It was a remote place in a small and otherwise apparently deserted valley in the Appalachians, but very well kept, with a staffed office; a control tower that, though small, was clearly adequate and well staffed as well; and a small group of quiet but efficient people who took care of whatever traffic landed here.
Two somewhat unusual-looking large green helicopters had only a half hour before been towed from the big hangar, gleaming and obviously ready to go . . . wherever. And several people stood ready to guide the jet to its place near the hangar and the choppers, should it need guidance.
Since she’d arrived just before dark some hours ago, Victoria had gotten the chance to explore and to observe, an opportunity she hadn’t had on her single prior visit here years before.
She had already eyed with faint interest the simultaneous arrival of a big black SUV that practically screamed federal vehicle, a more nondescript Jeep, a Bronco, and a very nice but not new light-colored BMW X5 SUV. All were parked out to the side of the small office that adjoined the hangar, not far from where she waited with her own car. The drivers had parked the vehicles, apparently leaving the keys inside, and then had all gotten into another black SUV and driven away, without saying anything to anyone as far as Victoria had been able to see.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Coffee had been offered when she’d arrived, and it was gratefully accepted; the temperature at this altitude had already been dropping, promising a bracingly chilly October evening. Especially to someone who had come from the far warmer city of New Orleans.
She had also been invited to wait inside the small office section, where there was a warm, comfortable if small lounge area with newspapers, magazines, and a flat-screen offering, a woman named Karen had told her pleasantly, satellite channels, and a recliner comfortable enough for a nap.
Instead, refusing the offer with polite thanks, Victoria had wandered around on foot for a while, drinking her coffee and stretching her legs after the long trip north. Not thinking about why she was here, but distracting her mind with far more trivial things. About the airstrip. The people who had delivered vehicles so silently and efficiently, and those who clearly worked here in other capacities in what appeared to be a 24/7, year-round operation. All were pleasant, smiling—and not disposed to talk overmuch. Were they feds? She didn’t know. Maybe only technical support? Private security? She hadn’t seen a sign of anyone being armed, and nobody had objected to her wandering, either before or after darkness had fallen.
She found that interesting.
Victoria had entered the office area only once more, for a second cardboard cup of coffee that she carried back outside. That plus the jacket she’d gotten from her car left her warm enough to remain outside. And allowed her to witness the arrival of at least part of the group gathering here, probably for no more than a few minutes before they’d be choppered up to the mountain house.
The jet taxied to within about twenty yards from the hangar, closer to her at this end of the structure, and its roar quieted and then dropped off even more to a low rumble as men carrying blocks hurried to place them in front of and behind the wheels.
Victoria watched as the jet’s door opened, the stairs that were part of the door let down with it. She wasn’t very surprised when Bishop was first off the plane, heading immediately toward her. His lithe, almost feline grace and deceptively easy stride marked him as an athletic man very comfortable in his own skin, and Victoria thought every time she saw him that he was physically more powerful than he looked and that he wielded a great deal more of other kinds of power than even the massive government organization to which he belonged could boast.
He could, she believed, be a very dangerous man.
He was most certainly the first man she would turn to in times of trouble. Any kind of trouble.
Beating him to the punch, she said as he reached her, “I knew you’d get us eventually. I made a bet with Sully. He owes me a hundred bucks.”
“He didn’t think I’d get you?”
“Not in less than five years. I guessed within three. So I win.”
Bishop smiled faintly. “How have you been, Victoria?”
“Fine,” she said mildly. “Until this morning. Still wondering if you had anything to do with that, by the way.”
“Not one of my abilities,” he said, equally mild. “If I could summon psychics from thousands of miles away, I think I would have known about it before now.”
“Then who—or what—did?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? One of them, at least. Are you ready to go up to the house?”
“Yeah. Bag’s in the backseat. Do I lock up the car?”
“Not unless you want to. Excuse me for a minute.” He headed toward the office end of the building, apparently to make or finalize arrangements, and Victoria remained where she was, watching others disembark from the jet, only two carrying bags like her duffel.
She knew them, to varying degrees. Except the one bringing up the rear, carrying three bags in his large hands. He was very large all over, an obviously powerful man who looked like he worked out hard for a living and then tossed around granite boulders for fun. Big granite boulders.
Miranda reached her first; she was carrying a single bag. “Hey, Victoria.”
“Miranda. Who’s the big guy?”
“I forgot you hadn’t met Galen. He’s SCU.”
Victoria glanced past her to look at the big man again. “He doesn’t look much like a healer,” she said. She had always been interested in names and their meanings and origins.
“You’d be surprised,” Miranda murmured. “If we’re leaving as quickly as I believe we are, I’ll introduce you up at the house.”
“Yeah, I thought Bishop wasn’t wasting any time, at least not getting us to Base.” Then she looked past Miranda again, this time at the other woman she definitely recognized. “Hey, Olivia.”
“Hey, Tory.” The only person Victoria allowed to get away with the diminutive of her name, Olivia was, at twenty-eight, two years older than Victoria, but at five-foot-nothing and petite, with copper hair that framed her heart-shaped face in a simple shoulder-length cut, large blue eyes holding a faintly startled expression, plus a childlike voice, Olivia had always seemed the younger of the two.
An indignant feline howl from the carrier she held in one hand drew Victoria’s attention, and her smile widened. “I can tell Rex still hates to travel.”
“He made a horrible fuss on the jet until Bishop talked to him,” Olivia confessed. “Then he settled down for the rest of the flight, I think. But he wants out, and I think he saw the choppers. He hates them even worse than planes.” She brushed a strand of copper hair away from her face with a small, fragile hand, an unconscious sigh escaping her.
“Still the headaches?” Victoria asked with genuine sympathy, noting that the other woman’s pretty face was unusually pale even for her, and that the big eyes were darkened.
“Yeah. And since this morning worse than usual. Miranda gave me a couple of pills when the jet picked me up in Vermont, and they knocked me out for most of the flight so I got some rest, but the pain was back when I woke up.” There was nothing of complaint in her childlike voice, merely a matter-of-fact acceptance of something she lived with virtually every day of her life.
Victoria looked at Miranda. “Are we getting an actual healer to go along with us on this jaunt? I’m thinking we’ll need one, and not just to help Olivia and Sully with their headaches.”
“We’re getting the best in the unit, but Hollis and Reese won’t get here until sometime tomorrow.”
“Hollis Templeton?”
Miranda nodded.
Victoria let out a low whistle. “Heard of her. A lot. And some pretty wild stuff even for us. According to the psychic grapevine, there isn’t much she can’t do.”