Beyond Fearless (17 page)

If she were honest, she'd admit that she wanted the episode to just go away. She didn't want to be dragged against her will into some weird looking shrine. But that wasn't an option, because denial was foolhardy.

She and Zach had been sucked into another place. Twice now. And she was pretty sure the same man had done it both times.

The first time had been an accident. He'd been looking for her and had found her and Zach, because they were already connected to each other—from that long-ago experience as children. She and Zach were the ones who
belonged
together.

But the man wanted to split them apart. That was dangerous to her. And even more dangerous for Zach.

ANNA FORCED DOWN
a swell of panic.

The man wasn't here on this island. She thought he was probably on Grand Fernandino.

The distance was reassuring. Until she realized that if he had reached out to her from the larger island, then his mental powers were strong.

Wrapping her arms around her shoulders, she strained to see into the darkness beyond the window. She couldn't even see the flashlight beam. And as she stared into the shadows, she had to press her lips together to keep from calling Zach back into the house. He had things to do out there, and he would come back when he could.

Briskly she strode down the hall to the utility room and pulled out the tablecloths Zach had found. Then she got several cans from the pantry, trying to read the labels.

Of course, no matter what they contained, she had no idea how to open the cans—or how they were going to cook anything without pots and pans.

She was getting two bottles of water when a sound in the doorway made her whirl.

“Oh!”

“Sorry,” Zach answered as he stepped into the darkened kitchen and brushed off his hands on his shirttails.

“I'm a little jumpy.”

“We both are.” He picked up one of the cans and shined the light on it.

“Lentil soup.”

“That's a strange thing to have on a tropical island.”

“I guess you can bring anything you want here.”

He opened a drawer, fumbled inside, and pulled out a Swiss Army knife. “I saw this earlier. We can use it to open the can.”

Taking it from her hand, he used the opener blade to puncture the top, then saw partway around the flat surface. After doing the same with a can of beef and vegetable soup, he folded back the sharp edges to make a smooth surface.

“What about pots?”

“That's a luxury we don't have. But I think we can work around it.”

He inspected the opened cans to make sure he'd provided a safe edge that wouldn't cut their mouths. “Not very aesthetic, but it will do.”

“I get the feeling I'm dealing with an expert.”

“I've been stranded in the mountains at home. In a snowstorm. Me and Patrick, one of the guys who'd been on the ranch since before I was born. He'd been snowed in more than once, and he taught me some important survival skills.”

“Lucky you were with him.”

“Yeah.”

“How long were you there?”

“Almost a week.”

“Ouch.”

“My dad kept the line cabins well supplied.”

“How did you get out?”

“Some of the hands came in on snowshoes.”

She knew he was deliberately keeping the conversation on the surface. She followed his lead, because they both needed a little time to deal with their emotions. And she was also thinking about something that had happened in town—trying to figure out if it was connected to what was happening to them. She'd been too busy to focus on it. But now it tugged at her.

Zach stripped the labels off the cans, then offered her one. She was careful not to touch him as she strove to keep her thoughts to herself.

He led her back to the great room, where a fire was burning cheerfully.

“I was thinking we'd have to heat the cans, so I have some improvised cooking implements here. Green wood.” Picking up a bent branch, he fitted the can he was holding into the rounded crook, then squeezed the supple wood around the can. “We can warm it a little. But not too much, or the metal will be too hot to drink out of.”

“And we don't need it very hot—not in this climate.”

“Right.” He looked down into his soup. “I see I've got the lentil and you've got the beef and vegetable. We can trade them back and forth, unless you have a strong preference.”

“Trading is good.”

He sat down on the raised hearth and held his can over the fire, just above the flames, and she did the same.

After a few minutes, he pulled the can out and tested the edge with his finger, then took a sip.

“How is it?”

“Not bad. And warm enough.”

She did as he had, sipping at her soup right from the can, as she thought about what she wanted to say. Glancing up at him, she wondered if he was picking up her mood.

“Hard to believe we started out the morning in Grand Fernandino,” he remarked.

She nodded, then took a drink of water before asking one of the questions that had been chasing around in her mind. “Do you have any idea how far away we are?”

“Sorry. I've never worked a job out of G.F. before, so I don't know a lot about this corner of the Caribbean.”

“You said you were out looking for a shipwreck. Did you see any islands on the way?”

“No.”

“How far did you get from shore?”

“About fifty miles, but we could be in an entirely different direction.”

“Can't you tell where we are—by using the stars or something?”

He laughed. “Approximately. But not within such a small area. And I went out diving during the day. I didn't get a look at the stars.”

“Right.”

He was silent for several moments, drinking from his water bottle, then said, “Want to trade soups?”

“Okay.”

This time, when they exchanged cans, he brushed his finger against hers, and she felt a small tingle of sensation. “What did you want to tell me?” he asked.

“It's obvious?”

“There's something spinning around in your mind. I can't tell what it is. But I know it's something you don't like.”

“Yeah.” She swallowed and kept her gaze locked on him. “You and I…were compelled to touch each other.”

His voice turned sharp. “Compelled? You mean by some outside force?”

“No!” she answered quickly, resisting the urge to lay her hand on his so he'd know exactly what was in her mind. Already, she was changing her way of thinking. There would be no misunderstanding if they spoke mind to mind, but she wanted to do it the old-fashioned way because that gave her some feeling of contol.

“It's something we wanted,” she said, making an effort to speak more calmly. “Because we recognized each other. From before. Or maybe not. Maybe it would have happened if we'd never heard of each other. Because there's a link between us.”

“Why?”

“That's the part I can't figure out. But what if someone knows that if people like us link up, we develop special powers? And he doesn't want it to happen. So he's sending agents looking for us and trying to make sure we…don't get together.”

“That's a pretty gigantic leap.”

“I know. But it fits. If you throw Wild Bill into the mix. I mean what did I do to him? I don't think he was stalking me because it was anything personal. Otherwise, he would have killed you right away and hustled me off.”

“Or you could have pissed off someone with your act.”

“I never do that. If it's something bad, I don't say it.”

“But someone could be afraid you
know
something.”

“Then why did he wait so long?”

He shrugged. “Okay. Let's work with your theory.”

“I know it sounds far-fetched. But I must have…tapped into it on a subconscious level. That's why I thought it was so important that Bill not know we'd made love.”

Zach sat with his hands clasped around the can of soup. He looked like he wanted to put the can down and move to her side, but he stayed where he was.

“We got away,” she whispered.

“But not by ourselves. Somebody helped us.”

She nodded.

“Who?”

“Well, the Vadiana guy. But not just him. A man and a woman. And that bolsters my theory. I think they're like us. And they're using…extrasensory abilities to look for the others.”

“You assume there are others?”

“If you go back to the theory that Bill is supposed to kill people like us.”

He nodded. “What about the man and the woman?”

“They have more power than we do—because they strengthened the bond between them. Which means they met…some time earlier.”

“Or they started out with more power,” he said. “We don't know which.”

She conceded the point with a small nod before adding, “
They
want to help. The Vadiana guy wants to push you out of the scene and take over.”

Zach made an angry sound. “He's poking his nose in where it doesn't belong.”

She kept her hand cupped around the can of soup. “We have to get him out of our lives,” she said.

“How?”

“By fortifying the bond between us. If we can get stronger, we can…”

He leaned forward. “What?”

She made a frustrated gesture. “Defeat him. But I won't know exactly what that means until we're stronger. Unfortunately, he's got an advantage. He's been practicing his psi talents for years.”

“You've been doing your nightclub act for years!” He set down his soup and leaned back, grasping his knee with his hands. “You have more experience with psychic phenomena than I do.”

“Unless you count the imaginary friend part of the equation.”

“That probably came from you—not me.”

“Don't sell yourself short. Maybe you were the one who reached out.”

He shrugged. “Were you always able to touch objects that belonged to someone else and pick up their memories?”

“I think so. But not all psychic phenomena involve touch,” she answered quickly. “There's stuff like…I don't know.” She scrambled for the name of a talent and came up with, “Talking to the dead.”

“Do you believe in that?”

“It's as likely as anything else. Or what about people who can see the future?”

“You never see the future?”

“Only the past.” She paused. “There are also people who dream about something and it turns out to be real.” She swallowed. “Or moving objects with your mind.”

“That would be a neat trick.” He gave her a long look. “Then there's seeing a scene when you're not there. That's what the guy who watches us does. And he's made us see his environment.”

She shivered. “I guess so.”

“And I think he figured out the floor upstairs was rotten—and helped weaken it.”

Her head jerked up. “You think he can do that?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

She winced.

When he was silent, she went on quickly, before she lost her nerve. “I think I know who he is. The guy who tried to kill you—or break your legs when you fell.”

IN THE FLICKERING
firelight, she watched Zach's face take on a terrible urgency. “You
know
him?”

“That's not what I meant! I don't
know
him. But I think I've met him.”

His voice turned gritty. “Who? When?”

“A man from Palmiro. A man who touched me—out on the street.”

As she spoke, Anna struggled to bring the morning into focus. It seemed like a million years ago, yet she knew it was actually the same endless day.

After she had met Zach, everything else had blurred and faded into the background. But she had been ignoring something important that had happened in town.

“I was going to the club to meet Etienne. I usually give the kids coins if they ask, but this morning, a bunch of them surrounded me. They pressed in around me, begging, and I was scared. Then a man came up and shooed them away.” She thought back over the incident.

“And?”

“I think he's the man who keeps trying to interfere…with us.”

Zach stared at her. “Kind of a big coincidence.”

She shifted in her seat. “I don't think it's a coincidence. I think it was a setup.”

“Okay.”

Because he still sounded doubtful, she rushed ahead, reconstructing the morning, seeing it in a new light and giving Zach more details. “I was having breakfast in the hotel courtyard, and Etienne sent a message that he wanted to see me at the club. That was unusual, because he'd never done it before. And after the…fight in the alley, he'd told me I needed some vacation time. He told me to sleep late, too. But then he changed his mind. I got dressed and went out. Only, when I was about halfway to the club, the kids pushed in around me. Usually they're polite when they ask for money. This morning they scared me. They were pulling at my clothing and my purse, acting like they wouldn't take no for an answer—until this guy came out of nowhere and told them to go away. He gave them some money and they left me alone.”

She thought about the scene. About the man. “He said his name was Raoul San Donato. And he owns an art gallery in town. He talked to the kids in island patois. But he talked to me in very cultivated English. As soon as the kids left, I started thinking that he wanted something from me.”

“Like what?”

“He offered to take me on a tour of the island. Up into the hills where I could get a wonderful view of the ocean. I told him I had to meet Etienne.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “The San Donato guy knew my name.”

“Christ!”

“Well, he had a plausible explanation. He said he'd seen my picture on the poster.”

“Like me.”

“Yes. Only…he said he'd discussed hiring me with Etienne.”

“I see.”

“He acted like he owned the town, and I was worried about what he wanted.”

“You were worried about what
I
wanted, too.”

“But I made love with
you. Not him
.”

Zach pressed his palms against the stone hearth, and she went on. “I excused myself and went straight to the club to talk to Etienne. When I got to his office, I got the feeling that he hadn't really expected me to show up.”

That made Zach sit forward. “Oh, yeah?”

“Looking back, I think the whole scenario was something they cooked up together. Etienne asked me to the club so I could get into trouble on the street and San Donato could rescue me.”

“That sounds like a plot for a spy movie.”

“But I think it's true.” She stopped and huffed out a breath. “Maybe it even goes back further than that. What if Etienne hired me so…” What she was thinking was so monstrous that she could barely say it, but she forced the words out of her mouth. “What if San Donato read about me—about my act—and decided he wanted me, so he got Etienne to offer me a lot of money to perform at his club?”

“Wanted you for what?”

Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. But she managed to say, “He has psychic abilities. What if he thinks we can…join our powers and get even more from the combination?”

Zach made a sharp sound. “Jesus!”

“If you look at it objectively, it's not so different from what we're trying to do,” she said softly, because she had to keep the conversation honest.

Zach swore again, then gave her a direct look. “And from his point of view, if he wants you…then I'm right smack in the way.”

She reached for his hand, holding tight.
It sounds like our best course is to make sure we don't go back to Grand Fernandino.

“Sorry, I don't think we have that luxury. If a boat from the island comes by, we'll have to take a chance on returning. Otherwise, we could be here for…weeks.”

She winced. “Weeks?”

He brushed back his hair in frustration. “Hell, I don't know. I'm just mouthing off because I'm…upset.”

“Should I have kept my theories to myself?”

“No!” He lowered his voice. “And there's not much point in your trying. I'd find out about it soon enough.”

She nodded.

He reached out and stroked his hand lightly on her arm. “Sorry. That came out wrong.”

“But it's true. Keeping secrets from each other is going to be difficult.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Everybody has stuff they don't want to talk about.”

“Yeah.” He was silent for several moments, then he changed the subject. “Well, one thing we
do
know. If we're going back, we need to be able to fight San Donato—then get off the island and see if we can make contact with those other people, the ones who were trying to help us when the plane went down. If your theory is correct, they probably know about the guy who hired Wild Bill.”

“There's a lot to deal with. But maybe we're lucky. I mean, because we're isolated here, we can take it one step at a time.” He squeezed her hand. “Let's start with us.”

He pulled her into his arms. She sighed deeply, snuggling close, comforted by the physical contact.

We need to make ourselves strong,
he said directly into her mind.
Make the connection between us as solid as forged steel.

How?

The way we did before. Lucky for us, it's the fun way
. To make clear what he was talking about, he turned his head, stroking his lips against the tender place where her neck met her jaw.

The intimate gesture instantly raised her temperature, and she lifted her head, giving him better access. He kissed his way along her jawline, found her ear and traced the tender curves, then stiffened his tongue so that he could stroke the sensitive, hidden canal.

She had longed to make love to him earlier. Now she gave herself over to the arousal curling in her middle, and she knew he felt her reaction. It bounced back to him, generating more heat and reflecting the fire back to her.

He gathered her close, and she knew what was in his mind. Slipping his arm under her knees, he stood. At the same time, she anchored her arms around his neck and felt him carry her across the short space to the bed she'd made out of the couches. He laid her on the cushions and stood looking down at her as he took off his shirt.

But not his shorts.

“I want you naked.”

“Not yet. I'm trying to see if we can take our communication skills to a new level.”

“With half your clothes on?”

He laughed. “Don't probe too far. Just enjoy what we're doing.”

“Don't probe. I thought the point of this was to get closer to each other.”

“Wiseguy! Right now, just let me give you pleasure.”

He sat beside her, reaching down to slowly unbutton her shirt. When she reached for him, he shook his head.

Let me take charge of this
.

Okay
.

She had never felt closer to another human being, never felt more confident in a man's ability to please her.

I should hope so
.

When she tried to peer inside his head and see what he had in mind, he gave her a little invisible push, and she mentally jumped back.

No peeking
.

How did you do that?

I don't know. Maybe this will help you pick it up.

As he spoke inside her head, he pushed aside the front sides of her shirt, baring her breasts.

Then he reached down and tugged at her shorts, pulling them down her legs and over her feet before tossing the garment onto the floor. She lay on the wide couch, almost totally exposed to him except for the open shirt she wore. And somehow that one garment made her feel more naked than if she had been totally without clothing.

He projected his intentions to her—at least what he wanted her to know. And just his sensual thoughts were enough to heat her blood.

He sat beside her, stroking the inner curves of her breasts, then delicately drawing circles around them, his fingers barely skimming her skin.

Please. I need…

This?

The circles contracted, coming closer and closer to her nipples but not quite touching them.

Oh, Lord, Zach, don't torture me.

He smiled down at her. And when she was almost ready to surge off the couch, he finally dragged his fingers against the raised edges of her nipples, the relief of his touch making her cry out with the pleasure of it. She knew he felt it, too, the same need, the same intensity that grabbed hold of her.

You look so sexy, lying there with the firelight flickering over you. I have to taste you. Taste all of you.
He leaned over, replacing one hand with his tongue, stroking her nipple wetly before sucking the hardened bud into his mouth.

Pleasure swirled through her—through him, because her arousal was also his.

With his mouth still on her breast, he stroked one hand down the center of her body, stopping to circle her navel and dip into it before reaching lower, combing his fingers through the triangle of dark hair at the top of her legs, then stiffening two fingers. He reached the lower edge of those dark curls, playing along the edge, and she held back, ordering herself not to beg him to dip lower.

He knew exactly what she wanted, but he waited before sliding his fingers into the folds of her most intimate flesh, pressing against her clit before circling within the entrance to her vagina.

“Oh!” she cried out, moving her hips to increase the contact with his fingers.

Deeper?

God, yes.

Slowly, slowly, he slid his fingers into her, deepening the caress before pulling back.

When he did, her hips followed him, rising off the couch as her need built toward explosive proportions.

She could feel the smile in his mind as he opened her legs and climbed between them onto the couch. He bent her knees, placing her feet flat on the cushions, then brought his mouth to her sex, already slick and swollen from his attentions.

His tongue was firm as he flicked it at her clit, while at the same time slipping his fingers back inside her, caressing her hot channel as he used his mouth and tongue to play with her clit.

Her total focus was on the pleasure he was giving her. He brought her toward climax, then pulled back, and she knew he was judging her reactions, dragging her to the edge but not allowing her to slip over.

“Please,” she cried out, the word bursting from her throat as the need for orgasm pulsed through her blood. “You know what I want.”

In that moment, she sensed his intentions and tried to grab his hand. But instead of doing what she desperately craved, he moved quickly back, then climbed off the sofa, completely breaking the physical contact.

“Zach?”

When he took a couple of steps away, she made a moaning sound. She was too needy to reach for mind-to-mind communication. “Zach, what are you doing?”

“Seeing how far I can move away from you and still feel what you're feeling.”

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

“I'm trying to strengthen the connection between us.”

“I need…”

I know. I know.

His voice soothed her and at the same time inflamed her.

Can't we just do this the regular way?

He laughed softly.
It's tempting. But we're not doing this just for fun. See if you can feel what I'm feeling.