“I suppose shapeshifters don’t have a lot of options. Derek said normal tattoos heal.”
With the attack that had caused him to change, he’d gone from half-dead to prowling around in only a few hours. “That goes doubly so for me, I guess.”
“So you have some? Tattoos, I mean.”
She sounded interested in spite of her studiously casual tone, and he couldn’t help teasing her. “I’ve got a few, Kat. Want to see them?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “No.”
He didn’t blame her for lying. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
The gesture she made was sufficiently rude to end the conversation, and she pointedly opened her computer. “Anything else you want me to look up before we get there?”
“Yeah.” He gave her a mild smile. “What’s the architectural and combat history of the ship? I’m curious.”
“You’re such a freak.” But fondness laced the words, and in a few seconds she’d pulled up a page and started to read. “The USS Alabama’s a South Dakota-class battleship…”
She continued to talk, sometimes reading and sometimes paraphrasing, as they drove. Andrew listened, not so much to her words as to the flow of her voice, familiar and soothing.
In an hour, they’d make it to Mobile. In two, if everything went exactly as planned, the meet would go down, and Kat would get her information. The problem was what he knew—and she did too, down past all her hope.
Things never went exactly as planned.
Chapter Three
Andrew had been spending too much time with Alec.
They arrived for the meeting early enough that Kat had every intention of waiting in the car while Andrew did whatever reconnaissance made him feel more secure. Instead she got dragged out into the crisp January air and glared at until she bundled up in her jacket, hat and scarf.
Andrew, it seemed, had no intention of letting her out of his sight.
The wind coming in off the bay didn’t bother him. He looked perfectly comfortable in his stupidly hot leather jacket, and glaring at his back wasn’t nearly as satisfying when she kept getting distracted wondering what sort of tattoos he might be hiding under his clothing.
He’d offered to show her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was always stupid about Andrew, but she’d never seen him like this before.
Focused. Intense. The humor and intelligence that she adored tempered by a dangerous edge. A couple of years ago she wouldn’t have liked that edge.
A couple of years ago she hadn’t had edges of her own.
He stopped outside the visitors’ center and shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?” She glanced around at the sparse crowd, but nothing seemed out of place, and she’d locked her empathy up behind her tightest shields the second they’d stepped out of the car. “Is something wrong?”
Instead of answering, he cursed and peered down at her. “Where exactly are we supposed to meet this woman?”
The email hadn’t been specific, and her attempt to clarify had gone unanswered. “I don’t know. I assume she was planning on finding me. Or you. You’re not exactly unknown in supernatural circles.”
“Right. Alec Junior.” Andrew turned in a slow circle. “It’s open, but not open enough. See how this building and the pavilion both block off this area by the waterfront?”
She glanced at the pavilion, then turned and squinted toward the far end of the ship. “We could go wait down there by those planes or something? Or hell, back in the parking lot if you want. She’ll come to us.
And if she doesn’t…”
He hesitated. “If I had to pick a spot, it’d be back by the Vietnam War memorial. Not too much elevation, plenty of cover. But it’s almost a quarter-mile, and your contact might never find us.”
Closing her eyes, Kat tried to consider the situation rationally. Possible information against acceptable risk. Not just risk to her, but risk to Andrew. His willingness to throw himself between her and danger had never been in doubt, after all. “You decide. I trust your instincts more than mine.”
For a moment, he fairly trembled with energy and tension. Then he held out both hands. “Here’s fine.
Just keep your eyes peeled, and if I tell you to hit the ground—”
“Then I’ll kiss asphalt.” She blew out a breath and glanced around again. Not too many people seemed eager to brave the morning chill, but enough milled about that it might not be easy to spot one face in the crowd. “I learned a few new tricks from that hotshot English empath. If someone’s watching my back, I can pinpoint hot spots of specific emotions. Nerves, anger, whatever.”
“How close?”
For one moment she hesitated, her teacher’s words coming back to her. Strong psychics survive by keeping their abilities a secret. Unless you plan to find an employer so terrifying no one dares touch you, you’re safer if no one knows just how much you can do. Good advice, and she’d taken it to heart.
But it was Andrew—and Andrew already knew. “I’ll have to concentrate to keep from getting hits all the way back to the Civic Center.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Good.” He pulled her closer with an arm around her shoulders, the pose deceptively casual, considering their conversation. “You don’t know anything about this group at all? What they’re after? If they like guns or magic?”
“Derek and I always knew that she was messed up in psychic-cult shit, but I don’t even remember when I first found out. I heard my dad and Derek’s dad talking once…”
The memory was fuzzy, painted in fear and worry that she’d later realized was coming from the adults.
They hadn’t known she was nearby, listening, or they’d never have spoken so freely. “My uncle said the Gabriel women had a history of being powerful. It was a thing. Legacy. That’s why my mom wouldn’t change her name when she got married, and why she gave me hers. Being a Gabriel psychic was supposed to be a big deal.”
He nodded slowly. “Guess we just have to be ready for anything.”
Kat let her eyes drift shut and leaned into him. “I’m going to see if anyone around us is really nervous.
Can you make sure I don’t topple over?”
“I’ve got you.”
Andrew was so tall that the back of her head rested easily against his shoulder, though she wasn’t particularly short. His body behind hers provided the perfect grounding, made it less of a challenge to find a quiet space inside her.
Her teacher had talked about trances, but Kat had never liked that word. Trance summoned images of chanting and drug trips or, at the very least, serious and dedicated meditation. Finding a quiet place was more like daydreaming, something she’d always been good at.
Of course, if settling into place was easy, preparing to scan the area was anything but. Dropping her shields in a sea of humans was asking for insanity, but a bit of concentration redirected the power, burning it through the sheer effort of changing the way she perceived emotions.
The waking dream, Callum had called it. Temporary synesthesia, she’d retorted, annoyed by his fondness for shrouding everything in vague, mystical metaphor when science provided a serviceable definition.
Whatever the trick was, it was useful. And disorienting. Five minutes later, she opened her eyes to find the world transformed. “Whoa.”
Andrew’s hand closed on her shoulder, strong and sparking purple flecked with silver. “What is it?”