“I don’t like it.” That was putting it mildly. I was not one to normally question Colonel Charlene Delacourt’s orders, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t. The idea of buddying up to Megan Rouser to find out if she was a player or a pawn in this shitastic game of lies and deception we had going with Falcon did not sit well with me.
The lines of stress on the colonel’s angular face deepened, and her response was clipped. “You don’t have to like it.”
Uh-huh. “Why me?”
“You’ve already established a connection with her.”
The knowledge that the colonel had picked up on that fact made me itch. Granted, my habit of stopping by the hospital until Megan’s release a couple of weeks earlier couldn’t be missed, but I could try to ignore it. “I got her out of that hellhole. Not sure how much of a ‘connection’ that really is.” I ignored the bitter taste of a lie.
“You rescued her,” the colonel patiently continued, not about to let me wiggle out of this. “Not only that, but you were the one she chose to speak to when she finally talked. Tell me how that’s not a connection, Bishop.”
She was right—I felt a connection. The problem was, it might be one-sided. I couldn’t seem to get Megan out of my thoughts, and I couldn’t rationalize that reaction, which made me leery. As for Megan, after I carried her out of that warehouse, she’d shut down, turning mute and unresponsive for almost four days. On day five, following the doctor’s advice, I sat at her side and kept up a one-sided conversation. For some reason known only to her, that worked, and she finally started talking.
Still, I wasn’t about to give in to the colonel gracefully. “Give me another reason, something a bit more concrete, because I’m not as sold on this as you.”
One eyebrow rose, and dry amusement lightened the grim lines of her face. “Risia.”
Well, shit. My arguments crumbled into dust. There was no arguing with a woman who could see the future, and Risia Lacoste, the team’s seer, had an accuracy that was off the charts. But when another solution came to mind, I threw my best friend under the proverbial bus and said, “What about Wolf?”
A man has to try, right?
Delacourt gave a small grimace. “You know he won’t try unless Megan gives him permission.”
Frickin’ Boy Scout telepath. Okay, that description wasn’t exactly fair. Wolf could bend and break a mind as easily as read it, so setting boundaries was crucial to his mental well-being. And working on a mind shrouded by trauma for the sake of expediency definitely crossed one of Wolf’s lines.
Unable to sit still, I rose and began to pace. “You really think I can get her to give him permission?” I was shaking my head before she could answer. “There’s no way she’ll allow him near her after what she’s survived. You’re asking for a miracle.”
“Maybe, but we can’t afford to wait any longer.” The colonel was starting to sound impatient.
I get it. Damn, do I get it, but… “She’s been home from the hospital—what, two and half weeks?—after spending six months having her mind jacked around. I think you might want to cut her some slack.”
Sympathy flashed over the colonel’s features. “If I had that option, I would.”
Her answer settled into my brain, and in a flash of clarity, I understood. “You’re worried about your inside man.”
Grim resolution came back to her face with a vengeance, confirming what I’d said. I knew Delacourt had someone embedded deep inside Falcon, the evil mercenary group that was playing yin to our quasi-military-psychic-team yang. We might not be an acknowledged part of the US military, but we had enough ties to be problematic, which meant we had to play by the rules. Falcon didn’t. They didn’t play nice either.
We knew they were behind Megan’s kidnapping—not that we had actionable proof. Nope, what we had was some serious-as-shit suspicions with a heavy dose of skepticism, but proof was what we needed to shut Falcon down. To that end, Delacourt had an operative deep inside Falcon, so thoroughly undercover that months passed before he or she could confirm our lead on Megan’s whereabouts without raising suspicions. Blowing the cover of an embedded operative never ended well—hence the cautionary handling.
As I stopped in front of her desk, my mouth moved before the ideas swirling in my mind coalesced into something solid. “You need to pull them out, sir.” Certainty bloomed with no damn rhyme or reason and changed to dread—the mysterious operator was running out of time. That realization was a psychic punch that left my bones humming. “As soon as you can.”
Her gaze didn’t falter. “We’re working on it.”
Work faster. I locked the words behind my teeth because they wouldn’t help.
“Our operative is not the only reason,” she added in a low voice as she straightened the already neat papers on her desk. “Although it’s a damn good one.”
I had to ask. “Do I want to know?”
She met my gaze. “Answers are being requested from above, and people are getting impatient.”
In other words, someone was pressuring Delacourt about team operations and outcomes. That was not a good thing, considering that our team had been quietly trying to chase down whispers about a high-ranking traitor working with Falcon. Having eyes on us would make our search that much more difficult. So far, we’d managed to stop the illegal sale of a shipment of stolen weapons and block the auction of a hijacked list of undercover operatives, but our luck was bound to run out at some point. Although Delacourt maneuvered better than any bomb tech I knew, the situation was more volatile than TAPT—triacetate triperoxide, the notoriously unstable explosive.
Although the PSY-IV teams weren’t officially part of the military—deniability and all that—the colonel still had to answer to the higher-ups, especially since they were the ones who ensured our funding. I wasn’t a fan of politics, which was why I was standing on one side of the desk, and she was sitting on the other.
If you don’t do this, she won’t be on that side for long.
The realization rang with crystal clarity, but I tried not to react. I sensed a shadowy figure standing close to the colonel, shrouded in malice and manipulation—as if my suspicion that the traitor was someone close to Delacourt needed more weight. Proof was worth a hell of a lot more than some unexplainable psychic instinct.
Gritting my teeth, I turned away and moved to the large window overlooking the bland parking lot of the even blander building housing our off-the-books teams made up of ex-military and Special Forces personnel who all shared one common trait—psychic abilities. Which reminded me… “What about her brother? Isn’t he one of ours?”
Behind me, the colonel’s chair creaked, and the air shifted, telling me she had moved. “Devon and his team are currently OCONUS. The mission has no set return date at this time.”
So Dev is out of the country. I felt a flash of satisfaction and a strange possessiveness that left me uncomfortable. Why in the hell do I want to be the one responsible for Megan? I decided to deal with that question later. Rubbing my neck, I blew out a hard breath and surrendered to the inevitable. “How’s this supposed to work?”
“She hasn’t been cleared to drive yet. Her follow-up appointment is tomorrow at the base hospital.”
Which means… I turned back to the colonel. “I’m her ride.”
Delacourt nodded. “Her younger sister, Keelie, left town yesterday.”
It took me a moment to recall the information we’d gathered on Megan’s family when we were planning her rescue. “She’s the one who works with service dogs, right?”
“And splits her time working with disaster-recovery efforts.” Delacourt bent over her desk and scribbled something on a sticky note before offering it up. “Her address, which is where Megan is staying.”
I took the piece of paper, barely glancing at it. “She’s staying there alone?” Why that concerned me, I wasn’t sure, but it did.
Delacourt settled a hip against her desk and held my gaze. “Yes, at her insistence.”
The sticky note crumpled in my fist. “Tell me you have eyes on her.”
Faint amusement drifted over the colonel’s normally stoic face.
My fist uncurled. Yeah, there are eyes on her. “What time’s her appointment?”
“Oh nine hundred.”
At least it wasn’t the butt crack of dawn. “Fine, but don’t hold your breath.” I turned on my heel and headed to the door. Before I could get to it, a knock sounded. Looking back over my shoulder, I caught Delacourt’s nod—the slight movement of her silver-streaked cap of black hair. Then I yanked the door open and stepped to the side.
The colonel’s latest administrative assistant and Megan’s replacement, a fresh-faced intern, popped her head in, worry lining her face. “Apologies, Colonel, but there’s a Ms. Rouser here to see you, and she’s insistent.”
She barely got the last word out before I brushed past her to the front office. Standing in front of the desk, in loose jeans and a shirt that hung over what had once been generous curves before she’d suffered months of captivity, was the face that had haunted my dreams for the last few weeks. Or longer, if I were to be brutally honest. There was no escaping the low punch of hunger I felt or the sudden protective urge to lock her away from everyone and everything.
Megan’s arms were wrapped over her stomach. She was too damn thin. Hell, the bruises under eyes were almost as dark as her hair. But it was her disconcertingly blank expression that made me feel a surge of anger. Shoving that reaction aside, I managed to say, “Megan.”
Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, her mask slipped, revealing a breath-stealing fear inside the startling blue eyes. She blinked, and it disappeared, replaced by cool distance. The abrupt change sent ice through my veins.
“Bishop.” Her tone was as neutral as her expression.
Delacourt and the intern joined the welcoming party and caught Megan’s attention. Something too fast to catch drifted over Megan’s face as she swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “I’m glad you’re here. I need to speak to both of you.”
Delacourt stepped around me. “Megan, what’s wrong?”
Megan’s gaze darted between the intern, the colonel, and me before she looked away and took a step back.
Don’t let her run.
Before I could stop myself, I followed, taking a step forward. “Don’t.” If I let her leave, things would go very badly. No way in hell would I ignore my instincts. That never ended well.
Her head came up, her eyes widened, but she gave me a jerky nod before straightening her spine. She turned to the colonel. “I know I don’t have an appointment, sir, but I just need a minute.”
“Of course.” Delacourt turned and headed back into her office.
Megan’s wary gaze came back to me, and her eyes gave a flash of puzzled recognition. Maybe our strange connection wasn’t as one-sided as I thought, but now wasn’t the time to find out. I held her gaze, unable to look away. She moved stiffly forward, stepping around me with a studied casualness, ensuring we didn’t touch.
I pivoted and followed, staying close enough to catch the small shiver she tried to hide and the light scent of something sweet and spicy. Shaking off the intriguing smell, I followed them into the office, closed the door, and leaned back, blocking the only exit. Not that Megan would make a break for it, but hey, it was better to be prepared.
While Megan settled in my recently vacated seat, Delacourt said, “It was my understanding you weren’t cleared to drive.”
Those too-thin shoulders rose and fell in an awkward shrug. “I took a Lyft.”
The slightly amused curve of the colonel’s lips did little to soften her serious expression. “Well, that’s something, then.”
“Wait.” Lines creased Megan’s forehead. “How did you know about the driving restriction?”
The colonel held her gaze but didn’t answer.
Megan sighed, and I swore she sounded relieved instead of annoyed. “You’re watching me.”
Before more could be said, the door at my back vibrated under a pounding fist. In unison, Delacourt and Megan turned in my direction. I didn’t budge but raised a brow in question.
Megan’s gaze flicked to the door and back to me, her stoic mask irritatingly intact. “That’s probably whoever you all have watching me.”
My lips twitched. Ditched her eyes, did she? Catching Delacourt’s chin lift, I straightened, turned to block the doorway, and opened it a crack to communicate but not far enough to encourage entry. Imitating the sonorous tones of one of my favorite creepy butlers, I said, “Yes?”
Rabbit, the team’s tech genius, narrowed his hazel eyes and dropped his raised fist. “She in there?”
Keeping my smirk hidden, I repeated, “Yes.”
“Damn it, Bishop. Girl moves faster than a ghost.” The south dripped from his disgruntled voice.
Not willing to let him off the hook, I held my position and expression. “Really?”
A snort sounded from the tawny-haired woman behind him—Rabbit’s partner, Jinx. “More like he couldn’t tear his eyes from a cluster of surfer chicks.”
I worked hard not to smile at Jinx’s disgusted tone or the flush riding Rabbit’s cheeks as he turned to glare at her. “It wasn’t them I was checkin’ out, woman.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you see the size of the burritos they were carryin’?” Rabbit continued. “They were magnificent.”
“Enough,” I said. “I’ve got her from here. I’ll call when I get her back.”
“Great.” Jinx grabbed Rabbit’s arm and tugged him back. “Since you’re so hungry, let’s go feed you before you molest the next set of food-carrying females.”
“I’m more likely to molest a chicken wing about now, chere,” Rabbit muttered.
Shaking my head, I shut the door and turned back to the room, crossing my arms over my chest. The colonel was pinching the bridge of her nose though she had a small smile, but Megan was white knuckling the chair’s armrests, her spine rigid, as she stared out the window, biting her lower lip, lost in whatever was going on in her mind.
Delacourt’s smile disappeared as she looked at the young woman. “Megan,” she called softly.
Megan turned her head with an unusual stiffness that set my instincts on edge. “Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
“No.” Those blue eyes shifted between Delacourt and me. “I need your help.”
Delacourt straightened and left her desk. Once she was seated beside Megan, she leaned forward, her arms braced on her knees, and covered one of the younger woman’s hands. “You know I’ll help if I can.”
I caught the slight flaring of Megan’s nostrils and the lessening in the tension around her eyes at Delacourt’s touch. As a tell, it wasn’t much, but for someone like me who made a career of such things, it was all too clear. Megan was bone-deep scared.
She took a deep breath and proved my instincts right. “I think I’m losing my mind.”