But there was a fifth person here. A telepath.
He’d contacted her yesterday, while Sascha was visiting—Katya didn’t know how he’d circumvented Tag. When that curious mind had brushed hers, she’d been so startled, she hadn’t pulled back. And he’d talked to her.
I’m sorry they scared you away last time.
Surprised at the clarity of that voice, she’d answered without projecting, hoping he’d pick it up. They were trying to protect someone. This telepath, she’d realized at once, knowing that there was no way to wipe the information now that she had it. So she’d have to make sure no one would ever again rip open her mind. You shouldn’t be talking to me. Go back before you get in trouble.
A quiet pause. You’re like me. You’re scared, too.
I’m trying not to be, she’d answered honestly. How about you?
I like Dev—he makes me feel safe.
Me, too.
Another pause. How come you want to leave?
She’d sucked in a breath at the ease with which he’d picked out that thought, even if it had been at the forefront of her mind. That’s not good manners, to read someone’s thoughts.
He’d been silent so long, she had thought he’d gone. Sorry. Quiet. So quiet. I don’t know all the rules.
It’s okay. We all had to start somewhere. Wanting to help, she’d taken a chance and carried on the conversation. Just remember—if it’s not something you’d want someone else doing to you, you shouldn’t do it to them.
I understand. I won’t take your thoughts again.
Thank you.
But since I already did—how come you want to leave?
I have something I need to do. Something that pulled at her until it felt as if her tendons would tear from her bones, a pounding, secretive need. But how could she have any secrets? Ming had taken everything.
A tendril of mischief had brushed her mind and it had had a sense of newness to it, as if the boy had never played. I can help you.
No. I don’t want you in trouble.
My mom used to say that boys are meant for trouble.
The utter sadness in that sentence had broken her heart. She’d heard wonderful things about Sascha Duncan—she hoped all those rumors were true. Perhaps the cardinal Psy could mend this boy telepath’s own shattered heart. That sounds about right.
I have a plan. A hesitant whisper.
Charmed despite herself, she’d asked, Okay, I give. What is it?
And when he’d told her, she’d realized the stupid simplicity of it might just work better than every other thing she’d come up with. However, it all depended on whether the child could keep himself awake till the right moment.
So she waited, ready.
But when the scream came, she jumped sky-high. Moving to the door as she heard footsteps running toward the front of the house, she twisted the knob and stepped out into the corridor, heading toward that very area. Her breath stuck in her throat as she passed the open doorway of a room from where she could hear a number of voices. The front door was locked and alarmed in spite of the unexpected interruption.
She moved to the windows. Alarmed and locked, all of them.
Aware her time was about to run out, she told herself to think. She could break a window, but knew she wouldn’t get five feet before Dev, Tag, or Tiara ran her down.
You’re a scientist.
Heart thudding, she crept back down the hallway, made a quick stop in her bedroom, then headed to the kitchen, hoping against hope that her young co-conspirator would be able to keep them occupied for a few more minutes.
As she’d expected, a fresh pot of coffee sat on the counter. One of the three would likely not drink it, being off shift, but it would dramatically change the odds. Sliding out the medications she’d lifted from the apartment in New York, she dissolved a highly specific combination into the liquid.
A quick stir and she was done.
The drugs wouldn’t hurt the others, just make them lethargic, and if she was lucky, sleepy. She could’ve used more but she hesitated—the Forgotten did have Psy genes . . . Unwilling to do serious harm, she retreated, the rest of the drugs still in her possession.
She was back in her room pretending to read when her door opened a fraction. “What was that noise?” she asked Tiara.
“A nightmare.” The other woman didn’t explain whose. “Wanted to tell you not to worry.”
“Thanks.”
And then Katya waited.
There was some movement for the next hour, people murmuring, steps to the kitchen, back to the living room. Sometime after nine thirty, a door closed with a quiet snick—one of the three going to bed. Waiting another twenty minutes to give that person time to slip into sleep, she pushed off the blankets and got up.
CHAPTER 31
Heart in her throat, she cracked open the door, knowing her coat and boots would give away her intent if she was caught. And she had no intention of being imprisoned again. Creeping down the hallway, she glanced into the open doorway of a bedroom.