Touching Darkness (18 page)

She knew he'd like that. “And you're the one who's going to shut down those Rogues.”

“Yes, ma'am. Bad dudes, they are. But you'll be safe soon enough.”

Arturo was listening, but she was sure he had no idea about Sayre's special skills. Not that he'd believe it anyway. Olivia said, “I know what they can do. Get into people's heads, set fires. Are you up for all that?”

“You bet my balls, I am. Oh, sorry 'bout that. And in front of a lady yet. I am such a bad boy.” He tapped his face, jangling the chain again. “I'm used to being around prison guys. We don't see beautiful ladies much.”

She ignored his compliment. “I'm fascinated by all this stuff, especially what you can do.” She hoped he did something unusual to warrant her bluff. He probably did, considering her father had gone to a lot of trouble to bring him on board.

He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, his food untouched. He was much more interested in impressing her. “You wait and see, those Rogues will be history soon. I just found out I got a twin brother. He got to live with some nice guy in a nice house, and I got…well, I got pack rats with a house full of trash and cats and stuff.”

“That must make you pretty angry.”

He surprised her by waving it off. “I'll get even. I got a direct line into my dear brother's head. I'm going to get into his dreams and make him take out his friends. Ain't that some poetic justice?”

Get into his dreams.

Before she could ask more, he reached up and dipped his finger into the hollow of his throat, rubbing it up and down—just like in her nightmare.

Her nightmare about Lucas. But not Lucas. Someone who looked like Lucas.

“I'd better go.” She stood so fast the chair tipped over. She went right to her father's office and knocked.

“Yes?”

“Do you have a minute?” She was already walking in and closing the door behind her.

“What's the matter?” Obviously she looked upset.

“I spoke to Sayre Andrus.”

“You what?”

“I know, I broke your rules.”

“It's not some arbitrary rule. The man is a psychopath.”

“Yes, he is. But as you said, he won't hurt me, not physically. He said he can get into Lucas's dreams and make him do things.” She stood, bracing herself on the desk. “Can he?”

“Yes.” Again, that simple yet astounding answer.

She sank down in the chair, her legs weak. “Can he…get into my dreams?”

That took him back for a second. “I suppose he could, in theory. But he wouldn't.”

“I think he did. I had a disturbing dream that woke me up the night I came downstairs and saw you burning the files. Though I couldn't remember much, it gave me the creepiest feeling I've ever had. Last night I had another one. Lucas had me captive somewhere and was going to strangle me. I thought it was Lucas because I didn't know about Sayre.”

“He won't do anything to risk his relative freedom here. Or, I suspect, what he thinks is his chance at escape once I've paid him. You're letting all of this get to your imagination. Nicholas scared you with his warning and now, along with Jerryl's death, it's getting to you. I need you to be strong. For your country. For me.”

He was pulling the “father” card again. For the first time, she actually saw it, clearly saw the way he manipulated her.

“The man in my nightmare did this.” She mimicked what Sayre had done at the base of his throat. “Sayre did that, too, just now, like he was taunting me. He strangled a woman, like he was going to do to me in the dream. That man was in my dream.”

“Sayre has never seen you until today. Has he?”

She shook her head.

“Then how would he know about you?”

That stopped her cold. Good point.

He set his pen down, a dark expression on his face. “Lucas is also a dreamweaver. That's what I call those with the ability to get into dreams. But why would he start targeting you now? Unless…” His eyes narrowed. “Does Nicholas know you're my daughter?”

She couldn't hide her response.

“Hell.”

“He guessed and, as you can see, I'm not good at hiding the truth.”

“Lucas is targeting you because they're trying to get to me through you. I hope all he wants is to taunt me.” He slammed his fist down on the desk. Then he looked at her throat. “Do you wear the pendant at night?”

“I take it off before I go to bed. The chain broke once because I thrash around in my sleep.”

“Don't
ever
take off the pendant.”

Her fingers stilled at the vehemence of his voice and the snarl of his mouth. “Will it keep someone from getting into my dreams?”

“I hope so. I've only tested it on remote-viewing.” His eyes narrowed. “Dammit, you've made yourself vulnerable by revealing the truth.”

“Vulnerable?” Panic fluttered in her stomach. “Can he make me do things while I'm asleep?”

“As far as I know, and Lucas didn't exactly tell me all about his skills, he couldn't make someone do something. He could, however, kill someone in their dreams.”

Her hand went to her throat. “How do I get him out?”

“Wear the pendant.”

“And if that doesn't work?”

Fear sharpened his gaze. “Then the only way to keep him out is to kill him. And we're working on that right now.”

She came to her feet and walked to the door.

Her father was right, as always: How would Sayre know about her before they'd met in the hall the day before?

She walked out and went into her office, pacing in front of the French doors. So it was Lucas getting into her dreams. But that didn't feel right. He didn't seem vicious. Well, what did she really know about human nature, especially where the Rogues were concerned? Look how she'd misjudged Nicholas.

Her father's voice echoed in her thoughts:

You know I'm always right, don't you?

I know what's best, you know that.

Always right…

Trust yourself.
That was what Nicholas had told her. She sat down and closed her eyes.

“Who is coming into my dreams?”

Her father's voice:
Lucas.

“I can only trust myself. Who is coming into my dreams?”

Sayre.

She knew it, felt it in her gut. Somehow, he had found out about her.
Oh my God. When we met that first time, he said I was like a dream!
Like when he'd stroked the hollow of his throat, he was taunting her. She was going to go tell her father but stopped. He was blind to the possibility. He believed in psychic abilities but not his daughter's suspicions.

If he was blind to that in his quest for justice, what else would he be blind to? More disturbingly, what was he willing to risk to preserve his program?
My safety?

She had seen him burning those files and not questioned it. She had seen him not doing anything to help when Lucas
was at death's door and not questioned it. She had seen her father cover up Jerryl's death and not questioned it.

She was as blind as he.

She banged her fist against the glass. For as long as she could remember, she had been holding back her truth. Her questions, doubts. Because, as Nicholas had forced her into admitting, she didn't want to lose her family or her identity. So who was she, then? A shadow of her father?

What do I believe?

If she believed Sayre was coming into her dreams…

She swallowed, and that belief was a hard lump in her throat. She did believe.

If she believed that, then she believed psychic abilities were real. Then it
was
possible Lucas had seen her getting strangled. As her father had said, it wasn't as though Lucas was in a state of mind to share what his abilities were.

Sayre Andrus had strangled one woman, maybe two.

She was dreaming about Sayre strangling her.

She shivered. The pieces were too much to ignore, not when she could clearly remember the fear on Nicholas's face. He believed she was in danger. Now she did, too. The best thing to do was stay away from the estate, not only on Saturday, but until Sayre was gone.

L
ike an animal senses an oncoming storm, Sayre picked up on a different energy in the air Friday evening. He watched from his window back in his room, where, in the shadows of dusk, men wearing black got into position. Since the fire alarm and the woman's screams that morning, the house had been filled with the sound of reconstruction. Not to mention the stench of smoke and, he suspected, burnt flesh.

Something big had happened, and it annoyed him not to know what it was.

His mind was on other things tonight, though. Like Olivia. Damn, seeing her in person was a jolt to the balls. Then when she came in to talk to him…oh, yeah. He must have overwhelmed her, 'cause she hightailed it out of there real quick-like. He'd seen her when he'd probed Mr. Darkwell's head. Interesting that the man was thinking of her.

Sayre was going to have some mind-blowing sex with her, then he was going to kill her, right under Mr. Darkwell's nose. His gaze went to the shadows where he couldn't see the men in black now. They were a complication, sure. Not a deterrent.

He studied the landscaping below his window. Odd-shaped bushes led a zigzag path to the hedges along the
wall. At the front corner were bars, and he was good at getting through small spaces. He had the cunning of an animal, too. The trick was to move very, very slowly, like a sloth. Those guys were looking for movement, sound.

He waited until midnight and drifted into the darkness of his mind.
First, pay a visit to my favorite gal.

He slipped right into her dream about some guy and cakes. He changed the dream. Now they were in the woods, and she was kissing on the guy, only the guy became him. She opened her eyes and yelped, jumping back.

He pulled her back. “You love kissing me. Don't you?” he said between kisses.

She helplessly nodded.

He pushed back the straps of her dress and it fell to the ground. “It's been a long time since I've had some good sex. You're going to give it to me, aren't you?”

Again she nodded, her eyes filled with terror.

He looked in her eyes, leaning closer, closer, and then merging with her. He opened his eyes—her eyes—and saw a sleigh bed. He made her look down. She was wearing silky pajamas. He made her bring her hand up to one of her breasts. He was hard, throbbing with anticipation.

Oh, the things we'll do.

He'd toyed enough, though. He didn't want to use up his energy. He made her get up and walk out to the living room. It was a nice place, earth colors, statues in various niches, including Rodin's
The Kiss.

Look for mail.

She walked to a small desk and pulled out a square basket filled with envelopes. She picked one up, and he looked at a Woodbridge, Virginia, address. He walked her back to bed and pulled out.

He stripped, folded the dirty clothes into neat squares, and set them in his hamper. He watched television (he loved crime television) and ate nuked popcorn. At exactly four o'clock, he settled back on the couch and probed the mind
of the guard posted outside his door. Just as he thought, the guy was asleep.

He entered the man's dream and merged with him, opening his eyes to see the dimly lit hallway downstairs.

The guy stood and checked the second door. Earlier it had been slightly open, and he'd been able to see that it was an office. No light shone beneath the door. No sounds from within. The guy twisted the knob and pushed the door open. Dark. He walked in and found the computer in the light from the clock. He turned it on and sat down to wait for it to boot up. A minute later, he went to the online maps and searched for the address of the estate. He needed to find the perfect place for his date with Olivia, near water. It destroyed evidence, hid bodies, and bought time.

The guard scanned the area and found what he was looking for: a river, with a park. He zoomed in, and Sayre memorized the direction and roads leading to it. Next he had the guy look for Woodbridge. It was forty-five minutes to an hour and twenty minutes away, depending on traffic.

“My work here is complete.” He laughed. “For now.”

 

Olivia woke in her bed Saturday morning, sunshine streaming through her sheer curtains and spilling onto her bed. She usually loved waking up on the weekends, not having to go into work quite as early.

She rubbed her hands down her arms, feeling a chill that wasn't in the air. Vague but creepy memories of another nightmare filtered into her mind. She wanted to push it away, but she couldn't do that anymore. The dream…it wouldn't come to the surface, but she knew
he
had been in it. The question was, had it been a normal nightmare, or one that he had produced? She pressed her fingers against the pendant. Could this protect her?

She grabbed the phone on her nightstand and dialed her father at home. He answered, and she said, “Is there any chance Sayre could get out?”

“Escape? None. Not while he's in the attic quarters. The door and windows are impenetrable, plus there's always a guard at the door, not to mention the guards outside.”

She heard the patronizing tone in his voice. He used to chide her about her nightmare terrors. Why be afraid of something not real? But this was real.

She would tell him about her decision not to sleep at the estate tomorrow. “I hope you're right.”

“I'm always right. The guards will be checking in through the day and night. I want you to check in with me, too. I wish you'd let me assign a guard to you. Maybe Nicholas won't hurt you, but he doesn't run the Rogues.”

“You're wrong about that. I don't think the Rogues will attempt an attack on the mansion. Nicholas's warning was exactly what he said: to protect me.” But she wasn't at the estate now, wasn't physically anywhere near Sayre. “The only person I'm worried about is Sayre. And possibly the guards.”

“Olivia—”

“You won't convince me otherwise, so don't even try.”

After a pause, he said, “You don't sound like yourself. Is something wrong?”

She wasn't his compliant little girl anymore, but she wasn't going to tell him that on the phone. “Everything is fine. Goodbye.”

In the shower, as the water sluiced down her body, it wasn't her safety on her mind; it was Nicholas's. What if Sayre really could get Lucas to kill his comrades? That included Nicholas.

Deep down she knew he wasn't a bad guy.

If he's not, then what does that make your father?

It was a question she couldn't answer.

She turned off the water, her chest tightening. She had no way to contact Nicholas, to warn him that Sayre was going to use Lucas to kill them.

“Nicholas, if you can hear thoughts, please hear this: You're all in danger.”

In the kitchen, she heated water and scooped coffee
powder into her cup. Her stomach was too tense for food. She picked up the piece of paper lying on the table and looked at the three names and addresses on it:

Carl Merrimack. The last time she'd seen him, almost a month ago, Eric had just smashed his head into the floor. He was still unconscious when the medics arrived.

John Hanson, whom Lucas shot, also when the Rogues broke into the asylum to rescue Rand Brandenburg.

Mark Jackson, guard at the asylum, shot in the shoulder.

Her encounter with Harry haunted her. Maybe he
was
good at pretending. He was CIA, after all. Not so, these other guys. She was going to check on a hunch, one she wasn't even sure she could explain.

She poured hot water into her mug and stirred, breathing in the scent of French vanilla. She managed to down a piece of toast, then headed to her bedroom to get dressed. On the way, some envelopes on her desk caught her eye. She always kept her bills in the basket, so why was her electric bill perched on the edge of her desk? She put it back in the basket and continued on.

An hour later, she stood outside Carl's apartment door, the television blaring inside. She hoped to find a family member who could give her an update on his condition.

He answered the door, a pleasant but curious expression on his face. “Yeah? Can I help you?” Not a hint of recognition.

“Carl, it's me. Olivia. Don't you remember me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Crap, did we go out or something? Look, if I didn't call—”

“No, we worked together up until a month ago.”

He took her in again. “You and me worked together? I don't think so.”

She saw no sign of injury on his head. “Can I see your right hand? Humor me.”

Warily, he held out his hand. Eric Aruda had shot him in the hand. She turned it back and forth. No sign of any kind of wound.

“This can't be,” she whispered.

“I think you're a little mixed up.”

“Don't you remember working for Gerard Darkwell? At an old insane asylum? You were shot in the hand, beaten…”

He was shaking his head. “I just finished an assignment guarding some warehouse for a few months, and I've been working at a bank for the last three weeks. I took a bullet when I was a cop, but that was twelve years ago. You've got the wrong guy.”

Maybe the men had been debriefed to keep their assignments quiet, but where were his injuries?

“I've got the wrong something. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Next she went to John Hanson's house. His gunshot wound had been pretty serious. She'd heard Jerryl say Lucas had thrown himself between Hanson's bullet and Amy Shane. Hanson had taken a serious hit and was likely dead.

She knocked on Hanson's door, and a woman answered, her expression becoming wary when she spotted Olivia. “Yes?”

“I'm looking for John Hanson. I worked with him when he was shot, and I wanted to see how he was doing.”

Her blank look wasn't a surprise. Bizarre, but not a surprise. “John wasn't shot.”

“He was working on a classified assignment until recently, right?”

She nodded. “He came home a few weeks ago and said the assignment had abruptly ended. It was disappointing, what with our son's birthday coming up, but we managed.”

“I must be mistaken.”

Mark Jackson was a handsome man who'd worked the perimeter of the asylum. He'd been shot in the shoulder and hit in the face with a gun. He, of course, showed no sign of either injury as he walked to his car in an apartment com
plex parking lot. She walked within his range of sight and smiled at him. He smiled back in a polite, stranger kind of way and got into his car. No spark of recognition, despite the fact that he'd joked with her every week about being clandestine when she gave him his pay envelope full of cash.

These men weren't pretending they'd forgotten the assignment. They truly did not know her. And they'd miraculously healed from their injuries.

She leaned against a car, not one possible explanation coming to mind. She remembered something Jerryl had said to Fonda: The Rogues wouldn't die.

But these men were normal people. So what had happened to them? Or more precisely, what had her father done to them?

 

Lucas's whispered words woke Nicholas: “It's still going to happen.”

He woke instantly. Amy was coming awake, too, and Eric sat in the chair, his eyes glazed.

Lucas had done the last sketch.

Panic shot through Nicholas. “Even though I warned her.”

Lucas nodded.

“You intervened when Amy was going to be attacked. You stopped it. So can I. I'll watch over her all day from a distance.”

“Too dangerous,” Eric said. “Darkwell's men could be watching her.”

“I'm not letting her die. I'm going to check on her.”

Nicholas turned down the lights and reclined on the couch. His eyebrows furrowed, his body twitched. His mouth tightened. He tuned his focus in, putting all of his attention on Olivia. This time, as fear throbbed inside him, he felt the darkness of the abyss. It pulsed, like a living thing, threatening to swallow him. He had once
been in the vicinity of a tornado, and the pressure in the air, or perhaps lack of it, felt the same as the abyss. He couldn't breathe. It pressed closer, forcing him back.

This is where he usually had to retreat. Not now. Not when Olivia's life was at stake. He tried to suck in a breath.
No oxygen. Must push past it.
He gritted his teeth and stepped into the miasma of what looked like…smoke. Thick, vile smoke, stealing away the oxygen. He stopped. That's why the abyss terrified him. Smoke. Fire.

His chest felt crushed from lack of air. The black mass had no smell, but the wall that stood before him was thick and oily. Not even fire could stop him from saving Olivia. He took a step. The vile blackness surrounded him, pressing tight against him. He took another step. Another. Like slogging through water, but it didn't stop him. And finally he stepped out on the other side, into a different kind of darkness. He'd been here before. The ether. Now he could find her.

He focused on her face, trying to keep the fear from interfering. Other than the times he'd tried to find a missing child, he'd never had a deadline. Now, time was running out.

He felt his spirit glide toward her.
Come on, bring me to her.
Just as he was getting nearer, he hit an invisible wall. It bounced him right out. He held on to his connection and went to the estate. He looked in her office, roamed the hallways, then checked her suite. He didn't see Darkwell or Olivia.

He pulled out and sat up. “I can't find her or see her. It feels like the same kind of block I got when I tried to remote-view Darkwell. I've got to check her condo. I know the city, but not the address. I need a touchstone to find a place. Sometimes that's a person. If I can't find her, I need something of hers that would be at her apartment. Then I can find that, at least.” He tapped his fingers
against his mouth in thought. “She wore some silver spiral earrings once. As long as she isn't wearing them, I could find them.”