ever told him the cowardly would inherit the earth. “Screw ’em. Gives me the leeway to do as I please. Is that all?” “What? The big rock going boom ain’t enough for you?”
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Parker was quickly running out of patience. “Shep? Can we get to it?” “I was just called north from DC. The brass had their tighty whities in a bunch. And man, you know how I hate these rush jobs? I had to settle for a seat in coach. Pissed me off. All pinned up in a fucking flying cattle car. Honestly, we need to do something about the budgets these asshole politicians are keeping us to. They spend more money on a pissy bottle of wine than—” “Shep!” “Right. Sorry.” Parker heard his deep breath. “My boss texted me the news. A girl’s been killed. Throat slashed ear to ear. She was left to bleed out.” Parker was doing his best to be objective. Professional. But there was something very wrong about this call. “A cruel but simple murder. You’re not a cop. Why call you?” There was a pained silence on the other end, and the voice that returned was different. Grim. “Because she belonged to me. She was one of our lambs, Munroe. A member of the One Hundred.” “What?” A strange buzzing sound, like the noise of some insidious insect, droned in the back of his brain, and he involuntarily shuddered. The frigid air, the horror of it all, was finally beginning to work its way into his bones. “The Temple’s always been about intimidation. Threatening the One Hundred. Rousing the masses. You think they’ve finally resorted to murder?” “I’ll let you know. I’m with the body now. And I’ll need to touch bases with a few people. Tell the One Hundred they’re down to Ninety-Nine. They’ll have to bring in a replacement. Damned inconvenient, locationwise,” he muttered. “I hope they don’t have to find one here. Ohio isn’t exactly the hub of the universe.”
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“I hope the dinner’s to your liking, Ms.…Phelps, is it?” Carly tugged nervously on the tails of Parker’s shirt. She’d had the presence of mind to slip into her jeans before letting Uncle Vic in with his tray, and the shirt practically reached her knees anyway. But she was still uncomfortable. After all, she was the dull girl next door, the one who worked at a grocery store and only dreamed of hot romance. It wasn’t every day she indulged in a torrid affair. But the sight of the food was enough to make her grin. She couldn’t wait to see Parker’s reaction to the eggless meal. “I’m sure it’s fine. Looks great, thank you.” “My pleasure. It gives me a chance to apologize in person for all the ruckus this morning. Don’t know what I was thinking. I guess gunplay stays in the blood, y’know?” No, she didn’t. Parker hadn’t told her much about Uncle Vic. But then, she’d met several shady characters from his past in the weeks they’d been on the run. Vic seemed to be one of the more stable ones. The scent of peppered steak and buttery potatoes was a delectable perfume in the room. Considering the circumstances, she probably shouldn’t be hungry, but she’d worked up quite an appetite with her lover. She was more than ready to eat. “I do know that changing a lifestyle is hard. Especially one you enjoyed.” Uncle Vic seemed withered within the confines of the walls, as if he’d somehow folded all of his life and vitality into some smaller creature’s shell. The sallow lighting bleached away what color lay hidden in his cheeks, his threadbare flannel shirt hung too loosely upon his bones, and his cap all but rode on the ridge of brow above his eyes. “Oh, but I can’t say I enjoyed it, Ms. Phelps. I was a violent, vindictive alcoholic, full of hate. Even Munroe wouldn’t have kept company with me back then.” He gave her a shy grin, shoved his hands
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awkwardly into his pockets, and sidled away from the table. “Only one thing could possibly reform an old reprobate like me.” Carly relaxed. This one even had a human side. He might’ve been handsome in his youth. There was, even now, a tiny trace of boyish charm about him when he made an effort. “Let me guess. The love of a good woman?” In a blur of unbelievable speed, he was beside her, his right hand freed and holding a switchblade at her throat. Carly stiffened in place as the sharp metal pressed cold against her skin. “A good woman? Nah. Only one real, true thing could make such a difference.” He smiled, edging closer as he whispered in her ear. “God’s will.”
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Chapter Fourteen
Twilight quickly conquered the country landscape as the first faint stars bled through the ashen sky. Trapped between daylight and dark, dreams and nightmares—the setting seemed almost too perfect. Parker paused in his feverish pacing before the small bed-and-breakfast, refusing to look toward the heavens, afraid of what he might see. “Shep? Need you to repeat. The reception here is for shit. Did you—did you say you were in Ohio?” “Yeah. And somebody needs to tell these folks it’s supposed to be springtime. I’ve got snow up the ass here, and—” “You said ‘she’. Your victim’s a woman?” Carly had been right. It was twisted habit that made his hand move to the pearl-handled pistol. “Where are you? Who is she?” “Place called Belvyn, I think. The lady’s name was Violet Cushing. Born and bred in these parts, I hear. The locals were botching the crime scene until I learned she was part of the group and took over.” The chill in his bones sharpened to something near pain. Violet. Carlotta’s friend, the girl with the glad face and warm heart. He’d barely known her, but it was hard to imagine the twinkle in those blue eyes being dimmed. Jesus. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. She was supposed to have seven children and lots of chimes. It just wasn’t freaking right. She was a good person, with everything in the world to live for. And she’d been gracious to him, despite his show of sheer stupidity.
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He hated to admit to himself that his spiritual doubts had been proven true. Maybe he’d really wanted to believe as Carly did. But no just power in the universe would allow such a fate to befall such a rare flower. Carly would be crushed. And Sam. Poor Sam would be devastated. Goddammit. There was no such thing as fairness in the world. Parker kicked furrows in the icy slush, trying not to suspect how convenient it was for Shep to be called in for the case. Swallowing the anger that rose in his throat, he kept his voice level. “Good thing you happened to be so close.” “Nothing just ‘happened’ here, bro. I was notified. And I feel partly to blame. Violet had refused protection since her engagement. Said it interfered with her privacy, her living. Maybe I should’ve pushed the point, but I let her choose. She said she wasn’t worried. This was her hometown, and everybody knew her.” His tone became eerily detached. “She worked in the local movie theater. Her body was found there, after hours. Fortunately, her married boss had arranged a latenight rendezvous at the concession stand to bang the buttered-popcorn gal.” There was a brief interlude of static, chased by the muted sound of Shep roundly cursing some unknown subordinate before continuing. “Munroe, I don’t like intruding on whatever’s going on for you. As far as I’m concerned, as long as your charge is safe, I don’t care what the two of you do. But this is nasty business. And if I’m reading your signal right, you’re here. In Ohio. And this murder took place about fifteen miles from your current location.” Shit. There was no justification for keeping his whereabouts a secret in these circumstances. Suspicion was one thing. The job was something else—and he had no evidence that his handler was involved. This was the problem with trusting no one. It could’ve been the Temple zealots. It might’ve been a local. Small towns weren’t immune to such crime. Hell, it might’ve been their own people. Maybe Sam wasn’t so paranoid after all.
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Yes, they’d broken the rules and their contracts—but had Carly and Violet risked their lives by coming together as they did? “Yeah. Location confirmed.” “Then I’m not gonna ask why you felt the need to keep that from me. I’m not even gonna ask if it’s been worth it. But my guess is there’s a particularly deadly strain of the Temple virus here. Orders be damned, and asteroid or not, you need to get that girl away from there and—” He never heard the rest of Shepherd’s advice. His legs were in motion, pounding a path through the snow before the thought even occurred to him. Tearing through the entrance, he barely felt the rush of cold air that swirled into the lobby behind him, hardly heard his footsteps sounding on the stairs. “Carlotta! Heads up. We’re on the move, babe.” The door to their small suite was slightly ajar, and he bit back angry words. No, he hadn’t told her to secure it, but what in the world was she thinking? He’d give her a good talking to once they blew this joint. This was too crucial a time for her to be so careless. “Carly. We’ve gotta go.” His stern voice sounded like looming thunder in the silence. The frail fire was fading. No sign of her in the common room. Swinging around the corner, he lunged into the bathroom. All clear once again. Shit, she couldn’t have come outside without him seeing her. “Hey, babe. You working on being my backup bitch again?” No way. She couldn’t have gotten stuck out on the balcony again—could she? “I appreciate the heroics, but…Carlotta?” The door slid open like a blade over ice in his hand. The iron-trellised balcony was shadowed and hauntingly empty. An uneasy sense of foreboding snaked into his gut and twisted, forming a knot. This was all wrong. Carlotta could be flighty, occasionally absentminded,
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but she’d never leave him hanging like this. Maybe she’d gotten her big call and been too frantic to let him know. Maybe she’d just zoned right out. Heart in throat, he hurried into the bedroom and found the covers of the bed they’d thoroughly used still tossed, the remains of the black silk nightgown a liquid hole in the floor. But no Carly. Impossible. It was not possible that someone could’ve gotten by him. No one had used the front door, and there was no rear exit. Parker proceeded to systematically demolish the suite, looking for some sign of what had happened, calling her name every few seconds. Asshole. This was why getting involved with a client was a bad idea. Caring interfered with clear thinking. If Carly was a short, balding senator rather than a hot-blooded babe, he’d still be rational now—and not feel like his hammering heart was about to explode through his chest. Futility fed the anger that was rapidly becoming fear, and with a frustrated bellow, he punched half his fist through the wall. The effort wasn’t purely wasted energy. He managed to self-inflict enough pain to force himself out of panic mode. To make him slow down. And think. Details. He needed to focus on what was in front of him, rather than what was missing. Vic’s dinner was there, still steaming on the table. The television was dark, the remote control on the sofa. And next to that— Beside that was Carly’s special cell phone with the Close Encounters ringtone. Shit. She’d never leave that behind. Not now. He’d messed up. Somewhere along the way, he’d really messed up, and if anything happened to that girl because of him…
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He did a quick search of the smaller, neighboring suites, found both of them empty, then flew down the stairs to look for Vic. He’d nearly run the man over— what? Three, four minutes ago? He couldn’t have gone far. And he had brought the tray up to the suite. Maybe he’d seen something. No sign of him anywhere. The kitchenette behind his living area was empty, butter and gritty potato peelings left behind on the laminated counter. There was nothing unusual around the lobby’s desk. Small portable television. Slim laptop, its screen saver constructing colorful, connecting pipes. A recliner littered with bits of popcorn. A leather-bound black book resting on the arm of the chair. Parker snatched it up, did a double take and frowned. A Bible? Vic, ex-soldier of fortune was reading a Bible? He flipped the pages to a white satin ribbon, noting a short passage highlighted in yellow. The antiquated words faded before his straining eyes, and he slowly allowed the book to slip from his hand to the floor, fingers trembling with that familiar adrenaline. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Hadn’t he just bulldozed his way through the B&B? Vic hadn’t been at his station then. He also hadn’t come outside. And he couldn’t have ‘disappeared’ from the house any more than Carly could—if, in fact, there were no other exits. If the bastard hadn’t lied to him all along. He grabbed the book again and reread the single passage in the wellthumbed pages that explained everything, everything he’d been too thick to see. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Parker’s heart heaved into his throat, and he slammed the Bible against the laptop’s keyboard. The photo of a familiar visage, somewhat pale and grainy, materialized, smiling back as the pipes faded from the screen. The lovely, serene face of Carlotta Phelps.
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In a moment, it morphed into the pixyish visage of Violet Cushing, and then another, and another. It was a virtual slideshow of each and every member of the One Hundred. He was outside again an instant later. With his eyes trained on the ground, he looked for tracks as he jabbed at his cell phone, ignoring his bloodied knuckles. Breaking into a sweaty trot, he ran around the house in widening circles. There was no choice now. He had to trust someone. “Shep. I’m at Vic’s place. Yeah, I’ve mentioned him to you once or twice. You still at the site of the Belvyn murder? Forget that. Bed-and-breakfast, sixteen miles north of you on Route 82. Get your ass up here, and get here now.” He was having trouble breathing and flexed his fingers, desperately needing to put his fist through something again. “God help me. I’ve lost her.”
Vic sat cross-legged on a mound of earth across from her, the beam of his penlight stabbing into her eyes. She couldn’t see his face in the shadows. And maybe that was just as well. His words were terrifying enough. “Sorry you didn’t get to eat before we left, Ms. Phelps. Everybody should enjoy a last meal.” Carly could only shake her head. The plastic cables he’d secured around her wrists and ankles were already cutting off her circulation, and the foul taste of duct tape coated her tongue. This just couldn’t be happening. Despite the security and all the weeks of running, she wasn’t sure she’d honestly believed she was in danger. With a firm grip on her throat to choke back her screams, Vic had literally dragged her into a hole in the floor and through an underground munitions
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room that would’ve gotten Parker’s rocks off. Once there, he’d paused just long enough to bind and gag her and tuck a .22 into his boot before proceeding along an incalculable length of tunnel into the small, dank cavity they waited in now. The chamber was a sheer, short drop below a dark opening that had been boarded over and branched off into three channels with glistening concave walls. The slippery surfaces had made it easy for him to haul her through, in spite of her squirming resistance. He seemed quite at home there. She didn’t need a map to tell her where she was. The remains of feces and urine might have been absorbed into the soil decades ago, but the suffocating scent remained. They were directly under the old outhouse. “I want you to know I’m a reasonable man, Ms. Phelps. A man of God. It would sit well with my sinner’s soul if I could get you to believe that.” Vic heaved a heavy sigh that fell flat in the silence, muffled by the moist walls. “If I’d only met you before, I might’ve been able to make you see the truth. Many of us joined Temple Malleus for that reason. Those people saved me. They just seemed to lack the hard-core conviction to root out evil. But some of us got it. A firm hand was necessary. Even when most of the others turned a blind eye to our extreme methods, we knew what we had to do. We thought we could find out who you people were and try to reason with you. But you wouldn’t agree to stop. None of you. This is the result. And all of us are out of chances now.” Moving with the ease of a confident man, he withdrew his .22 revolver from inside his boot and placed it on the ground before him. “These are sad times, calling for drastic measures. I’m not enjoying this. But I’m willing to give you a chance to renounce your heathen beliefs. The same chance I gave the other girl.” Other girl? Oh no, oh no. Had he done this to another of the One Hundred? More than one? Or, worse, an innocent?
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“I can even forgive that bit of fornication I witnessed on the balcony earlier today. You are a pretty little thing. I remember what it is to be young. Munroe is a man’s man, easily tempted by the flesh. I’d be surprised if he didn’t take you. But you? Your sins run much deeper.” His tone was sad, almost sympathetic. “Will you be saved? Stop pursuing this madness and allow me to spare you? Will you confess to being a false prophet, young lady? Will you admit that the power of creation is a divine ability, and that our destinies lie strictly in God’s hands?” Would she deny what she was, what she believed in, the cause she’d supported to the exclusion of nearly everything else in her life? Oh hell yeah. Carly eagerly nodded, making a muffled sound behind her gag. Screw truth at a moment like this. She was no saint and had never pretended to be heroic. She’d say anything if it meant life and freedom. Uncle Vic smiled. “Then you won’t mind if I pass you along to a few friends of mine who’ll work to keep you awake and dreamless, for as long as it takes the asteroid to remain on course—or not—according to God’s will?” He knew the answer immediately. She heard it in his short chuckle, saw it in the curve of his shadowy smile. She couldn’t hide it. The agency had a handful of less talented backups standing by in case any of the One Hundred were out of commission. But she’d just been snatched. No one even knew about it. And she had no idea how many others he’d kidnapped, possibly killed. Suppose the critical time was now? What if her absence in the concerted effort meant its failure? “You’re a liar, Ms. Phelps. You may be afraid, but you believe in the unholy magic. I can see it in your eyes.”
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She bit into the tape and tried to push off from the slick earth with her bare feet. He had no idea what he was doing. This wasn’t God’s will. It was murder, potentially on a grand scale. She was needed, part of the dream. She had to get back to her phone! Parker would never find her here. And even if Vic’s fellow psychos eventually released her, she’d never be able to live with herself, knowing she’d failed and possibly had a hand in the destruction to come. “I can see how much this means to you. You honestly believe you have the power to drive this heavenly missile off course?” Vic shifted into a crouch, shoulders hulking, his blade a slash of silver in the thin beam of light. She was having a nightmare and desperately needed to wake up. “Surprisingly, I believe it too, Ms. Phelps. All the more reason you people must be stopped. You’ve become a tool of the devil. You probably had no idea what those soulless scientists were doing to your body, your brain. Your temple. Tampering with God’s plans is not a gift intended for humans. Which is why I can’t allow you to wield it.” He moved closer, whispering. “You understand, don’t you? And when it’s all over, you will pray for me, yes?”
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Chapter Fifteen
“Trapdoor in the floor under the recliner.” Parker slammed it down with such force it snapped in half. “Damn me for a fool, I should’ve known better. Nobody who’s ever been in this business leaves himself no way out.” “Try to take it easy, Munroe.” Parker may have lost track of time, but Shepherd had apparently broken every speed law known to man and arrived in five minutes flat. His usual three-piece suit had been exchanged for thermal sweats, and he was armed to the nines. “You’ve been through?” “It leads to a cellar with enough supplies and artillery to wage a small war. Narrow tunnel under the floor beyond that took me about five hundred yards into the woods.” He kicked the heel of his boot through Vic’s small television screen. “I’m out there on the fucking phone while she—” “You had no idea, man. I’ve hardly been able to get a hiccup from the big boys about this guy myself. He’s done a lot of covert work, got enough blood money stashed in offshore accounts for a few lifetimes. Some kind of ex-mole, from what I hear.” “I don’t care if he’s the freaking Antichrist. He’s dead meat once I get hold of him.” Shep ran a hand over his curly hair. “Car?” “His old pickup’s still behind the house. He may have had an alternate, but I didn’t hear a start-up.” “Tracks?”
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“Everywhere,” Parker grunted. “His, mine, hers, now yours. Can’t tell what’s fresh, barely the directions. Bigfoot could’ve been out there for all I know. The damn rain’s melted the top layer of snow, distorted them all.” “I could bring in backup.” “No time! There’s no doubt in this guy’s mind. He had a file on his hard drive, recognized her immediately. If he had enough inside info to know what she was, he may know what’s coming and how close the asteroid is. He certainly showed Violet no mercy. Why would he…” His throat tightened, and he couldn’t force the words. If that deranged fuck harmed one hair on Carly’s head, he’d bathe in his blood. “I need to find her, Shep.” Shepherd was watching him, the surprise on his face morphing to understanding. “Yeah, I can see that. All right, looks like he’s got a few acres of this podunk little paradise. Any other cabins on or near the property, tool or storage sheds, places he could take the girl?” “No. I’ve been around it on wheels before.” “Friends, hunting buddies, women with low standards?” “He’s a loner.” Shep glanced uneasily at his feet, his voice low but distinct. “Local trashdump sites? Quarries? Bodies of water?” Mother of God. He was asking about places Vic might use to dump a body. Parker couldn’t process that thought. He shook his head, peering at his partner. “A lake, about five miles away. But I can’t accept that. Why take her all that way? He must’ve had a reason for not killing her right off. We’ve gotta get to them before he changes his mind.” Dragging a resisting Carlotta around would’ve slowed him down. Or she could be slipping away somewhere in the snow as they spoke. The thought of it numbed his heart, as if he too were dying. Right here. “What if he’s got a series of tunnels or another bunker?”
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“Then we’ve got our work cut out for us. Let’s get to it.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Ms. Phelps. They say it in all the movies, don’t they? You’d like to tell me I’ll never get away with it, right?” Vic turned his baseball cap around and shrugged. “That may be the only thing we’d agree on. I’ve got no illusions about what’s coming. I know very well that Munroe won’t wait for the big rock to kill me.” So he knew about the asteroid. The Temple members must have been circulating information among themselves—and sharing photos of the One Hundred. Carly watched, petrified, as he wiped the knife’s blade against his flannel sleeve. “In the time I’d waste dodging Munroe, I could take out one more of your people. Maybe two.” Retrieving the gun, he rubbed the barrel thoughtfully against his cheek. “So I’ll probably have to double back and do him before he gets me.” Her cry of protest was little more than a muffled moan behind the gag, and the hole grew darker, tomblike, through the layer of sudden tears. “Ah, there now, I’ve gone and made you cry. I’m sorry for it, really I am. Munroe’s a good man. Probably a stand-up patriot, and it’ll pain me to take him out. He just doesn’t know what he’s about.” His gaze settled on the shadow Parker’s shirt cast between her breasts. “Seeing you in that window, it’s easy to understand a fella losing his way.” Carly screamed a sound that did not carry and flailed out with bound feet. Parker couldn’t be harmed. Not for the choices she’d made. It wasn’t fair, wasn’t right.
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Vic nodded in silent understanding. “It’s good to know. I mean, that you people are, at least, still capable of human feelings. Some of us weren’t sure, with the change to your genes and all. I’ll be sure to share that with my brethren. And don’t worry. I’m very good. You won’t suffer at all. Now.” He moved closer, the smell of stale eggs foul on his breath. “Unless you’ve got the power to stop me, witch, I’ll be moving on with God’s plan.”
Parker’s heart pounded in his ears as they raced out into the weather. The snowfall was becoming more aggressive, pellets of punishing ice that glazed and filled the patterns their feet punched into the snow. Luckily, Shep had always been a natural at tracking. If he couldn’t find Carly, it probably couldn’t be done. And that was the fear that drove Parker, that made him forget all about the impending disaster. That nobody could find her now, that he might already be too late. “Take me to the hole in the woods.” Shepherd palmed a .45, right on Parker’s heels as they launched into a dead run. “We’ll fan out from there.” As they frantically made their way through the trees, Parker tried to focus, to clear his mind of the fury that had made reason impossible. Fucking witch hunt, here in the twenty-first century. How could people be so blindly ignorant? Nobody who knew Carly or Violet could believe them capable of harm. All they wanted to do was help, to believe in the better side of human nature. Parker had no such faith. After so many years of violence, he had very few ethics left. But he believed in truth, and he’d sworn to keep her safe. He never reneged on a promise. Whether the One Hundred needed her or not, he did. He had no intention of losing her now.
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Vic had to know he’d come after him. Political and religious persuasions be damned—the man had taken his woman. This went beyond the civilized. The bastard wasn’t so far gone he didn’t know what that meant. “Shep? Tell me about the murder.” “The Cushing girl?” Shepherd huffed beside him, regulating his breathing. “Professionally handled. I’d say she didn’t linger. She might’ve been attractive, but hard to tell now. Unassuming lady but, apparently, well-liked. Her boyfriend was the county sheriff’s favorite suspect, naturally. I doubt it. I talked to the guy. He was pretty much in pieces.” “So she was killed last night.” Not long after spending the afternoon with Carly. Finding both of them within killing distance must’ve made Vic a happy little maniac. “Anything weird about the crime scene?” “You mean other than an innocent young woman being sliced open? No. Manager found the body jacked in one of the bathroom stalls.” No help there. They pounded the path, steps in sync, Parker’s desperation making cold clots of his breath in the air as they neared the tunnel’s exit. He’d been right. He had no gift for imagining. Try as he might, he couldn’t visualize that vibrant young girl reduced to the broken body of a dreamer who believed in magic, left mutilated and alone in a stone-cold room. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. It wasn’t gonna happen. Not again. Not to Carlotta. That ghostly image of her on the fanatic’s computer was not going to be the last time he saw her smile. “He didn’t dispose of the Cushing girl’s body. He must have been proud of what he’d done.” “Or he was rushed, or interrupted. We all know the drill. Speed, surprise and efficacy of action. Fifteen miles from here isn’t very far. He wouldn’t want to risk being recognized or having his truck seen. These guys are paranoid, even
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after they’re out of the game. Shit-eating sonsabitches, never comfortable in the light of day. This it?” Parker slowed his pace as they neared the hole. He’d left it open after viciously shoving aside the hollow stump overhead. “This was where I emerged from the tunnel. Now, where he went from here—” “Crafty old buzzard. Knows his business.” Shep nudged the dead tree with his toe. “Put something natural, something inconspicuous on top. Without decent tracks, only special equipment would’ve sniffed it out. We wouldn’t have found it in a week of searching.” “Meaning, he could have her in another hole anywhere, under anything. Tree, rock, more under the house…” Shepherd muttered a string of curses that should’ve put a preacher’s kid to shame as he scanned the misshapen tracks in the snow. “We’ll do what we can, Munroe, but you’ve got to be prepared—” “To bring her safely back. That’s the only way this ends, understand?” Parker snarled. He glared helplessly into the hole. “He’s close, Shep. Gotta be. And she’s still alive. I know it.” “Then we’ll need to stay calm and rational,” Shep said softly. “I say we split up. Cover more ground that way.” The gun-gray sky seemed to press like the weight of the world on Parker’s shoulders. “You stay with this. I’ll take the area directly around the house. The little rat bastard must’ve left some kind of clue, slipped up somehow, said something.” He was rambling, and he didn’t care how it sounded. “What kind of bullshit did he spout? He was antsy without the booze. Came out here to practice with his gun. Hinted he’d worked underground for a cause or two, that he wasn’t comfortable running a business, would be more at home… What was it? The woodpile. That was it. He talked about living under that gigantic woodpile by
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the house.” Shouting back at Shep, Parker charged back through the woods. “I’ll start there, then search the B&B for other tunnels. You call me if you see anything, Bolt. And pray,” he murmured to himself, “that I’m not wasting what little precious time we have.”
Shep watched him retrace their steps, hauling ass back to the house as if his life depended on it. He hoped Munroe was right about the woodpile. He’d never forgive himself if he was wrong. And there’d be no time for making a second choice. Sadly shaking his head, he reached for his phone. It was obvious how much his partner had come to care for Carly. Goddammit. Bad timing, wrong girl. This would bust the big guy up. Shep had seen the body in the theater and had no illusions about the outcome here. This trail was, literally, a dead end. There was no point in delaying the call for searching assistance. Oh, he’d try. He’d give it everything he had, follow what clues he could, as he’d promised his friend. But he was pretty sure the cadaver dogs would have better luck. His old man had always warned him that only a fool bet against the house— and he’d spent years gambling with his congregation’s money to prove it. Odds were Carlotta Phelps already slept peacefully in the arms of whatever god she’d worshipped. And who could say? Knowing about the asteroid now and all the destruction that might entail…maybe she was one of the luckier ones.
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Vic tilted his head, examining the curve of her neck, and Carly winced as a trickle of warm blood ran down her neck. The blade was so sharp she hadn’t felt the cut. “I can only hope I’ve made a dent in your little coven, Ms. Phelps. Carlotta,” he added, smiling. “I was rushed and careless yesterday. Not up to my usual standards at all. But that girl, plus the one they haven’t found yet, should make a difference. And don’t you worry. Nobody will pay much attention to a little stench coming from an old outhouse. Your eternal rest should remain undisturbed.” Carly squeezed her eyes closed, tears seeping from beneath her lids. She’d failed. At everything. Trying to use a useless gift for something noble, making a difference for an unsuspecting world—and Parker. The one man she wanted, the only man who’d ever accepted her just as she was, and she’d never see him again, never even know if he survived. Drawing in a deep, sobbing breath, she hoped Vic was as skilled as he’d claimed, so that the end, at least, would be quick. And thought that she might be insane after all, as she vaguely wondered what dream she might dream once this one was cut short. The knife curved and hesitated. “I wonder, Ms. Phelps, exactly what you’ll have to say, how you’ll account for your sins, once you meet your Maker.” “How ’bout we say hello to yours first?” A familiar voice sliced through her terror. Her eyes sprang open as her spine sagged forward, and the dense shadows gave way to the angelic luster of a pearly white shape just beyond Vic’s shoulder. Parker.
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Stooped, muddied and barefoot, he’d found her, somehow, without making a sound. Carly screamed again, a high-pitched squeak of renewed hope, as Vic’s body went stiff. Parker eased forward, one step, then another, his favorite pistol in hand, his gray eyes cold, dead black. “Doyle. You can drop the weapons now. Or after you’re dead. Guess which I’d prefer?” With the savage snarl of a trapped animal, Vic twirled behind her, the knife beneath her ear, his .22 at her temple. Parker adjusted his aim with one narrowed eye, shoulders slumped beneath the low ceiling. Hesitating. She knew him. Parker was nothing if not confident. But he didn’t want to risk the shot. He was afraid of hitting her instead. In the next heart-stopping instant, he proved her wrong. With his body taut and rigidly tense, he crooked his trigger finger. And the renowned pearl-handled pistol clicked—but did not fire. Bits of sound, glimpses of images. Parker’s eyes went wide. Vic chuckled behind her, ever so softly. Cursing, Parker let his gun slip, his hand quickly curling to his back for another. Vic grunted, angling his weapon away from her head and balancing it, barrel forward, on her shoulder. Dear God. He was going to shoot Parker instead. The terror that had kept her cold and numb drained away. She couldn’t let this happen. If the world was worth fighting for, so was her world. She acted without thinking. Snapping her neck back from the nearly forgotten blade, she landed a solid head-butt against Vic’s face. For that split second of surprise, she was free, and she let herself go limp, sliding down his body into the cool mud and twisting her hips so that she faced her assailant—just as a shot resounded in the eerie peace of the underground tomb.
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Chapter Sixteen
Shepherd watched, intrigued, as Parker stood with his back against the bathroom door, Carly’s phone held like a weapon in his hand. His body was one unflinching, immovable barricade. That profile belonged on Rushmore somewhere. He could crack walnuts with the set of that chin. And the deadly determination in those eyes might’ve been enough to bring down an asteroid without help. Very impressive. If he swung that way, he’d be ready to jump Munroe’s bones himself about now. “She’s fine,” Parker muttered in response to Shep’s concern. “She’s gonna be fine. It’s only natural to want to wash away all that smell and filth and fear.” “A good scrub-down doesn’t take this long, y’know. Carlotta’s been in there quite a while.” Shepherd blinked innocent eyes. “Maybe I should pop into the shower, just to be sure she’s okay?” “Not if you were hoping to get out alive,” Parker growled. “I’ve got it covered. A few soapings and she’ll be fine. Just fine.” Shep nodded, barely resisting the perverse impulse to grin. Of course the girl would be fine. She’d seemed more distraught by the news of her friend’s death than what had happened to her. Carly’s reaction had even moved him. She’d covered her face with trembling hands, swaying erratically, as if to some faint, macabre music only she could hear. Both he and Munroe had remained still, helpless to think of anything that would console her. There was horror in that silence. No weeping, no sign of
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tears. Silence. Women, he thought, knew suffering in a way men could never comprehend. But they were also tougher than men thought. She would survive. He’d never seen Munroe as shaken up as he was now, though. And that was okay. He had a feeling it’d do the big fella some good. With deliberate force, he punched a needle into his friend’s tightly folded arm. Because he knew he wouldn’t do it himself. “Antibiotic. Bullet bit your shoulder, but it’s just a flesh wound. You might wanna stitch it up,” he said, nodding at the impressive first aid kit he’d retrieved from the munitions hole. “My needlework’s a little rusty.” “Later.” The blood from his shoulder had already dried on his vest. Shep shrugged, pretending nonchalance. “You must be slipping, Munroe. I’ve seen you come out of half a dozen firefights without a scratch. And you get shot protecting a civilian from some decrepit loner?” “She isn’t just a civvie. She’s special, remember?” Yeah. She definitely was. Turning his satisfied grin away from the threat of violence, Shep focused on their muddied prisoner who sat sullen and handcuffed on the sofa of his own vacant suite. Perched on the padded arm, he finished his perfunctory exam of Uncle Vic’s bruised face with some satisfaction, wiping the last trickle of blood from his nose with a wet towel. “Too bad we can’t save the taxpayers the cost of putting you out of your misery. But we need info. You’ll live, old man. And consider yourself lucky I don’t let my partner finish working you over anyway.” “Wasn’t him. It was the bitch.” “What?”
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“It was that horror of a mutant bitch that done it.” Vic scowled and spit a plug of pink saliva onto the floor. “Rose up outta the mud and flew at me like one of the Furies once Munroe went down. Kicked me right in the nuts and tried to scratch my eyes out with the plastic cuffs.” Shepherd blinked at his partner. “Our little love guru did this kinda damage?” “Kicked his sorry ass.” Parker’s lips trembled with barely repressed pride. “I had to pull her off him, and she did not go gently.” They’d returned to one of the unoccupied suites of the bed-and-breakfast against Parker’s wishes. He was all for whisking her away to another safe house immediately, away from all memories of this nightmare. But Carlotta Phelps, who hadn’t so much as wept or whimpered, had insisted on showering as soon as possible, and her guardian had relented. He might as well get used to it. Shepherd had a feeling she could talk him into anything. Shep tested Uncle Vic’s cuffs one last time, giving them an unnecessary wrench. His hard feelings weren’t just about the mindless attack. This was personal. Yeah, he’d go to hell and back for his buddy. Durn near had on more than one occasion. But he didn’t appreciate being out in the wet and cold, getting his uberexpensive athletic shoes hopelessly muddied in the search. “How’d you figure it out, Munroe? There’s no telling how many holes this guy had dug out there.” “A hunch. He did the Cushing girl in the bathroom. Smart place for a slaughter; good for wiping down prints or washing off blood in a pinch. It made me think of the outhouse. No blood, no bother. I knew it was just there for show. I’d even mentioned it to Carly. And that got me thinking. Other than that motheaten elk head, the place is bare-bones essentials. Why would a guy who couldn’t
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be bothered having a pretty painting on the wall or so much as a welcome mat leave that hull of an outhouse out there as some kind of cute ornament? And that was exactly where I’d found the sewer rat target shooting one morning. Too much coincidence.” “But I thought you were heading for the woodpile.” “I was. Had the tarp in my hand, ready to dig in. But then I got this image in my mind, and I couldn’t let go of it. I kept thinking about that crazy maze of colored pipes, like connecting sewers, running across that goddamn computer of his. The way the photos just seemed to bloom out of that screen saver. First Carly, then Violet, who reminded me of flowers. And that reminded me of something he’d said. He called her my ‘little lotus’. Vic don’t exactly wax poetic, but even a meathead like me knows that’s the flower that takes root in the mud and muck. Carly told me the devil was in the details. She was right.” An uncharacteristic hoarseness roughened his voice. “Nothing has ever scared me as much as thinking she might already be gone—except seeing her struggle in that pissy mud, trying to save me.” Shepherd swallowed hard. Yeah. The lady was special. The big guy was a goner. And he, for one, was glad to see it. “You’d better be damned glad I found you in time.” Parker eyed their prisoner with an expression of pure hatred. “I should serve up your fucking balls. With eggs.” “Ah, well, that’s probably my cue to get him out of here.” Shepherd pulled his prisoner to his feet. “You sure the girl will be fine, Munroe?” “She’s fine,” he snapped. “I’ll see to it. Fine.” Shep wiped a smile from his face, herding the older man toward the door. “Hold up.”
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Parker left his position to loom over Vic, his pupils dangerously dilated. “Just so you know? If my buddy here hadn’t heard the shot and come running, I’d have finished what the girl started. You’d be decomposing down there right now with the rest of the shit.” “You think I’m worried, Munroe?” Vic sneered at him, sniggering softly. “I’m not heading for a Russian gulag. Club Fed’s a picnic, and you can’t touch me there. Besides—God’s gonna see to it that none of us suffers for very long.” Parker wrapped one huge hand around the man’s throat and squeezed. And squeezed, and squeezed harder, until he gasped desperately for breath. “It’s a small world. I’ve got a lot of mean friends in a lot of peculiar places, Vic. This old planet may or may not make it, but let me leave you with a promise. Federal pen or not…you won’t.” Shep nodded a gleeful confirmation. Yeah. If he ever switched persuasions, he was so gonna do Munroe. “Shep?” Shepherd stopped in his tracks, blinking in disbelief as Parker casually handed him his pearl-handled pistol. Jesus. It really was the end of the world. “Are you kidding me, dude? You love that gun.” Parker shrugged, extending his arm. “I want you to have it. She needs a little tuning up, but I’m sure you’ll take care of it. Consider this part of an apology from someone who was idiot enough to doubt a true friend—and a promise it’ll never happen again.” “You said it was your good luck charm.” “I think I’ve found a better one.” “But your father—”
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“Would want it to go to somebody enforcing the rules, whatever they might be in the time to come. Not my gig anymore. I’m going off radar. This is just my way of saying…well, thanks. You know. In case I don’t see you again.” Shepherd took the weapon, felt the weight in his hand. It was smooth and cold as marble, and in nearly perfect condition. He started to speak but stuttered as he felt himself get choked up again. “My old man always said only pimps and gamblers carried pearl-handled pistols.” The trace of a smile flitted across Parker’s mouth as he resumed his post at the bathroom door. “You’ll do.” Shep nodded and carefully tucked it into the pocket of his leather jacket. “I called in a couple of boys with toys to patrol the perimeter. They’re assigned for twenty-four hours. After that, you’re on your own,” he said briskly. Turning away from his friend, he gave his prisoner a shove. “You realize the Temple will disavow any knowledge of your actions, right? So let’s go chat with the feds about your other blogging buddies, Uncle Vic. And you’d better sing loud and clear. You got me out of a hot woman’s bed and messed up my shoes, man. Do you have any idea how much these puppies cost?”
“Carlotta? Um…telephone.” There was an urgency to Parker’s voice outside the door, and Carly could hear the whimsical tones of the alien tune, even through the hard-running water. And she was aware of how very important it all was. She just couldn’t seem to respond. She’d lost count of how many times she’d dragged the soapy washcloth over her skin, scrubbed shampoo through her hair and reminded herself that she was safe now.
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But she didn’t feel safe. She didn’t feel anything. It was only as an afterthought that she covered her privates with her hands when he knocked and carefully entered the bathroom. “Carly, you’ve gotta snap out of it, baby.” He stepped into the stall, muttering, as she watched. Fully dressed. Why was he getting himself all wet? Her brain felt as dense as the steam swirling in patterns through the vacuum of the open door. She opened her mouth to protest as he turned off the water, and found herself swept off her feet and out of the shower. Good thing. She didn’t think she could walk. He didn’t bother with a towel but carried her into the bedroom, wrapped her in a blanket and headed for the sofa, placed strategically before a healthy fire in the hearth. “I can’t do it, Parker.” Her words were muffled against his vest, the stink of the outhouse still in her nose. “I want to go back. Back to dreaming of lucky finds at garage sales and cheap weekend getaways. I want to go back to working at the grocery store so my biggest worry will be soaking my aching feet at night and scraping enough money together to pay the rent. Back to thinking of Violet as alive and well, instead of…” She heard a shuddering sob escape her body, despite her best efforts. “I tried to tell you. I’m no heroine. If I didn’t realize it before, I do now. I’m falling apart here.” “I don’t think that’s it at all.” Parker sat with her in his lap, adjusting his position to cradle her close. “I think you’re just starting to realize how special you are, and that’s what’s scaring you, babe.” “I wanted him dead. Do you hear me? And if I’d had a gun, I wouldn’t have shot him. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands. I wanted to watch him bleed, and to enjoy the sight of it. What the hell does that say about me?”
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It said that, despite her ability, she was still a very human being. Personally, he was glad to know it. “It says you’re a survivor.” “I can’t do this. You have to take me back. You could come with me. We could pretend we don’t know anything about the asteroid, just spend whatever time we have together, and—” “I can’t do that,” he whispered, pressing his lips against the crown of her head. “And I can’t let you do it either. You’ve got a job to do.” “Please. Listen. I’ve tried to relax. I thought the shower would help. It didn’t. I can’t. Can’t stop thinking, can’t get my bones to stop shaking or my arms and legs to operate. Can’t even close my eyes. I can’t relax if I don’t feel secure. If I don’t feel relaxed, I can’t sleep, and if I can’t sleep, I can’t dream.” She wanted to strike out, to slap him if necessary, to try to make him see. “I’ve always counted on you to be the realist here, Munroe. Call my people, your people. Maybe there’s still time for an alternate.” “No. There’s no time.” He sank back into the cushions with her, his voice suddenly harsh. “Look at me, Carlotta. This is too important for you to fade on us now. You were born for this. And dammit, I’ve got all this adrenaline to use up, so you need to keep the world going for a while longer. Now, look.” Carly stared at the phone as he flipped it open and gave her a hard shake. What did he expect from her? Miracles? “Tell me what you see.” “A holographic image of the asteroid. A deep gouge on the southwestern side. Huge boulder, the size of a house, near a lipped crater to the east, the glitter of ice particles in sharp, shadowed crevices. The blood-orange reflection of the sun. And a text message.” She shuddered as she read. Despite the wrap and the warmth of his body, she was still cold. “It says, ‘Failure to deflect confirmed. Begin concerted effort now. Projected length of time twelve hours. Final missive.’”
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Parker nodded, smoothing her hair back from her face. “Then it’s up to the dreamers after all?” She wanted to kiss the wry smile on his face, to burrow against his skin and wish it all away. “Apparently, they’re all that’s left.” “So dream.” He didn’t understand. He never had. “Parker, you’re not listening. I’m not a robot. I’m trying to tell you that I can’t—” “Yes, you can. And you will.” He pulled the blanket closer around her, hugging her body to his, murmuring soothing words in a low, intimate tone. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. No one will ever hurt you again. I swear it. You are my dream, Carly, and I have every intention of making us come true. Now. Go to sleep.”
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Chapter Seventeen
Parker Munroe had no idea twelve hours could mean an eternity. Carly curled against him like a child at first, her frightened eyes eventually drifting closed as he softly stroked her hair. He had no watch, no clock in his direct line of vision, and no idea how long it took for her to go to sleep. But he knew it was a struggle and how much depended on it. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. When her breathing became measured and even, he gently began to rock. Awkwardly at first, since he’d never done it, but he tried to attain a smooth rhythm. She seemed so small and fragile in his arms he was afraid he would waken her. He still couldn’t call himself a believer, but he wouldn’t let the chance he might be wrong haunt him forever. Hell, how would that look in whatever history books might be written after this? “The One Hundred, an avant-garde group of manifesting dreamers, was THIS CLOSE to saving the world as we knew it, but one Parker Munroe, failed governmentappointed bodyguard, dropped the damn ball…” And so he stayed awake. And held on to her for dear life. Parker watched the hours swallow the force of the fire. The darkness of the room gathered around the single lamp he’d left burning, and the rain blew hard and brittle against the window. A small, pulsing pain smoldered in his injured shoulder, but it would have to wait. His jeans were still damp from the shower
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and clung to his body, leaving him chilled and stiff, and he needed to go to the bathroom—but he kept his vigil. When Carly turned, mumbling in dreams, he whispered encouragement and adjusted his position to suit hers. When the ice on the window gradually lightened to silver and his stomach grumbled for food, he wondered how long it had been—and remained very still. He speculated about the rest of the group, whether there were enough left to do the job. Hell, he wondered whether Carly was there with him at all. Maybe the One Hundred made up one huge, visionary brain, not constricted by their bodies. Maybe it was his imagination that her skin grew paler with time, her breathing more shallow, even as heat seemed to radiate from her skin through the folds of the blanket. But the passing of the hours was real enough. Painfully so. Parker hadn’t known she’d succumb to such a deathlike sleep. He almost ceased to care about the success of the project. Damn the asteroid. She’d been away from him too long. He wanted her back. A painful snap of his neck wrenched him away from the edge of sleep, and Parker squinted at the balcony door. The frost fronds glittered like diamonds, dissipating on the glass, and the sun seared cornflower-blue patches through the brooding clouds. Morning. Spaceship Earth was, so far, still on course. Parker silently ordered his cramped muscles to remain locked as he peered down at the treasure in his arms—to find that her eyes were open. She didn’t blink or look directly at him. She seemed to be barely breathing—just staring at the ceiling. “Carly?” His voice was thick and dry. The hell with grilled steak. Right now he’d kill for a drink of water. Or whiskey. “Are you all right, babe?” “Does it hurt?”
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“What?” “You have blood on your chest. I remember…I think I remember you getting shot.” Carly peeked at the newly dissected triangle beneath his rolled sleeve. “Does it hurt?” She seemed dazed. More like someone recovering from a long illness rather than a dream. “No. It doesn’t hurt.” “Security.” “What?” She stirred, tried to stretch, found herself hampered by the coverlet and frowned up at him. “I remember. The phone rang, and you kept me warm, made me feel secure. You wrapped me in a blanket. Carried me in here and put me in your lap.” She blinked at the remains of the fire, and her sleepy expression changed to horror. “Dear Lord, Parker. You haven’t been sitting here with me all this time, have you?” He could feel the color creep into his cheeks. “I wanted to make sure you felt…safe. It seemed important.” “For twelve hours? Are you insane?” “Yes. For about three months now.” He’d tell her more. Later. He’d tell her that he was hopelessly in love with her, and if spending every day of the rest of his life with her meant forcing the issue, he had the cuffs warm and ready to go. He’d tell her, after he’d ravished her five or six times. With snack breaks in between. Carly sat up, disentangling herself from the folds of the blanket, her voice gentling. “You sat perfectly still here for all that time? You did that? For me?” She seemed oblivious to the fact that she was naked. He wasn’t. “Guess I can manage to keep still after all, if it’s important enough.”
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Sliding her hand to the back of his neck, she pulled him forward, the smooth satin of her cheek against his rough one. He couldn’t remember when he’d taken the time to shave. “You’re a crazy man, you know that? I don’t understand. I just wanted to share the truth with you. I didn’t expect you to change.” She brushed her lips against his, just the whisper of a kiss. “Why would you do such a thing? You could’ve just left me to sleep. You don’t believe in the lucid dreaming, in God— in anything.” Her face was radiant, her hair rippling waves over her shoulders, her skin flushed from the warmth of the wrap. And she was all he could ever want, for however long he could have her. “I believe in you, Carlotta.” He pressed his forehead to hers, tired of fighting the truth that would forever change his world. “We can work on the rest of it later.”
Barely half an hour later, Carly impatiently watched the bathroom door as she waited on the sofa for him, restlessly twisting the hem of his black T-shirt. She’d had enough of the diva nightgowns. She liked having the smell of him on her. When he finally returned to her wearing only a towel, she frowned, noting the angry, red shoulder wound and a slight limp to his gait. She’d brought him to this. It pained her to think she had that power. “Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of invalid,” he muttered. “I’m still your muscle. Just a little rusty from sitting for so long.” She’d never noticed how adorable that stubborn male pride could be. Rather than fuss over him, she smiled, handing him a near-scalding cup of coffee, and
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made room for him on the sofa. “I tried my phone. Dead. No one’s responding. I knew they’d cut us off, but I didn’t think it’d be so abrupt. Have you heard from Shep?” She didn’t really need to ask if the One Hundred had been successful. She’d felt the energy of the other ninety-nine minds like a massive wave of sound through space, had seen the asteroid wobble and veer off its projected path, just enough to miss target. It was as clear to her as if her dream-screen had been an IMAX theater. Parker fished his phone out of his discarded jeans and checked. She could actually see the blood drain from his face and almost panicked at the sight of his legs caving beneath him. “Omigod. What’s wrong? What does it say? Don’t you do that, Munroe! You can’t tell me it didn’t work. Tell me you’re going limp with relief. I know it worked. I saw it.” “There’s just one message. A simple response.” His fingers were a vise around the phone. “Fishing trip for July still on. And yes, the gun fits nicely in the crotch.” She smiled and stretched, feeling free for the first time in many months. An asteroid was one helluva weight to carry around. “You guys make a cute couple.” Parker shook his head, gaping at her. “She helps fix the biggest problem in the world and acts like it’s another day at the office.” “It is. It’s just a very strange office.” He sat beside her, cuddling her in one heavy arm as she curled into him. It was such a naturally perfect fit she had the strange urge to weep. “I suppose you’ll have to report to your people soon.” “I’m taking a couple of days off.” He nuzzled her hair contentedly. “I’ve got a secluded little place of my own on the Blue Ridge. You’re coming with me.
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Lucidity
Once there, we relax, work off tons of adrenaline and take the occasional break for snacks. After that…I thought we might head for Stanford University.” “Stanford? Why?” He shrugged, a bit too casually. “It occurs to me that a ragtag bunch of dogooders, recently emancipated, might get it into their heads to get back together—on a smaller scale—at the place they were born. We could pick up Sam on the way. It’d be good for him. Maybe form a covert group. Something the suits would never approve, something that flies under the radar.” She moved uneasily beside him, wondering how to respond. As much as the idea appealed to her, she couldn’t help thinking about what had happened to Violet. “We were instructed to hang up our pillows immediately following the experiment. Such a plan would mean hiding from both the Temple and our government.” “Then you’ll be needing your muscle, won’t you?” The urge to weep intensified, warring with hope and pain. “Parker, I can’t ask you to give up your career.” “Did you know there’s a volcano brewing off the coast of Indonesia? That there’s been a lethal series of mudslides in Brazil?” He bowed his head. “Not to mention the old soldier in a retirement home in Florida, whose world is rapidly shrinking, who might be helped by just the right visualizations?” Okay, that did it. She barely managed to stifle a sob as a wayward tear escaped her iron restraint. Sam must’ve told him about their experiments with lucid healing, and he’d taken it to heart. It was overwhelming, the idea of being able to help Parker’s father, and possibly so many others… He wiped her face and tenderly kissed her eyes. “You’re not asking me to give up anything. It’s done. Because I wanted to. And because I knew you
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couldn’t stop, as long as you thought you could do some good. Can’t exactly let you mutants loose on an unsuspecting world, can I?” Oh, she could love this man. Oh yes, she could. “And you said you never dreamed.” Carly squirmed onto his lap and hurriedly loosened his towel as he groaned, slipping his hands beneath her shirt to cup her bare bottom. She needed this right now, needed to feel alive. “Oh look, Daddy. I’ve forgotten my panties again.” “Then a sound spanking’s definitely called for.” He tugged the T-shirt over her head, eagerly palming her breasts as he thickened between her thighs. “We’ll put it on the menu.” “Sure you’re up for this? With no food, no sleep, bullet wound and bum leg?” she whispered, moving provocatively against his arousal. “Fixing the world can be tough on a body.” He smiled at her, gray eyes gleaming with want, and she wondered how she’d ever thought him grim. “Guess we’ll just have to keep hammering away at it, won’t we?” Oh yes, she thought as he began the first of many assaults on her senses. Oh, yes. She could definitely do that too.
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About the Author
Raine is a Weaver of dreams, a teller of tales, and has wanted to be a writer her entire life. In the sanctuary of her little enchanted cottage she creates seductive heroines and brooding heroes—her own worlds, her own reality. You
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Look for these titles by Raine Weaver
Now Available: Let’s Pretend The Last Man on Earth Hotter than Hell
This is NOT a test…
The Last Man on Earth © 2008 Raine Weaver
Iris Foley and Russell Carr are old friends who share everything. As they indulge in a marathon viewing of old, campy horror films on a stormy Halloween night, they are suddenly faced with the very real possibility that something has happened to the outside world. Just as the last gasp of the Emergency Broadcast System issues a dire warning, they are plunged into isolation and darkness. Naturally, they decide to do what any frightened, civic-minded young couple would do. They decide to have sex. Now if only old fears, a surprise adversary, and the Apocalypse wouldn’t keep getting in their way… Warning: this title contains explicit sex, but all references to alien coochie have been censored. Enjoy the following excerpt for The Last Man on Earth: He watched her scoop up the last of her scrambled eggs, enjoying every mouthful, as if it was her last meal on earth. He, unfortunately, had not been able to swallow a bite. “Okay.” Iris finished the small sample of orange juice he’d provided and, satisfied, sat back in the dining room chair. “I’m relaxed. I’m well fed. I’ve taken the time to think things through, just as you asked. Can we have sex now?” He blanched, using his fork to stab his cold sausage in frustration. “Iris. This is not something to be taken lightly. Just because there’s no electricity—”
She laughed, and the sound of tinkling light filled the old, cold house. “You think I want to have sex with you because there’s nothing on television?” “I didn’t say that. I think…I just don’t want you doing something rash under duress, something you’ll regret afterward.” “Suppose there is no afterward?” “Stop that! Everything is fine.” “But just suppose—” “No. Let’s have you just suppose.” A wee, small voice somewhere in the back of his head was screaming at him in its wee, small way: “What the hell are you doing, man? She wants us!” No, it didn’t seem to be coming from his head at all; it was coming from a lower, far more sensitive extremity, one that seemed to be making him feverish and edgy and more impatient by the minute. “Suppose this is all, as I said, just the result of a pre-winter storm and some freakish blurb of dialogue we picked up at exactly the wrong time. And suppose, due to this misunderstanding, we go ahead and do this—this thing you’re suggesting. How are you going to feel when the lights come back on?” She nodded slowly. “You mean, will I still respect you in the morning?” “You think this is funny?” he retorted. “I’m serious! I promised your brother when he went into the Navy that I’d look out for you, take care of you. We have a life-long friendship going here, a business partnership, and I don’t…” He paused, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t want to lose that.” Her smile faded into softness. “That’s either the sweetest thing anybody’s ever said to me, or—or you’re trying to let me down easy. If you don’t want to have sex with me, Russ, just tell me. I’ll understand.” “I never said—” “I mean, we’re not talking serious commitment or anything.”
“It’s not that—” “And it’s not as if we’re total strangers.” “I’m just worried that—” “Then you’re saying it would be all right for us to climb all over each other if we were not friends?” He pounded the tabletop with both fists. “God, woman, you’re making me crazy here.” “You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing,” she persisted. “I don’t expect you to suddenly get the hots for me because I suddenly want to ‘do it’. I know you don’t think of me that way. But I’d handle all the preliminaries, do all the persuading, take care of everything. You could just sit back and enjoy—or tolerate, whichever you prefer. I mean, it’s not about lust or anything silly like that. We could just be fuc—er, sex buddies. Just for whatever time we might have left. I’d try to make it worth your while.” “Dammit, Iris, here I am trying to be noble, and—” He paused, eyes widening. “What did you say?” She looked downward, her cheeks coloring slightly. “I said I’d spare you the effort. I said I’d be happy to seduce you. Or give it a try, anyway.” He fell back in his chair, his body boneless. Dear God. It really was the end of the world. “We could start now, if you think you can manage. I’d like to get as much in as possible.” He blinked, then blinked harder, his thoughts losing the race against his hormones. “Iris? That is you sitting there, isn’t it? I mean, you didn’t have any memory lapses last night, or dreams about being abducted by aliens?” “It’s almost funny,” she said wistfully. “Here I was, wallowing in celibacy because the jerk I was with wanted sex without an emotional relationship—and
now I’m propositioning a man who just wants a relationship without sex. Isn’t that funny?” Oh, yeah. Funny. He was laughing so hard inside his testicles ached. “I…I don’t know what to say—” “I think it’s the right thing to do. It’s strange that we never think of these things,” she mused. “We live as if we’ve got all the time in the world. Well, I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. I guess nobody does. And I’d like to squeeze in as much living as possible.” Russ stuttered, choking on the words he wanted to say to her, the words he couldn’t find. “You’ve always been so sweet, so caring, so honest with me,” she said gently. “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather do this with.” He brushed the pang of guilt quickly aside, his gaze focusing on her generous mouth, and what it would be like to have it prompt him into hardness, to have her slip those taut, round nipples into his mouth, to feast until she begged for something more… And he wouldn’t have to say a word? No bumbling attempts to explain his feelings, no coaxing, no persuading, no seduction? He leaned forward in his chair, ready for action. Even if it was the Judgment Day, God would understand. He was, after all, a masculine God. Everybody knew that. “You said something about starting now?” A delighted smile spread across her face. “You agree then? You really don’t mind?” He humbly shrugged, reaching for her hand. “You’re one of my best friends, sweetie. I think I understand. If this is the end, I wouldn’t want you to check out feeling deprived, or denying yourself the pleasure of one last sexual encounter. Let’s go upstairs and—”
“No,” she said firmly. “It’s cold up there, and I don’t want to waste any time. How about right here, on the couch in front of the fire? Will that do?” He was dizzy, actually deliriously dizzy with excitement. “Well, if that’s what you want, I’ll try to manage. For you.” “Good!” She pushed away from the table and grabbed his hand, eagerly leading him to the sofa. He blindly followed, his mind muddled with disbelief. After all this time, and all his wasted planning, she was really going to be his. And he didn’t have to cloak the proposition in champagne, or worry about getting tongue-tied and flustered. It was a gift. He watched her from behind, already imagining what it would be like to get his hands on that tempting tush, to feel her feverish against him, to savor her mouth, rather than resign himself to the usual friendly peck on the lips. Russ took a deep breath, trying to control himself. If he wasn’t careful, she’d wonder why he was already hard enough to cut diamonds. She placed him in the center of the sofa and sat beside him, chewing the nail of her forefinger. And there she sat. And sat, forever, it seemed to him, nibbling away. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, trying to appear relaxed, fervently praying that she had not changed her mind. “Okay,” he ventured, trying to sound casual. “Here we are.” “This is sorta awkward, isn’t it?” She gave a nervous, tittering laugh. “It’s just occurred to me that I’ve never seduced a man before. Never had to.” “I don’t suppose so,” he muttered, a pang of jealousy knifing through him. “That’s probably all Gary and Milton ever thought about.” “Why do we keep coming back to Milton Edwards? I told you I never slept with him.”
This was not the time to provoke an argument. This was the time to fulfill his fantasies. “Sorry. Guess I just feel like neither of them deserved you. And this is a tricky situation for me, too. I’m not accustomed to being so…passive.” She smiled, resting her hand on his thigh. “I think I like that. That makes this more of a challenge, more interesting, doesn’t it?” God, if it were any more interesting he’d shoot the works before she even started.
They’re in it to win it—or die trying.
Ricochet
© 2011 Sandra Sookoo Willa Rayes, only daughter of a legendary Lingorian fighter pilot, can fly any ship in the galaxy. Better than her brothers, in fact. But does that get her any respect? Not as long as she has breasts. Winning the Nebulon Trike will not only force her family to notice her, it’ll be her declaration of independence from men in general. Then she meets her race partner, Stratton Sinnet. Arrogant and chauvinistic, he ignites her libido like no man ever before. And threatens to send her wellplanned strategy straight to hell. A bounty hunter by trade, Sin enters the Trike for one reason: money. Somewhere among the racers his quarry is hiding, but he’s not worried. He always gets his man, and winning the race will be a nice bonus. It sure would be a hell of a lot easier, though, if he wasn’t saddled with a know-it-all navigator who’s getting on his last nerve—and under his skin. As the checkpoints go by and the danger escalates, the fight for control, the lead—and satisfaction—approaches supernova heat. Burning away their resistance, and the tough shells that protect their one vulnerability…their hearts. Warning: This story contains a hot, bald bounty hunter whose sex appeal rivals his cockiness; a smart-mouthed pilot who refuses to let a mere male beat her in anything; and love scenes that’ll make you'll think a star exploded. Dramamine recommended to counteract the effects of fancy flying. Enjoy the following excerpt for Ricochet:
Willa cringed when their craft, the Anomaly, shuddered before resuming its smooth flow through the star-dotted blackness. The idiot was going to ruin their chances of making good time if he insisted on such a careless attitude. “Is there a reason you have your feet propped on the control panel?” She stared pointedly at his dusty boots. They rested perilously close to the button that would dump reactor-core waste all over the course. “Obviously, you have no respect for your ship.” “As long as it gets me to where I need to go, I don’t care. And as for your question, there’s no need to be alert at this point.” “Ah, such a wonderful work ethic.” She gritted her teeth. Of all the men to be stuck with, the powers-that-be gave her him. “When would you like to start the GCCs? I haven’t programmed them in yet, since I don’t know—” “Willa, just stop, all right?” Stratton squirmed into an upright position, slammed his feet onto the floor and swiveled his chair around to face her. “We don’t need course corrections at the moment. We’ve been in space for an hour. Relax.” His glare sent a tremor down her spine. “If you feel the need to make asinine conversation to fill the silence, fine, but don’t expect an answer from me.” She attempted to avert her gaze from his spread legs and crotch, but her willpower had dissolved. In the mandatory slick gear, there was no doubt that Stratton Sinnet had the necessary equipment to please the ladies. The black suit hugged his body so tightly, she clearly saw the outline of his abdominal muscles, as well as the bulge between his legs. Insistent heat rushed to her pussy, made doubly uncomfortable by the uniform. Needing a distraction, she cleared her throat and wrenched her gaze to his. “Are you always an ass?” “A good portion of the time. That’s what makes me well known.” “No, that’s what makes you an ass.”
“It’s working for me.” A knowing smirk crossed his face. “See something you like?” He rested a hand on his upper thigh with his fingers dangling in such a way she couldn’t help but glance at his package again. “No, actually.” Arrogant bastard. There was no way she’d let on how yummy she thought he looked. “You’re not as impressive as you think. I’ve seen better.” His eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned. “Do you always have to be so aloof?” “I’m not aloof. I just feel the need to come down to your level.” “Ah.” Annoyed when he said nothing else, she sighed. “I’m going to do those course corrections whether you want me to right now or not.” He shrugged. “Suit yourself, Miss I-Always-Need-To-Be-In-Control. I’ll bet you’re rigid like that all the time. Unbending control, right?” Hot anger jumped into her cheeks. “Without control, there is chaos. Besides, I’m a Lingorian and proud of it. We’re a race who cherishes pride, schedules and steely control over every aspect of life.” “And why do I care?” “I’m trying to tell you why I am the way I am.” “Nope.” He shook his head, boredom clear in his expression. “You’re that way from something else. National pride has nothing to do with it. Hell, back in the day, I was from Earth, but that’s not why I love money, fast women and faster ships.” “I’m surprised you haven’t been killed by someone before now. Asshole.” She glanced quickly away and pretended an interest in the display on her datapad. There was no other choice than to be in control; otherwise, she’d be forced to reckon with the voices in her head telling her she wasn’t good enough,
would never be good enough. No way was she going to let Stratton know that. “How long are you planning to cruise at this pace? We’re supposed to reach the moon Aga no later than 1300 hours tomorrow. You keep this crawl, and we’ll finish in the back of the pack. That scenario is not on my agenda.” “Is that a problem, kita?” The man never stopped! Her chest burned with irritation. “Yes, since the point of any race is to finish first.” Unable to help it, she turned and regarded him again. Despite his lack of manners or decency, the man intrigued her. He held a lifetime of secrets in those deep brown eyes. The trick was to get him to share. “Why do you keep calling me kita? What does it mean?” “On the last planet I lived on, it’s used as a derogatory term meaning spoiled or privileged.” Stratton shrugged, and the gesture caused the slick suit to pull tightly across his impressive shoulders. Shiny foiled patches and emblems of sponsors flashed in the weak interior illumination. “I figured it fits, since you’re so bent on getting your own way.” “You have no idea what drives me or makes me who I am.” She gripped the datapad so hard, the lightweight plastic dug into her skin. “Is that so?” His gaze flickered over her face, his expression clearly bored. “You have to be in control every minute, you probably wear your hair back like that until it gives you a headache—every day, correct? You get annoyed when people don’t do what you say that exact moment. Seems to me you’re so tense, a titanium rod would be jealous of your backbone.” Willa hooked a finger into the neckline of her suit and pulled at the confining fabric. Angry heat rolled over her body, becoming trapped within the outfit. Damned uniform. What good would it do to keep a crew member alive in the event of a crash if the fabric meant she’d burn to death internally? “What about
you? Don’t you demand as much control? Just look at the stunt you used getting into the cockpit.” “That wasn’t control. It was seizing an opportunity.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a grin. “We’re not talking about me.” “Start sharing, Stratton. It’ll be a long trip otherwise.” She secured the datapad into a slot on the wall, then punched a button that brought up a star map on the windscreen. “At our present rate of speed, it’ll be three days before we make it to the moon.” Idiot. At the checkpoint and after the mandatory rest period, there was no way he’d be back in the pilot’s seat. They had to get through the checkpoints as quickly as possible. Didn’t he understand the concept of the rally? Stratton chuckled. The deep, rich sound reverberated through the close confines and did strange things to her insides. “In your world, you might rule the roost, but remember, I’m the pilot. What I say goes.” Right, as if he even had an idea of what her home life was like. Willa bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop the retort. “My life is exactly the reason I’m here.” “Fair enough, but resist the urge to tell me. I’m not in the market for a BFF.” He swiveled the chair until he faced the instrument panel. “If we burn through the bulk of our fuel now, we won’t have enough to sprint for that checkpoint tomorrow. I’m not going to come up short in order to stay on your schedule.” She stared at the star chart, determined not to look at his smug face again. “Listen, the only reason I’m on this bird with you is to win. There’s no other option. If you can’t deliver the goods, I’ll be forced to evict you from your position and get someone else.” More than anything, she wanted the accolades that went along with crossing that checkpoint first and entering their energy signature for the official record.
He could keep the damned prize money. Funds would be nice, but that wasn’t her objective. All she wanted was for her father and brothers to see her at the top of each race leg—and for them to say she was worthy despite her sex. “I’d like to see you try. It’s not like spare racers are trolling the area. Besides, I’ll easily overpower you, have you on your back so fast you won’t know what happened. I rather enjoy a woman on her backside, especially one as golvertic as you.” “What does that mean?” The man was a pig. Too bad she couldn’t continue the race without him.
