Down a hallway the two of them marched, single file, with Roland Wickham leading the way. Grace stared at the back of his head, since closed doors barred her view of the rooms on either side of the hall. Though Gabriel Amador invited her to his home, clearly he did not care to expose all his secrets to her. Thoughts of what might lie beyond the doors bounced around in her brain, tickling her curiosity.
Wickham halted at a door and knocked. A voice inside bid them to enter. Wickham swung the door wide and motioned for her to go inside. She hesitated.
A thirty-minute drive down increasingly desolate roads, followed by a tooth-jarring trip up a long, two-track driveway, delivered her to this house. She'd opted to come here. Yet a quiet voice in the back of her mind warned her against it even now. Maybe it was David's voice, borne of memories.
Wickham waved his hand again.
She faced the room and swallowed. Just do it, coward.
Grasping her purse strap, she inched across the threshold.
The musky smell of leather washed over her, mixed with a lightly floral aroma. The combination peaked her senses.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Across the room, on the opposite side of a massive wooden desk, a man lounged in a leather executive chair. Gabriel Amador waved toward one of two leather chairs, smaller than his, positioned on this side of the room. Grace took a step and froze. She chewed her lip. Amador likely hacked into her mind, for pete's sake. And what, he expected her to just take a seat and strike up a conversation?
She scuffled backward a step, snaking her hand behind her back to grasp the door knob. When she twisted, the knob turned. A coil of tension slackened inside her. Not locked in, at least. She dipped her fingers into her purse just far enough to touch the cold metal of her .357 revolver. The weapon granted her a modicum of security, but only that much.
Heaven almighty, when David found out about this, he'd chain her to the sofa to keep her at home. She knew she shouldn't have come here, but she couldn't sit at home watching chick flicks while David and Sean gambled their lives on a frantic search for a boogeyman. Her psychic wall blocked out everyone except David — as far as she knew — but still, she needed to confront her boogeyman.
Amador flicked on a lamp. Sun-bright light glanced off the white walls, piercing her eyes. The remnants of her migraine throbbed behind her temples. She squinted and threw a hand up to shield her gaze.
"I won't harm you," Amador said, his voice seasoned with a light accent.
She glanced at the chair. Pursed her lips. Tapped her toe. Good or bad, crazy or sane — whatever his motivations, Gabriel Amador was a stranger to her. She thought. At times like this, amnesia really sucked. She might've met Amador last year and not remember it.
"If you mean no harm," she said, "then why did you hack into my brain and scare the holy living shit out of me?"
"I apologize for that, truly. But hacking seems an exaggerated description. A telepathic intrusion was the most expedient way to test your reaction."
Intrusion. He made it sound almost genteel.
She tilted her head, squinting at him. "Test my reaction to what?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Me. Those things that we share in common. Our special connection."
Yeah, she'd heard this spiel before. From the only other person who ever hacked her brain. A man who believed he shared a "special connection" with her. You are mine, golden girl, he'd proclaimed. JT had battered his way into her mind, thrusting those words inside. Never again would she allow an assault like that.
She fidgeted in her seat. "We don't have a connection, special or otherwise. Having the same powers doesn't make us soul mates."
Amador leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desktop. His expression faded into something inscrutable, halfway between curiosity and annoyance. He steepled his fingers and propped his chin on them. "I am not Jackson Tennant. I have no delusions that you and I share a psychic bond, or that your blood will grant me your powers."
Jackson Tennant. The name blustered through her mind like a hurricane wind, propelling the memories of six months ago to the forefront. Acid rose in her throat. It tainted her tongue with a sour, almost metallic taste. Like blood. But the tang rose from her memories, not her stomach. Snapshots flashed in her mind, bits of memories she'd regained six months ago.
A car flipping end over end. A sickening crunch. Steam hissing. A voice wailing.
Amador lowered his hands. His eyes widened a touch. "I'm sorry. I reminded you of something terrible, didn't I? Something Tennant did to you." He stood halfway, pointing to the chair. "Please sit. You look pale."
Was that concern in his voice? She dropped her arms to her sides. And for reasons she couldn't comprehend, words tumbled out of her mouth. Maybe she needed to say them, to sweep the memories away again. "JT murdered my parents. He caused the car accident that killed them and then — " She snapped her jaw shut and sucked in a deep breath. "Can we talk about something else?"
Amador plopped onto his chair. "Of course. My apologies for dredging up bad memories. I know how painful that can be."
The tight coil inside her unwound a little more. Crap. She did not want to like him. She shouldn't like him. He'd stalked and terrified her. For the moment, though, she needed answers from him.
What had Wickham told her yesterday? Gabriel understands your predicament. He's been there before. Been where? She needed to know. Amador might have information that would help her. With Tesler's goons on her trail, she must take risks to survive. She needed to do this. She could do this. Alone.
Squaring her shoulders, she strode to the chair and settled her butt onto the cushioned seat. Perched on the edge, she plunked her purse onto her lap. Hands folded over the bag, she locked her gaze on Amador's dark-chocolate eyes.
He smiled, flashing neon-white teeth lined up in perfect rows. His cinnamon skin darkened a shade in the brilliance of his dental work. Oh yeah, no way those were natural teeth. "I've anticipated this meeting more than you know."
"How flattering." Crud. There she went again, mouthing off when she really wanted to cry or scream or bolt for the door. David called it her fortress of sarcasm. Not complimentary, but so true she winced even thinking about it. Today, she could use a fortress.
Amador folded his hands on his lap. "I do apologize for my intrusive methods. I hope you can forgive me."
"Forgive you?" She arched her eyebrows. "How about you try convincing me not to shoot you."
"Oh, you won't shoot me."
The utter certainty in his tone bristled her temper. She bit back a smart retort and instead asked, "How can you be so sure?"
"You avoid violence, and do harm only when absolutely necessary."
"You don't know me. Maybe I'm a ruthless killer."
He chuckled. The accompanying smile tightened the crow's feet around his eyes, and the lines around his mouth. A faint scar on his cheek danced. She couldn't blame him for laughing. Her statement sounded ludicrous even to her. Grace Powell, assassin for hire. Yeah, right.
"You are far too refined to be a murderer," Amador said. He rocked in his chair, aiming a faint smirk at her. "I am so pleased you've accepted my invitation. And may I say you are even more beautiful than I imagined. Quite stunning, actually."
She stared at him, her lips twisted into a half scowl. Flirting? Was he serious? If she threatened to stab him, maybe he'd propose marriage.
If David had spoken the same compliments, she would've blushed. Here, now, with this man, no such heat bloomed in her cheeks. Her stomach grumbled, but she doubted that had anything to do with Amador's flirtation. Something about him prickled her nerves. She trusted her intuition, and it warned her to take care in dealing with Amador. She pulled her purse snug against her body. The hard lump of her gun pressed into her flesh.
"I'm here," she said. "So can we cut the crap and get down to business?"
"I do enjoy your directness. It's refreshing, and immensely appealing."
She doubted her fiancé would agree. David, where are you? "I'm not trying to appeal to you, Mr. Amador. You're the one who invited me here. Time to prove I should stay."
"Of course."
"You claimed you could help me. What exactly did you mean?"
With one finger, he traced swirling lines on the smooth desktop. "I can help you understand your psychic abilities and use them to better effect. I know you suffer from debilitating migraines anytime you use your powers for more than a bit of remote reconnaissance. I can teach you how to set your powers free, so you will no longer suffer because of them."
She clenched her fists around her gun's outline. How the blazes did he know so much about her? Would he have risked insanity merely to read her mind and gain tidbits of knowledge about her?
Risk insanity? He must've tipped that boat a long time ago. No sane person would burrow into her mind, rummage around a bit, and then invite her over for a cozy chat.
Grace drummed her fingers on her purse, on the gun hidden beneath the vinyl. "Your offer sounds great. What's the catch?"
His brown eyes targeted her gaze, like a radar-guided missile zeroing in on its target. "You will need to drop whatever psychic shield you've erected."
"Mmm… no. What else have you got?"
A frown flickered across Amador's features, evaporating in the space of a heartbeat. "If you allow me to help you with your powers, then I will use all the money and influence at my disposal to help you find Karl Tesler."
Her heart skipped a beat. "Who?"
"Dr. Karl Tesler. The scientist David is searching for as we speak."
"I have no idea who that is."
He burrowed a hand through his black hair. "Really, Grace, I know you're lying. It's time we told each other the truth. I am not your enemy."
Right. Not her enemy. He was her new best friend. With fangs, venom, and a rattling tail.
Searing pain skewered her heart. She gasped. The pain spiked through her again, deeper, tearing into muscle and sinew. She clutched the chair's arms, panting, whimpering. Jesus, no. Tentacles of power cracked into her.
The agony dissolved into a yawning emptiness that ached in her heart.
She knew this ache. Not a physical pain. A psychic shock. And it radiated to her through a connection so intimate, so alive, that it smacked into her with physical force. She squeezed her eyes shut as a silent sob wrenched her body.
David was hurt. Screaming. Bleeding. Dying.
Behind the ache, an oily energy roiled. Its tentacles flailed, striving for purchase.
This was not from David. Someone, or something, was laying siege to her defenses. Her fears tricked her into believing the agony originated with David.
Boiling agony scorched her veins. Blades ripped her flesh. She toppled forward. Amador snared her in his muscular arms.
And she passed out.