The Reunited

TWENTY-TWO





A vague sense of calm had settled over Joss. He was cool with it.

A quick stop by the room he still had here at the hotel—damn, this was turning into an expensive trip—and he had dry clothes on. Then, with Nalini walking along at his side, they were gone, out of the hotel and moving.

Every so often, she’d touch his arm.

He didn’t think he wanted that, but every time she did it, whatever shiftless thoughts formed in his mind just faded away.

Job to get done, all that mattered.

“So, do we have a plan?” Nalini asked once they were outside of the city.

“I’m kind of thinking along the lines of: Get there. Get those women out. Burn the place to the ground.”

“Nice idea . . .” She chuckled. Then she touched his arm again. “But we can’t do that—you realize that, right?”

The splintering, massive burden in his mind was pushing him too hard, and that fragile calm danced away. “Don’t see why not.”

He wondered if Jillian could burn things. If she could, he could . . .

There was one of their people who had that ability. Just one that Joss knew about. Maybe Jillian had it, though . . . he wondered.

A hand closed over his wrist.

“Damn it, boy.” Nalini sighed. “You’re killing me. All you had to do was ease up on the ice, like the kid said.”

A wave washed over him.

Blanketed him.

For a moment, he couldn’t even see. If he could think, that might have bothered him, seeing as how he was still driving.

“Easy, Crawford . . . I got it . . . easy. Easy . . .”

* * *

AS Crawford swung his head to glance her way, Nalini smiled.

He didn’t smile back, but that didn’t bother her.

She suspected he wasn’t really the happy-go-lucky type.

And he was going to come after her if he figured out what she did. Her ability to control people through the power of touch wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was useful.

She had to take in everything he was feeling, and damn, he was feeling a lot. Too much, really. Enough to leave her reeling as she laid her impression on him. Almost enough to make her vision fade out. She clung to consciousness by the skin of her teeth, channeled more into him, felt him resist . . . then, eventually break.

That’s it, man . . . come on, I can help. I can help . . .

As he swayed under the weight of what she laid on him, she was left staggering under the burden of what he was carrying—all the stuff he’d acknowledged . . . and all the misery he’d been hiding from. It was enough to break her, if she let herself think about it.

But Nalini hadn’t come this far to break.

None of them had.

Filtering all that ragged, rampant emotion out of herself, away from him, she breathed through it, focused, breathed . . . and she might have even prayed a little. As the worst of the grief finally passed, she found herself fighting tears at the depth of the pain building inside him.

Pain.

Anger.

Too much of everything, all because he wouldn’t open his damned eyes.

She wanted to smack him. But it was going to have to wait. He was finally calm. Or calm enough. If she hit him, the impression would fade and then she’d have to start all over again.

He was steady, for now. That was all that mattered, all that could matter, as they hurtled down the highway into the coming twilight. He couldn’t get through this thinking about everything that had him so burdened.

But even as they sped down the highway, that ever-present threat lurked in the back of her mind. Not much time . . . not much time at all.

* * *

GETTING a message to Tucker was as easy as she’d expected, even with a guard lurking outside her door.

The fool thought having her sent to her “rooms” would do much good.

Pissant.

He’d do well to be more paranoid, she thought.

The last time she’d been out here, Dru had managed to stash several throwaway phones and not a one of them had been found. Including the one she’d managed to tape to the back of the bathroom sink. It was out of sight, inside a plastic bag, and once she’d pulled it out, she plugged it in and let it charge just enough to send the text. As it was charging, she finished up everything else she needed to do.

Running gear—excellent clothes for tonight. The tights would be horribly hot, but it didn’t matter. They were close-fitting, they let her move, and when paired with a long-sleeved black shirt, it would help her hide in the dark.

She twisted her hair into a tight braid, securing it with a band, and tucked it inside her shirt. A quick look at the phone told her it still needed a few more minutes. No surprise there.

That was fine. She needed a few minutes herself. Taking up position with her back against the door, she did the one thing that was crucial. Dangerous, possibly, but crucial. Her shields were faulty, weak, frail, and if she didn’t do something about it, all it would take was the wrong touch from the wrong person at the wrong moment and she was done for.

Psychic shielding wasn’t like putting on a jacket and taking it off. It took practice and patience and control. If she didn’t bolster the shields when she felt them faltering, she was, plain and simply, f*cked. With her back lodged against the door, she closed her eyes.

This was always the worst. When she meditated, she had to let her guard down to some extent. Leaving herself unaware. Exposed.

Lesser of two evils, Dru, she told herself. Do this now . . . or have one of them touch you later and you know what will happen then.

She could control the flashes, and break away when she had to, but if she faltered in her control, then she could lose herself. Not an option.

So . . . do it now.

Endless moments later, she emerged from the light trance, panting slightly, a light sweat on her skin. And the restlessness that had hovered just outside her awareness faded a little as her shields settled smoothly back into place. She could get through this. She would get through this.

All she had to do was get the hell out of this house.

That part might be tricky.

She didn’t take much. The clothes hanging in the closet didn’t matter. Her cash, she was definitely taking that. She didn’t worry about the fake IDs or the credit cards he’d given her. One quick glance at the cell phone told her that it had maybe a quarter of a charge on the battery.

Good enough. She sent the message before she unplugged it and then wrapped up the cord, tossed it under the sink counter so it was out of sight.

There was one last thing she needed. It was stashed inside her makeup case.

A place Patrick just never would have thought to look.

The slim vial was actually hidden inside one of her tubes of lipstick. The syringe and needle were secreted inside what appeared to be a mascara wand. Having those suckers made had cost a pretty penny, but it had been worth it. As she drew up a dose, calculating it carefully, the phone in her pocket vibrated.

She pulled it out. Checked the message.

I’m here. Had a feeling it was coming. Ten minutes away.

Tucker and his feelings. Texting him back, she deleted both messages from the memory and slipped the phone back into the zipped pocket of her top. Then she studied the syringe.

She wasn’t sure who was outside her door, but she had an idea. It wasn’t Minton. Minton had left with Patrick earlier, his good little dog. So it was likely either Peretti or Rawlings. Both of them, miserable bastards. They weren’t as big as Minton, thankfully. Wouldn’t need to use as much.

It left just a little bit of the opioid mix, enough for another dose. She had one more needle, and that, she tucked inside her sports bra. Would have to use the same syringe, not very sanitary, but oh well.

The liquid inside that tube wasn’t anything the U.S. government would approve of. Tucker had gotten it for her, slipped it into her hand. For when you need a way out. At first, she thought he meant killing herself.

But then she’d realized what he was talking about.

She couldn’t take anything recognizable as a weapon into this.

But there might come a time when she had to get away, and this very illegal opioid compound would swing the odds just a little bit.

Fight her way out . . .

Get free of this place.

It was time. Tucking the vial into another zippered pocket of her shirt, she stared at the door. Took a deep breath.

An image of Joss’s face flashed through her mind. Regret, anger, misery twisted her heart, but she shoved them all aside. They’d never really had a chance anyway. Not if he’d dismissed her as easily as that.

“F*ck him.” He didn’t matter. Couldn’t matter. And if he was involved in this nightmare, then he’d have to pay as well. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she curled her hands into fists. Thought of all the nightmares. The screams. The memory flashes into Patrick’s mind . . . how many women had suffered.

No more. It stopped now.

It was time to get this done, get the hell away from here, and burn as many bridges as she could while she did it. Then get the hell away.

The one thing she thought she could go after . . . it no longer existed.

She was going to finish the job she’d set out to do. She had the bits and pieces in her mind now, and that was what mattered.

Bits and pieces. Like bread crumbs, she supposed. Or stones . . . stones that made up the trail she needed to follow. It blazed hot and bright in her mind now.

So hot. Burning bright.

“You’re so f*cked,” she whispered, thinking of Whitmore.

So very, very f*cked.

Casting a quick look at the door, she headed over to the window and peeked outside. Men on the perimeter, inconspicuous and well dressed. They had a pattern, one she’d tried to learn before, but she’d never been out here long enough up until this trip. This time, she’d been out here for more than just a meal, or a dip in the pool. She’d managed to make better note of the areas they patrolled, their timing, all of it.

It wasn’t going to give her a lot of time to make a break for it, but as long as she got out of the house, she figured she’d be okay.

Carefully, she lowered her shields . . . careful, careful . . . The last thing she wanted was a quick visit from her unwanted lover or whoever Joss was. She felt nothing, though. Just cold, empty silence.

Good, she thought, ignoring the hollow ache inside. That was what she wanted, right?

Turning away from the window, she made for the door, pressed her ear to it. It was quiet, but she wasn’t fooled. Somebody was out there. Peretti, Rawlings . . . maybe one of the others she didn’t see much at all.

Who didn’t really matter, though.

As she backed away from the door, she looked around. Distraction . . . needed a distraction. Just inside the doorway there was a table with a crystal decanter. It was pretty, expensive as hell, and heavy. Filled with water every morning, it sat there, along with two glasses. She had the syringe in one hand, uncapped, ready.

Smiling, she picked up one of the glasses, moved a few feet away from the door, and then turned, hurling it against the far wall, where her guard would have to come inside to see it.

As it hurtled through the air, she dropped in a slump, carefully, holding the needle.

The door opened.

She held her breath.

“What the—”

Everybody saw Ella, an elegant-looking woman, she knew. But docile. Easily manipulated. Easily controlled.

And this man was no different.

As he knelt by her, she watched from under her lashes, her gaze shielded. The needle ready. And as he went to reach for her, she moved.

He snarled, but the needle was already in his arm, and at that concentrated dose, all he needed was a little.

Within moments, she had two guns, a knife, another cell phone, and more. She took his body, and not sure what else to do with his limp, unconscious self, she shoved it under the bed.

There. Rawlings was down for the count. She looked around the room, searching for signs of what had happened. There weren’t many. Broken glass. The needle. She carefully picked it up, dropped it in the water decanter, and slipped into the hall, glancing around, left then right, her senses on red alert.

Couldn’t go out the front.

Nor the back door.

Careful . . .

Careful . . .

* * *

SOMETHING rode just under his skin as they closed in on the compound.

He didn’t know what it was, but it had him edgy as hell.

Careful . . .

Careful . . .

Nalini went to touch his arm and he edged away. “Stop it already,” he bit off, even as that whisper danced through his mind.

Careful . . . careful . . .

A soft brush against his shields. A sigh.

Without understanding why, he eased them down.

Jillian’s voice was a soft, hesitant whisper. You have to stop the ice . . . and tell that woman to leave you alone. It’s not helping.

And then, like a wisp of smoke on the wind, she was gone.

“Stop the ice.” He should know what that meant.

Shooting Nalini a look, he saw something dancing through her eyes. Wariness. Secrets.

What. The. F*ck.

She reached out a hand.

He slammed on the brakes. “You touch me again, I’m going to knock your ass out,” he warned, feeling the burn of power rising in his brain.

“How?” A ghost of a smile danced on her lips. “It’s okay, Joss. Just . . .”

She reached out again.

He pressed, sending a warning slice to her mind, watched as she flinched.

“Ahhh . . .” She went pale, even paler than normal. “Nasty, nasty trick, Joss.”

“Don’t touch me again,” he warned.

The burn got hotter. Heavier. But it hadn’t quite managed to penetrate whatever was muzzing his brain.

She sighed. “I’d say I’m sorry, but you have to understand how fractured you are. If you don’t get it under control, you’re going to screw every last one of us. Including her.”

Something flickered through his brain.

Her . . .

Her.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

Heavy. Slow.

Her . . .

* * *

AS she was running across the grounds, she heard them coming behind her.

One of them was coming at an angle, and he was close . . . fast, too.

Damn—

She heard an odd, muffled pop.

There was a shout.

She didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. The dude closest to her was fast . . . streaking her way with a speed that rivaled her own. Patrick had put a decent runner on his guard dog goon squad.

She put more into it, the ground slapping against her feet.

Another odd little pop . . . and the runner was down, screaming in agony.

Gunshots, she realized.

Somebody was shooting. Focusing in the darkness ahead, she thought she saw him. The vivid red of his hair, the spiral of tattoos on his arms. Tucker. Thank God.

The next few moments were a buzzed blur. Adrenaline thrummed through her veins. Her heart was in her throat. Almost out of here . . . almost. Almost.

As she breached the lovely stone gates that surrounded the property, she snarled. Had to climb. Damn. The main gate was closed . . .

Pop, pop, pop . . .

And then a gloved pair of hands closed on her wrists. “I gotcha,” Tucker drawled. The muscles in his arms bulged as he hauled her up, making the tattoos dance and shift.

She looked up into his familiar eyes, his hair tumbling into them. “I gotcha, girl,” he drawled, smiling a little.

Breathe, gotta breathe.

Seconds later, they were on the ground and Tucker was next to her. As they tore off into the night, they were too aware of those who were pursuing them.

“They’re coming after us,” she said grimly. “They’ll be on the road the second we are.”

“No.” Tucker’s voice was tight, controlled.

Shooting him a look, she saw the strained look on his face. “Not just yet, they won’t.” He pointed to the roadside and they slowed just before they would have slammed into the car. “I can hold them for a few.”

The look on his face was one of strain unlike anything she could ever recall seeing. “Tucker?”

He just shook his head. “Get in. We have to go,” he said thinly. “The farther we are when I lose the hold, the better.”

Well, then.

She’d known he had a knack for odd things . . . a strong knack, but that strong?

* * *

THE mantra of careful, careful had given way to breathe, breathe.

Gripping the steering wheel, Joss shot Nalini a dark look. “What in the f*ck did you do to me?”

“Nothing much, big boy. Just kept your head intact a little while longer,” she said, eyeing the gate ahead of them.

She’d slid into the backseat. By all looks and appearances, she was lying there, bound. Of course, one look at her eyes and one would know she wasn’t helpless. “This isn’t going to work if you can’t look a little more scared,” he snapped. “Vaughnne managed a better job than you are.”

She smiled at him. “Vaughnne can’t do what I do. You just open the back for them.”

He swore.

This was going to go bad.

Very bad.

“I haven’t even called in to let them know I’m bringing you.” Frustration rumbled through him.

And still that faint whisper. Getting louder now. Familiar even. A woman’s voice. He knew her . . . who the hell was she?

There. It’s there. It was so close . . . all this time . . .

What was she talking about?

“Don’t worry. They won’t care once you open that door. If they don’t touch me, you pull me out and make them,” Nalini said.

“Touch you . . .”

Pieces fell into place.

That odd calm that had washed over him.

With a composure he didn’t feel, he said, “You control people, don’t you? They have to touch you, but when they do, you can control them.”

“Yes.”

In the rearview mirror, he met her gaze.

“That’s not all, is it?”

She shrugged. “I do it through impressions . . . I leave an impression, and I take some of the bad shit away. I don’t take memories, but I can haze things up for a while. When you push, anything I do goes away.” With a sigh, she said, “You were hurtling two hundred miles per hour down the wrong road, with the wrong thoughts. And you still had too much chaff in your head from the mind-f*ck Taylor did on you. We had to fix it.”

“We didn’t do anything. That’s not much better than mind-rape.” He stared at the road. If he looked at her again, he just might pull the car over and do something he’d regret.

“I know.”

As he slowed to a stop just outside the gate, Nalini said softly, “There wasn’t much choice. You were disintegrating and you know it. You’re thinking better now. Keep it that way . . . and start looking deeper, you brainless moron.”

Looking deeper . . .

He curled his lip at her, but there was no time to ask what she was talking about.

There were two men striding toward them.

And they didn’t look happy.