Very, very relaxed.
And too comfortable to even stir when a lovely woman with long, dark hair emerged from the shadows near the closet and settled into the chair near the foot of Tasha’s bed.
“Hello,” Tasha murmured.
“I need you to listen to me, Tasha,” the woman said, her voice quiet and serene. “It’s very important.”
“It must be,” Tasha responded, her own voice soft. “Because you’re here. You came a long way, didn’t you?”
“Yes. And I can’t stay long. So you have to listen, and remember. I can help you understand.”
“Understand?”
“Understand them. Understand what you’re up against. And understand him.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
The woman nodded. “I was born Elizabeth Lyon, only child of Roger and Patricia Lyon, in Seattle. My parents were very wealthy, and they loved me very much.
“But I was different. I sometimes heard things I soon learned no one else heard, whispers in my head that told me what other people were thinking or feeling.”
“Me, too,” Tasha said.
“I know. But I didn’t learn to hide it as you did, Tasha. My parents were often baffled by me, and worried that my abilities would set me apart from others all my life. Being wealthy, they explored what options were open to them and me at the time, meeting with avowed psychics and with researchers studying what was then most commonly called ESP.
“It was shortly after this period, just a few days before my tenth birthday, that I was kidnapped. I never saw my captors and was kept unconscious for several days, drugged so deeply that even my psychic abilities slept and told me nothing. When I awakened, it was in a hospital with both my parents leaning over my bed. I remembered nothing of what had happened to me. If anything had. I had no injuries.
“Though I didn’t know it at the time, to get me back my parents had made a bargain with my captors. They might as well have made a bargain with the devil.
“For several years, my life seemed little changed, except that my parents seemed to worry more about my safety. And something else. I was visited once or twice each month by a friend of my parents, a very handsome young man named Eliot Wolfe. He, too, was psychic, and he wanted to guide me, to teach me how to use my abilities. It was what my parents wanted and I was entirely willing.”
“Did he help you?” Tasha was listening intently.
“Perhaps. He was the only person in my life who understood my abilities, understood what I was going through in learning to master them. And—I thought I was in love with him.”
“How old were you?”
“When he first began visiting, I was seventeen.”
“Crush?” Tasha guessed.
“Looking back, yes, of course. Though you couldn’t have convinced me of that then. All I can tell you for certain is that my feelings for him blinded me all through the remainder of my teen years.
“But as I matured, both my instincts and my strengthening psychic abilities told me there was something wrong, something hidden from me in my life.”
“You sensed it?”
“I sensed something wrong. And there were snatches of conversations I overheard, discussions interrupted when I entered a room. Gradually, I came to believe that my parents and Eliot were hiding things from me. I tried more than once to focus my abilities on that suspicion, but it wasn’t until just after my graduation from high school that I was able to break through the walls they had built around me.
“What I discovered on that horrible night was so unbelievable, so shocking, that I could only run, try to escape. What else could I do? The man I had believed I loved was a soulless monster, intended to become my mate so that we might breed and produce psychic offspring.
“It was what my parents had agreed to in order to save my life. The deal they had made.”
—
Murphy was not Alastair, and there was a distinct snap to her voice when she told Duran, “This was not part of the plan. You weren’t supposed to test her so soon.”
“Not part of my plan,” he agreed. “I do wonder about yours, though.”
She ignored that. “I told you there was something different about contacting Solomon telepathically. Something unpredictable, maybe even unstable, but she has a lot of power.”
“Uncontrolled?”
“Not exactly. She has a lot of control too, it’s just that she isn’t entirely aware of just how powerful she really is. And that’s a dangerous thing.”
“Yes. You also told me Brodie wasn’t psychic.”
“He isn’t.”
“Perhaps he wasn’t, but something has changed. With Tasha Solomon, at any rate.”
“That’s what Astrid says?”
“She says the telepathic contact was unusually deep. And that Brodie responded. That he helped Solomon. Kept her from losing strength and helped her escape the maze.”
“Before she got to the center?”
“Yes.”
Murphy wasn’t often disconcerted. “I didn’t know anybody could do that. Huh. No wonder he didn’t have much to say later on.”
“I imagine he’s . . . learning to cope.”
She frowned. “I don’t like it. You shouldn’t have pushed her, not like that, not this soon. John’s been in this a long time, and we both know what’s been driving him. If Tasha Solomon becomes more than just another wounded psychic he needs to protect, if she becomes more than that to him . . . He could take her and go to ground. After ten years in this, he may be more than ready to do just that. And if he wants to disappear, wants both of them to disappear, especially to protect her, nobody on either side is ever going to find them.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“I am. Unless you’re holding one hell of an ace up your sleeve, Brodie alone would be more dangerous than you can imagine if he chose to, if he stopped being a Guardian and chose to fight. Really fight. Or disappear. Either way, we both know I can’t afford to lose Brodie or Solomon. And neither can you.”
“Solomon’s abilities are that formidable?”
“Astrid didn’t tell you?”
“She told me there was a lot of power, and that some kind of connection had been made with Brodie.”
Murphy wondered just how much of the contact Astrid had kept to herself. And why. She also wondered if Duran was being straight with her; that was always a question mark.
“Solomon can do things, Duran, things she isn’t even aware she can do. If you push her, if anyone pushes her too hard . . . she could destroy herself and anyone near her. We’ve both seen that happen before.”
He heard something in her voice. “Or?”
“Or . . . she could be the supreme you’ve been searching for. The psychic able to tip the balance in your favor.”
It wasn’t often Duran’s calm face showed expression, but he was very clearly surprised by that. “Astrid didn’t feel it in her.”
I wonder. “She wouldn’t have. I know how much you use and value your favorite psychic, but news for you: Astrid has her limits, just like everybody else. And her blind spots.”
“But you were able to feel . . . possibilities . . . in Solomon.”
“I got physically closer. Maybe that made the difference.”
He frowned. “You aren’t connected with Brodie?”
“Are you kidding? Nobody’s ever been able to connect with Brodie, not like that. Read him, yes, when he allows it. But not connect to him. Unless Astrid’s right and Tasha Solomon has.”
“Brodie has experience with psychics.”
“Not like this, he doesn’t. If she did connect with him, then he’ll be feeling something different, and given time he could figure out what it is. Maybe even figure a way to use it against you. But I doubt he has a clue right now. I doubt Solomon does either
. I’m betting they’re both . . . overwhelmed.”
“His wife was psychic.”
“I know that. And I know she connected with him on a deep level, but I have no idea if that connection formed a pathway.”
“I know. It didn’t.”
She wondered how he knew, but didn’t ask.
A question for later.
“Well, if Solomon went that deep, we can both bet something changed in Brodie. In both of them. How that change will manifest is . . . anybody’s guess. Especially if some kind of a pathway was forged between them.”
“That was Astrid’s take. She’s not entirely sure just how, but is certain a pathway was created.”
“One way?”
“She says not.”
Murphy’s brows rose. “If that’s the case, we have more than one problem. Solomon’s abilities, at least when I touched them, were powerful but not being used for anything except defense. No deep emotion has ever pushed her to explore her own limits. But Brodie . . . there is a lot of rage in him, and he’s lost too much already. As calm as he usually appears, he is driven by emotion; it’s at the core of everything he does. A mental or emotional pathway between him and Solomon, especially if she’s as powerful as we believe she is, could supply the strong emotional drive she’s never really had. His. It’ll likely give her even more power, and much more incentive to test her own limits. And it would mean something else as well. It would mean that all Brodie’s experiences in this to date will be viewed through an entirely new set of eyes. He’ll have a better idea just what’s at stake. And that means he is not going to let anyone he cares about be harmed or taken away again.”
“The thought had occurred.”
“Which means you’ll never bring Solomon over. Whether she’s strong enough to resist, or could even be safely brought over given the power she possesses, may well be a moot point. Is a moot point if she really connected with him. Brodie won’t let it happen.”
Duran said, “I don’t give up easily, Murphy.”
“Neither does Brodie. In fact, he doesn’t give up at all. That isn’t in him, to give up. Not when he really cares. He’s stronger than you, Duran.”
“You think so?” Duran seemed mildly curious.
“I know so. He was before he met Solomon. And now, if he can tap her abilities in any way . . . if he’s connected to her . . . Well, we both know that’s an edge you just don’t have.”
“Perhaps,” Duran said. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
—
Tasha felt deeply disturbed, and on a skin-crawling level she had never felt before. “They . . . sold you? They planned to just hand you over to . . . to breed more psychics?”
“They didn’t understand.” Elizabeth Lyon’s voice was quiet. “And they didn’t understand the worst of what they had done. They had also pledged themselves to aiding the ruthless, secretive organization Eliot belonged to, even though they knew their help would result in the death or destruction of other psychics.”
“That’s . . . horrible.”
“Yes. I couldn’t hate them for choosing to save my life whatever the cost, but I could no longer love them for it. I chose to begin a new life, alone, that very night. I had a little money left to me by my grandmother, enough to get by, if I was careful. And I had learned a few things by watching my father get what he wanted; I knew how to find resources. It was a simple matter to get forged identification in a new name.
“I became Elizabeth Storm. It seemed apt.”
“And you disappeared?”
“As far as my family and Eliot knew, yes. I gained admission to a small college in the midwest, and there my new life settled into a kind of peace. I had a part-time job and made new friends. I was never quite able to stop looking over my shoulder, and I had to guard myself every minute in order not to reveal my abilities, but I knew that I was as safe as I could possibly be. At least . . . I thought so.”
“But you weren’t.” It wasn’t a guess.
“No. I began to feel . . . watched. But before I could really focus on that and try to determine if it was really true, at the beginning of my senior year in college, I met John Brodie.”
Tasha blinked. “Oh. Brodie is the him you mentioned. One of the reasons why I need to know all this.”
“Yes.”
“It feels . . . He should tell me himself. Shouldn’t he?”
“He won’t. Not, at least, for a long time. And you need to know this now. But you mustn’t tell him you know, at least not yet.”
“When?”
“You’ll know when the time is right.”
Tasha was still reluctant, but nodded slowly.
Elizabeth went on with her story.
“John was . . . amazing. He was a law student. Brilliant, handsome, and stronger than any man I had ever known. He won my heart so quickly it was almost terrifying. And it was the same way with him, I knew that. We had a connection, a bond, from the very first time we touched, and it only grew stronger as the days passed.”
“A psychic bond?” For some reason, Tasha really wanted to know that.
“No. We never connected in that way. But I had to be honest with him, at least as honest as I could be given the facts, so I told him two of the secrets of my life. That I was a psychic, and that I had broken with my family and changed my name. He loved me and asked no questions beyond what I was willing to talk about. I loved him, but . . . I had lived with the secrets for so long that it was difficult to confide in, even trust, just because I loved.”
“That must have been tough,” Tasha said.
“Yes. But we both thought we had plenty of time. Plenty of time for confidences, for secrets. John wanted me to tell him only what I was ready to tell him.”
“You didn’t tell him about Eliot?”
“No. Not about Eliot, and not about his organization. Not about what they had planned for me. It all sounded so . . . unbelievable. And even though I knew John loved me, I didn’t think he would believe me. That’s what I told myself, at least, though I know now that at least part of my reluctance was a bone-deep certainty that the knowledge would put him in danger.”
“It probably would have.” Tasha tried to console, even knowing she couldn’t. Knowing it was too late for that.
“Maybe. Anyway, I was able to put it out of my mind. There was so much else to think about. We married just after I graduated college. I got a job teaching while John finished law school. It was a good life. A happy life.” She drew a breath. “I can pinpoint the day things began to change. The day I made another choice I was to bitterly regret.”
Tasha didn’t ask, just waited silently.
“It seemed a simple thing at first. Another psychic recognized me as a kindred spirit, something psychics can often do. She asked me for help. Pleaded, really. She was young, frightened. She hardly understood her abilities, or knew what to do with them, and was having trouble hiding them. I had to help her.”
“Of course you did.”
“That was how it began. They came to me quietly, one or two at a time, asking for my help. A surprising number of them, as the months went by. That seemed odd, but I didn’t question it at the time. They needed help, and I had learned a lot in my life about my abilities.
“There was no place else for them to go, no one else they could turn to who understood what they were going through. As a cover, I formed a ‘study group,’ and we met two or three times a week after regular classes. John patiently accepted my absences and secretiveness; I don’t think he understood, not completely, but he loved me and respected my need to be independent.”
“That’s what he thought was going on?”
“From things he said now and then, I think so.”
“And he was busy too.”
“Oh, very. We didn’t have a lot of time together, but we made it count. Those ar
e some of my best memories.”
“But then something else happened?” Tasha guessed.
“Yes. I had made many good and lasting friends through my ‘study’ group. One in particular, a girl in her first year of college, became an especially good friend. And she was an unusually powerful psychic, with great potential. It was out of concern for her that I told her what had happened to me, the fate that had been planned for me, something I had never told anyone else, not even John.”
“How did she react?”
“She was shocked. Frightened. And, I felt sure, just a bit disbelieving. Because it all sounded so incredible. I couldn’t blame her for that. Someone was . . . breeding psychics? What kind of sense did that make? What kind of reasoning could be behind it? But I had told her, and there was no taking that information back. So I swore her to secrecy, and life went on.
“I suppose it was inevitable that, as our secretive circle grew wider and wider, it would come to include someone connected to the vast organization to which Eliot belonged. But when the betrayal came, it was so sudden and unexpected that it caught me completely off guard.”
Tasha was almost afraid to ask. “What happened?”
“Two people dropped suddenly out of our group and vanished. One of them was someone I’d been feeling uneasy about for reasons I couldn’t even explain to myself. The other was the girl in whom I’d confided my story. A few days passed, and I became more and more concerned. And then . . .
“I was supposed to meet John for lunch that day. He was late, which wasn’t unusual, so I waited. It was at a sidewalk café in Boston, one of our favorite spots. I was enjoying the fall day, the cool breeze. Fretting about my missing friends, but kids drop out of college all the time, so I couldn’t assume they hadn’t done just that. And then . . .
“And then Eliot suddenly sat down across the table.”
—
Bishop leaned back in his chair, staring grimly at the laptop open on the desk before him. “Goddammit,” he said quietly.
Miranda had seen her husband’s computer skills many times, but both the speed and complexity of his work over the last couple of hours had impressed her—and momentarily pushed aside the question of what had disturbed him. “Tell me you didn’t just hack into the DOD,” she said.