She was asleep even before Leigh could cover her with a blanket.
Leigh stood gazing down at her sleeping guest for a long moment, then went slowly downstairs, frowning. She gathered the tray from the living room and took it to the kitchen. A glance at the clock made her frown deepen, and she reached for the phone on the breakfast bar. The number she punched in was a familiar one.
“Hello.”
“It’s Leigh. She’s here.”
“At last. Were we right?”
“She looked into my mind as if through an open door, all the way to the center. And she has no idea what she did. She may well be the one we’ve been waiting for.”
“Good. I’ll send them immediately.”
“Tell them to hurry. She won’t sleep long.”
The first thing Tucker was aware of was a pounding headache. Next came the thought that someone had filled his mouth and ears with cotton. He was awake yet couldn’t seem to get his eyes open or hear anything at all, even his own breathing. He thought he was lying on his side on something marginally softer than the floor, and he had the sense of a lot of space around him.
And someone was watching him.
Playing possum seemed like a good idea, at least until his head stopped pounding and he could think clearly. In any case, pretending he couldn’t move wasn’t a problem. He couldn’t move. He didn’t think he was tied up, but his body felt cold and leaden. Pretending he was still asleep was harder; the temptation to try to look around and find out where he was was almost overpowering.
Gradually, as he concentrated on feigning sleep and waited for life to return to his limbs, his ears began working again. He heard his breathing, soft and even. He heard, faintly, a dripping sound. He heard a peculiar low rustling sound, almost as if…as if many people somewhere nearby spoke together in whispers.
“I hear voices, many voices all around me, all talking at once, but almost whispering, so quiet that I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
Because he had to, Tucker allowed his eyes to open just a slit. At first, he thought even those tiny muscles were refusing to obey him, but then he realized the truth. His eyes were open. And he couldn’t see a goddamned thing.
Either it was very, very dark in this place—or he was blind.
And someone was still nearby, watching him.
FOURTEEN
It was cold and dark, and somebody was watching him.
Like a nightmare holding her in its grip, Sarah could feel Tucker’s waking realizations, and they chilled her to the bone. She wanted desperately to be there with him, to offer comfort, and reached out instinctively in the effort to touch him. She thought she managed it, thought he was suddenly aware of her—and then there was a sharp jab in his arm and his awareness faded rapidly, leaving her alone once more.
She swam up out of the depths of sleep, still tired enough that the emergence was slow and gradual, her heart aching because for an instant Tucker had seemed close enough to touch.
She couldn’t seem to get her eyes open, but her ears were working, and she heard, dimly, voices speaking downstairs. Without even deciding to, she listened with that other sense.
“Will she trust us?”
“I think so. What choice does she have?”
“What about Mackenzie?”
“She wants to go after him.”
“When they’re holding him as bait? That’s insane. In another week or two, maybe, but—”
“He’ll probably be dead in another week or two, Brodie. You know that. She came out of the coma in early April; this is the last day of September.”
“I know, I know. Six months, max, and they miss their chance. If we can keep her alive and out of their hands for just a couple more weeks, Duran will back off.”
“Maybe they won’t kill Mackenzie.”
“And maybe the sun won’t rise tomorrow morning. But I wouldn’t bet against the probability.”
“Dammit, Brodie, you’re so—”
“Look, Cait, I know what I know. I’m sorry as hell Duran and his bunch got their hands on Mackenzie. I’m sorry I didn’t do my job and make contact with him and Gallagher days ago. But there’s not a damn thing I can do about that now.”
“We can help her go after Mackenzie.”
“Help her? Help her face down Duran and God knows how many of his goons? I don’t like the odds, Cait.”
“The odds may be better than you think. You heard what Leigh said. Sarah Gallagher is special. She may be the one.”
“In a year or two she may be the one. Maybe even in six months. But right now, she’s a very tired and confused lady with new psychic abilities she doesn’t understand and can’t control worth a damn.”
“Maybe, but—”
“Cait, Brodie’s right. Sarah’s at a very vulnerable stage right now. She needs help to make the transition, and time to make it at her own pace. If she pushes herself too hard, we could lose her. It’s…happened once before. About a year ago, before you joined. Brodie remembers.”
“Christ, yes, I remember. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure it never happens again.”
Sarah opened her eyes, and instantly the clear voices in her head became the distant murmur coming from downstairs. She lay there for a moment or two, staring at the ceiling while questions and thoughts went round and round in her head.
Finally, she threw back the blanket covering her and got out of bed. The clock on the nightstand told her it was after four in the afternoon; she had slept for hours. She washed her face in the bathroom adjoining the bedroom and finger-combed her hair, mostly ignoring the reflection in the mirror that told her she was too pale and still hollow-eyed with weariness.
Without pausing or hesitating, she went downstairs and into Leigh Munroe’s living room.
Three people were sitting there, and as soon as Sarah walked in, the man rose to his feet. He was a big man, physically powerful enough to give one pause, and very good looking in a dark, brooding way. He made Sarah think of a soldier; something about the way he stood, about his sharp sentry eyes and spring-coiled stillness, spoke of danger and the readiness for danger.
“I’m John Brodie,” he said to Sarah.
“I know.” She looked at the woman sitting beside Leigh on the couch, a younger woman with dark gold hair and friendly gray eyes in yet another face she had encountered along the way, and said, “You’re Cait.”
“Yes. Cait Desmond.” She looked pleased, but whether it was because Sarah recognized her or just knew her name was hard to say.
Sarah nodded. “I…heard you all talking. When I woke up. So I listened.”
Brodie glanced at Leigh. “Did you—”
Leigh shook her head. “No. I had no idea she was even awake. Remarkable.”
“Who are you?” Sarah asked Brodie.
“If you were listening to us,” he replied, “you must know.”
“I know what I heard. I don’t know what it means.”
“We’re the good guys,” Cait said, in the tone of someone who’d wanted to say that for a long time.
Brodie looked at her and then, dryly, said, “We left our white hats at home this morning.”
Sarah ignored that byplay, still a bit suspicious and too anxious about Tucker to feel much humor. Looking at Brodie, she said, “You—the two of you—have been following us.”