Touching Darkness (14 page)

“Hey, was just having some fun.” He looked up at Gerard. “You ever done that when you was a kid?”

“No.”

“Too bad. That was crazy, man. Crazy.”

The guard pushed him back to the stairs.

Andrus gave him a broad smile that reminded Gerard of a kid's when they reached the top. “You don't know what you're missing.”

“You could have been shot.”

Andrus's smile mellowed to something smugger. “You wouldn't shoot me. You need me.”

“I might not have shot you, but these men would. They have orders. You pull anything strange, and they take you out. Got it?”

The man's smile didn't waver a bit. “Maybe you'd better outline what, exactly, they consider strange. I don't want to get blown away 'cause I scratched my ass.”

Gerard nodded for the men to lead Andrus forward.

Other than the rumors and insinuations, Andrus had been a model prisoner since his incarceration a year ago. The warden told Gerard that Andrus was polite and cooperated, though his streak of cockiness and an irreverent sense of humor grated. When one prisoner's body had been carried out, Andrus had been making a trumpet sound with his lips, doing “Taps.”

When they reached the end of the hallway, Gerard opened the door and nodded for one guard to precede Andrus. The second guard would walk up behind them. Someone's footsteps—probably Andrus's—clunked up the wooden stairs.

In the past, these quarters had been used for the staff. He had, of course, secured them with bars on the small windows even though the drop would kill most men. Andrus wasn't most men, though, and Gerard was taking no chances. The door leading downstairs was replaced by a metal one, which would be guarded twenty-four/seven.

Once they reached the top of the stairs, Gerard stepped to the fore. “There are three rooms up here. You may use all of them as one space. One for your living area, in which I've installed a couch and television, one as a kitchen,
which has been rudimentarily equipped, and one for your bedroom.”

He was already exploring the room like an eager kid, opening doors and flopping on the couch, only to leap off again. “Windows! I get windows!” He ducked into the living room.

The guards reacted instantly, chasing him in, guns still at the ready. Gerard waved them back.

Andrus stood at the window and closed his eyes to the moonlight that was streaming in, a look of bliss on his face. He spun around, oblivious to the guards' alertness, and inspected the room. “I'll need cleaning supplies. A vacuum cleaner, duster.” He swiped a finger across the coffee table and inspected it.

“Everything you need is already in the kitchen cabinets.”

He knew about Andrus's obsession for cleanliness and order. His cell was impeccably kept, and he demanded stain-free uniforms.

Andrus walked down the hallway and into the next room, his makeshift kitchen. He opened cabinets as a child opens Christmas presents. When he found the cleansers, he pulled them all out, reading the labels. “Green. Good for the Earth. This one, no good. Pine-scented. Hate pine scent. No scent at all.” He shoved it at Gerard, who had to take it lest it fall to the floor.

Andrus was already looking at the next product. “Acceptable. Good. Acceptable.” One by one, he sorted them, so quickly his hands were a blur.

He shoved three more bottles to the end of the counter. “No good.”

The guards watched, incredulous, but Gerard kept his expression passive.

“Do I get a computer?” Andrus asked.

“No. But if you tell me your reading tastes, I'll arrange for you to have books and movies to occupy your free time.
There's a phone. When you pick it up, you'll be put through to my phone. That's the only call you can make from here. If you wish to call anyone else—”

He stopped his perusal of the rest of the cabinets. “Got no one to call. My parents are dead.”

“I know.”

They had testified during his trial, and it hadn't been very complimentary. His mother claimed her adopted son had gotten into her dreams. Though she hated pickles, she would wake in the night choking on them. Then the next day he'd sniff the air. “I smell pickles. Isn't that odd?” Night after night she dreamed he was drowning her in her claw-foot tub. His father had told the police about a smart-assed comment Andrus made when he'd asked his son if he'd killed another woman who'd died in his apartment complex: “What would you do if I told you yes? Turn me in?”

That was a key piece of evidence, even if it didn't pertain to that trial, and probably what turned the jury against him.

Sometime after his conviction, his mother had drowned in her bathtub.

Gerard wasn't fooled by Andrus's childlike enthusiasm or his quirky tendencies. He had most likely killed a woman so viciously her neck was broken. From Andrus's files, one thing was clear: You didn't piss off Sayre Andrus.

N
icholas woke at three in the morning. He didn't let himself think about Olivia, instead wracking his brain as to exactly where he'd seen the eye. Those four missions with Pope had been a whirlwind, hours spent tromping through the woods, more hours driving on rural roads and highways alike. He couldn't remember what he'd found at each location or exactly where he'd gone. He remote-viewed his house. Seeing the place and all his treasures made him homesick. His life had been so simple when he'd packed up and left.

He moved into his office and tried to focus on the map dotted with more than a hundred pins, some through his job at the salvage company, some with Bone Finders, and some on his own. He used red pins for government work. Which search had found the piece with the eye?

He took note of where the four red pins were and wrote them down when he pulled out. He went upstairs to find a map. When he stepped into the living area, he stopped at the sight of Lucas furiously sketching at his easel. Except that his eyes were blank, as though he were doing it in his sleep. Or being possessed. Amy watched him with a tense expression. She pressed her finger over her mouth and nodded for him to join her in the kitchen.

“One of the ways Lucas's premonitions come out is through sketches. He doesn't remember doing them.” She looked over at him. “I've never seen him do one. It's a bit eerie, like he's not in there. Like when he shot Robbins. But I know this is different. He's saved people's lives, trying to figure out who's going to commit the crime and stopping him.” Her eyes hadn't left Lucas. “If they come every night for four nights, whatever he's drawn comes true on the fifth day.”

She returned to Lucas's side, hovering like a mother bird. Nicholas followed, looking at the sketch in a new way. It came to life under Lucas's jagged, hurried movements. A woman standing alone. A man behind her, and even as rough as the sketch was, Nicholas could see his menacing intent.

Lucas set down his pencil and slipped down from his chair to lie on the floor. Amy cradled his head in her lap, stroking his hair. Now her gaze was on the sketch, though, and her expression was even more concerned.

“He's seen one of us being murdered,” she whispered. “But I can't tell which one.”

The woman's hair was only a mess of lines and shadows, and she had no face.

“If he does another sketch tomorrow night, we'll find out more. And we'll be one day closer to its happening.”

“What if we all stay here on the fifth day? Aren't we safe?”

She shook her head. “We don't know what this other Offspring Robbins was going to tell us about can do. Or how long we have until they can penetrate our shield. Once they do that, they can get to us anywhere.”

A cold chill shivered down his spine.

 

Sayre woke from an erotic dream.

“Damn, my junk's all hard, and no one to use it on.”

He'd taken care of himself in prison, but he was tired of handling it on his own.

It was about the woman again, the one he'd been dreaming of since he'd poked into Darkwell's head. She was connected to him in some way. He always had a connection to his dream victims.

He stood by the barred window, rubbing his hands together. “Come to me, baby.”

In the dreams, he seduced her, slowly, sweetly, and then he slipped his hands around her throat and took her in the deepest way a man can take a woman. Far deeper than sex.

He'd only killed out of anger. His first victim he'd maimed. She was a lovely blonde he'd dated while in college. She'd dumped him, admitting she'd used him to get his help in biology. Pissed him off big-time. He wanted her to suffer like he was suffering every time he saw her with her new boyfriend, when she gave him a smug look. He'd been getting into his mother's dreams for a while, but he'd never tried to get into anyone else's dreams. Why not give it a shot?

He got in, all right, and saw her bedroom, her boyfriend lying beside her, everything through her eyes. He
was
her. He could feel the covers and the chill in the air.

She got up, naked as could be, and ran through the sliding glass door. He felt the glass pierce her skin, but not the pain. He felt her flip over the balcony's railing from the momentum and fall two stories to the ground. When she hit, he woke.

The news was all over campus the next morning, how that poor girl must have had a terrible nightmare. Yeah, she never did look quite as pretty. Shame, that.

Anyone who pissed him off got a visit from the Night Master.

His second girlfriend got it even worse. They'd met in one of their first-year veterinary courses. He told her not to go into the second bedroom, but did she listen? Noooooooo. She had to go in there anyway, nosy bitch. Yeah, he kept animal parts. From autopsies. No, he didn't go around
slaughtering animals. He liked animals, thought they were a heck of a lot better than people.

Over the years of working for a veterinarian, he'd collected different animal parts that he preserved in jars. Kidneys, livers, eyeballs, even a dog penis. She looked at him in that belittling way his mother did sometimes when he explained his collection. She called him a weirdo and left. Then she told everyone on campus. He was getting roadkill left on his doorstep, and people looked at him like he was some kind of freak.

He realized he didn't want her hurt; he wanted her dead. He'd gotten into her dreams and made her walk down to the pool, which was dark in the wee hours. He joined her, but he wasn't willing to take a chance of leaving any DNA inside her. He felt her up instead, having the mind-blowing sensation of feeling him feeling her up. Then he pushed her beneath the surface and pulled out, giving her those few seconds of fear and panic when she woke to find herself underwater.

He'd fallen under suspicion as the ex-boyfriend, but they had no evidence.

That had given him the taste for murder. He'd waited a while. He didn't just kill to kill; he wasn't some crazy-ass serial killer. He needed a reason. It had to feel right.

A hot woman came into the veterinarian's office with her prissy dog, all worried about him. He helped her, was compassionate, all that shit, and she was grateful, so he asked her out. She went from friendly to condescending, looking at him as a lowly assistant. Yeah, he'd seen that look in his father's face enough times.

So he'd said, “What, you don't want to see my animal-parts collection? I got livers and eyeballs in jars of formaldehyde. I can show you my dog dick.”

She got all out of sorts, complained to his boss, and nearly got him fired. So he'd looked up her address in the records and sat tight.

After toying with her dreams for a while, he lured her out of her nice and secure house to his car, where he took her to a nearby lake. In those dark depths, he strangled her. All of the hate he'd ever felt exploded out of him, and he took it out on her.

He'd sunk her body with two concrete blocks he'd discovered in the bushes earlier. She was found a day later by some boys who were fishing. Poor kids. Poor him, though, because the cops heard about his interest in her and her rebuff. They knew about the “accidental” drowning of his ex-girlfriend. The finger marks on the woman's neck roughly matched his fingers. Then they talked to his parents and cobbled enough together to make a circumstantial case against him. Despite his good looks and the nice suit he showed up in every day of the trial, the jury didn't like him. So they nailed him for life in prison, no chance of parole.

He'd paid some of them visits, too. They had nightmares about him, accusing them of sending an innocent man to prison.

Now he was going to pay this new woman a visit. He'd toy with her for a bit. Then he'd wrap his hands around her throat and kill her. In person.

He wandered the rooms, restless now. “I can't wait to find out who you are, pretty lady.”

W
ednesday night, Jerryl finally made the connection with Petra. Triumph! Even through the shield that visually kept him out, he could feel her. He'd waited until he thought she'd be asleep. That made her more susceptible. He would finally get to take out one of the Rogues. The sweet part was that whacking Petra would get to Eric in a big way. It would weaken him, then Jerryl would use him to take the others out.

Darkwell had brought on some guy from prison. A convict, for God's sake. Jerryl couldn't let this guy best him. He had to make some progress, and quick.

“Petra…wake up.”

Her energy changed.

“Wake up, Petra.”

He felt her come fully awake.

“Good girl.”

Cheveyo? Is that you?

That threw him off. Wait. He'd heard the name. Darkwell had mentioned him, the one who was protecting the Rogues. He'd rescued Zoe Stoker in Key West. She thought he was Cheveyo.

“Yeah, baby, it's me.”

Are you in the garage?

Interesting. “Yes. I'm waiting for you.”

I'll be right there.

How easy was this? She was coming willingly. So what could he use in a garage? Well, the car, of course.

“Bring the car keys. We'll go for a ride.”

Mm, sounds interesting.

He waited a few minutes. “Where are you?”

Almost there.

She wasn't close to the garage apparently.

Where are you?

“I'll be right there. Why don't you start the car, get it warmed up? Don't open the garage door yet, though.”

But…

“Start the car.” This time more firmly.

All right.

“Now, stay there. I'll be there soon. If you get sleepy, close your eyes. I'll come to you like a dream.”

 

Nicholas woke and looked at the clock: three again. Earlier, he'd refrained from checking on Olivia. But he would do it again. Not only because he wanted to make sure she was all right. As disciplined as he was, he couldn't stop himself from watching her, if only for a few moments.

You're a weak man. Maybe even some kind of pervert. A voyeur. Peeping Tom.

The recriminations didn't stop him. He closed his eyes and felt his body twitch as he sank into the ether. She was asleep, twisted in the sheets rumpled from restlessness. One bare leg stretched out of the sheets. He saw the creamy flesh of her waist and her arm. His conscience was glad he could see nothing more than that. Other parts of him, not so much.

He pulled farther back until he was in the hallway where his suite had been. Like a ghost, he floated through Darkwell's door. Nicholas couldn't read the papers on the desk clearly enough to make sense of them because of the lack of light. He backed up and headed down the hallway toward the mission rooms. He spotted an armed guard at
the end of the hall. Another guard came around the corner. He listened to them for a minute, then tried to go downstairs. He encountered the block again and pulled out.

He got out of bed, threw on some pants and a shirt, and went upstairs. The tightness in his chest started again when he saw Lucas at the easel, Amy at his side. She met his gaze, even more worry on her expression than the night before. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder for support but gave her a commiserative look instead.

He stood beside her, watching the sketch come together. Lucas had just finished the rough outline of the man, dark hair but no features. In that manic way, he started drawing the woman. She stood in front of the man, which was why his features weren't visible. He, in fact, was right behind her now. Lucas drew the man's arm around her shoulder, then his hand over her throat.

Amy's hand went to her throat, too, her gaze locked to the sketch.

When he looked at the sketch again, Lucas was drawing her hair. Long hair. Straight hair.

“Petra,” Amy whispered. “She's the only one of us with that kind of hair. She's going to freak when we tell her they're targeting her.”

The protective urge that swelled in him surprised him. Even though he didn't really know the female Rogues that well yet, the thought of any of them being killed—he shuddered and stopped the thought.

Lucas worked on the woman's facial features next. Movement behind them caught his attention, and he turned to find Eric walking out.

His expression sobered. “The second one,” he whispered. It tensed when he looked at the details. “Shit. Petra. We've got to act now.”

“I just checked and saw two guards inside. One said something about cruising the hall between Olivia's hallway and downstairs where Darkwell was staying. I hit the block, so he's definitely there.”

Nicholas turned back to the sketch. Lucas finished the woman's mouth and nose. He worked on her eyes next. In another minute her face was finished. He dropped the pencil and lay on the floor, leaving the rest of them to study the picture.

Amy knelt next to Lucas and shook his arm. “Lucas. Wake up.” She turned to the others. “He asked me to wake him if he did another sketch. Lucas!”

He roused, his eyes hazy. They came into focus when he saw them watching him. “I did another one?” His voice was slurred as he sat up with Amy's help.

“We think it's Petra,” Eric said.

They studied the sketch in silence.

“It doesn't quite look like her,” Amy said. “The eyes and mouth are different.”

Once Nicholas put the assumption that it was Petra out of his mind, the features took on a different look. It sucked the breath out of him. He knew that face. His hand involuntarily twisted his shirt the same way fear twisted his chest. “It's Olivia.”

Lucas stared at the drawing, nodding in agreement. “The woman at the asylum who cooled down my fever when I was being held there.”

“But that doesn't make sense.” Nicholas's knees got weak, and he knelt on the floor. “She's on their side.” He turned to them, eyeing Eric in particular. “Unless her assailant is one of you guys.”

“Sure as hell wouldn't be Lucas or Rand.” Eric tilted his head. “I'd kill her if she was pointing a gun at me, yeah. But come up behind her and strangle her? Nah. Remember, I didn't kill her the last time I saw her.”

Nicholas couldn't argue with that. He turned back to the sketch, his heart a chunk of ice. “Whoever this is, he's not killing her because he has to. It's because he wants to.”

Amy wrapped her arms around herself. “You can see a smile on his face.”

Lucas said, “Maybe it's Jerryl. Didn't you say he liked killing? Maybe she pissed Darkwell off, and he's targeting her.”

Nicholas shook his head. “Not her.”

“Don't underestimate his ruthlessness. If anyone gets in his way, he eliminates them. He killed his own brother.”

“But he wouldn't kill his dau—” He stopped, wishing he could pull back the words.

Eric leaned closer. “His what?”

“His assistant.”

Eric turned Nicholas's shoulder to face him. “That's not what you were going to say.”

Amy's mouth opened. “She's his daughter. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?”

Nicholas reluctantly nodded. “He doesn't want anyone to know.”

Eric said, “And you didn't want us to know.”

“I didn't want you to target her because of that. She doesn't know what he's doing. She thinks he's this great man doing great things for the country. He raised her single-handedly, so she sees only the good in him. She's an innocent.”

Eric stared at the sketch. “Maybe so, but she still works for the enemy. She's friggin'
related
to the enemy. So if a woman's going to be killed, at least it's not one of ours.”

Nicholas looked at Lucas. “Does what you draw always happen?”

“'Fraid so.”

Amy slid her arm around Lucas's. “He intervened when he knew enough details. He saw me being attacked at a marina. He saved me from being raped and God knows what else.”

Nicholas looked at the sketch again, that image searing painfully into his eyes, his chest. “I can't let this happen.”

“She's not your problem anymore,” Eric said.

“Yeah…she is.”

Eric crossed his arms over his chest. “Crap. You're involved with her, aren't you?”

“We didn't get
involved.
There were rules against that, and she follows rules.”

Amy tilted her head. “But you fell for her.”

Had he? He'd never fallen in love. “I don't even know what falling for someone feels like. But the thought of her getting hurt tears out my guts in a way I've never experienced before.”

She and Lucas looked at each other, and said at the same time, “He fell for her.”

Lucas said, “Man, I know what you mean, believe me.”

Eric shook his head. “No way are we risking our lives to save the enemy's daughter.” He pointed his finger at Lucas. “And I will put my foot down on this one, so don't get all heroic on me again.”

“He's right, Nicholas,” Lucas said. “We can't do it.”

Eric turned to the hallway. “I'm going to bed. This better not come up again.” He disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door with a decisive
thud
.

Amy peered down the hallway. “I'm surprised Petra hasn't woken up.”

Lucas stared at the drawing. “Soon after Eric, Petra, and I first learned about being Offspring, we found out Amy was one of us, too. I had been dreaming about her, connecting psychically to her, for years. I got a sketch of someone getting killed, and I knew it was connected to Amy and this Offspring business. I was afraid it was her. I didn't want to involve her, but I had to warn her to be careful, not to trust anyone. I recognize the fear and determination in your face, my friend. Nothing and no one could have stopped me from saving her.”

She took his hand and kissed his palm. “He took the risk, and that's how Darkwell caught him.”

Lucas closed his eyes for a moment before meeting Nicholas's gaze. “Immediately after the vision that compels
me to do these sketches, sometimes I can go into the attacker's dreams and see his face. If I get another sketch tomorrow, I'll give it a try.”

Amy put her hand on Lucas's arm. “Could you stop him?” At his darkening expression, she said, “To save this woman's life? She might have saved your life, you know.”

“You can stop him in your dreams?” Nicholas asked.

“If I can get into his dreams and kill him, his body reacts as though it's really happening. Turns out the part of us that paralyzes our bodies during REM sleep is disabled when I'm in someone's dreams. I can't guarantee I'll be able to do that, though.”

Nicholas nodded, though he could tell Lucas didn't like the prospect of it. Nicholas only felt a modicum of relief. “You warned Amy. How?”

“Scared me to death,” she said, though she was smiling. “He broke into my apartment.”

Nicholas shook his head. “That won't work. She's staying at the estate.”

Amy asked, “Does she go anywhere at night?”

“She mentioned going to yoga class on Thursday nights, which is tonight. But I won't have any details.”

“Take opportunity over details. At least she'll be on alert.”

He had a plan. Sort of. “You just broke in and grabbed her?”

Lucas's grin was wry. “It wasn't what I wanted to do, but I didn't have time to earn her trust first.”

Nicholas's laugh held not a speck of humor. “I sure don't have that with Olivia anymore. I'm the enemy in her eyes. So I'm going to have to do the same thing, grab her when she's not expecting it.” He pulled his fingers through his hair. “I can't believe I'm even thinking this.
I'm
going to be an attacker.”

“For good reason,” Lucas said. “The key is, get in, tell her what she needs to know, and get out. She may not be
lieve you right away, but hopefully she'll think about it. You took a big risk to warn her, and you didn't hurt her.”

Amy said, “If you had any kind of relationship with her, she'll be able to tell that you care. I didn't know about our psychic connection, so I thought there was this mad rapist in my bedroom. Oddly enough, I could see he cared. Yeah, I thought I was crazy at the time, but that stuck with me. This guy took a big risk—and got caught—because he cared about me. If you and she had any kind of connection, you've at least got something to build on.”

Again, an image of him kissing her taunted his mind. “Maybe.” He looked at Lucas. “Amy said that whatever you're sketching comes true on the fifth day.”

He nodded. “It's going to happen Saturday.”

“There are only two days between when I'll get to warn her and the attack.”

Lucas said, “Then you'd better do a damned good job of convincing her.”