| |
The enemy had been here. Rollins’s vile presence stained the stale air. The secret passageways and rooms full of shrouded furniture were rank with his scent and James knew the intel had been correct. The enemy had been here, and not long ago, but why?
The sprawling property was built in the thirties as an American base for a wealthy Argentinian horseman. And the now-deserted mansion, barns, and paddocks were rumored to be haunted by the women who had come here and were never seen again. Was that the Rollins connection?
James’s father-in-law was also an Argentinian of the same generation and of the upper echelon of polo players worldwide. Had he been acquainted with the man who owned this place? Had the two moved in the same circles? Would Francesco know if there were children?
One way to find out. James took a moment to clear his mind before reaching out to his wife telepathically and using the code name she’d chosen when she was a kid, dreaming about flying.
Sky?
Oddly, when he spoke of her or thought of her as Julia, he saw the most majestic of women, but calling her Sky made her his. She was his world. Gave him a sense of purpose on the bad days and long nights when PTSD was the invisible enemy. She was the reason he held on. His everything.
Getting a service dog had helped with certain situations, especially when he had to be among a lot of people, but Swagger couldn’t reach an imaginary hand into his chest and steady his heart the way his wife could—and with nothing more than a look. In those moments when he began to float free, victim to the whims of his runaway psyche, she was his connection to reality. To the earth. To living.
He heaved a giant breath from deep in his chest, and shook his arms, as if dislodging the shadows slipping over him.
Sky?
Hey, handsome. The sleepy, sexy edge to her voice made him wish he was there to wrap around her. Breathe in her scent. He smiled. It had only taken two simple words from her to right his equilibrium.
Hey, lady. I have a question for your father. Francesco didn’t have any of the psychic abilities he passed on to his children, so a familial message chain would have to be engaged. Julia to her niece, Grace to her grandmother, Katrina to her husband Francesco.
Did he know a Santiago Daloma?
Is that all?
Yes, keep it simple. From his polo days, most likely.
And connected to Rollins?
I’m not sure, but it would be an interesting twist.
We really don’t need any more of those.
He chuckled. True enough. I miss you.
And I you. Come home soon.
As soon as.
I love you. And she closed the connection. Never did she wait for him to respond, because she knew how hard it was for him to say those three powerful words. Early in their marriage she’d have pushed and teased, but not since the days when he’d been at his lowest, when he’d ended up on the streets, addicted to drugs and alcohol, and considering the same path his brother had taken when the demons wouldn’t let him go. Would James have pulled the trigger and ended his life?
Probably not, because he’d always been able to feel Julia’s presence in what was left of his mind.
Was it her love for him or his love for her that dragged him back from that bleak place? He’d never know, and what did it matter? He was back. And he still might not be able to say the words she wanted to hear, but he showed her his love. Demonstrated his devotion to the only woman in the world for him.
And once their new house was built, they’d be able to live together again.
Time to move on now. He’d already searched every building and come up with nothing connecting Rollins to the place, so with little more than a final glance around, he walked out the kitchen door. Halfway down the path to the driveway he spotted an empty concrete fish pond. Took a step closer and his skin chilled
Click. There was the connection. The simplest image of a fish, scraped into concrete made powdery by time and cold winters.
***
Julia rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. She hated the conflicting feelings that came after James’s voice had been in her mind. The warmth of his love replaced by the emptiness of good-bye. The sensation of being so close, then suddenly hundreds, even thousands of miles apart.
And some days without her husband were harder than others. She could let this be one of tough ones, or not. The dog’s cold, wet nose pushing against her hand kept her from wallowing.
“You know,” she said stroking the silky black head, “I don’t need tending the way he does.”
Swagger sighed as though he understood. Poor dog was supposed to be watching over James, but there was no room for a four-legged team member on the current op. Especially with James moving around the globe while hunting for Rollins.
Since they now knew he was the one behind the threats to the Meyers family, they wouldn’t stop until he was put away. Rollins had been upper shelf FBI for nearly thirty years, and it turned out he’d been leading a double life, running a crime mob called The Minnows, while heading up the agency’s Organized Crime department. How the hell did that kind of thing happen?
And why stew about it while she was alone at three in the morning?
She’d shake off the negativity by going to a happy place instead. She snuggled into the soft cushions on the sofa where she’d been sleeping, and allowed herself to slip into the memory of the first time she heard a telepathic voice. It was a good memory. Mostly. She closed her eyes and imagined the forest beside the house where she and her mom lived. Could smell the richness of the earth and trees, feel the tears dripping off her chin and onto her hands as she huddled in her fort, crying where no one could hear her.
What’s wrong?
When the words seeped in, her crying eased to jerky sobs. She sat up and mopped her face, then wiped her hands on the edge of the old burlap sack she was sitting on. Glancing around for the source of the voice, she saw nothing but the walls and roof she’d fashioned out of old limbs and branches. Not tall enough for standing, but it was her fort. Her very own place. And she loved it.
She sniffed, wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, and poked her head through the narrow opening to search for whoever was speaking to her. Saw nothing but trees and old pinecones.
What’s wrong?
This time the voice seemed odd. Was it a ghost? Her breath caught in her throat, and she jerked back, landing hard on her butt.
It was a male voice. One she didn’t recognize, yet it seemed sort of familiar. She thought of the man in the pictures on their mantle. The ones where her mom looked crazy happy, smiling at the soldier with the bright blue eyes. It was a special smile, different than the kind she made now.
“Daddy?” she whispered.
No, my name is James.
Are you a ghost?
No.
She peeked between spaces in the walls. Then why can’t I see you?
We’re talking telepathically. Nobody else can hear what we’re saying.
That didn’t make sense. But it did, sort of.
Why were you crying?
We have to move again.
Where to?
I dunno. But I’ll have to go to another new school and— Just the thought of giving up this special place had her chin going all funny and tears blurring her vision again.
She tried not to cry but couldn’t stop. Hugged her arms around her middle and rocked back and forth. She would never again be able to sit here and smell the dirt, the pinecones, and sweet blackberries. There’d be no more watching squirrels and chipmunks scampering from tree to tree. She wouldn’t hear them chattering, or the birds singing.
Please stop crying.
Tonight they’d be leaving after dark. Always after dark. She stilled again. Her mom said they had to do what they had to do so they could stay together, and it didn’t matter that tomorrow was her tenth birthday.
What’s your name?
Julia.
Hi, Julia. Where are you moving to? When do you go?
She sighed. Was it breaking a promise if she wasn’t saying it out loud? Probably not.
Tonight, but I don’t know where. They’d live in the car for a while, until her mom found work so they could get another place. Then Julia would have to go to school. She hated new schools with all those kids who already knew each other.
“Julia!” Her mom’s bellow cut through the air.
I have to go now.
We can still talk.
Oh. I guess so. Outside the fort, she touched the walls, ran her fingertips through the prickly pine needles and over the edges of the bark. “My very own special place,” she whispered, “I’ll always remember.”
She turned and ran as though someone chased her, ducking and weaving through the trees until she reached the edge of the forest where a grassy field lay between her and home. The smelly old house they’d lived in for over six months. The longest ever.
A vision suddenly interrupted Julia’s memories, and an ominous feeling washed over her. She sat up, about to toss the blanket aside, but found herself gripping it tightly instead.
The scene before her appeared to be the lobby of a fancy hotel decorated for Christmas with dozens of evergreen trees draped in ivory ribbons and bows, ropes of crimson beads, and hundreds of twinkling fairy-lights.
As though frozen in time, Julia watched a very familiar-looking young woman dash across the polished marble floor on mile-high heels, hair streaming out behind her. A tiny evening bag and phone in one hand, and the skirt of her sparkly blue dress hiked up with the other, she looked like an exotic bird celebrating its freedom.
“I’ve got an emergency,” she half-shouted the valet. “The navy blue vet’s truck, as fast as you can.” The young man blinked. “Hurry!" And he took off at a jog.
She gathered her waist-length hair over her shoulder, and wove it into a single braid while the doorman gawked at the place where her naked skin disappeared under the low edge of the backless dress.
Before her rig came to a stop under the wide canopy, she’d blasted through the doorway and was opening one of many compartments. Her breath created small clouds in the frigid air while she rapidly pulled on overalls—making her dress bunch up in the middle—then kicked off the killer heels and stepped into knee-high rubber boots.
Within moments she was in the truck, leaving the elaborate, snow-covered entranceway behind, and the vision’s details faded to an eerie blur.
Carefully blinking to bring reality back into focus, Julia stayed where she was, running the scene over and over in her head, trying to take in every detail, because visions like these didn’t happen to her very often, and when they did, they were always important.
A sense of foreboding lay heavily on her consciousness, but since Julia wasn’t new to this phenomenon, she understood there was nothing she could do about it, no matter how frustrating. Sometime in the future she’d learn why she’d witnessed that tiny snippet of someone’s life.
She turned her focus to the room around her while the scent of the coffee she’d brewed earlier brought her all the way back to her surroundings. Her sanctuary. Where she could feel powerful behind the enormous antique desk, relax in the comfortable sitting area, or fix a small meal in the kitchen area—not that she actually cooked.
Pushing aside the need for sleep she got up and ran a hand over the desk she’d rescued from a flea market. Poor thing had been such a mess, it had taken weeks of sanding and polishing to restore the surface while still respecting the character of deeper grooves and scars. She kept the scars and grooves, because they were like a rite of passage. Everyone had them. And on some, like her, they might be invisible, but she knew they were there, because they’d marked her soul.
The quiet ring of her private phone startled her, and a quick glance at the blank call display did nothing to ease her mind. Three am calls were never good, so even though she’d normally let an unidentified call go to the machine, she picked up.
“Hello.”
“Julia? Please help me.” Click.
Julia’s flesh went cold. There’d been more than fear in Grace’s voice, and it was highly unusual for her to use the phone.
Grace? Julia reached out telepathically, the usual way she spoke with her niece. Counting heartbeats and stroking the dog to keep herself calm while she waited for a reply, she’d reached forty-five when there was a familiar flutter.
Julia, what’s wrong?
Relief was like a flash of bright light in darkness, until reality slipped in. If Grace was fine, and hadn’t made that phone call, who had? The woman in the blue dress? One step at a time, she told herself, and explained to Grace about the call she’d just received.
Perhaps Rollins is messing with our minds by using a recording of me.
To what end? To make me reach out to you?
We’re both completely protected, Julia. He can’t possibly tap in to our internal voices.
To simply keep everyone unsettled, then?
Fits his asshole style. Your private line’s monitored, isn’t it?
Yes. I’ll send you the recording.
Good. Then we can decide if there’s a next move to make.
Of course there would be. Julia and Grace both knew that. Whether someone was trying to draw one of them out, or genuinely needed help, there would be more. Her gut was telling her it would be unpleasant, and related to the vision she just experienced.
Once Grace closed their connection, Julia took the next steps, and having run Meyers Security—the family business—for some years, it was easier to slip into the leadership role than out of it.
She speed-dialed her oldest son.
“Gage.” He sounded sleepy, as he should.
“A disturbing phone call we need to investigate.” No need to explain. He’d understand the level of urgency based on the time of day she was calling, but he’d also note she hadn’t said it was urgent.
“Twenty minutes work for you?”
“Perfectly, I’ll notify the rest of the team,” said Julia.
When she clicked off, she immediately started the next call. Normally, she’d engage their automated call-out, but she had twenty minutes to fill, so she’d personally contact the rest of them.
Her children and their spouses were a brilliant collection of minds, with varied points of view which made them a phenomenal team, and while Meyers Security—just one of the family’s businesses—focused on keeping people safe, they often stretched deep into other areas.
Notifications complete, Julia took her time dressing and walking to the boardroom—also referred to as the war room—located in a long wing dedicated to business. She loved the layout of her house. And so she should. Everything but the original five-room core had been her design. Not that in the beginning she had any idea how big it would become.
She started adding extra rooms right after Eve was born, because her two brothers needed a space that didn’t include a sleeping baby. By the time Julia had given birth to their eighth child, the house had begun to resemble a wagon wheel with multiple spokes, and now even the core had expanded to include a massive kitchen, living room, and dining room.
Would there be more additions? Not by her. She’d be moving into a new home instead. The one she and James would build on the hill beyond the stables, where he could feel completely comfortable. “Or at least safe,” she told his dog.
She stopped at a window to gaze towards where they’d be building, and smoothed a hand over her hair, pulling the long silver braid over her shoulder. She’d gone completely gray at the age of thirty.
James called it sexy, but she’d been horrified. She was too young to look old. Too fit and able-bodied. But she’d adjusted. Took pride in who she was. Stayed healthy and strong. And her granddaughters, Lola and Katie, loved to brush what they called her sparkly hair, each twisting it into their version of pretty. Two-year-old twins, already finding their own uniqueness. Gage and Cass would have their work cut out riding herd on those headstrong children.
Julia didn’t see as much of Quinn and Rachel’s son, Jamie, now the family had moved back to Haven. Even though it was an adjoining property, they were busy running their business, helping the lost and struggling humans and creatures in their care.
“Come on, Swagger,” she said. “The troops should be gathered by now.”
She strode down the final hallway and into the room with purpose, her short, lace-up riding boots making a satisfying sound on the hardwood floor. Not her usual meeting attire, but she had plans for later.
Tension and the smell of coffee were her expected first impressions, but there was one more element. A non-family member.
Broughton, a retired FBI agent, would be with them, at least until Rollins was captured.
“What’s happened?” Simple words made heavy by a hint of anger in her son’s voice. “Tell me Cass and the girls aren’t the center of another threat.” Gage’s face gave away nothing, although she could feel his concern.
“There has been no threat.” Julia went on to explain about the phone call, and played it for the group.
Agent Broughton was first to comment. “I’m surprised you pick up your calls.”
“I happened to be awake and ignoring a three am call is not in my nature.” Yes, there would be many things she’d probably have to explain to a new team member.
“We’ll need to do a wellness check on everyone who has my private number.” Julia tapped the keyboard in front of her and sixty-five names appeared, then shuffled into geographical groupings.
Agent Broughton flicked a look her way and nodded. “Do you have Meyers people for the ones in other states and countries? If not, I do.”
“We’re good,” said Gage. “Except for Ireland.”
“I have someone there. I’ll have him visit your friend,” he told Julia.
Once arrangements were made to physically check on all of her contacts, Broughton pinned Julia with a look that made her wonder if he’d been trespassing in her mind. “I think you should tell us what your gut feeling is about this situation.”
She replied quickly, because hesitation would make him suspicious, “Something is dreadfully wrong, and someone needs our help.” Probably the woman in her vision. But she couldn’t share that information, because she’d long ago learned that interference could cause unpredictable, and often dire, consequences. Life had to play out in real time.
“I agree,” said Angie, Julia’s youngest daughter. “It really feels off to me. Anyone else?” She glanced around at her brothers and sister.
Eve and Trent shook their heads, but Nathan and Tyler—twins, and the youngest of the group—were nodding.
“Anything specific?” Gage asked them.
“Feels like Rollins is involved,” said Nathan, triggering a prickling at the back of Julia’s neck.
“Time to issue warnings,” said Gage. “Level Two?”
Julia nodded.