Filing the report with the officer didn’t take nearly as long as it would have if the colonel hadn’t thrown her weight around, tapping a grizzled detective she knew to step in. Then there was brooding, impatient Bishop, whose attitude probably helped speed things along, too. Either way, a little more than an hour later, Bishop herded me out of Keelie’s apartment, leaving Rabbit and Jinx to stick around until the police were done.
Bishop didn’t say much during the ride, which worked for me as I took advantage of the unexpected break offered by his quiet and tried not to think or feel. It wasn’t as hard as it sounded to accomplish.
By the time we pulled up a hill and turned into a drive ending in a two-car garage that fronted a mid-century ranch, my eyes felt like they’d been scrubbed with a Brillo Pad. As the Jeep slowed to a stop, my brain decided to kick into gear, providing an increasing whirlwind of questions and worries that, despite my exhaustion, guaranteed there would be no sleep that night.
The engine went silent, and Bishop said, “How are you doing?”
Instead of blurting out the obligatory “Fine,” I poked at my response. The cautious optimism I’d woken with was long gone, extinguished by uncomfortable possibilities and surprise attacks. Fortunately, what replaced it wasn’t the familiar numbness but was, instead, gut-churning frustration and an annoying collection of unanswered questions. “You know what sucks the most about all of this? Say we manage to get through and unlock my memories. Maybe we get a face, and if we’re really lucky, we might get a name, but what then?”
He shifted in his seat until he was facing me, one arm resting on the steering wheel. “What do you mean? We follow up.”
Caught up in a bout of cynicism, I waved a hand between us. “Right, but then what?” I dropped my arm and made fists in my lap as I stared out the window, my voice tight. “You confront them with a kidnapping accusation, and they play dumb. It’ll come down to their word against mine.” I turned my head and met his gaze. “There’s no proof, and even if you found something, it still would come down to the crazy chick with PTSD versus whoever did this. Whoever is behind all of this is damn smart with seriously deep pockets, because it takes money to hide someone that deep for that long. Money and brains versus amnesiac me. There’s no way to make that work.”
“You’re not giving yourself, or us, much credit.” There was no judgment in his tone.
He might have been right, but… I forced my fists to relax and looked away. “It’s not that.”
“Sure sounds like it.”
I kept my attention on the fading light drifting across the front yard, knowing I wouldn't have the courage to share if I looked at Bishop. “I can’t shake the feeling we’re being…” I trailed off, unable to find the right word.
“Played?” Bishop supplied.
Sliding him a side look, I nodded.
His mouth opened then closed, and he looked thoughtful. He tapped the steering wheel twice with his knuckles. “Do you know what my ability is?”
Not sure where he was going with his question, I shook my head.
“I know things.” Picking up on my confusion, he continued, “The official label is claircognizance or ‘clear knowing.’”
That word triggered the memory of a long-ago conversation with my siblings about how perceived psychic abilities were categorized. Anything with “clair” attached to it fell into one of the four major intuitive groups. “So you’re like Risia? You can see the future?”
He shook his head. “Not quite. Think of Risia as a pre-cog on steroids with an accuracy rating that’s off the charts. She gets sucked into visions, but what she sees can change because the future is fluid, altered by individual choices.” He looked away with a grimace. “I don’t see things. I feel that something is going to happen, and then it does.” His gaze came back to mine. “It’s knowing things beyond a shadow of a doubt. There are no triggers, no bad feelings, just knowing something will happen or why it will happen.”
“Okay.” I drew out the word, feeling my way around his explanation. Rubbing my palm over my knee, I tried to figure out the difference between knowing and seeing the future.
He must have read my confusion because he added, “Rabbit once described my talent as a psychic data download.”
It was such a strange image. I asked, “So you’re a psychic computer?”
That earned me a half laugh. “Maybe. The theory is that it is a mix of precognition and telepathy, like a combination of instinct, mind reading, and thought transference. Let’s just say that considering the advantages I tend to have in most situations, I’m not the one you want to play games with.”
There was a familiar arrogance in his claim, one I’d heard with my brother, Dev. Since no one could lie to Dev, it not only left him cynical, but it also blinded him to the truth that no one could outrun the odds—that despite his gifts, someone would eventually manage to slip a lie past him. Maybe I was too tired to make his explanation work, but I wasn’t sure how it helped. “Are you saying that you know we’re being played with?”
He looked away, his jaw flexing, before he turned back to me. “There’s no doubt we are. I just don’t think they understand who they’re playing against.”
“And you do?” The question escaped before I could stop it. I raised a hand, half in apology and half to stop whatever answer he’d give me.
He ignored my hand, the line of his jaw tightening. “When information came in on where you might be held, the colonel wanted to hold off on going in until she was certain it wasn’t a false lead. I knew it wasn’t, and I knew we had to act immediately.”
Something in his tone made me brace myself. “Why?”
“Because if we didn’t get you out within forty-eight hours, you would be dead.” He paused then dropped another revelation. “It’s also how I know that your suspicions are right.”
I stilled, like a rabbit in the presence of a wolf, as a sense of dread settled like a stone on my chest. Arguing was futile against the utter conviction in his voice. Working against the heaviness in my chest, I wheezed, “What?”
In the shadowy interior of the Jeep, it was hard to read his expression, especially when he quickly locked it down as if prepping for an explosion. “You’re worried you’re being used against the team, a tool to destroy us.”
Even though it wasn’t a question, I managed a nod.
He gripped the steering wheel. I was so focused on that telling reaction that it took me a moment to register his gentle, “You are.” Then I jerked at the impact.
A soundless wail tore through my mind, threatening to spill out, but a combination of pride and denial refused to give it voice. My tenuous belief that I hadn’t broken under the relentless mental torture shattered, and for a breathless moment, my world stilled, waiting for the approaching storm. Shame and fear rose, only to be sucked under by a tidal wave of fury and resentment.
“No.” My denial came out as a whisper but then rose to a scream. “No, no, no, no!”
Hard hands cupped my face and dragged me forward, and then my words were cut off by a hard kiss. The shock of it snapped me out of my hysteria and forced me to focus on breathing—not an easy task with Bishop sharing my breath. When he finally lifted his head, he left me breathing hard, my emotional storm momentarily held at bay.
Staring into his dark eyes, I shared the only truth I had. “I need to leave.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Unable to hold his gaze while I struggled to get a handle on my feelings, I closed my eyes, but it didn’t help. “I won’t be the reason you get hurt.” Hurriedly, I tried to cover my slip by saying, “You or your team.”
The hands on my jaw tightened then relaxed. “You won’t be.”
My bitter laugh hurt my ears. “You just said differently.”
“No, I said they wanted to use you as a tool, not that they would succeed.” His utter conviction made me lift my eyes and pull back, but Bishop didn’t let me get far. He waited until my gaze met his before he said, “Six months, Megan. They had you for six months and couldn’t break you.”
I sneered. “You’re so wrong—they sure as hell did. Otherwise, this discussion would be moot.”
“God dammit, woman,” he growled, his dark gaze bright with frustration and anger. “You were the one who came to us. You’re the one who agreed to let Wolf do his thing. If you’d broken, we wouldn’t be having this fucking conversation because you’d be under lock and key.”
The need to hold on to what he was telling me was so strong it hurt, but I—we—couldn’t afford for him to be wrong. Not to mention that paranoia was a hell of a head trip. “You don’t know that. Maybe it’s part of their plan.” As he held me in place, I wrapped my hands around his wrists and squeezed. “You’re not infallible, Bishop, no matter how much you know things. Haven’t you ever been wrong?”
His expression closed down suddenly. With a sharp twist, he freed his wrists from my hold and pulled away. Stunned, I twisted in my seat and scrambled for the door, my mouth moving ahead of my brain. “Right, sorry, not my business.” Hurt joined the myriad of other feelings vying for my attention, but before I could make my escape, he spoke.
“Once. I was wrong once. Years ago.”
No matter how neutral he kept his voice, I could tell I had tripped a trigger. My frantic movements stilled, but I didn’t dare to look back at him. Instead, I rested my forehead against the cool glass. “Bishop, you don’t—”
“It was just after graduation. I took a road trip with my best bud, Austin. He never came home.”
I didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to add his pain—lying under his oh-so-rational tone—to mine, but I’d chosen to open my big mouth, so now I would deal with the damage I’d caused. Lifting my head, I turned back, but he wasn’t done.
“There were four of us—Austin and his girlfriend, Terri, me, and Austin’s twin, Becca.” He turned to the windshield with its uninspiring view of the garage doors, a muscle jumping in his jaw, his hand tight on the steering wheel. “We were heading to Seattle to spend a week messing around before Austin and I were to report for basic. We had a cabin rented at Lake Sammamish. From our home in Montana, it’s a straight shot along I-90. But just as we passed the Snoqualmie Casino, I told Austin to take an alternate route because I knew if we kept going, we’d end up in an accident. By the time I realized we were on the same route I’d tried to avoid, it was too late.” He stopped, the silence spilling into the tension-filled space.
I resisted the urge to touch him, hard though it was, because something told me it would do more harm than good.
“When the semi in front of us swerved and lost control, Austin managed to avoid it, but we ended up in a ditch. The car rolled three times despite the heavy foliage. The girls and me, we were banged up, had a couple of broken bones, nothing serious, but Austin…” He stared at his hand then flexed his fingers with a pained deliberateness. “A branch came through the driver’s-side window, sliced right along his neck. He bled out before EMS got there.” He finally turned to look at me. There was a world of guilt and grief in those dark eyes. It hurt to look at them—and it hurt even worse to hear the remorse in his voice. “So yeah, I’ve been wrong, but it only took once to ensure that I don’t ever make a similar mistake again.”
“Okay,” I said quietly. There was nothing I could say to assuage the guilt he carried, even if he let me. “Okay.” I looked away, not sure I could hide my doubts from him. However, I needed a way to guide him back from the nightmare I’d inadvertently awaken him. Since he was certain that I wasn’t the threat I feared I was, there was no use arguing any further. Instead, it was time to focus on what I could do to help.
Floundering, I tried to determine exactly what that was. I settled for changing the topic. The terrifying possibility Wolf had raised about my possible psychic ability drifted to front and center, and I chose to tackle it. Swallowing hard, I did my best to keep my voice from shaking. “You believe Wolf’s right, don’t you? About me being a dream-walker?”
It took a few moments before he rumbled, “Yes… with Rico’s help, you should be able to regain control of your dreams. Once you manage that, we can turn the tables on whoever this guy is.” He paused, and I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. “If you take control of the dreamworld, it’ll be our turn to get the answers we need to nail whoever’s behind this.”
And that doesn’t sound dramatically dire or daunting at all. Suppressing a shiver, I sought comfort in the fact Bishop was offering the possibility of gaining some control over this mess. If he was right, I might be able to stop the nightmares. I wasn’t as sure as he was about my ability to turn the tables, but arguing would accomplish nothing but prolong an argument I couldn’t win.
“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” Pulling in a deep breath, I raised my head, taking note that many of the streetlights had fallen dark while we sat there. A few nearby houses had turned on their porch lights, but Bishop’s house remained unlit. “We should probably head in before someone decides to call the cops because they think we’re casing your place.” My attempt at humor fell flat—Bishop just nodded and got out.
I used my few seconds of alone time in the car to gather my wobbly composure. Unfortunately, the best I could do was stand there as a formidable avalanche of change bore down on me. I just hoped I could keep my balance as chaos made the ground under my feet buckle. When this was done, maybe I would look into a career as a bull rider. It might be easier—and safer. That off-the-wall thought warned me that I was closer to hysteria than I wanted to admit.
I scrubbed my hands over my face. “Buck up, buttercup,” I muttered.
I reached for the door, but it opened before I could touch it, and Bishop was there. “Come on, before you fall asleep on your feet.”
Not bothering to tell him that sleep wasn’t on my radar, I took the hand he offered. We were partway down the curving walkway when I remembered my bag. I came to stop and tugged my hand out of his hold. “I forgot my bag.”
“I’ll get it.”
I waited, taking in the neighborhood. Lights flashed over Bishop as he leaned in to grab my bag from the back seat. A car drove by and turned into a drive a few houses down as the nearby streetlights flickered back to life.
The neighborhood was an eclectic mix of bungalows, ranch houses, and renovated mid-century homes. The jumble of architecture added a unique charm to the area. Plus, it was quiet, which wasn’t a surprise since it sat up in the hills. It was not exactly the place I expected Bishop to call home, but I liked it.
I was caught up in my musing, and when Bishop’s hand landed on my hip, I let out a startled yip.
He stared down at me with a frown. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. Just spaced for a moment.”
The lines in his face eased as he nudged me along the walkway toward the door. “Understandable. It’s been a hell of a day.” We trudged up the short steps, and his hand disappeared as he unlocked the door and held it open. “Make yourself at home.”
I stepped into an open entryway to be greeted by the warm oak tones of the floor and the professional two-tone beige wall common in rentals. I moved to the side so Bishop would have room to pass. He hit a switch, and the light in the overhead ceiling fan burst into life, illuminating an oversized leather sectional and a squat, cluttered coffee table facing a large wall-mounted flat-screen TV. Over by some bookcases housing music, books, and stereo equipment was a stack of boxes.
Seeing the crumpled newspaper huddled inside the top box, I asked, “Did you just move in?”
He set my bag on the end of the couch. “A couple of months ago. Haven’t really had time to unpack.” He skirted the couch and headed into the kitchen. “You want something to drink or anything?”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” I slowly followed him. “So it’s just you and Rabbit?”
He opened a cabinet and pulled down a glass. “Jinx tends to be around, but otherwise, yeah.” He went to the fridge, and the rattle of ice dropping into the glass took over. When it was replaced by the glug of water, he continued. “Tag was Rabbit’s roommate, but once he and Risia hooked up, they wanted their own place. Unfortunately that meant Rabbit needed a new place and a new roommate.” The glass filled, he turned and came to stand with me by the pub-style table. “The lease on my apartment was up, the buddy I was rooming with was planning on relocating, so I took Rabbit up on his offer.”
“It’s a cool neighborhood.”
“And quiet, which is more than I can say for my apartment down by the base.”
Yeah, I bet it is. With the tourists and the density of buildings over by Coronado, it was hard to find a quiet place in a reasonable price range. Heck, nowadays, it was hard to find anything affordable in San Diego, period, a fact I wasn’t looking forward to when it was my turn to go apartment hunting.
“Well, you got lucky.”
“Yeah, I did.” He set the glass down. “Want a tour?”
“Sure.”
It didn’t take us long to go through the rest of the house. Besides the open kitchen-living room, there were two bedrooms, both with en-suite baths, a half bath located just off the hall for guests, and a third room that I assumed was meant to be an office, based on the lack of a closet, but was currently cluttered with boxes, a weight set, and a couple of bikes. And that was just what I could see from the door.
After following Bishop back to the living room, I flopped onto the couch. Sinking into the surprisingly comfortable cushions, I stretched out and sighed, exhaustion sweeping in. My eyes drifted closed. I just needed a minute.
Warmth wrapped around my ankle, but I couldn’t find the energy to open my eyes.
“Hey, you falling asleep on me?”
“Mmm,” was the best I could manage.
His hand lifted from my ankle, and the cushions under me shifted—not much but enough to register. I drifted in a half-awake state, grateful when nothing lurked in the corners. The cushions under me shifted, and I lifted my eyelids enough to see Bishop crouched next to me.
When he caught me watching, he smiled. He leaned in, and thanks to my drowsy state, nothing stopped me from reaching out to pet the burnished shadow along his jaw. He caught my hand with his, holding it still as he turned and pressed a soft kiss to my palm. The tenderness of his action eased that aching fear I couldn’t shake.
I curled my hand closed and pulled it down, holding that small bit of comfort close. My position suddenly shifted as he lifted me from the couch and cradled me against his chest. I managed a mumbled, “What are you doing?” even as I curled into his chest.
“I need a shower.” His voice was a quiet rumble under my ear. “And I’m not comfortable leaving you sleeping out here. You can crash in my bed.”
Mmmm, that sounded like a great idea. To share my appreciation with his idea, I pressed a soft kiss against his throat. His arms tightened and he carried me out of the living room as my eyelids rose, fell, rose, and fell again.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t moving and he was tucking my hair behind an ear. “Sleep, Megan. You’re safe.”
Exhausted and reassured, I curled deeper into the comfortable bed, unable to fight the pull of sleep.