Echo 8 (10 page)

“You're
finished
, asshole.” Ross's voice faded into the background.

Tess felt the energy transfer peeling away her layers. Gone was the woman, the parapsychologist, the grad student—the mantle of adulthood. She was a child again, alone and naked, and deep within her was a well that concealed a child's secret, from the world and from her grownup self. She pulled back from the shadows, afraid to look into the face of the thing that waited there. She could hear its hollow breathing. And she could feel how its tendrils had woven into her life.

“That's not who I am,” she murmured, half conscious now as her energy drained.

Jake leaned close, his lips at her ear. “That's right, Doctor. It's not.”

She closed her eyes as it sank in that he was witnessing these memories with her. A tear slipped from under her eyelid, and he bent and stopped it with the tip of his tongue, following its track up her cheek to the corner of her eye. Barely grazing her skin, but searing like a cattle brand.

Ross gave a cry of rage.

Jake jumped suddenly to his feet, holding out his arms. “Do it, G-man.”

“Don't!” Tess choked out.

“Cover me,” Ross ordered Swain.

Jake stood still, Swain's weapon trained on him, while Ross lifted Tess from the floor. Shaken and drained by the transfer, she curled her hands around his neck and pressed her head against his chest. She wasn't sure which of them was trembling harder.

He carried her out into the corridor, and she heard the lab door close behind them.

“Stay with me,” she murmured.

He bent his head, stubbly chin catching at her hair. “I'm not going anywhere.”

*   *   *

Tess was asleep by the time they reached her apartment. Her skin was cool, but her heartbeat was steady. He tucked her into bed before retrieving his laptop and the extra blankets from downstairs. When he'd dropped it all off, he went to the cafeteria to pilfer coffee beans.

He checked Tess once more before settling into the armchair next to the bed with his laptop and coffee cup.

There was a second email from Director Garcia.

As you're aware, you were selected for this assignment based on the results of your psi evaluation. I had not yet discussed with you my intention for you to work with the scientists at Seattle Psi to sharpen your abilities. Clearly the arrival of Echo 8 made that impractical.

However, this crisis has multiple fronts, and we are adjusting priorities.

I'll be traveling to Seattle to discuss details with you and Dr. Caufield. In the meantime, I'm giving you access to a portion of your confidential file—your test scores from the academy. Take some time to review your psi evaluation with Dr. Caufield. I'll be in touch soon.

Ross closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the chair.
Psi evaluation
. This particular souvenir from his weeks at Quantico kept coming back to haunt him. It had always been a sore spot—a piece of information he hated having as part of his official record—and the very reason he'd fallen out with Tess in their first meeting.

He logged onto the Bureau's secure site and found the new folder in his document library. He began opening and scrolling through files. As he scanned the psi evaluations, which were based on interviews and tests that probed for precognitive and psychokinetic abilities, a few comments jumped out at him:

Highly intuitive/perceptive

Incorporates precog in routine decision-making

Candidate suppresses

Recommend blind test sequence

Candidate suppresses
. If that meant he didn't believe in it, whoever had written the note was right. Ross's work often involved quick decisions, which he sometimes made based on guesses and gut instincts. His guesses—and his gut—were almost always right. He believed this was due to his aptitude for noting and recalling details, and he rejected—even resented—the notion of a paranormal “gift.”

But he'd been given an order, and the director himself was coming to reinforce it.

Ross read the evaluations more carefully, jotting down notes on a legal pad. When he finished, he got up to pour another cup of coffee. His hand strayed to a bottle of wine resting next to the coffee maker.

“Make mine a double,” called Tess.

He grinned at her over his shoulder. “I made coffee. Do you want some?”

“Absolutely.” Her voice creaked with fatigue. “I'm going for a record.”

He walked back to the bed and set a steaming mug on the nightstand. “It's been sitting awhile. But I think it will still work.”

“Thank you,” she said, sitting up and kicking off some of the covers. She still had on her basketball sneakers, same style as his, only red.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

She sank against the headboard. “Probably about the same as I look.” She wrapped both hands around the coffee mug. “I'm okay.”

“What happened earlier, with Jake … that was my fault.”

Tess frowned. “I don't see how that's possible.”

“He knew I was planning to leave.”

She gave an uneasy laugh. “And here I thought it was all about me. I thought he was trying to warn me. Prove to me he was dangerous.”

“It
is
all about you.” Ross chose his next words carefully. “He doesn't want me to leave because he doesn't want you to be without protection. He's in love with you, Doctor.”

“He's
what
?” Ross watched the color steal over her pale cheeks. She shook her head. “He only thinks he is. Because I've helped him.”

“Trust me. I've been in his head. Or he's been in mine, anyway. ‘Love' is putting it mildly.”

Tess swallowed and set down the mug. She fiddled with one of the blankets. “But you're not, are you?”

Ross's heart thudded. “I'm not…?”

“Leaving. I heard you tell him so.”

He let out his breath. “That's right. My request was denied.”

“I see.” She gave him a tight smile. “I'm sorry.”

“I hope you understand—I was trying to do what was best for everyone. It was never about … it wasn't
you
I was…”
Shut up, asshole.

“It's okay, Ross. There's no need to discuss it. I'm glad you're staying.”

He smiled at her, and he changed the subject, because he didn't know what else to do. “There's actually something else I'd like to talk to you about, if you feel up to it.”

“Of course.” She glanced at her watch. “I think at five we should go down to Jake, but that gives us half an hour.”

He retrieved the legal pad and sat down again in the armchair. “Can you read this and tell me what you make of it?”

She took the notepad and worked a blanket up around her shoulders. Her forehead creased, lips parting slightly, as she read the first page.

“What is this?” she asked, glancing at him.

“I copied it out of a Bureau personnel file. I'll explain when you finish.”

He tried to relax while she read, propping his feet on the bed and resting his head against the back of the chair. Her sneaker grazed his as she crossed her ankles. He felt both soothed and unsettled by her presence, and that made no sense to him.

After a few minutes she said, “Who taught you longhand? A spider?”

He grinned. She grinned back, and some of the tension in his chest released.

“So, what this looks like to me is a researcher's notes on a subject with strongly demonstrated precognitive ability.”

“Can you explain to me what that means? I mean, I know precognitive ability is the ability to predict things before they happen. I'm just wondering whether the person they're describing is really any different from anyone else.”

“That's a more perceptive question than you realize.” Tess sat up, folding her legs and angling toward him. “Psi phenomena aren't phenomena at all. Psi, including precognition, is a fact of life. It's part of the human experience and has been for centuries. We don't think in terms of individuals with ‘special' abilities anymore. Everyone is capable to some degree—scientists in my field almost universally believe this. But some access these abilities more successfully, more consistently, than others. Some suppress them, either consciously or subconsciously.”

“Why?”

“Why suppress them? There are a lot of reasons. Fear of the unknown. Cultural prejudices against the idea of psychic abilities. For some people, acceptance of psi wreaks havoc on their belief systems—dramatically alters the way they view the world, life and death, spirituality. It's understandable. For others, it creates a feeling of being out of control.”

“I can see that.” He studied his folded hands, but felt her eyes on him.

“Can you?”

“Sure. I personally would like to believe I make decisions based on logic and experience, not on vague intuitions.”

“Ah, but you're revealing a prejudice. Why isn't precognition as valid a factor as logic, experience, intellect, or common sense in making a decision? Haven't you ever had a ‘gut feeling'?”

“Of course. But again—based on experience and observation. It's not the same.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her color rose as she grew more animated. “It's a paradox, Ross.”

“What is?”

“The idea psi abilities cause a loss of control—it's actually the opposite. If you sense you're about to trip down the stairs and break your ankle, you can take the elevator instead, right?”

She had a point. But he replied, “Maybe I'd just trip on my shoelace and break my ankle anyway.”

Tess laughed—a long, genuine laugh. He couldn't help feeling pleased that he'd caused it. “Okay,” she said, “you're gonna have to buy me a drink if you want to talk about determinism.”

Ross thought he'd like nothing better than to go out for a drink, like two normal people. This is how it should have gone between them from the beginning. This is the conversation they
should
have had at the summit. He could admit now that he'd felt threatened by what she represented. He suspected that sentiment ran both ways.

“Actually I think it's me who owes
you
a drink at this point,” she continued. “What do you say we take care of Jake, microwave the leftover pizza, and open that bottle?”

Why not? He had to somehow work up the nerve to tell her Director Garcia was coming from Washington with an agenda of his own.

“You're on. But I'll take care of Jake. You take care of the rest.”

Her expression registered surprise. “Are you sure?”

He wasn't. But he knew if he didn't do it, she would. “Yes.”

“With the glass between you,” she cautioned.

He nodded, rising from the chair. “I think he'll be more in control if you aren't there. I'll be back. Text me if you need me.”

“I do,” she said, then laughed and turned red as her shoes as she corrected, “I mean I will.”

 

T
RUTH
AND
C
ONSEQUENCE

TO: Echo Task Force

CC: Abigail Carmichael

FROM: Tess Caufield

SUBJECT: Urgent Update

CLASSIFICATION: Classified

Seattle Psi has succeeded in conducting a series of nonlethal transfers with Echo 8 (Jake Parker). Details are provided in the attached document. Be advised that transfers for depleted Echoes are still *extremely high risk.*

I'm working on a detailed report for the administration, which I will submit for your feedback and recommendations. Please contact me with any questions.

Tess Caufield

Precognitive Specialist

Seattle Psi Training Institute

 

W
HEN
R
OSS
left, Tess composed and sent her update to the task force. What she needed now was time to organize her thoughts for her report, but she didn't know when she was going to get it. Jake was turning into a full-time job. More than full-time. What would she do when it came time for bed—set an alarm to wake her every few hours?

But the truth was she never slept more than a few hours at a stretch anyway. Last night with Ross was the first time she'd slept a whole night through in as long as she could remember—though it hadn't exactly been a natural sleep.

By the time Ross returned she had reheated the pizza and poured the wine. He helped her carry the plates and glasses to the sofa.

“How'd it go?” she asked.

“Fine. He's stopped being such a prick. I think the last encounter wore him out.”

She nodded. “Honestly I suspect he's bipolar. I wish I could do more to help him.”

“You're doing a lot. He's alive because of you.”

“I'm not sure he's grateful for that.”

She lifted her glass for him to clink. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You're welcome, Doctor.”

They ate their dinner in silence and slid the plates back onto the coffee table. She sank against the sofa with her glass. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“The stuff you gave me to read earlier … that was about you, wasn't it?”

He gave her a wry smile. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch.” A good one, apparently. “Who sent you the file?”

“Director Garcia.”

“Have you always known? Or was the Bureau the first to talk to you about your abilities?”

Ross shrugged and settled back against the sofa. “My father always said I had good instincts. Those are an advantage in my line of work. You really can't make field agent without them.”

“They're an advantage in any line of work,” she said. “But from what I read of your file, your instincts are better than most people's. Why do you think they're sharing this with you now?”