Seeker of Shadows (24 page)

“Sit down.”
You’ll be glad you did
was implied.

He settled onto the yielding leather cushions with Nica at his side. MacCreedy paced over to the sliders to stare out into the night.

“We need to find out where they’re holding Max,” she began with a calm logic. “Until we know, we can’t plan any kind of rescue.”

“So, how are we going to find out?”

“We’re going to have to tap a friend on the inside for that information.”

An ugly suspicion stabbed through him. “No. You’re not putting Susanna in that kind of position. I won’t allow it, even if you did know how to get ahold of her. Phones are too dangerous. He’s going to be watching her.”

Nica smiled. “We’re not going to use a phone. We’re going to use a direct line. Mind-to-mind long-distance.”

Sixteen

J
acques took it all in without a blink.

Apparently, Nica and Silas weren’t what they seemed. Neither were Max and Charlotte. Their DNA was supercharged, granting them special abilities. Powers that included mind reading, astral projection, walking on water, and probably X-ray vision that would allow them to see he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Yeah, and space aliens were going to fly out of his ass riding on sugarplum fairies.

He regarded Nica with a bland expression, hiding a smirk that said,
Tell me another one. How stupid do I look?

Nica smiled. “I don’t know about stupid, but the rest of you looks just fine.” And her gaze lowered to his crotch for an appreciative assessment.

No, she couldn’t—

Slowly, he crossed his legs and scoffed, “You don’t expect me to believe all this?”

She pursed her lips. “It’s not like we’re claiming to be space aliens who can tell if you’re wearing boxers or briefs . . . or not.”

He drew a breath and let it out slowly. Okay, he knew the Chosen could do limited thought manipulations.
Shifters could, well, shift shape. But the rest . . . that was myth, legend, fairy-tale stuff.

“You’re talking about the Ancients. Like I’m supposed to believe they’re real. Like you can just jump out the window and fly away.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” Nica drawled, glancing over at MacCreedy. “Can you?”

“I don’t think so. I suppose I could try if it would hurry things along.”

Jacques leaned back into the cushions, realization hitting home. “So that’s why they want Max.”

“All they have now is rumor,” Silas told him, impatient with his reluctance to just accept everything that had been shoved down his own throat. “If they start cutting him apart, they’ll have fact. And how long after that do you think it’ll take them to have a weapon?”

“And Susanna’s research?”

“Will get them to that point that much quicker.”

Nica placed her hand on Jacques’s knee, squeezing tight. “We need to get Max away from them. We have to convince Suze to help us. She trusts you. She’ll listen to you. She’ll come back here for you.”

A dizzying sense of hope soared at that suggestion, but reality grounded him. “She won’t leave her lab or her little girl.”

“Then we’ll have to move everything here, won’t we?”

Could they do that?

“What do I have to do?”

“We need to contact Susanna without them knowing it.” She motioned Silas to come over, noting the way Jacques’s eyes narrowed warily. “He’s going to channel your thoughts to hers.”

“And he can do that?”

“Sure.” She simplified, not sharing the fact that her mate would be using the strength of the bond forged between Jacques and his own chosen female as that joining link. That wasn’t her secret to tell.

MacCreedy sat on the edge of the coffee table facing Jacques. They exchanged uncomfortable looks until Silas told him to close his eyes.

“Is that necessary?”

“No. But I’ll be a lot less distracted without you staring at me like you’re waiting for me to suck your brain out your nose.”

When Jacques hesitated, Nica leaned close to whisper, “Relax. I can’t really see through your pants. Dammit.”

He chuckled and let the tension drain from his body and mind. And he shut his eyes. He gave a slight jump at the touch of MacCreedy’s fingertips upon either temple. The points of contact seemed to warm, until the heat penetrated through flesh and bone.

“Think of her, think of Susanna,” MacCreedy coaxed in a low monotone. “Focus on the way she looks, the way she smiles, the sound of her voice, her scent. Breathe her in and out. Feel her.”

Abruptly, everything fell away, sight, sound, sense, even his awareness of where he was. And from somewhere
in that darkness a tiny light began to widen, growing bright, expanding. Even as his mind strained to embrace it, his physical being held firm, beginning to pull back, resisting.

The pressure intensified in Jacques’s head. He struggled against it, feeling as though MacCreedy was trying to pry him open like a nutshell to get to the meat inside.

“He’s fighting me.”

MacCreedy’s voice was far away. Jacques panicked, trying to find his way back to it, to the safety of his apartment.

“Let me.” Nica’s palm slipped inside his shirt to soothe over his bare chest, the sensation of warmth calming, comforting. Her breath blew in a teasing whisper into his ear. “Relax and listen to my voice. There’s nothing to worry about. I won’t let any harm come to you. Go to her, Jacques. Think of her. Say her name.”

“Anna.”

Susanna straightened from the lens of her microscope and rubbed at the back of her neck in an effort to relieve her sudden headache. It was late and she was tired, but determination drove her to continue well beyond her normal workday.

In the quiet lab, once her other coworkers had gone home, she turned her attention to her true focus, to applying data she’d planned to use in her serum for Mary Kate to a sample from her daughter. Almost immediately the divergent strands aggressively attacked
and destroyed one another. Hours ticked by as she tried variations with no success. The right combination had to be there in front of her but her eyes were too blurry to see it. Chosen, Shifter, Ancient. It was like trying to re-create a recipe where none of the ingredients listed the proper amounts used. A pinch of this, a dab of that, too bitter, too weak, too strong. Where was that proper balance? The balance that would allow them all to exist together?

Her child was going to die and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

She rested her head in her hands, perilously close to defeat.

“Dr. Duchamps, Mr. Frost sent me to drive you home.”

She glanced over at the harsh-featured automaton Damien had hired to shadow her every movement. He needn’t have worried that she might be tempted to seduce and run off with this one. Besides, there was nowhere to run.

“I need to shut things down. I’ll be just a minute.” Her tone chilled. “Wait outside, please.”

Without a flicker of expression, the burly bodyguard stepped out into the hall. The lock engaged behind him. Damien was taking no chances.

Susanna quickly saved the core data on her thumb drive, then wiped the system’s memory before shutting it down. Tucking the flash drive into her bra next to the underwire, she gathered her personal belongings and tapped on the door.

And so ended the first day of an endless number in captivity.

The home she and Pearl shared with Frost was in a gated community in a northern suburb of Chicago. Those who lived behind the high private walls were others like them, Chosen living amongst human. Scientists, scholars, politicians, all figures of influence and affluence, pretending to be what they were not, for the good of all and not the one.

The house itself was ultramodern, of cold glass and steel. Lit up from within against the night sky, it made her think of incubation containers where the carefully segregated organisms living inside could be observed from a clinical distance. The same way Damien was watching her.

He was waiting for her at the door, attired in a charcoal-colored sweater and matching slacks, his composed features almost beautiful with their delicate lines and pale perfection. There was no warmth in his greeting or in his eyes.

“I trust your day was prosperous.”

“Yes, thank you.” As she stepped inside that sea of blinding white, she glanced up the stairs. “Is Pearl still up?”

“I sent her to bed a few hours ago. She barely picked at her meal.”

“I should go up—”

Damien’s hand closed about her upper arm, surprising her with the strength of his grip. “There are things we need to discuss first. Come with me into the parlor.”

Reluctantly, Susanna followed across the pale wood floors with their fleecy white rugs. The word
parlor
inspired notions of a cozy gathering place for friends to relax and converse. In truth, it was a frigidly arranged cluster of austere furnishings that had nothing to do with comfort, more aligned to interrogation than polite chatter.

“Sit.” Damien gestured to one of the hard straight-backed chairs. She settled into it without a sound. He sat opposite and regarded her through cold, black eyes. “I’ve decided after those dangerous doings in Louisiana that some alterations need to be made in our living situation.”

She remained motionless, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve tried to allow you every freedom possible, Susanna. Now I realize that was a mistake. Those careless liberties have led to what could have been a disastrous event for both our careers.”

“I’ve apologized for that, Damien. No harm was intended.”

“I know it wasn’t intended, but it happened nonetheless. You could have been injured, even killed, and where would that have left your child? Your work? Our future?”

She said nothing. He wasn’t interested in her response.

“It’s time you took your position more seriously. There will be fewer distractions from now on. You will concentrate on your work and on your public appearances.
I will, of course, be closely involved in both things. We’re a team after all, are we not?”

She didn’t dare answer that. Her lack of expression had no effect upon him.

“For your own protection, all your communications will be monitored, from the house and from the lab. Your work will be confined to the lab. I’ll be remoting your progress from here and we shall discuss your advances each evening. I’ll retain copies of everything for the sake of security.”

Her insides trembled. How could she continue her work with Damien looking over her shoulder, poking through her studies? He wasn’t an expert, but he wasn’t a fool, either. He’d know immediately when she strayed from the proper path.

Very softly, she said, “Whatever you think best, Damien.”

Her agreement pleased him into a small smile. “You’ll find things will go much smoother without the distractions. And that brings me to the final topic I wish to discuss.”

The way he approached it had her tensing, preparing for the worst.

But she wasn’t prepared for how bad it would be.

“Pearl will be moving into a dormitory at the Center. She can continue her studies there and her care can be regulated around the clock. Without the stressful stimulation of outside activities, I suspect she’ll be stronger in no time.”

“Outside activities? You mean like school, friends,
family, home? Are those the things you think harmful?”

“Don’t you?” he countered mildly. “You know how fragile she is. She should thrive in a less-complex environment.”

“Away from her mother, you mean.”

“Susanna, that’s not what I mean at all. Of course you’ll be able to visit with her, as her schedule allows. You’ll be kept abreast of her progress in weekly reports.”

“Weekly?”

“I believe that’s fairly standard. My dear, I know you find this distressful, even punishing, at the moment, but you’ll thank me for it. Frankly, our associates have been asking why the child was still living with us, why she hadn’t been sent to be tested and assigned to a field of developmental study. We can only give her health as a reason for so long before they begin to wonder about the type of malady from which she suffers.”

“What have you told them? Damien, what have you said is wrong with her?”

He waved off her shrill demand. “I’ve said she has a bit of an immune disorder. Nothing exotic or alarming, but enough to explain her fevers. They’ll keep her comfortable without being too invasive. At least, for now.”

The threat hung over her like a heavy club.

“You don’t need to do this, Damien.”

Her quiet petition fell on deaf ears. “It’s done.
With Pearl out of the house, we can begin to concentrate on other things. Like having a second child. That should fill you with an entirely new sense of purpose.”

What it filled her with was dread.

Damien had never touched her beyond a chaste peck on the cheek. Since demonstrative affection was frowned upon, no one thought their relationship strangely devoid of physical interaction. Many Chosen saw intimacy as an obligation toward procreation. They would have been horrified if they knew how she and Jacques LaRoche approached it.

Then she realized this wasn’t about personal appearances or safety or propriety. It was about her and her Shifter mate. Damien couldn’t erase what had happened but he was determined to do whatever he could to crush out all reminders. By removing their child from her arms. By replacing Pearl with his own progeny. By controlling every aspect of her days and nights.

He was trapping her in a cold, soulless hell to serve his own selfish purpose.

And seeing the flicker of horror she couldn’t quite hide, he smiled in satisfaction.

Susanna stood looking down upon her sleeping daughter as emotions chewed like acid. Afraid she’d wake the child as her breath began a noisy hitching in her chest, she went to her own room only to stand in the doorway in dismay.

All signs of color had been drained away like her lifeblood. The small blue bed pillows were gone. The plush red slippers she tucked her feet into during blustery winter evenings weren’t lying by the nightstand. The glass bottles she collected for the rainbow-colored stoppers were missing from her dresser. A green accent scarf, pink gloves, a yellow pin, all the little things she kept around her to brighten her existence, gone. Nothing remained but an unbroken field of sterility.