Seeing Is Believing (2 page)

At age thirty, she was all too familiar with both sides of her unique abilities, so she didn’t push the panic button. At least, not yet. Diana automatically tensed as she saw him slowly turn in her direction, those merciless blue eyes scanning like some long-range radar in her direction. Her heart thudded hard to underscore the sensation pulsing through her. This man was dangerous! The feeling rippled through her like tiny fire alarms going off.

Diana didn’t know what to do next. His scanning gaze would meet her eyes at any moment. She felt helpless—an unusual feeling for her. Suddenly, she knew what a deer felt like under the cross hairs of a hunter’s rifle. Her hands clenched. Her palms grew damp. And then their eyes met.

A riveting shock bolted through Diana, as if lightning had struck her—as if one of the mighty Thunder Beings who trod the sky, creating storms, had hurled a thunderbolt in her direction, leaving her stunned in the aftermath. The connection made, those blue, narrowed eyes were merciless in their probing. The man’s scalpel-like assessment cut into her with an invasive brutality.

Her lips parted and the air left her lungs. Diana felt trapped. Helpless. A long time ago she’d experienced those feelings for real, and she’d taken steps to escape. She didn’t like having them return. Her eyes widened enormously as the man slowly moved forward—toward her office. Toward
her.
Her mouth going dry, Diana could only sit, unmoving, as he made his way across the light gray carpeting to her office. She felt her pulse bounding, her heart beating triple-time like a wild drum in her chest.

In her mind, Diana worked to calm the turmoil of emotions that had exploded in her at the stranger’s stare. Despite his height and bulk, he walked lightly, as if he were tightly sprung, ready to leap in any direction. And she was his target. It had been years since Diana had felt this kind of tension, this fear coupled with a mesmerizing fascination. It was like watching a hooded cobra sway and dance before her, within easy striking distance, knowing that if she dared move a muscle, the snake could strike and bite to kill.

Trying to rein in her wild imagination, Diana forced herself to break the stranger’s fiery, monopolizing stare. She stood—albeit on weakening knees—and rested her trembling hands lightly on the reassuringly firm surface of her desk. This man was a warrior; there was no doubt. His hair was cut military short, his strong jaw was clean shaven. Although his clothes appeared disarming in comparison to the energy swirling around him, they did not fool Diana.

Even as her psychic self trembled in fearful anticipation, another part of her, the woman, was powerfully drawn to him. He was a virile man, a throwback to the days that Diana would just as soon leave behind. Such confidence and authority filled every nuance of his walk, his bearing, that she began to question her own confidence and authority. This man could rattle the most formidable of opponents, she thought haphazardly as her fingertips tensed against the edge of her maple desk.

* * *

Wes saw the woman looking at him. Actually, staring at him, her dark brown eyes doelike. For a moment he thought about the intrinsic beauty of deer and their helplessness against a man’s rifle. This woman, with her thick black braids and heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, was like a deer, he decided. Because of his past, because of who he was, Wes realized the power he held over her. But then, with his skills and experience, he met few who could be counted as worthy rivals.

This woman was tall, her breasts and hips ample. She was no pencil-thin magazine model, but Wes appreciated her generous curves. He liked, too, her large, liquid brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. As he soundlessly drew closer, he saw them widen enormously, revealing flecks of gold in their depths. She reminded him of the Old Masters’ paintings—the Rubenesque women whose full figures evoked the symbology of a ripe, fertile Mother Earth. She wasn’t overweight, just wonderfully rounded in all the right places.

Her bright red blouse brought out the golden duskiness of her skin and emphasized her soft, full mouth. Wes smiled a little to himself. She was one hell of a looker, in his book. His gaze swept to her left hand. No ring. Then he caught himself. Why was he looking in the first place? He had no business doing that.

Undoubtedly she was Cherokee. And proud of it. Wes saw her slowly rise, as if waiting for him. He saw the tension in her proudly held shoulders and the defiance in the tilt of her chin. This woman had not only confidence, but pride in who and what she was. He liked that. He even applauded it. She blended modern woman with ancient culture in one appealing package. The watch on her right wrist spoke of the twentieth century, while her agate necklace with the wolf carving hanging below it spoke of her ancestry, her people’s way of life. Old and new. Was she a throwback to another era? Or a modern-day woman? A feminist, perhaps? She could be all those things, Wes thought, enjoying the process of discovering her.

As he entered her office, his head barely clearing the doorway, Wes took off his baseball cap. He wasn’t one to smile. He wasn’t one of those people who said, “Have a nice day.” There wasn’t much humor in what he did for a living, and he wasn’t apologetic about it. He was very clear about the fact that he had been on the front lines of protecting his country.

“I’m looking for a Diana Wolf. Could you tell me where her office is?”

Diana’s heart thudded in her breast. Her fingers went flat against her desk. The man’s eyes were unforgiving, icy and without any hint of what he wanted from her. For a moment, she wanted to lie.

She squared her shoulders. “I’m Diana Wolf. Who are you?” The best defense was a good offense, and she heard the uncharacteristic edge of challenge in her voice. Every possible alarm was going off inside her. Who was this man?

Wes swallowed the glimmer of a smile. He could see the distrust in her eyes—along with a lot of defiance and grit. He liked what he saw. “My name is Wes McDonald,” he growled, “and I’m from Perseus, a security company out of Washington, D.C.” He turned and shut the door. As he looked over at her, he said, “We have business to discuss.” Then, uninvited, he took a seat.

Shocked, Diana froze. With the door shut, she felt claustrophobic. Again. Always. “Would you please open the door?”

Wes frowned. He heard a faint wobble in her low, husky voice. Further, he saw a spark of real fear in her eyes. “What I have to say is for your ears only, Ms. Wolf. It’s a security matter.”

“I don’t care what it is, Mr. McDonald. Open that door. Please.”

Ruffled, Wes got up and pulled the door open. He’d heard the unmistakable panic in her tone, and he wondered why it was there. As he turned to look at her, he saw that her skin had gone ashen beneath the gold. He frowned. Something else was going on—something he didn’t fully grasp. Digging in his back pocket, he pulled out his identification.

“I’m from Perseus, Ms. Wolf, and what I have to talk to you about can’t be overheard. That’s why I closed the door.”

Shaken, Diana scrutinized the professional-looking ID. “I don’t know you. I don’t know Perseus.”

“I realize that.” Wes tried to use a gentler tone of voice with her, seeing that she was truly shaken. “Look, if you’re claustrophobic or something, can we go outdoors and talk?”

An excellent compromise, Diana realized with relief. “Yes, let’s do that,” she suggested briskly and quickly came around the desk, handing him back the identification card and slipping out the door before he could even get to his feet. Walking fast, she headed for the information booth, where Kathy Black Bear was sitting.

“Kathy, I’m going to be outside, sitting on the bench near the entrance, talking with that man. It’ll take just a few minutes. If you need me, come and get me.” Diana didn’t want to leave with this dangerous-looking stranger without alerting someone—just in case.

Kathy looked up. “Sure, Diana.”

Diana sensed him approaching. It was such a powerful sensation that she felt the queasiness resume in her solar plexus.
Large, powerful and dangerous.
She gripped the counter for a moment, trying to steady her reeling emotions as her past was triggered again. Pressing one hand against her blouse over her heart, Diana took a deep, calming breath. Her imagination was in full flight, and she had to get it under control.

It was obvious that Wes McDonald didn’t like her and didn’t want to be here. That much Diana had picked up psychically. He hadn’t smiled when he’d introduced himself. He hadn’t even held out his hand to shake hers. Social obligations didn’t count with him, and that made her deeply suspicious of him.

Diana didn’t want him getting too close to her, so she turned.

“Follow me,” she ordered.

Wes followed this unusual woman at a respectful distance. It was obvious she didn’t trust him any further than she could throw him. Part of him was overjoyed by the knowledge. After all, if Ms. Wolf didn’t like him now, there was every chance of her turning down the assignment. But a more sensitive part of him, a part he rarely showed even to himself, lamented her response. He knew he wasn’t handsome in the conventional sense, but he wasn’t an ogre, either—and she was treating him as if he were. Further, as Wes followed her out into the warm October sunlight, he felt himself wishing he could somehow apologize for scaring the hell out of her.

Laughing at himself, he wondered what kind of magic Diana Wolf had woven around him. It had been a long time since he’d been genuinely interested in a woman, and to have her looking at him as if he were some kind of monster was a little tough to swallow.

The dew was still on the short, neatly cut grass as Wes followed her to a stone bench not far from the spreading arms of an oak tree now turned scarlet for autumn. He saw that she wore deerskin moccasins, prettily beaded and darkening from the wet grass. Her hands were clenched, he noted, frowning. Why was she so frightened of him?

Wes took a seat at one end of the long bench. She sat at the other end, staring darkly at him. Tension was apparent in every line of her body, and as he set his briefcase down beside him, he sighed.

“Look, I’m not going to bite you, okay?” The words came out sarcastically, and Wes flinched inwardly. He hadn’t meant it quite that way, but it hurt him to think she saw him as such a threat.

Diana gulped at his insight. His dark brown eyebrows were drawn straight across his narrowed eyes. His mouth never seemed to relent from its thinned control. Did he
ever
smile? Probably not. “The energy around you is scaring me,” she admitted.

“Energy?” Wes lifted his eyes from the papers he’d pulled from his briefcase.

With a wave of her hand, Diana said, “Yes, everyone has energy around them. An electromagnetic aura. Your energy is overwhelming to me.”

“I scare you?”

Diana nodded and watched as his large, long hands, marked by numerous scars, brought a sheaf of papers together. “If you’d smile, it might help.”

“In my business,” he told her in a clipped tone, “smiles don’t get it.”

Rebuffed, Diana wondered why she was sitting here with this stranger. Curiosity more than anything else made her stay. “Just what is your business?” she demanded testily.

“I’m a mercenary, Ms. Wolf, and I work for an organization called Perseus.” He lifted his head and held her frightened brown gaze. “I’m on an assignment, and it concerns you.”

“Me?” The word came out strangled. Diana’s world upended for a moment. Wes McDonald was a mercenary. A man who fought battles for pay. Her first impression had been correct: he was a warrior—not a thief, as her silly imagination had suggested. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. Men with such violence around them scared her more deeply than anything else in her world. Knowing that about herself, she tried not to allow it to color her assessment of McDonald. He was here on an assignment—not to hurt her.

Clearing his throat, Wes said, “Look, everything I have to tell you is top secret. Do you understand that?”

“Does that mean I can’t tell anyone what I hear?”

“Yes. Once I tell you about the mission, regardless of whether you decide to come along with me and help, you’re to say nothing to anyone.”

Shaken, Diana stared at his rugged, unforgiving face. Despite the harshness, the glitter in his shadowed blue eyes, she sensed a deep sadness in Wes. Just knowing that took the edge off her fear. And the more she probed his intense gaze, the more she allowed her frightened senses to open up and feel that all-pervading sorrow he wore like a heavy, smothering coat.

“I—I see.”

Wes saw her blanch, but also felt her warmth. It wasn’t just the sun’s rays on his back. For an instant, he actually
felt
her warmth; then just as quickly, he pooh-poohed the sensation. The only things that could save his hide during danger were those he could hear, see, smell, taste or touch. Still, he thought, disgruntled, it was as if he’d actually felt her warmth move through him, like a soft hand briefly touching his closed, hardened heart. The feeling had been electric, freeing and, just as suddenly, frightening. Wes had made decisions long ago that would affect the rest of his life. He knew the pros and cons of such decisions and had made them with a clear head and a good dose of realism. But that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes feel a certain sadness—and it was funny how keenly he felt it now. What was this woman? A witch? A magician capable of tapping his darkest secrets, the things he never wanted to think about again?

Violently rejecting the whole train of thought, Wes thrust a color photo of an older woman into her hands. “The woman is Ruth Horner. She works at Psi-Lab, an arm of the government devoted strictly to undertakings such as reading minds, astral travel and that sort of thing.”

Surprised, Diana carefully held the large color photo. Ruth Horner was about fifty, her ginger hair mixed with strands of silver. She had watery-looking green eyes, a thin, narrow face and an exhausted expression. Her hair was knotted in a chignon, and she wore a white lab coat over a nondescript beige dress. Everything about her looked bland, Diana thought. Her hands tingled, and she closed her eyes, waiting to receive impressions.