“The French Quarter Inn. 1120 N. Rampart. Room 412. There, I found this.” He drew the plastic bag from his jacket pocket and handed it over to Parker.
“This was the source of the energy?”
“No. But the energy surrounded it.” He paused. “I need to find her, I think she’s in danger.”
“She could be dead already.”
“She’s not.”
“Knowing that’s beyond your abilities.”
“She’s alive,” Zach said again. He didn’t know why he was certain of that, but he was.
Frowning, Parker took the card out of the bag and, holding it by the edges, he turned it over in his hands, then held it to the light. “It’s legit.”
“What does it mean?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
“Not important? That girl’s life—”
“Is not your concern. Your job is to aid the police in the capture of criminals.”
“What if I could prevent crime? Stop it before it happened?”
“You can’t,” he said simply. “Don’t you think we’ve tried?”
Parker had found Zach because they were brothers. Not in blood, but in their true natures. Parker was a Sixer, too. The original, recruited and trained by the FBI twenty-plus years ago. Twenty-plus years of seeing what could and couldn’t be done. Of heady successes and epic failures.
He had come to know Zach’s abilities as well as Zach knew them himself. Better even.
Parker dropped the bag and ID onto the bar. “We have a finite amount of time to prove ourselves. If we don’t, the Sixers initiative will be terminated. I’ll run Angel Gomez through our databanks. If the card turns out to be a fake, the name probably is, too. In that case, we may get a hit with face recognition software.”
“How long until you have an answer for me?”
“Morning.”
Zach nodded. “That’ll do.”
“Tell me about the energy,” Parker said. “Describe it.”
“Dark. Very strong.” Zach paused, searching for the description of what he’d experienced. Then it hit him.
He met Parker’s eyes. “Not passive.”
“Explain.”
“What I usually pick up is static. Like a frozen moment. Or the fleeting sense that something’s happened. This energy was . . . dynamic. Definitely aggressive.”
Parker grew very still. “Aggressive, you say?”
He nodded. “What does it mean?”
“Let’s see if it’ll transmit.”
Parker crossed to stand directly in front of him. He held up his left hand, fingers splayed. Zach fitted his right against it, making certain the heels and fingertips connected. He closed his eyes—if he didn’t, the process affected his equilibrium.
The first time they’d attempted the process, Zach had blacked out. The next, he’d thrown up. Through trial and error, he’d learned how to comfortably control the flow of sensory information between them.
Relax. Breathe deeply. Open a pathway. He was a conduit. Parker, a receptacle. It was some weird shit. Weird enough that no one else in his graduating class could connect this way.
The tingling at the base of his skull told Zach the connection had been made and was a strong one. The tingle spread, until it engulfed his whole body. His pulse points warmed, as if the blood now racing through his veins had become molten. Heat exploded at the points their hands met, searing them together.
Zach felt Parker shudder. It rippled over him in a wave. One wave after another. The burning sensation became intense.
Breathe, Zach. Don’t fight it. Let it go.
The burning became intolerable. “I’ve got to break it,” Zach said.
“One . . . more—” Parker sprang backward, severing the connection. He grabbed the counter for support; he’d gone white.
“You okay, P.?”
“Of course. I’m fine.” The normally unflappable agent dragged a hand through his hair. Zach saw that it shook. “I see what you meant about the energy. Damn.”
Zach rubbed his still-burning hand against his thigh. “I don’t think it liked our sharing that way.”
“Don’t give it human characteristics, Harris. It’s just a kinetic memory. A strong one.”
Parker’s color had returned; his tone once again brusque and businesslike.
“Ever experienced anything like it before?” Zach asked.
“No.”
“But you have an idea what it is.”
It wasn’t a question, but Parker shook his head in response anyway. “None.”
It felt to Zach like a lie. “You hiding something from me, P.?”
“Why would I?”
“You’re FBI, dude. That’s why.”
“You are, too, Harris. I suggest you don’t forget it.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zach glanced at his watch and saw that nearly an hour had passed since he left the Eighth. “I’ve got to get back.”
Parker nodded and together they exited the apartment. Zach locked the door behind them and they made their way down the narrow flight of stairs to the foyer.
They stepped out into the humid night. “I’ll hear from you in the morning then? About Gomez?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Talk to you then.” Zach started for his car. When he reached it, he looked over his shoulder.
Parker was nowhere in sight.
Chapter Twelve
Monday, July 8
7:55 P.M.