I wasn’t sure how Bishop managed it, but we made it to the office with two minutes to spare. Although I was fairly certain I could count a few more white hairs on my head after surviving Bishop’s Mad Max dash through traffic, sitting off to the side in the conference room, watching him get stitched up, might be adding a few more. At this rate, a date with a bottle of hair color seemed imminent.
“Dammit, Doc.”
“Stop whining, Bishop,” said the man cleaning the last of the dirt and grit from the raw skin of Bishop’s shoulder. “Better to get this cleaned out now than take a shot in the ass later.” He jerked his chin toward the white bandage covering a bullet graze just above Bishop’s waist. “Though I still recommend the damn shot.”
“Your bedside manner sucks.” Bare chested, Bishop sat stoically under Doc’s ministrations, barely flinching as the doctor continued to patch him up.
Doc, the team medic, wasn’t the typical white-coat-and-a-stethoscope type, with his close-cropped beard and long sun-streaked hair pulled back into a messy ponytail that barely tamed the curls. A faded concert T-shirt and even more faded jeans covered a body more likely to sling an ax and wear flannel.
“Embrace the suck, Bishop,” suggested Kayden Shaw, the intimidating dark-haired man leaning against the wall on the other side of the table. The rather impressive arms he crossed over his chest flashed a peek of intricate ink circling his bicep.
Once upon a time, I daydreamed of meeting the entire PSY-IV team. This was not how I envisioned it happening. Not even close. Instead of being the quietly efficient and valued administrative assistant, I was squirming in my seat from the speculative looks drifting my way. I did my best to stay invisible, but with six of the nine team members and a large conference table, the normally spacious conference room felt crowded.
At one end of the table, Jinx and Rabbit huddled around a pair of laptops. Determined to keep my attention on the people I knew, I caught Jinx checking her watch again. When she frowned, my low-level hum of anxiety went up a notch. We’d been at the table for fifteen minutes with no word from the colonel. Tardiness was not her habit.
“Where is she?” asked the unforgettable woman sitting in front of Kayden. She had dark hair, spooky green eyes, and a scar that trailed down her jaw before disappearing under her T-shirt. Cynthia Arden—who everyone called Cyn—scared the crap out of me, and I couldn’t even say why.
“Maybe she got hung up,” Jinx offered.
Cyn made a quiet hum, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Jinx’s observation. Then she shocked the hell out of me by saying, “What do you think, Megan? Is this normal for the colonel?”
Startled, I answered honestly. “Not unless something’s changed drastically in the last six months.”
Cyn shot a look at Kayden, who muttered, “Right,” then straightened from his lean and moved to Rabbit and Jinx. “See if you can find out where she’s at, Rabbit.”
Rabbit gave a short nod. “I’ll activate a trace on her phone, but it may take a bit.”
Doc pushed back from Bishop, stripping off the thin medical gloves and tossed them towards a nearby bin. “There, good as new.”
Bishop stood up, rolled his shoulder, and winced.
Doc’s hands stilled on his med kit. “What? Too tight?”
Bishop rubbed the white gauze pad and shook his head. “Nah, we’re good.” He pulled his T-shirt back on before scooting his chair closer to me. “Catch us up on what you found about the major general.”
“Yeah, exactly how did we end up pointing a finger at Hawes?” Doc finished neatly repacking his supplies.
“Process of elimination.” Jinx looked up from her laptop, her face grave.
“That’s not the best basis for starting a witch hunt.” A heavy layer of concern colored Doc’s voice.
“We’ve worked with less,” Cyn said, her tone and expression not revealing whether she thought that was a good or bad thing.
“And it’s ended up costing us,” Doc shot back, undaunted by the glare Cyn aimed his way. Brave man that he was, he stared her down.
Jinx interrupted what was sounding like the beginning of an old argument. “Time-out, you two. We have enough going on. Let’s not turn this into a soap opera.”
Cyn gave a huff but dropped her gaze.
Doc shook his head and sighed. “Fine. What do we need to know about the major general?”
“I heard he lost his wife and kid twenty years ago.” Kayden left Rabbit and dropped into a chair next to Cyn.
“Yeah, Lady Luck hasn’t done Hawes any favors,” Rabbit said then caught Kayden’s eye. “Trace is working.” He turned back to the group. “At first glance, our major general reads like a tragic hero.”
“With a stellar military record,” Jinx added.
“Until you rub some of that shine off,” Rabbit cut in. “Then those tarnished spots start popping up.”
Jinx shot him a look and went back to sharing. “According to filed incident reports, he’d just completed a highly classified assignment when he got word that his wife was killed in a bungled burglary while his toddler son was upstairs in bed.” She turned her laptop around and pushed it toward Doc.
The medic pulled it close. Cyn got up and came around to watch over his shoulder as he clicked through the information. “They made a hell of a mess.”
Cyn grimaced. “Holy hell. Based on the level of violence, the thief did not take the interruption well.”
Doc clicked. “Yeah, and based on the coroner’s report, she didn’t stand a chance.” He shifted his attention to Jinx. “The son slept through this?”
Even I, who didn’t know Doc from Adam, could hear the disbelief in his voice.
Jinx nodded. “The poor kid was in and out of therapy for years. Not that it helped, considering he OD’d three years ago.”
“What a waste. God, how many drugs did they have him on? Fuckers.” He frowned as his eyes moved over the scrolling information. “He was, what? Twenty-two or twenty-three?”
“Twenty-two,” Jinx said. “Hawes started a charity in both his wife and son’s names after that.”
Doc sat back, pushing the laptop toward Jinx. “Sad as his story is, there’s not much there that makes me think evil mastermind.”
“Me either, until we scratched the shine away,” Rabbit said. “You see, when Hawes’s wife died, she left a sizable amount of family money to her only son. At twenty-five, her baby boy stood to inherit a life-changing amount of money. Until then, daddy-o controlled the purse strings. Guess who inherited when the son met his tragic ending.”
“Hawes.” Cyn’s tone was hard.
Rabbit touched his nose. “Got it in one, chere.” Rabbit’s lazy humor disappeared, replaced by a tone of cold practicality. “With wife and son no longer in the picture, the major general came into a shit ton of money. Money he manages behind the mask of that charity he created. But see, here’s the thing. That money? It’s grown substantially—as in, a hell of a lot more than can be explained by charitable donations and investments. As a matter of fact, I went to backtrack a few of the more questionable amounts, and I’m still trying to unravel the knots.”
“And that’s not his only sin.” Jinx took back her laptop, typing as she talked. “He didn’t stay the mourning widower long, because within a month of putting his feet back on US soil, he had a lover tucked away in a condo a few miles from his home.”
“He’s gone through quite the arm-candy selection,” Rabbit added, proving that this back-and-forth he and Jinx had going was a familiar one. “And we’re not talking about corporate Carols either. Think more along the lines of femme fatales of DC’s elite.”
Jinx grimaced and set her laptop back on the table, where Bishop snagged it. “Most of whom are kept quite discreet,” she said, “but if you keep digging—”
“And we did,” Rabbit said.
Jinx didn’t bat an eye at Rabbit’s interruption. “There are a couple of incidents suspiciously light on details.”
“Incidents?” Kayden asked. “What kind?”
“The domestic-abuse kind,” Rabbit said, no trace of humor in sight. “In fact, during two such incidents, Hawes made a large one-time withdrawal right when the whispers started to gain serious strength.”
I scooted closer to Bishop until I could see the screen and the information he was scrolling through. I gave a soundless whistle as I read the names of the two women they were discussing—Ilene Ferguson and Margot Atler. The team had reason to be worried. These women weren’t the type to keep their mouths shut if someone hurt them.
“Payoffs.” Bishop continued to scroll through the files.
“That’s what we’re thinking,” Jinx agreed. “Problem is, we tried to dig up the current whereabouts of the two women in question, and we keep hitting dead ends. It’s like they disappeared into thin air.”
“Maybe they moved,” Doc suggested.
“Or maybe they’re dead,” Cyn said.
Bishop scrolled to the next screen, and everything in me stilled. I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to stop. “Who is that?” It came out harsher than I’d intended and cut the surrounding conversation off.
“Danielle Ferguson, Ilene’s younger sister.”
My world spun in a sickening lurch as I stared at the smiling face. “Oh my God, she’s real.” That face had haunted me the most because she’d died with my hands wrapped around her throat.
I didn’t realize I’d gotten to my feet or that I’d backed away from the laptop until Bishop’s face filled my vision. He was standing in front of me, his hands tight on my arms, holding me up. “Megan, talk to me.”
“I… she… I was…” I blinked rapidly, fighting against the hot press of tears.
“Breathe, babe.” The order was soft but firm.
I held on to it and him, sucked in a breath, and kept my shit together. “She’s the one I told you and the colonel about, from my nightmare. The one I—” I gave an abrupt headshake. “He strangled.”
“You’re sure?”
I nodded a little frantically and braced my hands on his chest. “If they can’t find her, it’s because she’s dead, and he killed her.”
“Someone want to explain what’s going on?” Kayden had moved closer to us.
Bishop let me bury my face against his chest as he brought the team up to speed on my role in the whole mess. Huddled in his arms, I was glad he was the one explaining. I wasn’t sure I was up to it. He didn’t leave anything out—not my worry about being a mole or my newly discovered ability. He finished with the latest run-in with the shooter.
There was no judgment in his retelling, just a simple statement of facts. It gave me the strength to stop hiding and face the team by his side. I couldn’t help watching their faces, but they were skilled at giving nothing away.
“How did the shooter know you would be there?” Doc asked.
“Maybe he was told to hang around in case someone showed up?” Jinx’s explanation might have sounded convincing if she hadn’t ended it as a question.
Cyn snorted. “That’d be a hell of a long shot.” She tapped her fingers on the table. “Whose idea was it to go back to the warehouse?”
I cleared my throat. “Mine. I wanted to see if going back would trigger any other memories.”
“Did it work?”
“Yeah,” Bishop answered. “She remembered her kidnapper arguing with another individual about her still being alive.”
“Hmm,” Cyn said, looking thoughtful. “Anyone know if Hawes ever tested for psychic abilities?”
“Nothing’s in his file,” Rabbit said.
“That doesn’t mean much,” Jinx added.
“What does your gut say, Bishop?” Doc asked.
The arm around my waist tightened. “My gut isn’t proof.”
“No, but it hasn’t led us wrong yet,” Kayden said.
Bishop sighed. “I think Hawes is behind Megan’s kidnapping, and I think Cyn’s right to think he’s psychic. I’m betting he made sure to keep his ability hidden. Chances are good if we let Rabbit and Jinx dig deeper, we’ll eventually not only uncover the bodies, but we’ll find a tie to Falcon too.”
A string of soft curses broke out, and Bishop grimaced. “We can take all of this to the colonel, but proving it will be a problem.”
“Especially since it means he’s probably got more than just money to keep that shit quiet.” Cyn got up and paced along the side of the room.
“He’d need a powerful someone to watch his six,” Kayden agreed.
“More like a couple of someones,” Rabbit corrected.
“As much as I hate to remind you all,” Doc said, “we can’t do a thing with this unless we have actual proof.”
“Give us a couple more days, and we can get you a gift with a damn bow,” Rabbit said in a tone of unshakable certainty.
The door to the conference room swung open, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt as Wolf and Ricochet walked in followed by a lanky wild-haired man who did a quick scan of the room before his expression settled into grim lines. “Risia called.”
Next to me, Bishop stiffened while the room went wired.
Wild Man looked at Kayden. “Where’s Delacourt?”
“She’s late,” someone answered.
“That’s not good,” Wild Man muttered.
Bishop let me go and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “What’s going on, Tag?”
Wild Man, aka Tag, didn’t waste time. “I don’t know. Risia called as I was heading back here. She said she caught a flash of seeing, but nothing concrete. Just enough to let her know the colonel’s in trouble. She said if I got here and Delacourt wasn’t here, I was to tell you all that whatever you were talking about, you’re on the right track, but you’ll have to move fast or lose the colonel.”
That seemed to kick the team members out of their stunned state and back into high gear. Questions and orders flew around the room until a sharp whistle cut through the rising volume. Everyone turned to Cyn, who dropped her hands from her mouth. Strangely, she shot me a sympathetic look, and some instinct flared. I knew what she was going to say, and as much as it would hurt to hear it, I couldn’t fault her.
“I think Megan should go back to the condo.” When a couple of protests were made, she said, “As a precaution. Whatever connection she shares with Hawes, it’s enough to clue him in on what’s happening.”
Next to me, Bishop stiffened and took an aggressive step forward, but I grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop. “No, she’s right.” Little pieces that had worried me were beginning to slip into place, thanks to Cyn’s blunt assessment. When Bishop looked back at me, I managed a reassuring smile even though everything in me wanted to rage and rail. It wasn’t fair—I was part of this mess. But I wasn’t stupid. Despite my need to take Hawes down, to hurt him the way he hurt me, my presence with the people performing that task would be a critical liability. “It was my idea to go to the warehouse, remember? Then I got that headache, the one you said meant I was using my abilities too much. What if it had nothing to do with my abilities? What if Hawes was influencing my decisions?”
“You don’t know that,” Bishop said, sounding exasperated.
“No, I don’t, but if there’s the slightest chance that it’s a possibility?” I let the question hang between us. “If Hawes is who we suspect, it’s better if I’m not here while you plan.”
“You wouldn’t betray us,” Bishop snapped.
“Not intentionally.” I watched him struggle with the truth. “One session with Ricochet doesn’t mean I can keep Hawes out of my head. You guys need to be able to go in with full confidence that he has no idea you’re coming for him. You can’t waste time worrying that he’ll use this connection he forged and turn me into some mindless weapon.”
“You wouldn’t let him.”
As much as I appreciated his confidence, I wasn’t so sure. “Maybe, maybe not. He almost had me last time. I won’t risk your team or the colonel just to soothe my ego.” I searched his face, refusing to let my hurt show because it had no place here. “You know I’m right.” Knowledge seeped in, eroding his stubbornness. Ignoring our curious audience, I braced my hands on his chest then rose on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his chin. His hands settled on my waist, holding me close. Brushing my cheek alongside his jaw, I whispered, “I won’t risk you. Don’t ask me to.”
The hands at my waist tightened as he dropped his head and pressed his lips where my neck and shoulder met. When he lifted his head, I saw his grim acceptance and knew I had won. I cupped his jaw. “Thank you.”
I stepped back, and without his warmth, I felt a chill break over my skin. Everyone was watching us, and my cheeks heated, but I refused to be embarrassed at revealing how much Bishop meant to me. “Be safe.” I wanted to say a hundred other things, but that was the most important one.
His jaw flexed, but he gave me a nod. “Ricochet.”
As if he’d expected to hear his name, Ricochet was suddenly at my side. “I’ve got her.”
The two men exchanged a look, a silent conversation, before Bishop said, “Thank you.”
With nothing more to add, I turned and followed Ricochet out the door.