Blood Ties (31 page)

His eyes snapped open, and in the same heartbeat of time his hand moved in a blur and grabbed her wrist. She felt his fingers tighten for just an instant and then relax.

Interestingly, she was never frightened for a second.

“That,” he said calmly, “was not very smart. I might have taken your head off.”

She pushed that aside with a gesture of her free hand. “Never mind that. You have to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Your shield. Projecting it—I guess. Something like what you did at the church Compound back in January. You’ve actually got it between me and the real world rather than the spirit world, and you have to stop doing that.” Even as she said it, another thought occurred, and she added absently, “I wonder if that’s why I couldn’t reach the spirit world then. Not the same thing, but maybe your dampening field was doing a lot more than we thought it was.”

Without denying anything, DeMarco merely responded, “Who says that’s what I’m doing?”

“Andrea.”

“Spirit Andrea? The one who warned you about the bomb?”

Hollis nodded. “And she knew what she was talking about then, so I have to listen now. You have to pull it back, Reese; stop trying to stand between me and the spirit world. That’s what I
do
, and you can’t stop it.”

“According to Andrea.”

“Yeah, according to her. Also according to her, I have to help heal Diana before it’s too late. And I can’t do that effectively with your shield wrapped around me. That might even be the reason I went out like a light when I tried earlier to help her heal. Energy pushing against energy is—well, most of it would rebound, don’t you think?”

After a moment, he released her wrist and pushed himself up on an elbow, continuing to regard her calmly. “Rebound?”

“Rebound. I push and your energy pushes back.” She frowned suddenly. “Why, by the way? I mean, why’re you trying to protect me?”

“I wondered when you’d ask that.” He hooked one hand around the back of her neck and drew her close enough so that he could kiss her. It was hardly a gentle sort of first kiss, more a kind of claiming just this side of forceful, and by the time it was over Hollis had no doubt at all what it was he wanted.

“Any more questions?” His voice was a little rough.

Very conscious of his fingers moving against her neck and of the hardness of his shoulder beneath her own clutching fingers, Hollis thought,
Wow
, but had sense enough not to say it.

Except he’s a telepath and… Dammit
.

“Urn… this is very sudden,” she heard herself say inanely.

“Not really. We met months ago.”

“Yeah, but… we haven’t… I mean… You never said anything.”

“I’m saying something now.”

Casting about for something not inane to say in response, she finally managed, “I think your timing could use a little work.”

DeMarco smiled slightly. “Never the time and the place. Hollis, if something happens to either of us, I’m not going to be like Quentin, wishing I’d spoken up when I had the chance. So I’m speaking up now. You don’t have to say anything one way or the other, but I wanted you to know that I’m… more than interested. In you. In being with you.”

She hesitated, conscious of a clock ticking away in her mind with the uneasy urgency Andrea had created. Still, she had to say
something
. He probably already knew, but… “Reese, to say I’ve got a lot of baggage is a huge understatement.”

“That’s okay. Baggage doesn’t bother me. It makes us who we are.”

She tried again. “After what happened to me, I don’t even know if I can respond
normally
to a man.” She hated making that admission but figured once again that he probably knew anyway.

He pulled her toward him again just far enough to kiss her, and this time it lasted awhile.

When she could breathe again, Hollis murmured, “Okay, maybe that isn’t going to be such a problem, after all.”

DeMarco was still wearing that faint smile, only now there was something sensuous about it. “I’m thinking it probably won’t be. But you don’t have to worry. I won’t pressure you.”

“Yeah?” She managed an unsteady laugh. “And when does the not-pressuring me part start?”

“Right now.” He kissed her one final time, briefly but not at all lightly, then let her go and got up off the bed. In a perfectly normal voice, he said, “If you mean to try to help Diana, I think we both need time to shower and get something to eat first.”

“But—”

“You need energy, Hollis. Fuel. It won’t do Diana any good if you collapse because you haven’t eaten in more than twenty-four hours. It’s well after two.”

She resented his normal voice, especially since she couldn’t match it; to her own ear she still sounded out of breath and flustered. And full of inane questions. “A.M. or P.M.?”

“P.M. Still Thursday. Come on.”

Hollis took his extended hand, conscious of faint panic and a much stronger sense of inevitability.

Some things had to happen just the way they happened.

If she’d learned nothing else with the SCU, she had most certainly learned that.

Washington, D.C.

H
e was surprised but not astonished when the Director got in touch to arrange another meeting, assuming there had been a change of mind after some considered thought. He was a little annoyed that the venue Micah Hughes chose was a conference room in a small hotel just off the Beltway but guessed it was the Director’s attempt to avoid more openly public spots and the risk of recognition.

He found the room without the need to ask a staff member and opened the door fully expecting to see FBI Director Micah Hughes.

Instead, Noah Bishop was seated on the opposite side of the big Conference table between them, his hands resting on a plain manila folder. The folder was closed.

“Well, Agent Bishop. Fancy meeting you here.” He remained outwardly calm as he came into the room; he had faced too many powerful men across too many boardroom tables to fold at the first sign of trouble. He remained on his feet, resting his own hands on the tall back of one of the chairs but not pulling it out. Once he sat down, he conceded the power position to Bishop and he knew it.

His mind raced, considering the possible ramifications of this, but he had no intention of making it easy for Bishop, no matter what the agent was up to.

“Thank you for coming. We weren’t sure you would. I gather you usually choose the meeting spots,” Bishop said coolly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Bishop shook his head just once. “I didn’t intercept the call, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, from all I can gather you seem to have greatly exaggerated the extent of my reach. And my interests. It’s never been about power with me. Not your kind of power.”

“Of course not. You merely cultivated other powerful people because it amused you.”

“No. Because I knew I’d need them one day. When a man like you came after me—for whatever reason.” The scar down Bishop’s left cheek stood out whitely against his tanned skin, the only visible sign of any tension. “I have to admit, I never expected a reason like yours. Revenge, sure. Retaliation. Even just to remove me before I could become a problem for someone. But I didn’t expect to be a kind of rival. This kind, at any rate.”

“Agent Bishop—”

“You’re so wrong on so many counts it’s hardly worth talking about. Except to note that your jealousy and resentment led you down one of the darkest paths I’ve ever seen.”

“So dramatic. Should I ask you to define this ‘dark path’ for me?”

Again, Bishop shook his head just once. “You do realize that once I tell him who is really responsible for the murder of his daughter, Senator LeMott will destroy you.” It very clearly wasn’t a question.

He stiffened but said, “I was in no way connected to that unfortunate girl’s tragic death.”

“You most certainly were. Oh, I don’t have courtroom proof. But I have proof enough for LeMott. Believe me. He had Samuel killed on a lot less. Unlike you, he has complete faith in the abilities of myself and my team. All our abilities.”

“So you’re going to tell him you saw my face in your crystal ball?” He managed a laugh and knew it sounded convincingly amused.

“I’m going to tell him the truth. That Samuel and his pet monster were fully funded by you in Boston. I don’t know whether you were aware going in of exactly what he meant to do—or how he meant to do it. But I do know you continued to fund him even afterward, when you had to know how your money was being used.” Bishop’s wide shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. “Not that LeMott will be listening beyond that point. He’ll only care that you were the catalyst that got his daughter killed.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

As if he hadn’t heard that, Bishop said, “It was an interesting tactic you chose, that attack on three levels. First Samuel’s rampage, keeping myself and the team fully occupied, then you dripping poison into the Director’s ears about the unit and me, and, finally, making sure I’d know about that poison. And wonder where you got it.”

“Maybe you have a traitor on the team, Bishop.” Despite his best efforts, the words emerged viciously.

“No. That’s what you wanted me to think. Wanted all of us to think. So we’d doubt one another, or at the very least wonder. So the trust painstakingly built up between us for years would begin to break down. And that was really where you overplayed your hand. Because that was … very personal, that part of the attack. That was an attempt to gut me—and the SCU. So I had to wonder who could possibly hate me that much. And why.”

“I’d be wondering about that traitor if I were you.” He couldn’t let that go, still believing it was the wedge he needed.

Still hoping.

A very faint smile curved Bishop’s hard mouth. “I stopped wondering about that when we faced Samuel at his church. When I felt the power of his mind firsthand. We didn’t have a traitor. What we had was an enemy capable of creeping among us—psychically. Unseen. Taking note of what we said and did. And much of what we thought.

“That’s the ultimate irony, you know. That you trusted the information Samuel gave you—perfectly accurate information—without questioning where he came by it. Maybe you knew, deep down, what he’d tell you if you asked. Maybe that’s why you didn’t ask.”

“You need help, Bishop. You’re a sick man.”

“I’m sick and tired of your crusade. And so is the Director, just so you know. He’s given me a complete statement of his dealings with you. And he’s given me the discretion to use it however I please.”

His mouth twisted. “He’s a gutless wonder.”

“No, he’s an honorable man. An ethical man. I knew that. And I knew he would ultimately decide to support the SCU. A decision he undoubtedly would have come to sooner if not for your poison.”

He was silent.

“Not that I really needed most of the information Director Hughes was able to give me. I already knew most of it. He was just confirmation.”

“How could you know?”

Bishop shook his head slightly. “You’re good at a lot of things, but this? This is what I do. Investigate. I had to find a bitter enemy with very deep pockets, and unfortunately there are several. So it took time. Time and far too much of my attention. But one by one, the others were ruled out. It’s taken me months, but eventually you were the only one left.”

“The Sherlock Holmes maxim? Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains must be truth? I’m surprised at you, Bishop. That’s so terribly… old school.”

“If old school works, I use it. I use anything that works. Everything. Every tool I can get my hands on—except for one. I never make a deal with the devil.”

“If you’re implying I did—”

“I’m not implying. I’m stating. You knew what Samuel was, what he was capable of. But you believed he could get you what you wanted, and that was all you cared about. As long as the SCU was destroyed, I was destroyed, then nothing else mattered to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words were almost mechanical.

“I wish I could believe you didn’t. I wish I could believe there were lines you wouldn’t cross no matter how determined you were to win. To destroy me. But I don’t believe that. You knew. You just didn’t give a shit about anyone else.”

“I’m going to ruin you, Bishop. No matter what you think you have on me, it won’t stand up in court. And by the time my attorneys are finished with you, the FBI won’t have you. Your own wife won’t have you.”

“Oh, it won’t go to court,” Bishop said, ignoring the more personal claim. “You’re right. I don’t have enough evidence against you for a court case. Not yet, at any rate, though I’m sure there’s some to be found when my people know exactly where to dig.”

He managed another laugh. “Good luck with that. And since you have no evidence to support these wild accusations, I’ll be on my way. You can talk to my attorneys if you have anything further to say to me.”

“No, what I have to say to you, I’ll say to you now.” Bishop picked up the folder lying on the table in front of him and slid it across to the other man. “I want you to take a look at what your money bought you.”

“I’m not going to—”

Flatly, Bishop said, “There are two agents waiting outside that door. You’ll take a look inside that folder, or I’ll have you arrested the instant you step outside. Believe me, I do have enough evidence to detain you. And question you formally. And make a hell of a public mess for your PR people to clean up.” He paused, watching the other man seethe, then added, “Or we can avoid all that—at least for now—and you can look inside the folder. Your choice.”

After a moment, he reached stiffly for the folder. He opened it, his expression impassive. But then he sucked in a breath, the color drained from his face, and he all but fell as he fumbled for the chair in front of him and sank into it. The manila folder dropped to the floor, leaving him clutching the single photograph it had contained.

Bishop watched him, feeling not a single twinge of compassion for what he knew very well was genuine shock, grief, and guilt. “I could have shown you all the victims of your crusade. But I decided this one was what you needed to see. Money can buy a lot of things. But what it can never buy, what nothing can ever buy, is complete control over events. Whatever you thought your money was buying,
that’s
what it bought.”