Dream Shard (11 page)

“It’s Devon Ross.” Grace raised her voice over the sound of Devon scuffling with someone.

“I don’t care who you think it is, Grace,” a military-fatigues-clad man informed her.

“He’s suffered a memory loss,” Kalin tried to explain.

The man turned his head toward her. There wasn’t a shred of kindness in his expression. He stepped in front of Grace. There were a few muffled sounds before a bag was pulled over Kalin’s head. She tried to shake it off but someone pulled a drawstring to tighten it around her throat.

“Stop!” Burgos yelled at his driver.

The command came too late. They’d already rounded the bend in the road and were sighted. They were outnumbered, but Burgos kicked his door open and fired on his way out of the Hummer. Flashes of light lit up the night, and when they died down, only the Rangers were left standing. Burgos lay on the road, the sticky slide of blood telling him he was dying.

He snickered, laughing at fate. She was such a bitch.

Chapter Four

“I thought the general sent you on leave.”

Garrick Gennaro offered Major Lorance a salute before lifting his pistol and aiming down the firing range again. “Might as well be on leave. I haven’t done a productive thing in a week.” He squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet toward the paper target.

“Keeping your skills sharp is considered productive,” Lorance commented.

Garrick lowered his side arm. “Not for me it isn’t. You and I are different.” Lorance nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I came to see you. Our common assignment is the other.”

Garrick holstered his side arm. “Let’s take a walk, sir.” The firing range was noisy, but it wasn’t private enough for the classified nature of their units. Major Lorance was his senior by a good ten years, but that was only a guess because neither of them talked about their lives. It was the nature of their assignments.

Major Lorance waited until they were far enough away from anyone else before stopping and eyeing Garrick with a hard look. “Are you finished?”

Garrick felt heat build on the back of his neck. Lorance was asking him something he’d been debating all week.

“I think it would be a shame. You’re one hell of a psychic-Operative team leader. Which is a very unique skillset, I think as rare as those we safeguard.”

“Forgive me for arguing with you. But we’ve only worked together a few times, sir. You can’t judge my skills.”

Lorance crossed his arms over his chest. “They were enough for me to get a feel for how you run a psychic unit. It’s a unique mindset, A man either has it or he doesn’t. With a lot of postings, the drive to perform well can cover a lack of passion, but not when it comes to a psychic Operative. They tend to know when their C.O. thinks they’re bullshit. And you’re avoiding my question.”

Garrick had begun to grin, but his lips settled back into a hard line when Lorance finished. “I haven’t decided, sir.”

A long moment stretched out between them. Lorance pulled a plain business card from his breast pocket. There was only a phone number printed on it. He offered it to Garrick.

“I need a new knee.” His tone was edged with frustration. “So my Operative is about to be reassigned. Sonya has been in my care for over ten years and I will not see her end up like the two Operatives we lost to suicide. Since I’m getting a vote on who my replacement is, I plan to make sure I find a man who can back her up the way she needs, not the way some manual says it should be done.”

“My Operative ended up dead.”

“The fact that you’re fighting a demon over that is why I’m talking to you, son.” Lorance shook the card and Garrick took it at last. “I can’t go into details but I’ve walked that path you’re on. No one can tell you what direction to take, but if you take the one that leads back to continuing your work with special assignments, give me a call.”

The bag covering her head was turning into a sauna. But at least it let some light in. Otherwise, it would have been really simple to let panic have complete control of her.

Kalin drew in deep breaths, finally finding a use for all the suggestions the psychologist had given her after the shooting at the hospital.

Her heart kept trying to accelerate and she kept trying to slow it down. Someone had stuck earphones over her ears to block out the conversation surrounding her.

It left her breathing in the moist air and catching only hints of light.

It sucked.

It was also terrifying.

Hell, no.

She wasn’t going to admit anything like that. Because if she did, she was going to have a panic attack.

Devon was gone.

The knowledge was cold and bitter. She discovered herself stretching her inner senses out, seeking some trace of the man who had been her most intimate companion for the last few days. It seemed impossible for him to have vanished so completely. But what bothered her the most was just how vulnerable she felt without his presence.

Someone grabbed her biceps and tugged her forward. She stumbled, her feet awkward without her sight to aid her.

“Take this damned bag off my head!”

If anyone replied, the headset prevented her from hearing it. Whoever had her arm continued to tug her along until she bumped into the side of a vehicle. With her hands bound behind her, she fell against it while the man holding her tried to lift her up. She smacked her shin, sending pain up her leg.

“This would be a lot simpler if I could see…or hear.”

She lifted her foot but had no idea if there was a step. The man holding her biceps pulled her up and grabbed the waistband of her jeans to lift her off the ground. The fabric bound against her tender parts, earning a snarl from her, but she managed to crawl into a seat and escape her guard. He slammed the door shut and the vehicle took off. She dug her feet in to steady herself and took a few deep breaths to fend off nausea.

Her cuffed hands were smashed behind her. A strange odor clung to the inside of the vehicle and she discovered it distracting her. It was familiar in a way. Something she just couldn’t put her finger on but she had smelled it before.

Gun oil and black powder.

It was faint but she recalled it clearly from the shooting at the hospital. She choked, the overly processed dinner she’d consumed making ready to come back up.

Someone shouted next to her and the driver slammed on the brakes. The vehicle jerked to a halt and someone opened the door. The bag was yanked off her head a second before she started vomiting.

“The major told me to leave the bag on her.”

Kalin straightened up and found two fatigues-clad men watching her. One cradled a high-powered rifle across his chest, his finger resting on the trigger guard.

A shiver raced down her spine.

“The major doesn’t have to clean out the Hummer when she pukes.” He jerked his head back toward the inside of the military vehicle. “She’s already seen too much.”

Kalin managed to get back in the vehicle without smacking her shin.

The medical facility was state of the art. The glass walls were soundproofed as well as bullet resistant and built to withstand bomb blasts. Garrick Gennaro stared at the man he wanted to call Devon Ross but logic told him he had to have proof first. Devon was sitting in a cubicle, two Rangers posted at the door. The windows were one way, allowing Garrick to see Devon, but slate gray on the other side.

There was a sharp rap on the door to the conference room where Garrick waited and three doctors entered.

Garrick Gennaro heard the doctors file into the room. But his attention was on the man sitting inside the holding cell in the medical facility. It was like he recognized him on a cellular level, but the mental anguish that had kept him company for the last few days demanded proof.

“It that my Operative?”

Garrick turned to look at the doctors. They were staring at their tablets, reading the results of the tests they’d had run on their subject.

He couldn’t call him Devon, not yet.

“DNA will take a few days. But fingerprints, heat-scan signature and all other tests are positive,” one of the doctors answered. “He’s Devon Ross, right down to the eighteen scars we have documented on him and dental records.”

“Psychological evaluation?” Garrick continued.

Two of the doctors looked toward the man standing on the end of the line. He leveled a hard look at Garrick. “This man is suffering a memory loss. There are signs of head trauma that are confirmed by the nurse that found him.”

“I don’t care what she said. It’s irrelevant.”

The doctor shook his head. “It’s critical. Most memory loss that doesn’t return within seventy two hours has a high probability of not returning at all. And she is a top-notch RN, I checked her out. He was lucky she found him or he may have died from shock and hypothermia.”

“Are you telling me he may never regain his abilities?” Garrick demanded.

“That’s a big problem, gentlemen,” General Slynn stated from the doorway. Garrick cut the man a salute along with the doctors. Slynn returned it with a razor-sharp motion. “What are the options?”

“Memory loss is tricky,” one of the white-coated physicians offered. “A gray area as far as treatment goes.”

“We need solutions, not excuses,” Garrick interrupted. Frustration was cutting him to shreds. It was Devon and yet it wasn’t.

“We knew very little about how his psychic abilities worked. This trauma could impact those abilities permanently.”

“What treatment do you prescribe, gentlemen?” the general demanded. “I’m not about to toss in the towel when it looks like I’ve had one of my psychics returned from the grave.”

“I suggest you return him to his companion and let him finish the path he was on.” It was a different doctor that spoke.

The one on the end shook his head, clearly disagreeing. “We have limited data to support that treatment and she is a civilian. A potential security risk.”

“They’ve been together for three days. She is fully aware of his psychic abilities, almost more so than he is,” the doctor argued with his colleagues. “Devon Ross had enough memory surfacing to see him tracking his psychic colleague to her home. I suggest you allow him to continue. Let his body heal the way it is trying to. There is something drawing him to Benton.”

“His fellow Operative,” Garrick said, slicing through the doctor’s argument. “There is no further reason to place him at risk.”

“We can’t assume that was the only reason. Wasn’t his wife found near that location?”

Garrick stiffened. “She was. In Preston.”

The doctor lifted a finger. “We need to let his brain heal the way it was trying to.”

“I’m not going to agree to dumping him back on the road.”

The doctor paused for a moment. “His fellow Operative has a secure location. Take him there and see what he does.”

“What if he’s been tampered with?” the older doctor argued. “That plan could place two of our psychics at risk. Potentially even a third since the Operative in question is pregnant and her first child inherited her abilities.”

“There hasn’t been time for brain washing.”

“Unless there is a new process—”

“Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”

The doctors looked at the general and slowly saluted before leaving the room. Slynn drew in a deep breath before tearing his gaze off Devon. “He’s your Operative. Go in there and see what happens.”

Garrick cut the general a salute and walked toward his Operative. But he pulled his name tag off and opened his shirt before shrugging out of it too so that the patch with his name wouldn’t be visible. The black tee-shirt he had on beneath it was informal but would suit the situation.

Devon hated the room.

It was actually a source of curiosity because he hadn’t realized he disliked enclosed rooms. He stared at the door because he felt people staring at him. There was a whisper of their conversations teasing his senses but nothing he could gain a solid sense of.

Not like he did with Kalin.

His frustration morphed into something far more intense.

In short, he was pissed.

Someone rapped on the door, a victim of bad timing because Devon was done being polite.

“You’d better be here to tell me where Kalin is.”

The man who came through the door wasn’t another doctor. Devon knew it instantly. Some sort of recognition distracted him from his rage, long enough for the man to close the door behind him.

“Who are you?”

The man’s features didn’t change, but Devon felt the sting of emotion coming from him. It was sharp and deep, betraying the other man.

“You know me,” Devon informed him.

“Do I?”

Whoever he was, he wasn’t going to hand Devon anything. His face remained unreadable as Devon stretched out his senses to discover the truth of who he was. This time, he could feel it, but the details still refused to come into focus. Which left him with the only information he knew for certain.

“Where’s Kalin?”

“Secure.”

That short, clipped response gave Devon more reassurance than he’d felt in days. It was familiar too, feeling like something he’d encountered before.

“You took your shirt off so I wouldn’t see the name patch.”

The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Were you counting on that?”

Devon gripped the edges of the exam table he was leaning against. “You’re testing me.”

The man gave a curt nod.

It should have pissed him off. Instead, he felt the corners of his lips twitching, the challenge taking on a friendly edge that stunned him.

This was a man he’d enjoyed pitting himself against.

“What are you recalling?”

The tone was still clipped and unrevealing, but the fact that he’d slipped up and asked had betrayed his own frustration. Devon locked gazes with him.

“I know we used to pit ourselves against each other. I know you but I can’t recall your name to save my life.”

“How about to save Kalin’s?”

Devon was away from the exam table before he realized he intended to respond physically. His unknown company jerked back, surprised by Devon’s sudden aggressive motion. The man was in a perfect fighting stance, his hands up and his eyes focused.

Devon pulled himself back. “You would never hurt her or any woman, unless they forced your hand.” Once again, he felt the touch of memories. Shared experiences that were twisted into a ball and remaining out of focus. “Heather was afraid of you.”

His unreadable companion lost his composure. His stony expression cracked with relief, but he covered it quickly. “Who was Heather?”

Devon leaned back against the exam table again. “You tell me. I’ve spent the last few days running from a whole lot of military sort of guys who seem to think I’m something special.”

“Are you?”

Devon shook his head. “I know you.” He pegged the man with a hard look. “And I know I’m not telling you shit until you prove who you are.”

The man studied him, trying to wait Devon out, but Devon set his jaw and refused to budge.

“Heather was your wife, and I scared the hell out of her. Like you did.”

“You were there the night I married her.”