Touching Darkness (16 page)

When she returned to the estate, she checked her father's office. His door was closed, and she heard Jerryl's voice on the other side.

“I was so damned close.
Again.
”

The door opened suddenly, startling her. Jerryl stalked past her to his room.

Her father looked up, his face a mask of tension. “What can I do for you?”

So the guard hadn't reported the odd activity at the coffee shop to him, at least not yet. Good. She closed the door and sat down in the chair. “You look tired.”

“I'm fine,” he said in a weary voice.

The thought of losing her father made her stomach ache. “I ordered you some vitamins for stress. You have to take care of yourself, get enough sleep, eat right.”

His face softened. “Thanks for your concern.”

She lowered her voice. “You're all I have, Dad. I love you.”

He actually smiled, something she hadn't seen in months. “It's been you and me for a long time. I did a good job, didn't I?”

He always reminded her of that. She nodded.

“And my job didn't end when you became an adult, even when you joined the CIA. It won't end until I'm in the grave, but hopefully everything I've worked hard to instill in you will continue on.”

She wasn't sure which statement made her stomach tighten: the thought of his being in the grave or the obliga
tion that went with his words. His devotion was her prison. No,
her
devotion was her prison. She had to push out the words. “I saw Nicholas today.”

The paternal softness disappeared. “What?”

“He warned me that Lucas Vanderwyck had a premonition about my being strangled Saturday.”

“Where was the guard? This is the kind of thing he was supposed to prevent. Braden could have hurt you.”

“But he didn't. The guard waited outside while I went into a coffee shop.”

“Olivia, I don't have to tell you how disappointed I am that you didn't alert him. You're too soft. A Darkwell does not protect the enemy.”

“Would you rather have me destroyed by my responsibility for a man's being killed, haunted by the memory of seeing it happen?”

He let out a sigh. “You need to watch more of the History Channel. War is war. And make no mistake: This is a war.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “You have a red mark on your arm. Did he do that?”

Now was not the right time to disclose her pastime. “I toppled over in yoga class.”

“Clumsy.” He shook his head. “What exactly did Nicholas tell you?”

She recounted it as best as she could remember, though she didn't tell him about his accusations.
Did you have Robbins killed?
She couldn't push out those words. The mere thought was a betrayal.

“He wants you away from here. Why?” He tapped his fingers on his desk. “Because they're planning something. An attack on the estate. He doesn't want you here. Isn't that sweet?” He gave her a bitter smile.

“He told me to stay here, until he realized that was my plan.”

“He's playing games with you, trying to figure out your schedule. I appreciate that he wants you out of the fray.
Frankly, that works in my favor. Now I know what they're up to, and when they're coming.” He looked out into the night. “We'll be ready for them.”

She could see his mind working, plotting murder, growing a smile at the thought. It made her shudder. “I don't want Nicholas hurt.”

He shifted his onyx gaze to her. “If he and his people come onto my property, I have the right to terminate them. Do you think they're going to spare my life?”

She shook her head, that question settling into the deepest recesses of her heart.

He asked, “Do you believe his warning?”

“I believe he's worried for my safety. And…I think you're right. He probably wants me out of the way knowing the Rogues will be coming.”

He nodded. “And you will be away from here.”

“I'll stay safely tucked in my condo. I don't need a bodyguard anymore. If Nicholas had intended me harm, he had the perfect opportunity. Besides, you'll need the guard here on Saturday.” Did she believe Nicholas? Some part of her was anxious to get rid of her guard. “And I want you gone, too.”

He raised his eyebrow at her assertions but didn't argue. “I don't like hiding, but I certainly don't want to give them what they want. The Rogues will be cut down as they enter the property, but should they penetrate the building, they won't find me.”

She breathed out in relief. “Fonda shouldn't be here, either. She may be tough, but there's no point in exposing her to the risk.” Fonda had talked about her skills. “The special skills Nicholas, Jerryl, and Fonda have…are they…supposed to be supernatural?”

“Is that what Braden said?”

“Not exactly, other than Lucas's supposed premonitions.”

“Forget what he said. He's over the edge.”

She stood, feeling agitated. “I'm going to bed now. Get some sleep.”

Most of the time he was her father, but sometimes she was his mother.

As she reached the door, his words stopped her. “Olivia, you understand he's one of them now, don't you? He stalked you, accosted you. Whatever his intentions, he's now a Rogue.”

She didn't turn, but nodded and continued to her suite. She took a shower, then tossed and turned in bed for the next hour. Her body had betrayed her. Was still betraying her. Because she could feel Nicholas against her and that electricity coursing through her veins. She still heard his emotional words about him liking her more than he wanted to. He'd woken up that sensual part of her she'd buried for so long, and her body wasn't going to let her forget it.

 

Nicholas couldn't sleep. He was charged up from seeing Olivia, from worry…from desire.

Get it out of your head. You're not going to see her again. You won't feel her against you, won't kiss her…nothing.

It wasn't working. He kept thinking about her on that roller-derby track, strong and tough, then later, holding her against his body, the hurt in her eyes, the betrayal…

He flopped onto his back. Maybe he'd check on her, a quick in and out and make sure she was all right. He closed his eyes. He didn't have to focus on her; she was already permeating every cell of his brain.

After the weightlessness, her room came into view. It was near dark but for the moonlight streaming through the gauzy curtains at the French doors. He turned toward her bed, expecting to find her asleep. The first thing he saw was a flash of movement. Then bare skin. His throat tightened. She was dancing across the floor, using all the space
in the room. Wearing—he swallowed hard—only a black bra and matching panties edged in lace.

He couldn't hear much of the music, only a throbbing beat. Then it came in clearer, Alanis Morissette, “You Ought to Know.” Her eyes were closed as she sank into the experience, singing along with the attitude song. Despite getting into the sentiment of the angry song (
Oh, that part about going down on him in a theater!
), he had never seen such grace, such beauty. She arched her body so that her stomach looked long and lean. Good God, she looked like a stripper, no, better than any stripper he'd ever seen. Her long hair slid over her shoulders, grazing her back, flowing with her movements.

He didn't care anymore if it was wrong to watch her. He was as caught up in it as she was. He wanted to put his hands on that waist, slide them down over her hips.

But you're not. Get that out of both of your heads.

The thought killed him. But the physical head wasn't the one he was worried about. The truth went deeper, and that was much worse.

L
ucas heard Amy's voice from what sounded like a long distance away.

“Lucas, go into the dream.”

That was the cue they'd agreed upon if he had done another sketch. The third sketch, which meant this woman was probably going to die. If he connected with the attacker, he would go into his dreams, if the man was also asleep.

He saw Olivia's face, screwed up in panic and fear as the man's fingers tightened around her throat. She gasped, clawing at his hands, throwing her body against him to no avail, getting weaker and weaker, finally going limp. Lucas didn't want to be here. He could feel the man's evil pleasure as her naked body slumped to the ground.

He'd done more than just kill her.

The man's voice, a slight Southern drawl. “All right, sweetheart, now you gotta disappear. Can't let anyone find your body.”

They were in the woods, in a small clearing, but the muted moonlight washed over the surface of what looked like a lake just yards away. The man's face was in shadow. He prowled the shore and hauled three rocks over to Olivia's body, where he re-dressed her, then stuffed the rocks into her clothing. He rolled her into the water, trip
ping and falling in, too. He let out a whispered expletive, shaking the water from his head.

Not enough to go on. Stay with it.

He groped down in the water, probably feeling for the body. Then he pulled her farther out.

The moon broke through the clouds as he walked to the shoreline. He stood. Turned around. Lucas readied himself to memorize his features.

He didn't have to.

His
eyes looked back at him. His face.

The shock propelled him out of the vision.

Amy touched his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

He couldn't look at her. It didn't make sense. How could he kill Olivia? He'd never touch a woman in anger, much less kill her. The man he'd seen had enjoyed taking her life.

Me. Somehow, it's going to be me.

“Give me a minute.” He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to figure it out.

Then it came together. He could kill through his dreams. And the Booster was making him crazy. He'd feared hurting his own people, like shooting them as Zoe's dad had done.

This was much worse. Something was changing in him. He was becoming a murderer. And he was going to enjoy it.

Fear vibrated through him like an electrical current. No way was he going to become a monster.

He took a deep, ragged breath and wiped the fear from his face. “It was pretty intense.”

“I bet. Did you see the man's face?”

“No.” He couldn't tell the Rogues, especially not Amy. “But it's going to happen Saturday night. I'm going to give Nicholas whatever I can to save her.”

It was time to call in the promise he'd forced Eric to make.

 

Olivia saw the man in the shadows. He was coming at her, and she sensed the danger of him like a tiger stalking closer.

Where was she? How had she gotten there? The room felt like a large, concrete box, with only one shaft of light coming down from above. It was cold, dark everywhere but in the spotlight beam she was in. And she was naked.

“Hello, Olivia.” His voice was low, seductive. He stood just outside the light, cloaked in darkness. “I've come for you.”

He touched her throat with the tip of his finger, and she started to move away from him. But she couldn't.

Couldn't move!

“Please…go away.”

“Not a chance.” He moved into a shaft of light, illuminating his face.
Lucas Vanderwyck.
“You and me, we got a date.”

He circled her, drawing his hand with his movements so that it trailed around her shoulders, her arms, then her hips. His touch repulsed her and left a burning path along her skin.

“What have you done to me?”

He came face-to-face with her, dipping his finger into the hollow of her throat, rubbing it up and down.

“You're in my prison, my little buttercup. Mine to do with as I wish.”

“No.”
Damn, why couldn't she fight? Move?

“No.
” He mirrored her panicked word, his eyes wide in mock horror. “No.” The laugh that burst from him bounced off the hard walls and cut right through her. “Yes. Oh my, yes, when the time is right. Are you going to fight me, Olivia? Or are you going to let me do as I please? I like when they fight, you know. I like seeing the fear, hearing the choking sounds. Either way, it's going to be good.”

His other hand had gone around her throat as he'd talked, and now it tightened. She was making those sounds. She couldn't breathe. He let up. Released her. “I'll be back, darlin'.”

With a gasp, she sat up in bed, dizzy from the movement. Her hand had gone to her throat. She checked her
room. Shafts of moonlight coming through the French doors. Not a concrete box. No Lucas.

She pushed out of bed, her knees weak, heart pounding. The dream clung to her like dark and sticky molasses. His voice still echoed in her head. She went into the bathroom and turned on the light.

She ran water and splashed it on her face, wanting to wash away that residue. Why would she have that kind of nightmare about Lucas? She had only seen him ravaged by fever, calling out for his girlfriend. Her mouth twisted in a frown.

Nicholas. His warning had tainted her dreams.

She dried her face and returned to bed.

Puppies. Babies giggling. Slamming Betty Ballbreaker at the bout the other night. Nice, pretty thoughts.

She curled up in a fetal position under her sheets. Only as she was about to drift back to sleep did something hit her: the icky way she felt tonight was how she felt after the unknown dream that woke her the night she found her father burning files.

 

Nicholas, along with the other Rogues, stood around the easel Friday morning, staring at a more detailed sketch of the man who was strangling Olivia. His face still wasn't clear.

His warning hadn't changed anything, at least so far.

No, she'll listen to you.

Sure, she will. Because you're the guy she can trust.

The thought knotted him up inside.

Petra chewed the tips of her fingernails as she studied the sketch. “That's scary.”

Nicholas pointed to the edge of the sketch. “You can see part of the lake Lucas mentioned earlier.”

Lucas was lost in thought, his expression dark. He only looked up when Nicholas said his name. “Yeah, some kind of water.”

“I need to look at the satellite maps, see where a lake might be.”

Nicholas checked online maps in the Potomac area but didn't find any lakes. The only real body of water was the Potomac River. Unfortunately, it was miles long.

He walked back to the living area. “It's probably the Potomac Riv—”

A small fire erupted in the garbage can next to the desk.

“Eric!” Petra ran to the kitchen sink. Amy picked up the can and met her halfway as she ran back with a glass of water.

Nicholas froze, his chest seizing up. The water doused some of the flames with a sizzle, but fire still licked at the air. Images from his nightmares pounded through his head. The heat, suffocating, his skin burning…

“I've got it back!” Eric shouted as though from a distance.

Amy turned on the faucet to extinguish the rest of the flames. “You could have warned us!”

He shrugged. “I didn't know it would work. I've been staring at that damned garbage can every day.”

“What's wrong with Nicholas?”

Everyone's voices were tinny.

A hand waved in front of him. Someone called his name.

A shove to the shoulder finally jarred him out of his stupor. Rand stood next to him. “What happened to you?”

The fire was out, smoke curling out of the can and stinging his nostrils. “How…how did that fire happen?”

Eric's shoulders puffed in pride. “I did it.”

“You…”

“I set fires. I have pyrokinesis. Pretty cool, huh? I lost my abilities when Petra healed me after I shot myself. They finally came back.”

“Nicholas, are you all right?” Amy asked. “You were frozen.”

He turned to Eric. “You're going to kill me.”

“Not unless you piss me off.” He tilted his head. “Kidding.”

Nicholas shook off the last of the haze. He didn't want to get into his premonition. Eric wouldn't do it on purpose, but somehow Nicholas knew, that was how the fire was going to start.

Eric rubbed his hands together, an anticipatory smile on his face. “I need to take care of some unfinished business.” He looked at Nicholas. “I'm not a finder. I need a location, at least the vicinity, before I can remote-view someone. Where is Darkwell?”

“Only Darkwell?”

“And Jerryl.”

“No one else.”

Eric huffed out a breath. “No one else.”

Nicholas showed him on the map.

“Finally.” Eric lay on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as though he were in a coffin, and closed his eyes.

Nicholas still hadn't shaken the residue of fear from seeing the fire and discovering Eric's ability. He looked at the others, all spellbound, watching Eric. His jaw tensed, his eyes squeezed shut, hands curled into fists. Sweat broke out on his face. Several long minutes passed.

Eric's light blue eyes snapped open. He took a deep breath, as though he'd been holding it the whole time, and he looked at the group. “I couldn't get to Darkwell. That block Nicholas encountered. But I got someone else.”

“Who?”

“We don't have to worry about Jerryl coming in anymore.”

Everyone went silent for a moment, looking at each other, the statement sinking in.

Nicholas could hardly push out the words, “You set him…on fire?” Burned alive. His nightmare, burning flesh, screams of pain…

Eric nodded. “If he survives, he won't be much use to
anyone. He and his girlfriend were getting it on. He was distracted.”

Petra put her hand to her heart. “I hate to be glad someone died…especially that way, but after what he's done to us, I am. Does that make me a terrible person?”

Amy put her arm around her shoulder. “No.”

There wasn't a celebration, but the relief was palpable.

Eric collapsed back on the couch. “
Nobody
messes with my family. He tried to make me kill my own people. He tried to kill my sister.” He took a ragged breath. “Fonda was on top. I started the fire beneath him to give her a chance to get away.”

Nicholas's stomach heaved. “I need to go downstairs. Work off some nervous energy.” He disappeared down the passageway.

 

Alarms woke Olivia. She threw on her robe before racing out into the hallway. The smell of smoke and an acrid odor hit her nose first. When she turned the corner, she saw smoke and heard shouting. Another sound cut right to the center of her chest—a woman's howling screams.

She turned the far corner to the hallway where the offices and the subjects' suites were. One of the guards was spraying waves of foam from a fire extinguisher into Jerryl's suite. Her father, wearing blue silk pajamas, tore past her. Something made a hissing sound, and water began spraying from the ceiling near the doorway. Smoke billowed out of the room, along with that terrible odor, making her eyes sting and her throat burn.

Fonda was the source of those horrible screams, punctuated by harsh coughs. Her naked body was folded into itself, her hands over her face. Olivia looked her over, expecting to find burns. Thankfully, she saw nothing but old scars. What she thought was a burn mark on her hip was a tattoo of a kitten. A guard raced past from behind, carrying another extinguisher.

Olivia hurried forward. Her father looked up at the movement. “Stay back! We've got it under control. You don't want to see this. Trust me.”

The guard standing in the open doorway stared inside the room, horror-struck.

“What happened?” she asked.

Fonda screamed, “Erica Aruda burned him! While we were making love, they burned him!”

The Rogues…burned. The smell. Oh, God, it was burning flesh. “Is he…?”

Her father was staring into the room, where smoke was still drifting out. “If he wasn't, he'd want to be.”

Fonda started sobbing again.

Olivia stopped her imagination from filling in what Jerryl must look like. She sank to her knees and pulled Fonda into her arms. She shook so hard, Olivia could hardly hold on to her.

“How did he get in?” She looked around frantically, but no one was in a defensive posture, only dealing with the fire. She remembered when the fire had broken out at the asylum. Her father told her Eric Aruda had a special skill for setting fires but never explained how.

Fonda's voice chattered. “Pyrokinesis!”

“What?”

“He sets them psychically.”

No. Impossible.

Fonda tried to talk between her sobs. “He did this out of…revenge, I know it.”

“Revenge?” Olivia coughed. “For what?”

“Jerryl tried to kill Eric's sister.”

Gerard said, “That's enough, Fonda. He did it because he wants to destroy us.” He turned to Olivia. “You see what Nicholas is part of now?”

She couldn't deal with that thought. She pulled off her robe and helped Fonda into it. Everyone was coughing, jagged and raw.

A pounding noise on the door at the end of the hallway
got their attention, along with a panicked male voice: “Hey! What's going on out there? There's smoke coming through the floor!” The prisoner.

“We've got it under control. Just a small fire.”

Just a small fire.
To trivialize it like that. Not that Gerard should tell him what had happened.

To the guards, he said, “Check in with the others in case the Rogues are using this as a distraction like last time.” He took a cell phone out of his pocket—did he sleep with it?—and made a call. “Pope, it's Gerard Darkwell. I've got another situation that needs to be handled…No, it wasn't Andrus. Eric Aruda just torched one of my people…Jerryl Evrard. I'll need a fire marshal's report. Accidental. Body disposal…. Thank you.” He disconnected.