“What if the lab we found the first time wasn't the lab at all, but an annex? A place designed to mislead us?”
“But I saw it, and I saw Delancey there.”
“I believe you did.”
“I don't understand.” Kisho was starting to get a headache.
“Kisho, look for me. See the laboratory again. Focus, the way you know you can.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
He didn't want to deal with this, but he wanted answers to these never-ending questions.
Mrs. Sharpe wanted him to look into the future, so he'd try to get something.
He sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, and peered inward. Taking himself to the calm center from which everything appeared, he tried to focus. But he saw nothing but Morgan.
Frustrated because he couldn't think without his mate's face in his mind's eye, he tried to go through Morgan.
When he did, he touched the magic. The pleasure, the sheer belonging he'd felt while in Morgan's arms. Their time in the shower and in bed, together, touching. Two individuals, one heart.
And that simply, everything else faded. He sat in his psychic center and concentrated on William Delancey. For the first time ever, the object of his search immediately appeared.
He looked older, tired, and worried.
William Delancey faced a man Kisho had tried like hell to see before but never could.
Colonel Ricardo Montaña was a large man. Brutish and evil looking, with a scar along his cheek, a thick mustache, and dark eyes that gleamed with sick satisfaction as they watched several men dump bodies into the ocean.
“They served their purpose, and your monsters have fed, no?” Delancey snarled, “We're stuck at sea for another week, under orders to keep a low profile until the boss says otherwise. Great going, Ricardo. You killed them, but my rogues aren't done.
We'll need more men, women, whatever the fuck you can come up with, or those things in the hold will tear through everything to feed their hunger.”
“A hunger we know well, don't we, my friend?” Montaña laughed and crudely grabbed his own crotch. “The whores, they swallow much, eh? The drug is good. Gives the man much power in mind and body.”
“And some fucked-up headaches.” Delancey rubbed his forehead, his once-dark hair now fully gray. “I saw them again, Ricardo. The Circs were here, on board the yacht. I shot Hayashi and the other one, but Hawkins killed me again. Tersch and Fallon I couldn't see. But I died. It's always Hawkins.”
Ricardo stroked his thick mustache. “This one intrigues me. Nothing stops him. I like that very much. And the other one. This Reynolds. My men know of him. He's a problem, William.
One that needs to be taken care of.”
“I thought you were going to take care of Hayashi. Fuck, you threw him off a goddamn roof! But instead of dying, he survived and killed more of our men last week. Just a few days ago, the navy tried to get them to talk. If they'd known anything, we'd be hanging from a rope.”
“Which is why I tell the peons nada.” Montaña smiled. Nothing seemed to bother him, and the animated spark to his gaze looked and felt unnatural. “We continue to manufacture the product here, but it won't last. We need more of the flower.” Delancey shrugged. “So ship some more in.”
Montaña's smile faded. “We can't, not now. The heat is everywhere. We need to take a break, let the authorities have a few of our criminal friends to satisfy their thirst for justice. Then we bring over more of the flower. Jefe doesn't mind. In fact, he agrees. By early April, we'll be set for a broader distribution. Oh, and Chung Hee Park wants in.”
“The North Koreans? I thought we were dealing with no-names and a few third world countries.”
“Not anymore. Not now that we know the formula really works and the repercussions of a traumatic death no longer worry us.”
“True. I've just had some bad headaches, but nothing worse than an erection that won't quit.”
“Yes, that little item was my idea. Nothing like coming into knowledge while coming, eh?” Delancey snorted. “So you talked to the big boss. What did he say? Did he mention me?” The vision started to fade.
“No, but I finally met him in person. You won't believe who we've been working for all this time.”
“Who, Ricardo? Is it—” Outside noise made it hard to hear him.
Ricardo smiled and fingered the scar along his cheek. “No. It's actually…” Kisho swore as he roused before he gleaned anything else.
“Well?” Mrs. Sharpe asked.
“They've perfected the formula.”
She sighed. “I was afraid of that. Now we not only have to fight criminals from other countries, but psychic terrorists as well. We need to eliminate the lab concocting the drug.”
“They're making the stuff here, on U.S. soil,” Kisho said, thinking fast. “But they need a flower from their lab in Brazil. You're right. We missed the main lab the first time. We need to go back. I'll look again and see if I can find—”
“No. Not yet. First we find and eliminate Delancey and Montaña. Then we work on the rest. Trust me, I'll make Delancey share every bit of information he knows.” He had no doubt she could. “I also heard them talk about a boss. They're clearly working for someone else, a shadow Montaña recently saw. But before I could find out who it was, the vision left me.”
She nodded. “You're not meant to know yet. Like I keep reminding you, the future isn't written in stone. Some things have to unfold as they are. And those you can't see.” He'd often thought the same. Kisho rolled his neck, feeling uncomfortably stiff. “Man, that hurts.”
“You've been deep for two hours. Of course you're stiff.”
“Two hours?” He started. “I've never had a vision that long.” A few minutes, half an hour at most. What the hell? Two hours?
Her satisfaction should have bothered him, because there was something in her smile that agitated his beast. “But now that you've mated, you'll find information flows when you need it.
You'll have an easier time accessing your abilities, Kisho. Just accept Morgan, and everything will work out as it's meant to.”
Shit. Morgan. He'd been alone with the team for two hours. Kisho could only pray he hadn't pissed off the entire team. Fallon would play nice, because Olivia liked Morgan. And Jules would keep Tersch in line.
If he wanted to.
Chapter Eight
“The problem isn't me. It's you pricks,” Morgan pointed out again, not caring in the slightest how upset the Circs were. He wiped his lips and spat the blood welling from a cut inside his mouth.
He'd dodged their verbal inquisitions for over an hour while shielding himself from an impressive psychic assault as Fallon and Jules tried to peer into his mind and soul. Then they'd added some physical “training” to further weaken his shields. Dealing with Tersch's brawn and Hawkin's and Fallon's brains was a major hassle. But humor conceded he acknowledge how well the Circs worked together as a team.
“You know, this just isn't getting old. I thought I'd get tired of pounding him. But I'm not.” Tersch grinned and rubbed his knuckles. “Check it out. Fucker's mouth is healing as we speak.”
“And you wonder why no one likes you,” Morgan muttered.