FROM HIS HIDEOUT in West Virginia, Jordan Walker stared at the computer screen.
Dead end. Again.
After he’d lost Anna Ridgeway’s trail, he’d put in a phone call to her agent and been told that her schedule was private.
He snorted. Private! What entertainer didn’t want people to know where she was going to be?
Unless…
He stood up and paced the office, trying to hold back his frustration. But he knew it was rolling off him in waves when his wife, Lindsay, came to the door, a worried look on her face.
What’s wrong?
Has Jim Swift found us?
They knew he’d changed his name, because he’d disappeared, but several deaths around the country had clued them in that he must still be hunting Dariens—their word for the other people like themselves, who were born as part of an experiment at the Remington Clinic in Darien, Connecticut.
Jordan reached for his wife and pulled her close, letting her know in every way available to him that they were safe.
It’s Anna Ridgeway, Lindsay whispered in his mind, answering her own question.
Yeah. I can’t find her. She’s disappeared off the face of the earth.
They didn’t have to speak to each other out loud to communicate. Since they’d discovered the special link they shared, they’d become very good at sending their thoughts back and forth and increasing their psychic ability.
But worry sent words tumbling from Lindsay’s mouth. “You think she’s dead?”
“Not dead. In trouble,” he answered.
He pulled Lindsay more tightly against his body, the contact comforting them both. But it was more than comfort he felt. The closeness brought sexual awareness that sparked back and forth between them. It was part of the equation, part of what made them what they were.
But they had learned to make the sexual need work for them. It had triggered their mental powers, and it still helped fuel the psychic bond the two of them generated.
Jordan turned his head so he could stroke his lips against Lindsay’s cheek, and she slid her fingers against his broad shoulders.
For the first thirty-three years of his life, Jordan had been alone. So had Lindsay. More alone than any human being should be. He’d thought he was defective in some way. Apart from the human race.
Then he’d met Lindsay, and he’d connected with her—mind to mind—in a way that was impossible for ordinary people.
The joy of finding each other had been dulled by the knowledge that they were being hunted by Kurt MacArthur, the head of a powerful Washington think tank called the Crandall Consortium.
They’d thought MacArthur and the rest of his top lieutenants were dead. Then they’d realized that one of them, Jim Swift, had escaped and was searching for them.
Jordan and Lindsay were well hidden. Nobody in rural West Virginia where they were living had a clue about their real identities.
They’d both sold their D.C. condos and hidden the money trail, using a new last name, Jordan and Lindsay West.
Jordan had also continued his writing career, switching from nonfiction to fiction, using the real-life stories he’d investigated as a jumping-off point for creating plots that would fit into today’s popular fiction market.
His agent, who was keeping his identity secret, had gotten Jordan a contract on the basis of a proposal. And they’d also contacted Lindsay’s parents, who had helped them out with some cash that couldn’t be traced.
But their real job was trying to save the other people like themselves. They’d thought they had a list of the other Dariens, but the data had been corrupted.
Now they were reduced to tracking their fellows down using their Web skills—and their own psychic talents.
They were sure Jim Swift had already killed several of them. But he was proceeding slowly. So they assumed he didn’t have the list, either.
It was a good bet that Anna Ridgeway was one of the children from the experiment. And also that she’d tried to disappear. Because she knew Jim Swift was on her trail? Or was something else dangerous going on in her life?
In their research, they’d also discovered something very interesting about Anna—she didn’t just have latent psychic talent; she was already using her mental powers. At least, she was using one ability, psychometry, since she supported herself with a nightclub act where she picked up memories from objects she touched.
She must be very strong, Lindsay whispered into Jordan’s mind.
Yeah. But that won’t save her if Jim Swift is after her.
Jordan closed his eyes and slipped his hand under the bulky sweater his wife was wearing, caressing her warm skin.
Do you think we can find out where she is?
I hope so.
Lindsay joined her hands behind Jordan’s back, pressing against him, and he felt the link between them deepen.
After a few moments of silence, Lindsay said, She’s on a boat.
Yeah.
And I think…
Jordan was the one who said it aloud. “Yeah. She’s found another Darien.”
Elation spiraled through them.
Who is he? Jordan asked.
I wish I could bring that into focus.
I wish we knew where they were.
Somewhere warm, I think.
So not around here, where we’re stuck in the middle of a cold, nasty winter. California? Florida?
Maybe the Caribbean, Lindsay answered.
Why do you think so?
The color of the water.
We’ll keep trying to get a closer fix on them.
BILL Cody stepped from the afternoon sun and into the shadow of a warehouse and pulled out the secure cell phone that Jim Stone had given him.
He wasn’t supposed to make a call unless it was an emergency, but he was sure this situation qualified.
He dialed the number, then waited.
“Yes?” a grating voice answered after the first ring.
It was Jim Stone. No matter what time of day or night, he always answered his own phone, and he always sounded like a man who’d had his vocal cords burned in a fire. Bill had never seen him. He wondered what he looked like. Probably scarred.
“I have Anna Ridgeway cornered.”
“Where?”
“On a boat.”
“You idiot! Boats can sail away.”
“Not this one. The crew quit.” Quickly he explained what had happened.
“Then why isn’t the woman dead?” The question was direct and to the point.
“Too many people around. And now she’s with the guy who owns the boat.”
“What’s his name”
“A man named Zachary Robinson. He’s a diver.”
“Just a moment.”
Stone was away from the phone for several minutes. What the hell was he doing?
When he came back, he asked, “What are they up to?”
“Talking.”
“Just talking? You’re sure?”
“Yes,” he answered, his voice hard and positive. A little while ago when he’d been on the dock, he’d thought they were screwing. Now he blinked, trying to bring that thought into focus. It stayed blurry, wrong.
“Has she met with him before?”
“No.” Bill knew that for certain, since he’d been following her around.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do. I’ll line up some freelancers to help you. You stay down by the docks. If Ridgeway and Robinson leave the boat, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have your reinforcements there as fast as I can.”
“Okay.”
“I want Ridgeway and the guy off the island. Away from other people. I’ll give you further instructions later. But keep them separated. I mean, I don’t want them touching each other. You got that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s important. No physical contact—once you scoop them up. Stay near them, and make sure nothing’s going on.”
“Yes, sir,” he repeated, adding the honorific for effect. He didn’t know why the touching part was so important, but he’d follow Stone’s directions.
“I’ll call when I have this set up.”
“How will they find me?”
“They know what you look like.”
“They do?”
“Yeah.” Stone clicked off, and Bill stood by the warehouse, staring off into the afternoon sunlight reflected on the water.
He’d been sure of himself this morning. Sure of himself a little while ago. Now his brain felt fuzzy, and he welcomed the idea of reinforcements. Which was odd, because he liked to work alone.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then walked back to the dock.
He should check on the couple. Make sure they weren’t doing anything nasty.
No, he knew they weren’t. He’d just wait across the street until the freelancers came.
JIM’S mind was racing. First he took care of the immediate business—getting a line on a couple of thugs who could work with Wild Bill.
Then he went back to his computer. On the face of it, he didn’t think Zachary Robinson was one of the freaks from the Remington experiment. The background was wrong. He was from Montana, not from the East. And that meant that his mother would have had to travel a considerable distance to go for treatments and follow-ups.
But what if she’d heard of Remington’s work and decided he was the best?
He scanned the information he had quickly found on Robinson. The man was a diver. Had he shown any evidence of psychic abilities?
Jim dug for more material, trying to figure out if Robinson was a real threat or just some guy Anna Ridgeway had met. The Remington children tended to stick to themselves. But sometimes they did get together with members of the opposite sex.
In this case, better safe than sorry. Robinson would have to be eliminated, just to make sure he wasn’t one of the gooks.
But Jim didn’t want two murders on the island drawing the media down there. So they’d have to be transported somewhere else.
By boat? No, a plane was better. Faster. Unless they were both Remington’s freaks and they were already bonding. In that case, the only safe course was to kill them immediately—then figure out the disposal of the bodies later.
ANNA lay curled against Zach under the duvet, enjoying the gentle slap of the waves against the side of the boat.
She felt different. Sharper. Better. Closer to reaching her potential.
“Yes,” Zach murmured.
The glow of their lovemaking embraced them. And she should be relaxed and happy. But questions circled in her head. In his, too. She could feel them buzzing around, but she didn’t try to read his thoughts. She was too worn out. Not just from making love. From the work of connecting with him.
“Why did that happen to us?” she murmured, unwilling to expend the energy to speak mind to mind.
“Somehow we found each other when we were kids. Then we both turned up on Grand Fernandino.”
“That doesn’t explain the part when we were little.”
“We were lonely.”
“So are a lot of other kids.”
“You’re a psychic. Somehow, you…recognized me.”
She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I don’t know. I thought I had one talent—picking up objects and knowing something about the owner.” She went on quickly. “And you…have some kind of special ability that helps you find shipwrecks.”
“That’s nothing like what you have.” He looked thoughtful. “The important point is that we have…more now. Together.”
She moved her face against his shoulder, smiling. “It feels…good. I never thought this would happen to me.” She didn’t say what “this” was, because she was still afraid to give it a name.
She’d read a lot of articles and books about male-female relationships. They’d counseled caution and getting to know a guy before you thought about a long-term relationship. But she had known Zach—then had lost him.
“You can’t always believe what you read,” he murmured.
She knew he’d picked up her thoughts. When a flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks, he stroked his hand there.
“You weren’t prepared for something like lightning striking?” he asked softly.
“No.”
“Neither was I.”
“But you went after me.”
“Yeah. The moment I saw you, I knew we were going to be important to each other.” His breath hitched. “And for the record, it scared me. I thought about sailing away from you.”
“Thank God you didn’t.”
They lay silent for several heartbeats, holding on to each other.
She felt a question building in his mind. A question he didn’t want to ask.
Tension coiled inside her as she waited.
“Were your parents disappointed with you?” he finally asked.
“I…” She huffed out a breath before starting again. “Dad was always so damn busy with his get-rich schemes that I didn’t know him that well. It seemed like work was more important to him than family.” She unconsciously lowered her voice. “But maybe he stayed away from home so much because he didn’t know what to do with a kid like me.”
“Is that what you really think?” he asked sharply.
She ran her finger along his arm. “I used to think so. You know how kids are. They assume trouble in the family is their fault.”
“Yeah.”
“Then I guess I realized that he wasn’t much for home life.”
“So maybe your mother was the one who wanted a kid, and he went along with her because that got her off his back.”
“Maybe.” She sighed. “If so, it didn’t work out the way she expected. I know Mom wished I were closer to her.”
She wanted to push for answers—to find out what had made them…different. But because their thoughts were so close, she felt him backing away from the subject. And she wasn’t going to start off the relationship by pushing him.
He combed his fingers through her hair. It felt good. And arousing. She wanted him again, and she knew he wanted her, too. But for now, she was just enjoying being close to him.
And he knew that, too.
JOSEPH Hondino stood at the window of his little yellow house, looking at the magnificent view of the harbor. It was one of the things he appreciated about the island.
He had been born and come of age in this port city. And he loved the warmth and generosity of the people who lived here.
Since he’d become a Vadiana priest forty years ago, he’d done his best to serve them. They might live in a place where tourists came to relax and enjoy the sun, but their lives were hard, and he tried to help them with their problems. To give them hope for the future.
He’d been delighted when Raoul San Donato had joined his congregation. And he’d instructed the young man in the way of the Blessed Ones. He’d thought Raoul might take over from him when he got too old to lead his flock.
But Raoul had other ideas. He wanted to push his mentor aside. And he was using the psychic powers he possessed to do it. Raoul was perverting the tenets of the religion that Joseph served. He was mixing up the results of his own psychic powers with the power of the saints.
That was bad enough. But it was worse that he pretended to be on the side of the people, when it was clear that he was working strictly for himself. He wanted to be the unofficial king of this island. Maybe even the official ruler—in the tradition of the strong men who stepped in and took over the governments of third-world countries. They made all sorts of promises to their followers. But it turned out most of the wealth and comfort was reserved for them. And that was the real tragedy of what was happening with San Donato.
He’d fooled too many people on the island—people who thought that he could lead them to a better life. Somehow the forces of Good and Evil in the universe had become unbalanced. Were the Blessed Ones really favoring Raoul San Donato?
Joseph had gone to a few of the ceremonies held by his old disciple on the other side of the island, staying well in the back. And he’d seen some weird sexual practices up on the altar that had made his jaw drop. What started at the altar spread to the congregation—so that the worship sessions ended up in a sexual orgy.
Joseph grimaced. The way San Donato was perverting their religion made him sick. Did his poisonous ceremonies find favor with the saints?
Perhaps they were intrigued. Perhaps they were waiting to see what would happen.
Although Joseph knew the balance in the universe would eventually right itself, eventually might not be soon enough, not when the negative was in the ascendance and the good had been suppressed.
One thing Joseph understood deep down at the level of his gut. The false priest would eventually destroy himself. But the people of the island were the more immediate problem. San Donato was gathering more and more of them to himself. And if he swept them into danger, Joseph would never forgive himself.
ANNA snuggled beside Zach, basking in the warmth and closeness. She’d felt like she was in danger. Now she was safe—with this man who had come back to her after years of being apart. Well, they hadn’t been together in any conventional sense. And they hadn’t been adults then. But she’d had a special connection with him all those years ago. And against all odds, they’d found each other again. Cosmic coincidence? Or something more?
She was turning that over in her mind when she felt a jolt of alarm.
“We have to get out of here,” she whispered, climbing out of bed and picking up the clothing that she’d been wearing.
Zach didn’t question her. He just stood up and began pulling on his T-shirt and jeans.
“Make the bed.”
“Huh?”
“It’s important to make the bed,” she whispered.
“Why?”
She dragged in a breath and let it out. “I don’t know.” She felt frustration and a terrible urgency rising inside her. “Stop wasting time. I’ve got to wash. So nobody knows we were making love.”
She dashed into the head adjacent to the cabin and grabbed a washcloth, wetting and soaping it, then washing quickly. After rinsing it out, she hung it in the shower, like Zach had left it. Then she dried off with the towel hanging on the rack.
When she returned to the cabin, Zach had made the bed, pulling the duvet back into place and plumping the pillows so that it didn’t look like they had just climbed out of the bed—out of each other’s arms.
She didn’t understand why that was important. She only knew her life might depend on it. And Zach’s life.
He cupped his hands over her shoulders, his fingers digging into her skin. Life and death?
Yes.
She dressed quickly. She had just thrust her feet into her sandals when she felt the boat sway as someone climbed aboard.