Eight Days to Live

  And he knew it. His gaze was on her face, and there was a stillness, a watchfulness, that made her chest tighten and her heart start to pound. It was like that primitive moment at the cottage when he’d thrown Weismann down before her. He was wrapped, surrounded in heat, but now it had nothing to do with violence and everything to do with sexuality.

  She jerked her own eyes away and moved back away from him. She huddled under the blanket and tried desperately to think of something that would break that intimacy. “It’s soft . . .”

  “Cashmere.” His gaze never left her face. “Marc has a lot of business executives who hire him to fly them around. They appreciate the finer things.”

  She looked around the luxuriously appointed cabin. Thick, gray carpet, twelve plush seats in burgundy suede framed in polished mahogany. Lina and Jock were sitting near the back of the plane, and Lina’s eyes were already closed.

  “I appreciate the finer things, too.” She stroked the feather-soft wool. “Particularly when they have to do with comfort. Celine and I never agreed about designer luxuries. She thought a little discomfort was worth the—” She stopped as her eyes started to sting. They had been so frantically busy that Celine’s death had faded from the forefront of her mind. Now the memory was back and all the more poignant for the suddenness of its coming. She blinked fast, hard. “Damn. Sneak attack.”

  “The worst kind of ambush.” That almost primitive sensuality was gone though the electricity still lingered between them. Caleb handed her his handkerchief as he sat down in the seat across the aisle from her.

  She dabbed at her eyes. “I want to go back. I want her alive. I want to change things. If I hadn’t agreed to that damn art show and gone to Paris, then she wouldn’t be dead.”

  “That’s true. Unless you believe in destiny. You could also say that if you’d never painted Guilt, none of this would have happened. Maybe changing one piece of the puzzle wouldn’t make a difference.”

  “It’s all crazy. I told you, it was pure chance that Guilt looks like their idea of Judas. He’s a figment of my imagination. A dream.”

  His brows rose. “Dream?”

  She hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Certainly not to him. “Maybe I did see his face in a few dreams, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

  He was smiling. “Oh, Jane. You do protest too much.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “I realize that admitting that you may have a tinge of weirdness yourself is against your every instinct. You’re such a wonderfully grounded, practical woman. It took all your tolerance just to accept that I’m a freak.”

  “I’m not that closed-minded. I’ve come to realize that there are some people with legitimate psychic gifts. I’m just not one of them.”

  “Then why did I immediately feel a closeness to you the moment we met? I knew you’d understand whatever I—”

  “I don’t know why you would feel like that,” she interrupted.

  “And you don’t want to hear it. I scared you tonight. You don’t want to claim any similarity with me. You’re shying away from everything about me that you don’t understand.”

  “You didn’t scare me. But you’re right, there are too many things about you that I don’t understand.”

  “Then ask me. I don’t promise to answer everything, but I’ll be honest with what I do tell you.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted him to be honest when she remembered the brutality of the night. And when she was still overpoweringly aware of how he had aroused her only a moment ago.

  Yes, she did. He had fascinated and intrigued her since the moment he had come into her life. Admit it, she thought. I want those answers. “You seem to go into people’s minds and mold them and pull out whatever you need so easily. Yet you told me that you wanted to be careful with Adah so that it would be smoother. Is it harder to do than it appears?”

  “Sometimes. It depends on the mind. Most of the time it’s like skating on firm, fresh ice. Sometimes it’s a fight to get in, and that can cause serious damage unless I take my time. But I can overcome it.”

  “But you didn’t take your time with Weismann.”

  “No, I didn’t give a damn. He was already a dead man as far as I was concerned.”

  The blunt ruthlessness of the statement shocked her. He had promised to be honest with her, and he was keeping to his word.

  He smiled crookedly. “Was that a little too much information for you? Is that all you wanted to know?”

  She was silent a moment. “No, one more question. You said it was very rare that you ran up against someone you couldn’t manipulate. Even if you try all your bag of tricks?”

  “After all these years of practice, I’m close to perfect.” He shrugged. “But yes, there are a few people out there who I can’t touch. Very strong minds. And then there are the quagmires. Whenever I hit one of those, I pull out and run like hell.”

  “Quagmires? What’s that?”

  “I call it the quagmire effect. There are some people whose minds are constructed oddly. They don’t necessarily even have to be strong. They’re just . . . different. It’s like being caught in quicksand. Intense pain and sensation of smothering. If it went on too long, I think it would kill me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve only had it happen twice. The first time I didn’t know what was happening, and I backed out right away. But I was still dizzy and sick for a day afterward. The second time, I couldn’t get out of his mind and I blacked out. I didn’t wake up for two days. I was very careful after that. I’ve learned to recognize the signs.” He smiled. “You see, I trust you. I’m letting you know all my vulnerabilities.”

  “Perhaps a tiny percentage of your vulnerabilities. You’re as heavily armored as a tank.”

  He chuckled. “Next time I’ll reveal another Achilles’ heel. I’ll be like Scheherazade telling you a tale a night to keep you interested.”

  “More like a narrator from the Twilight Zone.” She pulled the blanket higher around her. “I’m going to take that nap now.”

  “Do that. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He was silent a moment. “Have there been other dreams, Jane?”

  She tensed. “Everyone has dreams.”

  “Like that one?”

  She didn’t want to answer. Why was she feeling compelled to do it? “Sort of. Maybe.”

  “What’s it like when you dream? Disjointed?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. Clear. Very clear. As if I’m there, part of it. It’s as if a story is . . . unfolding.”

  “Interesting. Will you tell me more about them?”

  “No.”

  “If you change your mind . . .”

  “No.”

  “Dreams don’t make you weird. Or at least only in the most minor category on the scale. Believe me, I know about weird.”

  “I do believe you,” she said emphatically.

  He chuckled. “I know you do. Tell me, where is Guilt right now.”

  “MacDuff’s Run. MacDuff took it for safekeeping. Why?”

  “I want to see it. I want to see your dream, Jane,” he added thoughtfully. “It must have been a very powerful dream. Do you believe that it could have been brought on by the thoughts and vibes of all those thousands of worshipers in Judas’s temple?”

  Shock jolted through her. “No, I do not.”

  “Just a thought.”

  A very disturbing thought. But then Caleb was a very disturbing man. She wished she’d never made that verbal slip about the dream of Guilt. He would probe and gnaw at it until he was satisfied or had it in pieces and devoured.

  Caleb tilted his head. “Or it might have been a case of remote viewing.”

  “Remote viewing? What on earth is that?”

  “It’s a technique that the CIA has been experimenting with though they don’t admit to it. It’s rather like astral projection or out-of-body experience where their psychic agent actually can mentally g
o to a place or situation and view it. I guess you could call it a form of psychic espionage.”

  She frowned. “In dreams?”

  “Or deep hypnosis, or, if they’re gifted enough, they merely concentrate and pull it off. If that mosaic of Judas is that close in resemblance to your painting, then maybe you did a little mental visiting.”

  “The CIA? That’s absolutely absurd. They wouldn’t be doing experiments like that.”

  “No? As I said, they’re very careful of their credibility, but the intelligence community will do anything to keep the advantage. When they learned the Chinese and Russians were ahead of them in experimentation they jumped on the bandwagon in 1972. There was even a multimillion-dollar research program called the Star-gate Project, which came to light in the nineties, that probed military applications of psychic phenomena.”

  “And they claimed it worked?”

  “Of course not. That would be giving away a valuable asset and endanger their psychic operatives.”

  “Or they were embarrassed to admit that they’d even entertained the idea of anything so crazy.” She added curtly, “If remote viewing even exists, I have nothing to do with it. That’s even more bizarre than thinking I’m attuned to those idiots’ vibes.”

  “I’m just exploring possibilities. I’m finding that one very promising. It would explain why you—”

  “And I’m finding it total bullshit.”

  He held up his hand. “No need to become upset. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself for the present.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Go to sleep,” Caleb said. “I’ll try to stop asking questions. I’m not trying to catch you at a weak moment. It’s just my nature.”

  “I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  He was silent a moment. “I might have nudged a little.”

  “What?”

  “Just a little. Then I backed away. And I’m admitting it, aren’t I?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “And that makes everything all right?”

  “No, but it makes it a little less threatening. And I took ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Caleb.”

  “I know. I had to tell you. You’d have wondered later, and it might have damaged our relationship.”

  He was totally impossible. One moment she was chilled and terrified by him. The next he was showing her a side that was almost vulnerable. “We have no relationship.”

  “Yes, we do.” His eyes were holding her own, and she was aware that the sensuality she had thought gone was still there, waiting. “I don’t know what it’s going to turn out to be. It’s tentative, but I’m working on it.” His voice was velvet soft. “Sleep well, Jane.”

  “TAKE IT.” JUDAS THREW the pouch on the ground at the feet of the high priest, Caiaphas. “I don’t want it. I never wanted it. You made me take it.”

  “You wanted it.” The high priest’s lips curled. “Don’t lie. But now you’re having second thoughts. I don’t know why. Everything is working out quite well.”

  “I didn’t think it would be like this.” Tears were running down his face. “They all think I’m Satan. I tell you, he wanted to die. I only helped him.”

  “So it didn’t hurt to take a few pieces of silver?” Caiaphas said sarcastically. “I understand. I would have done the same.”

  “I don’t want your understanding.” Judas’s hands clenched at his sides. “I want you to take the money and tell everyone I gave it back.”

  The high priest stared down at the pouch on the floor. “There are difficulties. It’s blood money. I’m not sure it should return to our coffers. No, you’ll have to keep it.”

  “I can’t keep it,” Judas said hoarsely. “It’s dirty. Every time I touch it, I feel the filth enter my soul.”

  “Oh, it’s the money that’s dirty?” The high priest’s brows rose. “One would think that the act, not the payment, would be dirty. Betrayal is so very ugly, Judas.”

  “Take it,” Judas said. “It’s all there. Pick up the pouch.”

  Caiaphas slowly shook his head. “You say to touch it makes you feel the filth. I cannot take a chance of destroying the purity of my calling.”

  “Pick it up!” Judas screamed. “Take it. Tell them I didn’t mean to—”

  “Leave the temple. You’re beginning to annoy me. Your task is done.” He turned away. “Tell your friend, Jesus, that you meant no harm. I doubt if he will believe you either. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is closed.”

  “Take back your money! Please.” He gazed in agony as the high priest walked away from him. It was not going to happen. He was forever going to be damned in the eyes of the world.

  Not in the eyes of God. Surely God would realize he meant only to help perform His will.

  Or had that really been his intention?

  Was he lying to himself as the priest had said?

  He had been disappointed when they had arrived in Jerusalem and there had been no magical coming of the kingdom as he had interpreted should happen from Jesus’s teaching. Had he meant to force that coming by betraying Jesus?

  What was truth or lies?

  Doubt was twisting, sickening him, darkening the world.

  Answer.

  He had to find the answer.

  He turned and stumbled out of the temple.

  “They would not take it?” Hadar asked. The young scribe rose to his feet as Judas appeared in the street. “They did not believe you?”

  Judas shook his head. “He left the pouch lying on the floor of the temple. The high priest, Caiaphas, wouldn’t risk soiling himself by touching it.”

  “I’ll go get it and bring it back to you.”

  “No!” He started down the street. “Don’t you realize that would damn me forever?” He was sobbing. “As if I was not damned already.”

  “But you are innocent.”

  “Am I?” He had convinced Hadar, but how was he to make himself believe when his heart was shriveling within him with doubt. Hadar had been one of the faithful who had followed the disciples from town to town, and he had attached himself to Judas with a tenacity that had first flattered him, then brought him comfort. He could neither read nor write, and yet this scribe looked upon him with adoration. Hadar had clung to him even after everyone else had turned their backs in horror. “The priests say that I wanted the money. That it’s blood money. His blood.

  “All lies. You’ll be a prince in God’s heaven. We’ll both be there together just as you promised me.” Hadar’s lips thinned, his eyes blazing with rage. “I could kill them all. I will kill them.”

  A young boy willing to bathe in blood for Judas’s sake.

  Blood. Crucifix. Jesus.

  Dear God in heaven. What have I done?

  He started to run through the streets, pushing through the crowds.

  “Judas!” He heard Hadar calling from behind him. “Wait!”

  He could not wait. He could not face Hadar again. He could not face the world again.

  Betrayal.

  Eternal damnation.

  Guilt.

  “JANE. Wake up.”

  She was being shaken.

  Her lids flew open.

  Caleb’s face was only inches from her own.

  “What is it?” she gasped.

  “You tell me.” He was in the aisle squatting beside her chair. “You were muttering and moaning. Nightmare?”

  Judas. Hadar. The high priest.

  She sat up straight in the chair and pushed her hair back from her face. “Sort of.”

  “My fault?”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “One of the words you were muttering was Guilt. I asked you about the painting right before you went to sleep.”

  “No.” She moistened her lips. “I wasn’t dreaming about the painting.”

  “The Judas face again?”

  Raw despair. Betrayal. Eternal damnation. “Partly.”

  “But you’re
not going to talk about it.”

  “It was just a dream.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Someday you’ll trust me enough to talk to me.” He rose to his feet. “Or maybe not. Other things can replace trust that may be just as binding.” He sat down in his seat across from her again. “We should be arriving in Edinburgh within the next thirty minutes.”

  “Already?” Her gaze flew to the window. “I must have slept longer than I thought.”

  “You got a few good hours of sleep before the demons began to plague you.”

  “What demons?” she asked warily.

  “How do I know? Any demon that’s particular to you. We all have them.”

  “What’s your demon, Caleb?”

  “If I told you that, then I’d have to share. You don’t want to share my demons, Jane.”

  She remembered that moment when he’d thrown Weismann down in front of Lina’s door. “No, you can have them all to yourself.”

  He smiled. “But I’ll be willing to share your demons. I know most demons by name, and others are bosom friends. If I can’t fight them, I’ll persuade them to come visit me instead.”

  She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

  “In more ways than one.” He paused. “Will you tell me one thing about your dream?”

  “It’s just a dream.”

  “Then you shouldn’t mind discussing it. Was Hadar in it?”

  She looked at him in surprise. “How did you guess?”

  “If they play out like a story unfolding, then Hadar would be a central character, wouldn’t he?”

  “Or I might be influenced by all the talk about Hadar to have had him creep into my subconscious.”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility. Was there anything that we can grab on to about Hadar?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said impatiently. “You can’t grab on to a dream.”

  He was silent, waiting.

  “Even if you were to put any weight in what I dreamed, Hadar was only a young scribe.” She made a face. “Who was willing to kill for Judas.”

  “Where?”

  “Jerusalem. Outside the temple. Judas had just tried to give the pouch of coins back to the high priest.”