Agent Rita McNally knocked before she entered the small scrub room. I tilted my head in her general direction, aware of her, even though my attention was fixed on the glass partition between this room and the next. She was a distraction. She could wait.
Ethan Swift lay on an operating table, surrounded by the best surgical team in the city, his chest wide open and a machine pumping blood for his heart. It had taken ten minutes to get him out of the rubble that had buried him alive, and for a moment, I’d thought him dead. I’d screamed when I saw the blood mixing with cold water—it looked like more than a body could stand to lose. His surviving this long seemed like a miracle; surviving surgery would be a blessing from whoever looked over us.
“How are the others?” McNally asked.
“Alive,” I said, cringing as one of the doctors dropped a blood-soaked towel into a wastebasket. Couldn’t she have found someone else to ask for a damned status report? “Ga—Cipher is sore and headachy. Onyx has frostbite on his cheeks and arms and three broken fingers. She froze them and then snapped them.”
McNally shuddered. “I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now—”
“That sounds really condescending, so maybe let’s not?”
“Fair enough. I did want to say how proud I am of the way you handled the press earlier. I wish you’d waited for me like I asked, but you answered the right questions and deflected what you didn’t need to answer. You did well today, Trance.”
I was so not in the mood for a pep talk. Maybe I’d done the damned interview right, but when it came to a real battle, I’d let my team down. Gotten three Rangers injured and one of them dead. Yeah, I’d done really well today. “You think so?”
“Of course,” she said, missing (or ignoring) the sarcasm in my voice. “You saved the lives of four men, and in the process, gave the press a very positive image of the new Ranger Corps.”
“I also killed a fellow Ranger.”
“From what I hear, that couldn’t be helped.”
“Maybe.” It didn’t matter what could or couldn’t be helped, only what had happened. Janel was dead, and I’d killed her.
“The minute Specter possessed her, she was dead, no matter what you did.”
“I could have tried something else.”
McNally moved to stand by my side. I wouldn’t look at her. “Don’t second-guess your decisions, Trance. Not decisions made in the heat of battle. Doing so won’t change what you did, and it won’t change what happened to the others. It will only make you crazy, and cause you to second-guess your decisions the next time you’re in the field. That can’t happen. Leaders make choices, and they can’t wonder if they’re making the correct ones. They have to know it.”
“What if I don’t know it?” I whirled on her, confusion and grief tightening my chest. Through the pale purple haze in my vision, she seemed younger, less impressive—a good target for my anger. “I never asked to lead this team. I never led anyone or anything in my life, and now I have people’s lives in my hands. Frost is dead. Cipher and Onyx are hurt. Tempest still could die, and all of that is my fault.”
“You didn’t drop the ceiling on Tempest. How is it your fault?”
I balled my hands into fists, resisting the very real urge to shatter something. Maybe I hadn’t dropped the ceiling, but my actions were directly linked to the fire that had destroyed parts of the sixth floor, and the fight with Janel that left two hallways on the fifth floor with serious water damage. All power had been diverted to maintaining the hospital and emergency center here on the fourth floor. More damage, my fault.
“I’m responsible for his safety,” I said. “If I can’t protect him, I might as well quit now.”
“So quit.”
I took a step backward, stung. Quitting was something cowards did. My dad had never run from a fight or backed down from a foe. Rangers faced things head-on. I’d hidden from things my entire adult life, instead of confronting them. “I can’t do that, and you know it.”
“You also can’t guarantee their safety, and you know it.”
“I …” What? She was right. My anger deflated like a leaky balloon, leaving me stretched and tired. “How did things get so mixed up so fast?”
“I really don’t know, Trance.” McNally inhaled deeply, then blew out through her nose. “Just remember that you did what you had to do to stop Specter from killing anyone else. For a while he’ll be too weak to come after you. Heal up, plan it out, and then go get him.”
I snorted. “It’s not really that simple.”
“I know, but it’s something to believe in when hope seems far away. You need to believe that no matter what happens, good will come out on top.”
I studied her age-lined face and the determined glint in her eyes. “Were you like this for our elders, too?”
“You mean optimistic and full of charming wisdom?”
I wouldn’t exactly put it in those words. “Yeah.”
“No, but loss can change a person, Trance. Many of your elders were my friends, and I grieved their deaths. It took many years to forgive myself for … not doing more. All I could do was mourn them and remember them.”
She touched the glass that separated us from the operating room. “Blame won’t bring Tempest back, if it’s his time. It will only hurt you and the people who love you. You have to take it as it comes and stay the course.”
Stay the course.
The mystery woman’s words from my dream. Was I really seeing someone, or was she simply my subconscious mind telling me to shape up? Could I listen to that inner voice and do what needed to be done?
“It must have been hard for you,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“The end of the War. Losing your job.”
McNally smiled, weariness settling into her sharp features. “I was more concerned for you children. We all were. Separating you was not an easy choice, Trance, but we believed it was best. The country needed a fresh start. You kids needed a fresh start.”
“It was a good theory, but I think the execution was a little lacking.”
“I won’t dispute that.” She leaned against the partition, hands clasped loosely in front of her. “It was all done so secretly. Only a tiny handful of people in the entire ATF Bureau knew where each of you was sent. Those of us from the MHC who knew you were forbidden from making contact. We never thought we’d see you again.”
I was beginning to understand her just a bit. “It wasn’t your fault, or anyone else’s at the MHC. Something happened, you went back to your life, and then that something unhappened. We all play the hand we’re dealt, right?”
She worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Yes, we do.”
“Do you think we can beat Specter’s hand?”
“I think …” She stopped and pursed her lips. Several seconds passed. “I think Specter is as arrogant as he ever was. He keeps attacking sideways when he should come at you head-on. It’s a tactical error. That’s why you’ll beat him. He’s bluffing.”
I nodded, silently mulling her words. Bluffing wasn’t the word I would choose to describe Specter’s actions. Deliberating, maybe. Testing when he should just strike a death blow—unless he got off on batting us around like a tabby with a catnip toy.
“I’ll stay here,” McNally said after I didn’t respond. “You should go check on the others. Let them know what’s going on.”
The only person I wanted to see was Gage. Throw myself into his arms and sob until the hurt and fear went away. I wouldn’t, of course, but sitting next to his bed would help.
“Thank you,” I said. “Call me—”
“If anything changes, I will. Promise.”
I nodded, and slipped out.
Ten paces from Gage’s room, Alexander Grayson stepped into the corridor with his back to me. I froze. I didn’t want another conversation. I eyed the door to my immediate left. Broom closet. It would be easy enough to duck inside and let him pass.
I exhaled sharply through my nose. The sound came out too loudly, like an indignant snort. Had I really been reduced to hiding in closets from short, balding ATF agents? Never. Maybe he would just keep walking and turn down the next corridor.
He pivoted in my direction. Thin eyebrows arched. Fatigue bracketed his wide-set eyes and drew his mouth into a narrow line. “Trance, how are you?”
“Ask me again on a day when I haven’t just killed someone.” I regretted the snap the moment I uttered it.
“I apologize. It was a moronic question.”
“The gesture was nice, though.” Nice and appreciated, no matter the source. But this little man stood between me and Gage and a few minutes of rest.
“I was just coming by to check on Tempest,” he said.
“He’s still in surgery. We won’t know anything for a few hours.”
His head bobbed. “I am sorry about Frost. She never really had a chance to come into her power, and that’s a shame.”
It was an odd expression of sympathy, but I offered a gracious smile. “Thanks, Agent Grayson.”
“You’re welcome.”
Silence. I scuffed the toe of my boot against the linoleum floor. He cleared his throat. I looked at the door to Gage’s room. He got the point.
“Is Agent McNally near the operating room?” he asked.
“Yes, she’s there.”
“Thank you, Trance.”
He walked past me, and I let him go. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. For a government stooge. A stooge who was nowhere to be found during our fight a few hours ago. Neither he nor Agent McNally had been in the Medical Center when Specter attacked.
“Agent Grayson?”
He stopped at the opposite end of the corridor and looked over his shoulder. “Yes, Trance?”
“Where were you today?”
His head tilted to the left. He smiled. “ATF satellite office in Burbank, checking in with our bosses. But thanks for asking.” He turned the corner and was gone.
Pondering that odd little exchange, I slipped into Gage’s room. He was watching the door, expecting me, since he could hear me coming halfway across the complex. The moment was an interesting reversal: him in bed, wearing a simple cotton gown and me standing by the bed with a look of concern. He smiled when our gazes locked.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey, yourself.” I reached out and ran my fingertip down the side of his face, trying to ignore the fact that he was shaded like a lilac bush. Touching him again warmed a part of me that had remained cold since Janel’s death.
“How’s Ethan?”
“Still in surgery. They’re saying it’s fifty-fifty.”
Just speaking those words to someone else made them real. My hands trembled. Gage enveloped them in his and squeezed. I drew strength from his presence—the only constant thing in my life for the last five days. Five days that felt like a lifetime of hurt, fear and confusion.
“How are you?” I asked.
“On painkillers. It kind of makes my senses fuzzy, and I don’t like it.”
“I think you’d dislike the pain more.”
“Maybe.”
I glanced at his chest and could not imagine the bruise hidden beneath the gown. Black, blue, and green swirling together like watercolors over smashed muscles and tender bone. He was lucky the ice block hadn’t fractured his sternum or broken any ribs.
“How are you, Teresa?”
“Liar.”
I blinked. “I’m fine, Gage.”
He pursed his lips.
I studied the thin white blanket that covered his legs. I didn’t want to lie to him, not when he’d always been honest with me—when he bothered giving me straight answers, anyway. I didn’t have to pretend for him. “I’m seeing purple again.”
“What?” He tugged my arm. “Teresa?”
I looked at him, and the concern in his gaze nearly toppled me. “It started again after I killed Janel. It’s like before, where I’m looking through lavender sunglasses.”
“You need to tell Dr. Seward.”
“So he can run tests?”
“Yes. They need to know what’s doing this so they can treat it.”
“What if they can’t treat it, Gage?” I pulled away and stalked to the other side of the room, my insides quaking. Annoyance and fear were playing kickball with my stomach, and I had the very real urge to vomit. “Dr. Seward already told me it will kill me, so what’s the point of documenting my symptoms? Want to know why it started? It’s because I used my powers today, that’s why it’s happening, and I can’t very well not use them.”
“No one’s saying to not use them, Teresa. You saved lives today, both times. Seward admitted they don’t know why you’re getting these symptoms, so maybe tracking and documenting them is a way to figure it out. Maybe you don’t have to just let them kill you.”
I glared, my fists clenching and unclenching in time with my ragged breaths. “Let them? You think I want to die?”
“Do you?”
I expected anger to drive me out of the room and into a mad fit of screaming. Instead, I deflated. Every ounce of available energy fled, leaving my muscles limp and my mind muddled. I shuffled back to the bed and perched on the foot, keeping some distance between us.
“No, Gage, I don’t want to die. I thought being a Ranger again would make everything all right, make me feel necessary. I don’t want to go back to pouring shots for drunks and slinging fried chicken, but I don’t think I want this.” I held a deep breath, trying to quell the tumultuous emotions swirling through me, all clawing toward the surface. A long exhale followed, but I wasn’t much calmer for it. I was no longer the frightened child who hid with the wounded while others fought, but—“I don’t know this person I’ve become. She’s a woman who erects energy shields and tosses power balls at bad guys and leads her friends into battle. She kills, Gage, and she scares me.”
“Fear is allowed, you know.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Teresa, you have to stop this. Stop taking everything onto your shoulders and making it all your responsibility to carry. You’re one person.”
I snorted. “The person you all keep looking at to lead, Gage. You took responsibility for us all once, and I’ve been chosen to take responsibility now.”
“I seem to remember a terrified little girl giving me the courage to lead. I would have fallen apart that day without you.”
His confession startled me. I’d forgotten about that—Trancing the fear out of him. All I really remembered about Central Park was my own terror and inability to stand and face the Banes.
“Good leaders know when to accept that something isn’t their fault,” he said. “Sometimes the universe pisses in your shoes, and that’s just the way it is.”
He was right. Instead of admitting it, I said, “I should call Renee. Let her know what’s going on and ask her and William to come home. With the three of you down, I can’t fight Specter alone.”
“I’m not down any longer than overnight. I’ve got a bruise, nothing life-threatening. And I don’t see frostbite keeping Marco down for long.”
“He can’t shift with broken fingers.”
“He’s not useless just because he can’t use his power.”
“I’m not saying he is, Gage. I’d just feel better if the team was together, instead of split up across the continent. Specter has shown he can get at us anywhere, at any time. I don’t want us apart anymore.”
“Okay.”
I studied his face; he gave away nothing. “Was that ‘okay, I agree,’ or ‘okay, I’m done arguing’?”
“Okay, I agree. And I’m not challenging your decisions, I just want to understand them.” He shifted over in the bed. “Come here and sit for a minute. You look like you’re ready to collapse.”
My gaze flickered to the empty spot next to him, still lingering with his body heat. I stood and walked over, the soles of my shoes softly squeaking against the linoleum tile. He lifted his arm. I slid up against his side, crossed my legs at the ankle, and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t react, even though I had to reek.
“Do you ever get the feeling Specter is playing with us?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, Gage, about today. Once he had Frost under his control, he could have devastated us. Dr. Seward was helpless, but Specter didn’t kill him. Specter could have killed Marco immediately, frozen his lungs or something. He tortured him instead. Frost’s powers could have destroyed the entire building within minutes.”
“Maybe Specter isn’t as strong as we think.”
“Or he’s testing us.” More and more, that felt like the logical explanation. If Specter truly wanted us dead, Gage and I would not have been alive to discuss it. “He’s testing the limits of our powers.”
“To what end, though?”
“Therein lies the mystery.” And the challenge. Unless Specter didn’t destroy the building because he was inside it, on the grounds somewhere—no. It was an impossible scenario. Someone, Seward at the very least, should have recognized him if he was lurking around.
We didn’t talk for several minutes, content in each other’s company. For a little while, at any rate. Long silences made me nervous and left too much time for thinking.
I twined my fingers around his left hand and squeezed. “Tell me something about Portland.”
He tilted his head, seeming to ponder the question. “The Portland Art Museum is one of the five largest in the country.”
“Not the city, Gage, about you.” I stopped myself before I elbowed him in the stomach—an instinctual reaction that would have caused him no small amount of pain.
“You asked about Portland, not me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me something about when you lived in Portland. Why’d you leave St. Louis and move there?”
His silence worried me, even though his posture never changed. More than once, I started to twist around and get a look at his face. Some indication of what he was thinking. I stayed put, convinced he’d eventually ask me to leave. I’d crossed some invisible line into a part of his personal life he didn’t want to share. Not that he’d shared much.
“I grew up as lost as you did,” Gage said, allaying my fears of dismissal. “My instinct to help people was still there, but not the means to do so. I missed Jasper, and I didn’t have a lot of friends, so I was really protective of the ones I did. One of the guys I knew from St. Louis ended up in Portland. He got into some trouble, so he called me one day and begged for help.”
“You moved halfway across the country to help a friend?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I wanted to say yes. I had been friendly with some of my foster families, friendly with kids in school, friendly with coworkers. None of them were people I’d consider friends. The best friends I’d ever known were the five Metas who’d come screaming back into my life last week. I’d do anything for them.
“I like to think I would,” I said.
“You would.” He stroked my hair with a featherlight touch. “You’ve overtaken me, Teresa. How’d you do that?”
“Pheromones?”
He didn’t laugh at my intended humor—again. I needed to work on my jokes. Tension rippled through him, and I felt it easily beneath his thin hospital gown. “Do you think so?”
I sat up enough to meet his gaze and saw uncertainty there, shadowed by crushing sadness. He clearly didn’t want his reaction to me—and likewise mine to him—to be merely chemical, or a reaction of his hypersenses. It was in his eyes and in the firm set of his mouth, and in every action he’d taken toward me since we met at that truck stop. People were attracted to each other all the time for purely physical reasons. It certainly explained why my guard fell whenever I was around him.
“I don’t know,” I finally said. Truthful. “We’re both attractive people, and with your sense of smell it makes sense, right?”
He looked sad, almost frustrated. “Pheromones, huh?”
“It’s a theory.” Albeit one I didn’t want to be true.
“So let’s test your theory.”
I parted my lips to ask for clarification and his mouth covered mine. I recovered from the surprise of it and slanted my head, allowing him in. He hesitated a moment, then his tongue was stroking mine. He shifted and I fell back against the pillow, allowing his body to press against me. I knew it was wrong—wrong time, wrong place, really wrong circumstances—but it felt right. My hands tangled in his short hair. His kisses left my mouth and traveled across my jaw to my throat. He nipped at my pulse point; I moaned.
No, this was more than pheromones.
He stopped and hovered above me, dilated eyes boring into me. Wanting more. “We should stop,” he said, breathless.
“Definitely.” I was filthy, he was wounded, and every part of me felt guilty for making out with him. Even if it would be a great distraction from the pain of Specter’s latest guerilla attack.
“You should make that phone call,” he said.
“I should. And then I have to let Dr. Seward know about my vision.”
He hugged me tight, his arms so strong and warm around my waist and shoulders. I didn’t want to leave his side, not even to do those two important things. I wanted to stay there and be selfish and not be alone if I exploded again.
I couldn’t stay. I was their leader. Not by any rational election process. I’d fallen into it. I had to think of my team first, which meant getting off my ass.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said. “If that’s okay.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good, because I’m getting used to spending the night with you.”
He held me tighter and kissed the top of my head. I sat a moment longer, then drifted to sleep knowing I should be doing something else.