Primal

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

You first met Silas in Skin Tight; I hope you enjoy his story.

Thanks to Laura Bradford, Cindy Hwang, Lauren Dane, Bree Bridges, Larissa Ione, Donna Herren, Jenn Bennett, Courtney Milan, and Karen Erickson. You all supported this series from the beginning, and I value your encouragement.

Thanks to Stefanie Gostautas for her excellent proofreading.

And thanks, as ever, to my family. Their patience and understanding make all this possible.

Finally, I send profound appreciation to all my readers. Your e-mails mean the world to me, so please keep writing. That’s ann.aguirre@gmail.com.

ONE

PUERTO LÓPEZ, ECUADOR

The whole world roared.

One minute, Silas had a bottle of beer in his hand; the next, the cantina roof threatened to crumble down on top of him. Nearby, rubble pinned a waitress to the floor; blood trickled from her mouth. With the ceiling collapsing around him, he levered the wreckage off her and felt for a pulse. Dead. Shit. Falling chunks of cement and plaster forced him to dive for the doorway. He crouched, arms over his head, and willed the framework to hold. He hadn’t escaped from the Foundation—and put several thousand miles between him and their hunters—to die here.

The reel of his life spun into motion, full of sorrow and infinite regret. Things he’d done and wished he hadn’t, all the faces of people he’d hurt. In particular, he could still see the blond woman, Olivia. She’d begged him to kill her, time and again. More than most, she’d gotten into his head—because that was her gift—and her curse. To this day, she still haunted his dreams, and he didn’t know how to make her go away. Maybe he couldn’t. Sometimes he thought it wasn’t even her anymore, but that her thin face personified his guilt.

But to be fair, his dark history had not begun down in the lab. It started years before in a deserted parking garage, where a mugger demanded his wallet, and he’d broken the man’s neck. Without so much as touching him. Nobody had ever been able to explain that death; it remained an open cold case in Michigan to this day. That was when he’d known his difference ran bone deep. He just hadn’t known why until the Foundation took him.

The tremors went on for over five minutes while he sat listening to the screams; cries of pain and horror filled what had been a bright Thursday afternoon. For the first time in months, he’d felt safe, because nobody knew him. He was just another anonymous expat. How ironic.

At last, the shocks stopped. Covered in dust and debris, he staggered into the dirt street of the fishing village. The wreckage humbled him. No matter how strong or powerful you thought you were, Mother Nature delivered a crippling kick in the nuts. Most of the buildings had been constructed of lesser materials, and they lay in ruins. He had been lucky; he’d chosen the cantina for its shady interior, knowing cement and plaster kept the cool air better.

“Por favor,” a woman begged. “Ayúdame!”

It sounded like she was close by. God, he wished his gift had some useful secondary application, but it could be used for only one purpose—and that was why he had chosen to accept five years of abuse in lieu of revealing it to his captors. He could never allow them to learn what he could do. The price was simply too high.

Ignoring the shallow cuts and bruises on his arms, he located the woman by listening to her intermittent calls. A fuckton of rubble had fallen on top of her, and he hesitated to start digging. He might make it worse: unbalance the wreckage and kill her. He’d intentionally gone off the grid, but now that decision carried awful weight. Out here, there was no emergency infrastructure, and no telling how long it would take Ecuadoran authorities to mount any kind of rescue. In all honesty, Puerto López probably wouldn’t rank high on their list. More populated areas required assistance first.

Therefore, this woman had him, and nobody else. As he contemplated that, she wept in tiny choking sobs.

Using the brute strength that accompanied his size, he pulled chunks of cement off the pile and tossed them behind him, careful not to let the load topple inward. It required great patience, but fortunately, life had taught him about timing and waiting for the right opportunity. That permitted him to be methodical: shift this, pull that, don’t let it collapse. He listened to her whimpering breaths; they weakened as he worked.

“No abandone,” he said, knowing his accent was terrible. “Casi soy terminado.”

To his surprise, she responded in English. “You’re American?”

“Yeah. I’m doing what I can for you. Nobody official’s on scene yet.”

She responded, her voice tight with pain, “Thank you.”

Silas spoke of inconsequential things as he dug. He told her how he’d traveled from California to Mexico and meandered south on hot, dirty buses. Sometimes there were boats, but he didn’t like them. Everything he owned had been in the duffel he’d left at his hostel, but it was probably long gone.

At last he uncovered her legs. Blood spattered her dusty skin, but he couldn’t tell how badly she was injured. He might be able to pull her out this way, but he needed more information first.

“Where are you hurt? Upper body or spine? Are your arms or shoulders trapped?”

“No,” she said. “Please, just get me out.”

Brave. All right, then. He curled his hands around her calves and towed her out in increments. Each movement made the wreckage teeter, and he was afraid she’d be crushed before he saved her. It was a hot day, overcast, and dust in the air lingered on his dry lips, coating his tongue. Finally, he dragged her shoulders clear, and then it was quick work. As he lifted her into his arms, the whole pile caved, plaster and cement slamming down to fill the space she’d vacated.

Despite the heat, she trembled in his arms, her taut silence revealing a fear he shared and that she’d kept locked down until now. Though they were strangers, he would’ve hated hearing her die. And if he hadn’t intervened, she would have. That was an odd feeling. For once, he’d done something right. While the world wailed around them, she let him hold her for long moments, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to a woman. His tough exterior usually terrified them.

Dark, wild hair spilled to his shoulders, uncut for months. They’d demanded he shave it, so they could monitor the hardware in his head. Back then, he’d also cut his eyelashes off because it made him look strange and stupid, easier to maintain the necessary pretense. Since the escape, his hair had grown back, and he had a scar behind his ear where he’d dug out their chip in a shitty gas station bathroom and prayed against infection. So yeah, he knew how he looked—and most of the time, he didn’t care. Better if people kept their distance.

But she still hadn’t glanced up from his shoulder. He might scare her yet. Cradled against his chest, she seemed small, but then, almost everyone did. Few men could look him in the eyes. He was always conscious of taking up space, pulling his arms and legs in so he didn’t intimidate other people. Not that it worked—most practiced snap judgments.

“I’m better,” she said at last.

He took it as his cue to set her down. “Are you vacationing here?”

“No, I’m with an educational coalition, teaching English. You?”

“Just traveling. I was drinking a beer when it all went down.”

“I was shopping for the school.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, the kids.” She tried to run but fell before she’d gone five steps. Her knee buckled beneath her.

It took him all of ten seconds to make up his mind and then even fewer to reach her side and offer his hand. “Show me. I’ll help you.”

Nodding, she let him pull her up, left her hand in his, and shook his in a formal greeting. The woman studied the ink etching his wrists and the backs of his hands. Black and red, the pattern continued up his arms and onto his shoulders, not that she could see it all. The tatts combined with the rest to render him pretty fucking scary, which was a good thing, traveling as he did. He expected a comment or recoil. Instead, she smiled up at him, her face grimy and blood smeared.

He slid an arm around her shoulders to support her. “How far?”

“Four blocks that way.” She pointed behind them.

The light brown of her hair showed even through the dust, worn loose, but with random braids and trinkets, streaks of blue and pink that didn’t look likely to wash out. Girls did such styles on the beach. But it was more practical to plait all of it in this climate. Her refusal showed a hint of vanity and a refusal to conform, echoed in the unusual colors.

“It would be faster if I carried you,” he said.

For a moment, he thought she would protest. To make it easier for her, less passive, he knelt, so she could climb onto his back. It gave her a role to play; if she didn’t hang on, she’d fall, and it took some of the control away from him. He understood the importance of such distinctions.

Without further comment, she got on and he straightened. The damage, as they walked, proved incalculable. People staggered in the streets, bloody and disoriented. Others stood outside wrecked buildings, weeping. No structure had gone untouched, and the rubble spilled into the road, making passage difficult. In a town this size, nobody cared about safety codes.

“That’s quality work,” she said, surprising him with a touch to the patterns curling up his biceps.

An unexpected compliment, under the circumstances, and then he realized she wanted a distraction from the mess surrounding them. “Thanks.”

“I have one on my shoulder.” She leaned forward, so he could see the stylized star by glancing back. “I’m Juneau, by the way. Juneau Bright. I should’ve thanked you before now. You saved my life.”

“Silas.”

That’s a first, he thought. He was all too experienced at causing pain and doing harm. The role of savior was entirely new. Silas found he rather liked it. But he couldn’t think of anything to say to keep the conversation going, and she fell silent, her anxiety kicking in anew.

The school lay at the heart of town. Total devastation. As they approached, Juneau sobbed, just once, and then swallowed her grief. He felt the tension in her arms as she did.

“It’s no use, is it?” But he could tell she already knew the answer. The damage was so profound that there was no way the two of them could perform search and rescue safely. This required a crew, medical supplies, and equipment, unlike the small store where she had been buried.

Still, he answered, “I don’t think so.”

“What should we do?”

Silas arched his brows. She was asking him? “Other countries will send help in time. Ecuador will mobilize as soon as it can.”

Really, he knew shit about such situations, only what he’d seen on TV. But somehow he didn’t think she would be content to sit around and be grateful for her survival, even with that bad leg.

“That’s not enough,” she said. “There has to be something we can do.”

“Do you speak Spanish? Because I have just enough to get by.”

“I’m fluent.”

He thought for a moment. “Then we should head for the medical center. See if any first aid supplies survived the quake. You can organize other survivors. Get them to round up the available food and water before opportunists start hoarding.”

“The medical center is this way.” She tapped his right shoulder, giving him directions, and he didn’t even mind that she took it for granted he’d help.

Apparently she didn’t look at him and see a freak, someone she should fear. God knew it had been long enough for him to shed that skin, but he’d been playing that persona so long, it had come to feel real. He had been traveling ever since the escape, his destinations random in case anyone was hunting for him, and he never stayed in one place very long.

These days, it didn’t take much to make him start feeling trapped. Five years was too much of your life to lose, but the consequences would’ve been dire and far-reaching, had he chosen otherwise. Regardless, he had a lot in common with men who’d done time. They often drank at the same bars, and they accepted him as one of them, even if he’d spent his sentence in a different kind of prison. They didn’t need to know that—and it was the closest he came to friendship, those silent moments with an upturned beer.

But maybe he could play hero with her for a little while. Maybe. She didn’t need to know the truth, if she couldn’t see it inked into his skin.

TWO

He was strong, and he spoke English. That was all Juneau knew about her new partner. Under the circumstances, that was already more than she could’ve hoped for. He was doing most of the heavy lifting. She’d tried to help, but he gave her a dark look and invited her to “take a seat,” though she suspected he’d enforce his will if she balked. And honestly, the flaring pain persuaded her more than his authority.

So she watched him work. The medical center had held up better than most of the buildings in town. Only one wall and part of the ceiling had collapsed. Now Silas labored to clear the place out while she used a sheet to paint a banner that read, Refugio aquí. When she finished, she limped toward the broken wall to hang it street side, and as soon as he saw her move, Silas dropped the heavy chunk of plaster in his hands. He hurried toward her as if she were permanently crippled.

I might be, if it wasn’t for him. Hell, I’d probably be dead. She’d never known a bona fide hero before. So far she’d managed to be normal around him, but it was hard not to let gratitude color her responses. And the fact that he hadn’t left her to fend for herself in the wake of the disaster—it reiterated what she’d known when he pulled her from the wreckage. He was something special.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

“So, what, you’re going to have me sitting around, waiting for guests?”

Her leg wasn’t broken. She’d taken a look earlier, and it appeared to her that she’d sustained deep bruising around her knee. Nothing would cure that but time. Until then, she’d swallow some painkillers, once they cleared this place a bit, and do the best she could.

He thought about that a moment. “Help me, then.”

When he approached to take the sheet from her, she realized all over again just how enormous he was. He had to be close to seven feet tall, because at five foot nine, she wasn’t petite, and he made her feel tiny and feminine. That was new. As she watched him, Silas gathered makeshift tools, a couple of metal shards, and a wedge of cement. From the gentle crow’s feet and brackets at his mouth, he looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He had an interesting face. In fact, most women would probably consider him ugly with his crooked nose and overly strong jaw.

She followed him outside, curious about his methods, and while she held one end, he used brute strength to spike the sign into place. It wasn’t straight, but the message was clear. They could expect survivors to start filing in, which meant they needed to finish clearing the medical center, lay hands on any usable supplies, and locate food and water.

“One of us needs to stay here,” he said as he finished the task. “Since you’re fluent in Spanish, it should be you.”

“You just don’t want me walking around on this leg.”

To her surprise, he acknowledged that. “True. But my point stands. I can also bring back more supplies in a single run, and I’m better suited to deal with trouble.”

Juneau nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll finish up here.”

Each step hurt as she completed what he’d started. But her determined hope faltered when she finished clearing all the way to the stairs. She found the doctor, still and lifeless. How the hell was she supposed to deal with this? Intellectually, she knew the dead had to be moved. Otherwise they risked disease and infection among the survivors. But the phone lines were down, and there was no one to call.

With a murmured apology, she rolled him onto a sheet and towed him out through the broken wall. Stray dogs might get at him out here. But she couldn’t leave him inside with the living. A quick look around revealed a storage shed so flimsy that it must’ve swayed with the quake instead of collapsing. It was a little further than she wanted to go, dragging such a burden, but she couldn’t leave him in the street. Juneau opened the latch and shoved the body inside.

Her return to the medical center went a lot slower. She was afraid of what else she’d find. But fortunately, the doctor seemed to have been alone at the time of the quake. Thankfully, he’d run a small practice.

By the time Silas got back, she’d managed to set up a couple of tables and had covered one of them with bandages, tape, and other medical odds and ends. The painkillers, apart from OTC ones, she left locked up. Since she wasn’t a doctor, that stuff shouldn’t be in circulation anyway. Silas came in pushing a wheelbarrow full of bottled water and canned goods, his face red and sweaty from working in the afternoon heat.

“Did you dig out a whole store?”

His smile came and went, fleeting as a bird gliding over the ocean. “Pretty much.”

Silas went back almost immediately, leaving her to do the setup. Good thing she stayed, too. People began to arrive with dusty faces and bloody hands. Some, she could tell by their injures, had dug themselves out of the wreckage. She gave out water and aspirin while trying not to panic.

How the hell did I think I could manage an aid effort like this? I’ve never even owned a cat.

“Are you a nurse?” a woman asked in Spanish.

“No. I teach English.” Or I did. Before this. “But I’ve had basic first aid training. I can tend wounds.”

That galvanized three or four people to queue up around her. “Me duele.”

“Ayude a mi hijo, por favor.”

And she tried. At least, everyone seemed grateful for the water, more shell-shocked than anything else. The survivors asked relatively few questions. Doubtless they knew she had no answers.

A couple of families huddled together. Juneau prowled through the supplies, looking for ready-to-eat food. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Silas had managed to save a few boxes of granola bars. They would be crushed inside the envelopes, but the packages could be slit open and the contents eaten anyway. Those she doled out, feeling helpless.

When Silas returned the second time, she was still bandaging wounds. As she helped people, more arrived. He had another load of food and water. Two men attempted to intercept him to take what they wanted, but he stilled them with a single look. Yeah, she was incredibly glad to see him. The mood could easily turn in situations like this, and as people became more desperate, they’d do things they would never otherwise consider.

Her knee felt better, thanks to a couple of ibuprofen and some water. He, on the other hand, looked exhausted. But he didn’t speak, merely went to work beside her, wrapping wounds with a competence that made her think he had experience.

To her vast relief, the Red Cross arrived by nightfall. They had their own supplies to add to what had been gathered, trained personnel, and emergency lanterns. Those gave the shell of the medical center an almost festive air, if you could overlook the weariness and worry.

The brunette woman smiled and spoke in accented English. “You did a great job. Gave us a fantastic start. You’d be surprised how often we arrive and there’s nothing done at all.”

“Thanks. We tried.”

Silas didn’t acknowledge his part in the endeavor. He merely continued what he was doing: wrapping a bandage around a little girl’s head. She’d wanted to help, but God, she was so done. It was such a relief to have professionals on scene now. If things went badly from this point, she could be absolved of responsibility.

In exhaustion, she propped herself against the wall and considered what came next. Clearly her time in Ecuador was done. Everyone she knew had been in that building. Huh. Maybe it had been better when she didn’t have time to think. Despite her best efforts at self-control, tears slid down her cheeks. So much loss.

Silas settled beside her. He smelled of sweat and dust, subtly underscored with hints of blood. It should have been alarming, just like his size, but it wasn’t.

“They’ll start digging first thing in the morning.” She guessed he knew she was thinking about the school from her expression. His voice came low and soothing. “Sometimes they recover people alive up to eleven days after a quake, maybe more in some cases, under ideal circumstances. Try not to give up hope.”

Exactly what I needed to hear. Juneau let out a slow breath, gradually regaining her composure. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do all this, you know. You’re a lot kinder than I deserve.”

“You make it easy.”

“Do I?”

Odd, she’d never heard that before. In general, men complained about her odd fashion sense, her wanderlust, and the fact that she often dumped them after sex. A few times, she’d been accused of using them for their bodies. She seldom took things seriously, so when a guy took offense to her breaking up with him after they slept together, she always imagined him clutching a sheet to his bare chest in maidenly modesty. But the fact was, she always wondered if something better waited just over the next horizon.

Sure, she could settle down, but . . . why? Which was why she was now thirty-three and completely unattached. She’d never owned a home or a pet. Never formed any lasting ties, apart from her family, and even they had a hard time understanding her. In fact, her brother had made a website for her called JUNEAU IS NOT IN ALASKA, which she updated sporadically with pictures of her travels.

He nodded, his gaze gone far away. She had never seen eyes that color before. Generally they were lit by some other hue, or ringed in a softer shade, but his were all shadow, apart from the whites. In the half-light, she couldn’t tell the difference between pupil and iris; they were just black, fringed in sooty lashes. At least two days of beard bristled from his jaw, giving him a wild look. Combined with the untamed fall of his dark hair, he radiated savage, certain strength, and it was a relief to have him beside her, though she didn’t make a habit of leaning on men.

“Most people fear me,” he said, low.

“Because of the tatts?”

“Because of . . . so many things.”

“You’ll always be a hero in my eyes,” she told him.

Silas laughed softly, but the sound lacked all amusement. “You’re alone in that. To most, I’m a monster.”

He probably thought she’d pry. Well, that wasn’t her style. She respected other people’s privacy. If he wanted to talk, she was here. Sometimes it was good to unburden yourself to a person you’d never see again—and sometimes that made you the woman at the bus stop everyone wanted to get away from.

“Plan on destroying Tokyo, do you?”

He cut her an appreciative look. “It’s next on my agenda, now that I’m done with Ecuador.”

“Long way between the two. How do you plan to get there?”

“I don’t plan anything,” he said. “Easier that way.”

That startled her. “Me either. And you wouldn’t believe how much shit I get over it. My great-aunt keeps telling me I’ll never snag a man if I don’t settle down. Then I ask why I’d want to catch him, if he doesn’t want to be caught.”

“You’re not lonely?” he asked.

Juneau leaned her head back and considered. “There’s a difference between being alone and lonely, a hair’s breadth, granted, but most often, I’m the former, not the latter. I make friends pretty easily, but I’m not so much with the lifelong bonds.”

“Well,” he said. “I’m sorry about the circumstances, but glad I met you.”

THREE

Mockingbird spun in his desk chair, shoved off with both feet, and sailed across the room to check the status of an operative in Guatemala. His operations center would make anyone think he was nuts, based on the sheer number of computers and the far wall totally covered in reports of bizarre incidents all over the world. The map with red circles and multicolored tacks added a nice touch, too, but he was in far too deep for doubts. When he’d discovered the truth about himself, he’d gone looking for those like him. Freaks. Weirdos. It took years of sifting through the dregs, separating the real from the psychotic, although sometimes in his world, the two weren’t mutually exclusive.

Then he learned these abilities weren’t just popping up randomly. It wasn’t natural selection, not a shift due to evolution. No, the blame lay squarely with the Foundation. He’d dug deeper into their records than anyone before. Anyone still living, that was, and the shit went all the way back to the forties.

The first experiments had, in fact, taken place in Nuremberg. The Foundation trail led from there to Poland, until the fifties, when it bled onward to Russia, and then in the sixties, it made the leap to the United States. And no doubt there were countless tangents he hadn’t been able to track because all records had been destroyed—and everyone involved, killed. When they blew up his parents’ house in retaliation for his digging, he realized it wasn’t merely an adversarial relationship. It was war.

For a while, he’d formed an extremely satisfying partnership with Shrike. They’d wreaked a lot of havoc. When Shrike went after somebody, he did it scorched-earth style. But Shrike had handed in his resignation, something about settling down. Man, he’d never thought that guy would get tired of the life. He’d secretly suspected they’d run out of bodies before the other man lost his taste for vengeance. But what the hell—love did crazy things to a dude. He’d married an accountant for Christ’s sake, not that she was crunching numbers anymore. They’d set up some kind of agency, offering redress and justice for those whose problems fell outside the jurisdiction of local law enforcement.

But now the Foundation hunted people like them. Aggressively. Before the destruction of the Virginia facility, it had been quiet. Folks dropped off the grid all the time, usually the homeless or transient population. For a while, the Foundation had been culling their old test subjects, the crazy ones who failed to control their ability and couldn’t function in society anyway. Therefore, nobody cared. But now, they were taking people out of their homes: goon squads in black masks, hauling middle-class citizens off in their black SUVs, shit right out of The X-Files. The cops were asking questions, particularly in DC.

He made a habit of monitoring the chatter, and the feds thought Mexican or Latin American kidnapping rings were spreading their wings and pushing into the U.S. Mockingbird snorted with laughter. Dumb fucks. They’d never figure this out. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to go out into the field to give them a hand, but he was realistic. His strengths lay in recruitment, coordination, and the gathering of intel. So he’d crouch like a spider, spinning webs.

Then he actually read the screen he was staring at.

MOCKINGBIRD, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? MISSION COMPROMISED. THEY SET KESTREL ON ME. NEED EXIT NOW.

He tried typing, but the terminal connection was dead. Smart. Finch was on the move. That only left the cell, if his agent still had it with him. They swapped them often, prepaid ones only, to make them more difficult to track. Not that it mattered so much anymore. But still, the Foundation didn’t accomplish all their bloodhound work through paranormal means, just the most surprising hits.

“Shit. Shit!” He scrambled for the headset, hit the voice-scrambling software, and dialed, routing the call through four different servers. He was piggybacked on an Internet calling service, not that they’d ever find him. “You still there?”

His man in Guatemala wasn’t as good as Shrike had been. But then, who the hell was? Finch got the job done, though, and he’d just made contact with an expat with a most interesting ability. In a few days, a nudge from Mockingbird would bring the new guy on board, provided the Foundation bounty hunters didn’t find him first. It was harder than it used to be.

“I’m about to ditch this phone.”

“How close are they?” He typed furiously.

Dammit. If only those bastards hadn’t gotten a hold of Kestrel. She was going to be the death of them. Literally.

“Ten minutes behind me. Maybe less. I already bugged out of the hostel.”

With a sigh of relief, he finished the hack and confirmed the booking arrangements. “Here’s your extra strategy: there will be a driver waiting for you at Avenida de la Reforma. He’ll take you north to Mexico. Can you make it to the Obelisk on your own?”

“I think so. I’m not far.”

“Use the crowds to lose them if they get within vis-ID range. And whatever you do, don’t use your power or Kestrel will have an even easier time tracking you.”

“I know,” Finch said. “But the show-and-tell portion of the entertainment is built into the recruitment package, you know?”

It was. Which sucked. But there was no other way to get potential freedom fighters on board. They used code names and voice scramblers and encrypted software during fieldwork, so the Foundation couldn’t use the mind-fucker from their experimental dungeons and take down their whole network in one strike. He knew the names of his agents, of course, but he never used them; he didn’t even think them. The agents never met Mockingbird in the flesh. Nobody knew what he looked like.

“Yeah. Get in touch when you can.”

He hated waiting. Damn if he didn’t want to be out there, doing what he helped others do. But he’d long since made peace with his limitations and his power. There were better uses for his time, and so he went back to reviewing the files of those who had escaped from the Virginia facility. If he could close down four more holes like that one, then he’d feel like he was getting somewhere.

He’d crossed Zeke Noble off his list of potential recruits because the man had returned home and started looking to put down roots, almost as soon as he got his life back. That kind didn’t seek after violence or vengeance. Plus, his ability would offer limited use to the operation. Better to scrub his records and keep the Foundation off his back. That much, Mockingbird could do.

He keyed up a file and studied the photos he’d downloaded from a traffic cam. Silas Gamble. Hm. Maybe. His travel patterns had been erratic, as if he suspected he might be hunted. Wise man. He had a family, but he hadn’t tried to contact them. Another plus—it meant he wouldn’t balk at some of the things he might be asked to do. But he came with a handicap. No power, at least as far as the Foundation knew, but if captured, Mockingbird himself would try to hide his ability to prevent them from using it. Maybe Gamble had done the same. In Mockingbird’s mind, Silas remained a question mark. He shuffled Silas’s photos to the back of the screen with a click.

Olivia Swift. Dreamwalker. Oh man, he’d love to get his hands on her. It would rock so hard to have a nocturnal mind-fucker working for him. Finch could alter memories and implant suggestions, but he had no power if he wasn’t physically in contact with his target. That limited his usefulness. Getting Olivia on his team would make this a whole new ballgame.

But first, he had to find her. She had done better than Gamble about staying off camera. He hadn’t found a trace of her from any of his contacts. Unusual. He supposed it was possible she’d offed herself. Her profile pegged her as the least stable psychologically.

T-89. He’d be an asset, too. Mega-power there. Mockingbird had made contact with him, and surprisingly, he was still with Gillie Flynn. When his agent had gotten in touch, T had told him to fuck off. Politely. He’d said he “didn’t have time for this shit,” whatever that meant. Gillie would come in less handy. Who needs a healer when you work alone? It was a shitty setup in some regards, but it was the best way.

For now.

Very rarely, he permitted limited partnerships, but the redhead didn’t seem like she wanted an eye for an eye, and he knew healing hurt her. At this point, he chose not to get in touch with her.

Mockingbird tracked Finch’s movements on screen. If the agent could reach his rendezvous at the Obelisk, they’d be home free. Finch wove, probably dodging pursuers. He’d said he wasn’t far. Not in geographic terms.

Almost there. You can do it, man.

But then his signal light flickered and went out. Now there were fewer on the screen than there ever had been. Maybe he was kidding himself, fighting this guerilla war. Maybe it was like the war in Vietnam, ultimately unwinnable. At least that’s what his dad had always said.

Mockingbird leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands. Fuck. What he wouldn’t give for T-89’s killing power. Just for one day.

FOUR

Two days later, the situation was dire. The Red Cross had run out of supplies, and survivors went hungry. That meant rioting. Silas was sorry for that, but he also knew it meant he’d tarried too long in Puerto López. There was no transportation yet, so he’d walk. It was time to go.

For the second time, he found himself starting over with nothing but the clothes on his back. Another man might find that disturbing, but he had lost so much over the years that retaining his freedom meant everything. That was the only thing he couldn’t sacrifice.

So he took off without speaking to anyone. He’d look for water on his way out of town. If necessary, he could go awhile without eating. Footsteps quickened into a run behind him. When he turned, he saw her—Juneau—the woman he’d saved.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah. Take care.”

“I want to come with you.”

Of all possible words, none could have surprised him more, except I want to have your babies. He studied her for a moment. She had braided all her hair that first day, and neither of them had bathed recently. Like him, she was grubby and worse for the wear from sleeping in her clothes and working with the Red Cross.

“Why?”

“I can’t stay here.”

He almost asked about that, too—and then he realized he knew the answer. They’d dug out the school the day before. No survivors. Not the children, not her coworkers. And so she wanted to run from the memories, still raw and fresh. He understood that impulse, though it was doomed to fail. No matter where she went, when she closed her eyes, she’d see their faces and suffer the survivor’s guilt.

“It may be rough,” he warned.

“That’s fine. I just want to get away from here. I can help. Translate for you, if you need it. And it seems like I’m safer traveling with you.”

Silas could never have imagined a woman saying that to him, seeing his size and demeanor as good things. Protector, not jailor. Could he switch roles, this once? He could never make up for what he’d done, but maybe he could balance some of the weight. Late at night, in that awful place, he had read their files. He remembered all their names: everyone he’d hurt, everyone who died. There had been nothing else to do, apart from watch TV. He left old shows on for noise and company, but they didn’t assuage the need for human contact.

But down there, he had been the enemy, a collaborator who inflicted endless torment. Often, he’d thought of ending it. That way, the Foundation could never learn the truth about him, and he could stop the pain. He’d tried, once. The chip overrode his nervous system and forced him to black out. After that, he accepted his fate, but resignation was a terrible mistress.

On the outside, Silas had only one goal now. He wanted to find the families of those who had perished at Dr. Rowan’s hand and give them closure. He just didn’t know how to go about it. For the past months, he’d kept moving, fearful of staying in one place too long. The fear of being hunted had driven him out of the country, in fact. Led him here, to this moment, with this gray-eyed woman, gazing up at him in hope he’d save her once again. How fucking unlikely.

And yet he heard himself say, “Sure. It would be good to have company.”

She fell into step with him. He set a slow pace, mindful of her knee, though she was moving better now. Over the last two days, she hadn’t complained, though her leg was black-and-blue below the cuff of her baggy cargo shorts. She ought to be worried about replacing her possessions, her identification, and finding a U.S. embassy that could get her out of the country before things got worse. As it stood, he had no idea of her intentions.

It took longer than it should to work their way out of town. Twice, he glared refugees away; they were armed with rusty pipe, bits of broken glass. God knew, the last thing he wanted to do was fight, and only the fact that they obviously had nothing discouraged the looters. People prowled through the wreckage of damaged buildings, not looking for survivors, but for anything they could carry away. It felt to him like crows devouring the dead before the corpses had cooled.

The day waned as they made it to the southern outskirts of town. Sunsets were spectacular here along the coast, all violence and blood, red sky dotted with black-purple clouds; they reminded him of pocket galaxies being born. If not for the devastation behind them, he could almost believe they were taking a low-budget vacation, as if choice—and not the lack of it—had brought them to this pass.

What kind of woman left everything behind like this? Went walking toward the horizon with a man she’d met two days ago? Her contradictions fascinated him.

“Where are we headed?” she asked eventually.

“Salango is six kilometers south of here. The infrastructure may be destroyed there, too, I don’t know. If so, we’ll keep moving. Puerto Rico, Ayampe.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s a longer hike to Olon. Sooner or later, we’ll find someplace with working phones, and buses running to other parts of the country.”

“I don’t have any money.” But she didn’t sound concerned; it was more a statement of fact.

He smiled at that. “Nor do I. This should prove interesting.”

“Surviving on our wits?”

“Exactly so.”

“Mine are pretty sharp,” she said, and her smile hit him like a magnetic field, as if he had been flung up and outward, and then landed hard. Breathless. Yeah. She rendered him fumbling and awkward, as he hadn’t been since his undergrad days.

Full dark fell before they reached Salango. He didn’t think they could get lost, sticking to the road, but her steps had slowed to the point that they were making almost no progress. So he called a halt.

“I’m thinking we make camp for the night.”

She glanced around, brow raised. “Where?”

“What’s left of that palapa, a few hundred meters down the beach. It’ll keep any rain off us, if not the wind and the insects.”

The structure had been built of palm fronds—withered dry now—and driftwood. It looked to him like a squatter’s hut. Half of it had pitched down, doubtless because of the shocks from the quake, but it was such a simple structure that it wouldn’t take him long to shore it up. They’d have to sleep on the sand, but compared to the lab, it would be heavenly. The sea air alone made up for any number of deficiencies.

“Hungry?” she asked.

He nodded as he went to work. There seemed no point in whining about it, though. Without another word, she went off down the beach, stooping to study the sand every now and then. For long moments, Silas watched her instead of repairing the hut. Pure distraction, she was.

Eventually, she returned with a couple of crabs, beaming in the moonlight. She dumped them in his hands and pulled out a pocket-knife. Without visible fear or disgust, she took care of the cleaning, cutting away the inedible bits. She cut the meat and then pierced them with a sliver of driftwood.

“If you can find some more dry wood, I can build a fire.”

She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d be a help. He’d resigned himself to privation during the long walk. Though Silas had traveled a lot, both before and after his incarceration, he’d never done so as a wilderness type. He’d preferred riding the bus—people watching; disconnecting from the high-stress university job for three full months, and staying in hostels. But he always had a duffel bag and money in his pocket. Not this time.

Nodding, he went down the beach to look for firewood.

The world had changed in five years, and he wasn’t equipped to deal with it. Maybe some day he’d apply for a job at a college again. Hell if he knew what he’d put on his resume about his long disappearance off the grid. God knew it bespoke a certain instability. Some academic types were prone to that, vanishing to live in a trailer in the Arizona desert for ten years and then popping up with some new earthshaking theory that made the erratic behavior acceptable. He didn’t have a new hypothesis. He couldn’t chance working in that place, though it would’ve offered some solace. He couldn’t risk giving away the fact that their experiments hadn’t ruined his mind, as they thought. No, he had to maintain the façade at all times.

As long as Rowan believed he was broken, he had some hope of minimizing the collateral damage. If they’d managed to re-create their success in him for mass production, his ability would’ve been weaponized. Unthinkable. He’d had no choice but to keep the truth from them: he wasn’t their biggest failure. In strictest terms, besides T-89, he was the most powerful subject they’d ever produced. He was also the only one who’d successfully prevented them from discovering what he could do.

The walk took him a far ways before he thought he had enough wood to cook on, not that he could be sure. He returned at a run, worried now about leaving her alone in the dark so long. Granted, she was more capable than most, but she’d come with him for protection. If nothing else, his size deterred trouble.

He found her waiting with makeshift crab skewers in each hand. Nothing to fear. The beach flowed empty in all directions, and the ocean sang to him in rhythmic cadence. Soothing. Restful.

“Build a tent with the wood, if you can. Kind up propped up at an angle? That lets the oxygen flow through better.”

“Like this?”

Silas did as she asked and then took the skewers. With her lighter, dried palm fronds, and a lot of patience, she got it to catch. He watched with naked admiration, enjoying the sight of her bent over the flames. They glazed her skin, highlighting her curves. Juneau had long legs; he couldn’t help but notice, though it had been so long since he’d been with a woman that he wouldn’t know what to do with her even if she presented herself naked. But he could look. No harm in that.

Exhausted, he dropped onto the sand and listened to the night. Seabirds called. Insects chirruped. The crabmeat smelled so good, juices crackling in the fire, that he almost moaned.

“Here. Be careful. It’s hot.”

And he laughed. God, it had been so long. “I just watched you cook those. You don’t think much of the wits I’m supposed to survive on, do you?”

To his surprise, she ducked her head, sheepish. “It’s not that. I just thought you might be too hungry to remember to be careful. My stomach feels like it’s eating my spine.”

“Delightful image.” But he took her warning to heart and blew on the seafood kebabs long enough not to sear his tongue.

It was sweet and a little gritty. Not nearly enough to sate his appetite, but it did take the edge off. They should reach Salango by midmorning, and then they’d figure out what to do next. Funny how he’d come to include her in his thoughts, even though he didn’t make plans.

Later, they lay back to back on their sides. It gave him a strange feeling, nothing he could put a name to, but less alone, though as she’d said, alone was not always the same as lonely. For him, it always had been. Until now. Until tonight.

Until Juneau.

FIVE

Once again, she’d cut and run. It wasn’t the first time Juneau had chosen the highway, just the occasion she felt guiltiest about. She always wanted to help . . . at first. Until she hit that personal wall and realized she couldn’t take it anymore.

She could’ve stayed. Kept working for the Red Cross. But the worse things got in Puerto López, the more she wanted to get away. Sure, she knew terrible things happened in the world, but she didn’t want to see them. She preferred her pocket universe, where she controlled the flow of information. Head in the sand, an old boyfriend had called her. Well, yeah. And she recognized the futility of it, but she’d never seen the point of moping over what she couldn’t change. Just keep moving; keep looking for the next shiny thing. Maybe it wouldn’t save the world, but she’d live a relatively happy life, at least.

Salango might’ve been a quaint fishing village, smaller than Puerto López—before the quake. Her hope that they would find normalcy here died as they came into town. Though the damage was somewhat less, away from the epicenter, she saw no signs they could find transportation or a functioning infrastructure. The bottled water wouldn’t last much longer either, and she wanted a shower. Desperately.

The building materials were such that it hadn’t taken much stress to topple the houses and business, and people were picking through the wreckage. And worse? Here, people had set up barricades, protecting their territory and the salvage that lay within it. Armed men stood ready to defend them. It seemed surreal that they would fight over piles of wood and cement, just for a chance at what might be buried there, but then she saw the dirty, big-eyed children peering around the roadblocks. That, she thought. That’s why.

“It’s no better here,” she said softly.

Right now one of those chicken buses she’d bitched about earlier in the year sounded pretty damn good. Unfortunately, they had to keep walking south. What town came next? Puerto Rico. But she didn’t know how far it was; she hoped Silas did.

“But we can’t leave without finding supplies,” he answered. “Let’s cut around this street and see what the rest is like.”

There was no official aid here—not yet—and nobody to manage hostilities. The military would be sending troops, but earthquakes could rock the world in up to a one-hundred-kilometer radius. It would take time to determine the areas most in need of pacification and deploy soldiers appropriately. Meanwhile, the folks in Salango were on their own. The gunmen stared after them, eyes cold and watchful, but they made no moves. Juneau felt that regard until they turned the corner.

In the distance, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire echoed, chilling her blood. “Somebody challenged them?”

“Maybe. Could be warning shots.” But from his somber expression, he didn’t think so.

That brought it home to her then. This wasn’t an adventure. It wasn’t a joke. She was stuck in ravaged Ecuador with no food, no money, and a stranger who had dug her out of a death pit. Christ almighty. Her breath went in a whoosh.

“I . . . need to sit down for a minute.” Blindly, she put out her hands and found her way to the broken curb. The earth itself had buckled a short distance away. Across the street, two stray dogs were fighting—one black and one dun—over a hunk of meat. In this situation, it might even be human, and the thought was more than she could bear.

He knelt beside her and took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up. “It’s not the heat. Not dehydration?”

“No. It’s just sinking in. How screwed we are.” She laughed at her own stupidity. “I’m the original proponent for performing without a net, but this . . . shit. Even I’m scared now.”

More gunfire. Screaming. Real. It was real. And the people she’d run away from? Also real. The children she’d taught and her coworkers in the coalition, all gone. Shaking set in. If she hadn’t gone shopping, if he hadn’t found her—

He hesitated and then spun to sit beside her. His arm went around her shoulders; for a giant, his touch felt delicate. But his body felt solid. Immovable. If she’d had to wind up in this mess, she could’ve done worse for a companion.

“Just breathe. Don’t think about it. Sometimes the only way you stay sane is living in the now. No past. No future. Get through this minute. Then tackle the next.”

Juneau relaxed by millimeters, despite her desperation. She remembered how he’d spoken to her while he worked to get her out. God, she’d been so scared. No air. His tone was the same now—soft and soothing, echoed by the slow stroke of his big hand up and down her biceps. And it felt good.

“I’m okay,” she said eventually.

To her relief, he didn’t ask questions. He just pulled her to her feet, and they continued on. Near the outskirts of town, they found the ruins of a small store. But before they could check it out, two men, both armed, came around the side of the building.

The shorter one glared and lofted his pistol. “Vete a la chingada.”

“He said—”

“I know what he said.” Silas planted his feet, drawing up to his full height. “Tell him we need food and water and we can’t leave without those provisions.”

This so wasn’t a good idea. But she translated nonetheless. Now the taller one scowled, bringing his gun up, but it wasn’t bravado. He removed the safety and aimed it at her heart. They were willing to kill over these odds and ends.

“We should leave,” she whispered to Silas.

“This place is ours,” the taller man said in Spanish. “Leave now, or I shoot your woman.”

Silas slid in front of her. Despite the danger, he seemed fearless, as if he thought himself bulletproof. “Not happening.”

He extended a hand, made a quick twist in the air, and the bigger one screamed, clutching his wrist. His weapon clattered to the pavement. Silas sucked in a pained breath and turned his gaze to the other, who gaped at his moaning friend. Then his expression hardened, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Silas repeated the gesture, and the second man howled in anguish. This time, she heard an audible snap, as if from a broken bone. They cowered before Silas, eyes filled with terror.

What the hell—

“Advise them to leave before I do worse.”

Her voice shook as she relayed the message. The men fled without picking up their guns. Once they’d gone, before she could process what had happened or decide if she needed to run, too, he swayed hard and then caught himself with his left hand. His right, he cradled against his chest, his face bone white and sweaty.

“I don’t understand what just happened . . . but you don’t look so good.”

“Take a look around,” he bit out. “I’ll be fine by the time we need to move.”

So he wasn’t going to explain. Against all logic, it really seemed like he’d broken their gun arms. With a flick of his wrist. And he’d said he could do worse. Was she safe with him? It seemed best to do as she was told, at least for now. Juneau hurried away to poke through the rubble, looking for usable supplies. Conveniently, the two men who’d arrived before them had gathered things into a pile.

When she came back to tell him, he was sitting in the shade with his head tilted back, his mouth still compressed into a pained line. He spoke without opening his eyes. “If you don’t want to go further with me, I understand.”

Do I? First instinct—hell no—but neither did she want to travel alone. If she had confronted those men without him, she might’ve ended up shot, raped, kidnapped, or some heinous combination of the three. Whatever his deal—and she wasn’t convinced he hadn’t hypnotized them all somehow—he offered more protection than she could afford to discard. And he seemed to be on her side, at least.

“This isn’t the time to talk,” she said, “but I’m going to have questions later.”

He considered and then: “That’s fair. I’ll answer. Did you find anything?”

“I think we’re set.”

Silas pulled himself to his feet, still favoring his right arm. “If we follow the road, we should be fine.”

“How far are we going?”

“Eight kilometers, give or take.”

She did the conversion and came up with an answer of about five miles—in addition to the distance they’d already traveled—and with no guarantee of an end in sight. It might not be any better in Puerto Rico. Damn. Her feet already hurt. She was in decent shape, but hiking with an injured knee on inadequate food took a toll. Then again, staying here wasn’t an option. Not with those guns going off and two inexplicably injured men who might be running for backup even now.

“I can make it. What about you?”

“My legs are fine.”

As they set off, she noticed he set a slower pace. He could take three steps to each one of hers, if he wanted, effectively forcing her to run. But she couldn’t tell if it was kindness or weakness. His face was still pale, still clammy with sweat, and he held his arm as if it were fractured, though she saw no swelling or injury.

The sun blazed down, reflecting off the broken pavement, and sweat poured down her back. She had been wearing these clothes for four or five days now. In fact, she’d lost count.

“So how did you end up here?” he asked eventually.

She recognized the tactic as a calculated move. He wanted her at ease again. But since she appreciated the gesture, she went along with the conversational gambit.

“After college, I did a stint in the Peace Corps. When I got out, I went for TEFL certification because I still wanted to travel, just with more freedom than I had in the Corps.”

“That’s Teaching English as a Foreign Language?” At her nod, he asked, “Do you have a regular degree in education as well, then?”

She laughed. “No. Sociology, actually. The pay isn’t great in developing nations, but I don’t like being locked into a two-year contract like many schools in Europe demand. Here, they’re content with a handshake agreement that I’ll stay for one school term.”

“And it lets you see the world.”

“Exactly.” It was rare someone got it right without asking a hundred more questions about her motivations.

God knew, her loving, well-intentioned family never tired of telling her she could do so much more with her life. Her mother couldn’t stand that her youngest taught English in Ecuador for the equivalent of three dollars an hour while her middle son had become a surgeon and her eldest son the partner in a law firm. It wasn’t that Melva Bright didn’t love her; she just wanted her to achieve great success and be happy. She didn’t get that the two didn’t go hand in hand, where Juneau was concerned.

“I used to teach theoretical physics.”

Holy crap. He must be hella smart. Juneau glanced at him in surprise, although she ought to know better than to judge a man by his hair, which he’d caught up in a tail, or because he had a few tatts. “Not anymore?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I suppose you could say . . . I dropped out.”

“You ever going back?”

He paused, black eyes gazing out over the long road unfurled before them. “I don’t know for sure, but . . . I think not. I suspect that part of my life is over.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” It wasn’t like her to interrogate other people like this, but he fascinated her. Mostly because with his broad shoulders, broken nose, dark ponytail, and tribal tatts, he didn’t resemble any college professor she’d ever known. If the physics professors had looked like him, she might’ve taken more interest in the hard sciences.

Then again, maybe that’s why he quit.

Silas answered slowly, his voice deepening with notes that whispered of rue. “I did, once. Then everything changed. And I’m not the same person I was then. I can’t stand and stare at a whiteboard for hours while pondering problems that have no real-world application. I have something else I must do now.”

“Walk across Ecuador?”

His eyes crinkled in a surprisingly warm smile. “No. That’s tangential to my true goal.”

“And that is?” Unforgivable. Nosy. Prying. But she wasn’t sorry she’d asked.

“To make amends.”

That sounded like a twelve-step thing. She’d known her share of addicts. Guiltily, she flashed a look at his arms, but the ink made it impossible to tell if he had track marks. If he’d managed to kick the habit, though, more power to him.

The sun soon stole her desire to talk, however. They stopped for periodic water breaks, but the food had to last. Juneau welcomed the cooler weather when the sun sank away from the zenith, falling toward the horizon. She’d thought she was pretty tough, until now, but really, it was all she could do not to whine because there was no traffic on the road. Even if there had been, they shouldn’t accept a ride anyway. Kidnapping was big business in this part of the world.

As they crested a hill, the most welcome vista unfurled. Three simple white vacation bungalows, built on a rise overlooking the ocean, sat off to their right. Two of them had been damaged to the point of being uninhabitable, but the third appeared to be more or less intact. She quickened her pace without even checking to see what he thought of the idea. Proper shelter, running water, a regular toilet . . . oh yes, please.

She ran up the path, framed by brick and stonework. Cracks lay in what had been a pretty pattern, but nothing dangerous. Juneau vaulted some chunks of the other casitas and kept going. On closer inspection, the third house hadn’t escaped unscathed, but all four walls were standing, despite the fissures.

“Sound enough?” she asked Silas over one shoulder.

He studied the fracture running parallel to the door. “I think so.”

“Can you get us in?”

In answer, he slammed his left shoulder into the door, and it popped like a champagne cork. “They’ll never know it wasn’t quake related.”

Inside, it was beautifully cool and dim. A white and blue ceramic floor—some tiles now had cracks in them—led to a simple sitting room. This was a tiny vacation cottage, where the attraction lay in the landscape, the ocean, and the wildlife. Admittedly, it was gorgeous with spectacular sunsets, crystal clear water, unspoiled beaches, and the prospect of endless solitude. One didn’t come here for the luxurious accommodations, Juneau reflected. Still, she could tell the place had been built well, or it wouldn’t be standing. Simple worked when it came with running water.

“God bless the ecotourist,” she said on a happy sigh. “Dibs on first shower.”

“Go ahead. I’ll get the generator running, if there’s any fuel.”

It stood to reason there would be. This was probably a latchkey place with an absentee owner who took bookings online. There might even be some food in the cupboards. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The few stale, crushed pastries and cans of soup they’d found in Salango would only go so far.

Juneau went down the hall and into the bathroom. God, it would be good to feel human again; she wouldn’t think of children who had no more birthdays coming or coworkers’ families who were praying to hear good news. One minute at a time, he’d said. Well, she could do that. In fact, she excelled at it. It was the longer stretches that gave her trouble.

SIX

A ping made Mockingbird turn to check it. So Silas was in Ecuador. He wondered if the Foundation tracked in the same way he did. Wait, they couldn’t. They might have Kestrel now, but they lacked his unique talent. He studied the picture of the fugitive, working with the Red Cross in the aftermath of the quake. Disaster relief, who would have guessed?

He needed to get an agent to Ecuador. Warn Silas not to use his ability, if he had one. If only I hadn’t lost Finch in Guatemala—but no use lamenting the irrevocable. If Finch wasn’t dead, he’d soon be working for the enemy. They needed to find Olivia Swift, like, yesterday. Her ability to fight covert battles while their adversaries slept would prove invaluable.

But that was a pipe dream. He had no idea where she was; she’d gone ghost. Then it occurred to him: Maybe she wipes our memories in our dreams. Maybe he’d found her. At that, he prowled through all his files, but there was nothing. Could she convince me to get up in my sleep and erase the records? A cold chill went through him. If she was unbalanced, there was no telling what she might be doing out there.

Anyway, he had no proof that was the case or that she knew anything about him or his efforts to find her. Sitting in this room, surrounded by humming electronics, was making him paranoid. Better to focus on the mission.

Tanager was in Florida. She could hop a plane to Ecuador, but getting to Puerto López, where Silas had last been sighted, would be tricky. Fortunately, Tan specialized in persuading people to do impossible things. That made her a natural for this job.

She hated carrying a laptop, so he used the phone straightaway, engaging the voice scrambler. “Tan, I have a job for you.”

“I’m on vacation.” It was a halfhearted protest, and they both knew it.

“Maybe I should call someone else. It’s bound to be dangerous.”

“Now I’m interested.”

He’d known she would be. “We have a possible recruit trapped in Ecuador.”

“What’s his X?”

In his opinion, Tanager had read too many X-men comics in her youth. “Uncertain. If he has an ability, he managed to keep it out of the Foundation records.”

“So he could easily be a zero.”

That was what they called failure to evolve, the term used by the lab geeks to describe all the corpses their experiments left behind and all the human detritus that wound up with tumors, lesions, and shattering mental illness. Zeros. Rage boiled through him.

“I think it’s a risk we should take, in case he’s viable. But if you don’t think you can handle it—”

“No, I can,” Tanager said. “Did you get my tickets?”

“You’re going first class to Quito, but you’ll be on your own from there. There’s nothing I can hack that far off the grid.”

“It’s not a problem. I’ll find and warn him. Am I recruiting?”

“I’ll leave that up to you. Do so if you think it’s safe and he’ll be valuable.”

“I live to thwart the Foundation. Over and out.”

He knew she did, and that was only a small portion of Tanager’s problems.

SEVEN

Getting the generator running didn’t take long. Silas dreaded going back inside because sooner or later, she was going to ask. She’d seen what he could do, so there was no way she’d accept silence on the subject. He could put it off long enough to shower, but there would be a reckoning.

The agony in his right arm had dulled to a low throb. Apart from general human empathy and not wanting to cause harm, the resonant pain he suffered in using his ability offered strong deterrent. He could count the times he’d done so on one hand. And no matter the torment or provocation, he’d never shown the Foundation what he could do. Eventually, his handlers had stamped his file with a big red FAIL and put him to work. That was the only accomplishment he could take pride in for the last five years.

And now, now his secret was out.

“Bathroom’s free,” she called.

But when he passed the sitting room, he saw she wasn’t dressed. Well, not exactly. She’d fashioned a makeshift toga from a bed-sheet. He tried not to stare, but she had amazing skin, all smooth and golden, and it didn’t look like she had any paler strips. Which meant—

No way. You can’t start picturing that. She’s already half a step from being terrified.

“You washed your clothes?”

She nodded. “There’s a line out back, I’d guess for wet beach things.”

He couldn’t believe she was so casual with him, after what she’d seen. But when he studied her more closely, he glimpsed tension in the line of her shoulders and a hint of fear in how she clutched the white fabric. Like he might use his mind to tear it off her.

And no wonder, he thought bitterly. It’s too bad it doesn’t because that might have a useful application. But his so-called gift didn’t work that way. He had dominion over the human body—over skin and bone—and the blood in between. It was the grimmest, darkest thing imaginable, and he had to control it. Fortunately, he’d learned to leash his anger long before this curse manifested . . . because he’d come into his full growth young.

Silas went on to the bathroom, gliding past the mirror without glancing at it. He hated his reflection, even now, because he still saw the empty-eyed monster he had pretended to be. In the middle of the night, he sometimes wondered if that wasn’t the truest version of himself.

Fortunately, the previous renter had left some shampoo behind, and he found a sliver of bar soap in the dish in the shower. It was a small stall, commensurate with the rest of the bungalow, and he felt pretty trapped the whole time. But God, it was good to be clean. Afterward, he scrubbed his clothes and then went looking for his own sheet. There were spares in the hall closet. This arrangement filled him with misgivings—it was surely a bad idea to sit around with her, nearly naked—until their clothes dried, but neither of them had a change. Sometimes you just did what you could in the circumstances and hoped for the best.

By the time he finished hanging his shorts and T-shirt, she had a meal ready: tortilla soup and crumbled crackers. Since they hadn’t eaten since the mouthful of crab the night before, it smelled divine. They devoured the food in silence, and then she sat back in her chair, regarding him with a determined expression.

“So I’ve been going over what happened in my head,” she said. “Because I can’t quite make myself believe it. I mean, it did happen, right?”

No question what she meant by it. “You didn’t imagine the incident, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You broke their arms. With your mind.” Her incredulity hit eleven on a scale of one to ten.

He put his spoon down and folded his hands in his lap, staring down into his white ceramic bowl. Patterns formed in the smears of soup: charged particles attracting others. As a child, he’d once imagined worlds existed on that scale.

“That’s accurate.”

“I don’t even know what to say. Wait, yes I do. Are you going to hurt me?”

The question hit him like a lash, though he supposed it was reasonable. He felt utterly exposed. Silas might’ve said any number of things, but he could only manage to answer, “No.”

But she noticed, and contrition flashed across her expressive face. “I shouldn’t have asked that. Duh. You saved me . . . and you did again with your brain trick, even though it hurt you. You’re a hero.”

“I’m not.”

“You are to me.”

At that, he finally raised his head; it was the second time she’d said so. She’d propped her elbows on the table, and the way she’d leaned forward to make her point, it pulled the sheet dangerously low on her breasts. He looked—and he wanted her. Silas wished he didn’t, because it reminded him of all he’d lost and everything he could never have again. But she was beautiful in the way of a sunset in the mountains or a black swan diving by night: haunting, memorable, but ultimately ephemeral. The memory might linger, but she would not.

Juneau went on. “I guess I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, and really, I’m just numb, and tired, and I don’t have any more shock to spare.”

“Don’t be afraid of me.” He wanted to beg because he’d liked the easy way she treated him. It had been precious and new, and he hadn’t known how much he needed it until the fear crept into her eyes.

“I’m not.”

She seemed to sense his doubt and came around the table. To his astonishment, she planted herself on his knee. Oh, that was not a good idea. Though he didn’t intend to hurt her, it didn’t mean he lacked all male instincts. As she leaned into him, he noticed she smelled like him—the same soap, the same shampoo—but on her, it gained layers of sweetness. She’d taken her hair out of the braids, and it curled about her shoulders, brushing his bare skin in tantalizing sweeps as she breathed.

“I don’t know how to put this,” he said roughly, “so I’m just going to say it. I can’t have you so close to me.”

“Why not?”

Could she really be asking that? He found it hard to believe any woman could be so naïve. But he spelled it out anyway.

“Because we’re nearly naked, and you’re gorgeous.”

Juneau surprised him by leaning in and running her fingertips up his bare arm, tracing the pattern of his tattoo. Christ, it felt good. His muscles tensed. Maybe she wanted to go where this led after all.

“It might not be smart,” she said, “but I want you. I want sensation to dispel the pain and the exhaustion. I want to bang my heels on the bed until we both pass out and wake up feeling one hundred percent better, even though nothing has changed. I can tell you agree by the way you’re trying to pierce my hip.”

It was too much to hope she hadn’t noticed. But it had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with her golden skin and long legs and the way she sparkled with life. He had been dead so long that he wanted to get inside her and feel her heat. Maybe she could revive him all the way.

“That’s a natural physiological response to your warmth and proximity.”

Juneau raised both brows. “So you’re saying you don’t want to?”

“It’s more that I don’t trust anything good coming so easy.”

She grinned down at him. “I never said I’d come easy. I intend to make you work for it.”

He didn’t understand her lightness, especially under these circumstances, after everything they’d seen, and what she knew about him, for God’s sake. He said so aloud. Her smile faded a bit.

“Are you going to judge me, too? Tell me I’m not serious enough? Answer this: how does that help anything? How does misery make things better? I learned a hell of a long time ago that it’s better to decide to be happy—and pay attention here, Silas—make no mistake, happiness is a choice. If I choose to focus on all the terrible things in the world, then I might as well shoot myself because it’s not getting better. Or I can take my pleasure where I find it. I refuse to live my life under a rain cloud, even if other people think I should.”

“And what do you have to be happy about?”

“I’m alive. I’m clean and full, and I’m with you.”

God, he found her all but incomprehensible. How could anyone think being stranded with him was a good thing? And yet some frozen, lonely part of him melted just a little. Just enough.

She added with an impish grin, “Look, if you’re worried about your reputation, I’ll tell everyone you put up a big fight.”

Maybe all those years of playing dumb made him that way in truth. “What?”

She sealed her finger against his mouth. “Shh, don’t talk. I just want to kiss and touch you a little. We won’t do anything you don’t want . . . and we’ll stop as soon as you give the word.”

Reluctant amusement curled through him, leavening the ache in his cock. Eighteen years ago, he’d said the same thing to some girl he desperately wanted to fuck. Juneau made it impossible to brood, and just as difficult to excoriate himself with old guilt. Silas fell into the moment with her, willing to let her lead for a little while.

He gave a lopsided smile. “Fine. As long as you don’t tell.”

Then her mouth took his in a way that he’d never known: demanding and authoritative. She took, her tongue gliding against his, owning the kiss. It should have been funny when her hand crept up his chest, circling furtively toward his nipple. Instead it aroused him fiercely. By the time she turned her attention to his neck, he was squirming in the chair.

She sat back, her breath coming in little gasps. “Are you seduced yet?”

“Completely.”

His hands moved, almost of their own accord to where her makeshift sari knotted on her shoulder. She watched him, eyes shining. As he’d guessed, she sunbathed in the nude, so she was golden all over. Her body was finely made, almost too pretty for him to touch, and yet it sent a jolt of pure lust through him when he covered her breasts with his palms. She made a sweet sound in her throat, her head falling back. Juneau closed her eyes as he caressed her, sweeping his thumbs in delicately teasing circles. He turned her, so she straddled his lap, giving him better access.

“Your lips, now.”

He had to be dreaming. But disbelief didn’t stop him from leaning forward to nuzzle her breast in a soft, openmouthed kiss. She sank her hands into his hair, whimpering, and it gave him the courage to use his teeth a little. Oh, she liked that. Juneau responded with her hips, grinding on his cock.

“You’re gentler than you look,” she whispered.

“Is that all right?” He hardly knew what to do after all this time.

“I like it both ways. Depends on my mood.”

Silas didn’t think he’d ever dare to be rough with a woman. It mattered he succeed in giving pleasure, if she trusted him enough to allow him close. But he couldn’t be sure what she wanted: tender and soft or wild and demanding. It had been five and a half years since he’d been with anyone like this.

“And now?”

“Gentle,” she said dreamily. “Until I’m all over tingles.”

Silas scooped her into his arms and strode out of the kitchen. There had to be a bed in this place.

EIGHT

Few men could manage this with her height, but Silas made it look easy. Juneau enjoyed the ride down the hall, but then he set her lightly on her feet outside the bathroom. The sheer size of him took her breath away. He carried the muscles of a man who had done manual labor: tight delts, broad shoulders, bulky arms. The ink on his biceps showed to advantage with every movement, and his dark hair had a tendency to curl. Juneau admired him as she watched him rummage through the medicine cabinet.

They were both adults; she knew what he was looking for, and she was grateful he’d remembered. It spoke to the kind of man he was, caring for his partner, even when she got a little carried away. Maybe he should take it as a compliment . . . because low-level arousal still simmered in her blood.

“Any luck?”

Please, give us a break, here. It’s been a rough week.

He flashed an oddly shy smile. “Apparently. The previous renters left a few things behind, besides the soap and shampoo.”

“Tell me you found some.”

In answer, he held up a partial box of condoms. “Score.”

“If the stars align, you will. Check the date?”

“They’re good for a while yet.” He paused. “Has this ruined the mood?”

“Look on it as an intermission. We’ll get warmed up again. Although from the looks of you—” Juneau admired the tent in the sheet still tied around his hips.

“Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“Really?” He looked like a guy who could tap some ass anytime he wanted. Maybe in a bar, not a Starbucks, but women who went for a certain type would eat him up. God knew she wanted to. “How long?”

“Five and a half years.”

“Jesus, why? Were you locked up?”

Silas regarded her, his black eyes intense on her face. “Would that change your mind about me?”

It was a terrifying question, and her family would be horrified that she was actually thinking about her answer—that it wasn’t an immediate yes and where are my clothes? Over the past week, they’d spent more time together than people who dated for weeks. She’d seen him caring for injured children with endless patience and comforting grieving women in his broken Spanish.

“No,” she said at last. “But I’d want to know what you did.”

His face stilled. “I wasn’t incarcerated in the sense that you mean. But I’ve been . . . away.”

“Like on sabbatical, living in the wilderness?”

“Not exactly.” In a curt gesture, he sat the condom box on the edge of the sink. “Look, Juneau, I’ve hurt people. Killed with these hands.” He stared at them with such loathing, as if they didn’t belong to him, as if they did those things against his will. “And I understand if you want to walk away from this. I won’t stop you. But I won’t lie either. Not even for someone I want as much as you. I’ve promised I won’t hurt you . . . and you either believe that, or you don’t.”

“Shit,” she said. “Were you a soldier?”

“No more questions. Do you want to fuck or not?”

When he put it like that . . .well, yeah. Maybe he was dangerous. And she was definitely crazy, because she liked it. She wanted all his strength stretched out beneath her, wanted to drive him wild. A bolt of pure lust lanced through her. Juneau took two steps and leaped at him. He caught her, both arms wrapping around her.

Silas buried his face in the curve of her neck. Christ, he felt good. Nobody had ever held her this way, her thighs around his hips. But he wasn’t content with that for long; his cock throbbed against the curve of her ass. She snagged the condoms as they left the bathroom. Gonna need these.

“You thought I’d back out on you.”

He tossed her onto the bed. “I was afraid you might.”

“You know why I didn’t?”

“No clue.”

One possible answer occurred to her as he untied the sheet from around his waist. A woman just didn’t turn down a man like that, whatever the reason. He was built on . . . grandiose scales. As if he could read her mind, he glanced down and lifted his shoulders in an amused shrug that was part diffidence, part pride. Naked, he was every bit the gladiator: equal measures in sinew, ink, and scars.

“Because you hate yourself too much for somebody without a conscience. Your eyes are so fucking sad, and I want to take that look away, if only for a little while. I want to give you something good.”

A shuddering breath escaped him. “It’s been so long since anybody said anything like that to me.”

She beckoned to him. “Then let’s make up for lost time.”

Silas lay down beside her, and he dominated the bed. She couldn’t look without touching for long. Juneau ran her fingertips along his arm, tracing the lines of his tattoo.

“Does this have a meaning?”

“Each pattern represents a person.”

People you loved? Or killed? Juneau liked the element of danger and mystery that clung to him, and she had no doubt he would protect her, even if it came to violence. It already had, in fact. A primitive part of her approved.

He rolled on his side, drinking her in. She had no hang-ups about her body, and such intense scrutiny pushed all her buttons. Beneath his gaze, she arched and stretched as if in satiation. Silas drew in a sharp breath, and then he cupped her head in his head and leaned in for a kiss. Even in this, he was maddeningly gentle. His lips brushed hers repeatedly, lightly, seducing rather than conquering. She dug her nails into his shoulders and threw a thigh over his hip.

Instead of being drawn, he nibbled a path down her jaw to her throat. Tingles sparked through her, furling her nipples, and her core went liquid. God, he could nuzzle her neck all day. A whimper escaped her, and he shuddered, as if her pleasure sounds connected to his. She sank her hands into his hair, tugging not so gently.

“I need to finish,” she whispered. “The past few days have been . . . stressful.”

In response, he kissed a path between her breasts and down her stomach. He hooked strong arms beneath her thighs, lifted her bodily off the bed, and brought her lips to his. Dear lord. How had she done without this? It was delicious. Silas kissed her first, all softness, sweetness, and she moaned. But he wasn’t finished, thank God.

“Move for me. Show me how you like it.”

A fierce haze filled her head, urging her hips into tight circles against his mouth. She used him quite shamelessly, conscious of nothing but how he could please her: lips, tongue, whisper of teeth. Yes. The pleasure went white hot, rioting along her nerve endings, and Juneau arched as an orgasm quaked through her. He licked until it almost tickled.

With shaking fingers, she pulled him away, drawing him up to give him a sweet, hot kiss. The taste of her on his lips sent a wicked thrill through her. He touched her breasts as if he wasn’t sure he had the right, despite the fact that he’d just given her a luscious climax. Time to return the favor.

“That was lovely,” she said huskily. “But here’s the thing. I want a good, hard fucking, and it’s been a while for you. How long do you think you’ll last once you get inside me? I’m awfully hot and wet.”

He groaned. “I’ve no idea. You’re not helping by talking about it, though.”

“Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

“Should I be alarmed?”

“Certainly not.” She curled her fingers around his iron-hard erection. “I propose to take the edge off for you. Then you’ll be good to go for the next round.”

“You have a lot of faith in my resilience.”

“Don’t I, though?” Juneau pumped her fist, fingers flexing. “But you know yourself best. Want me to stop?”

His breath went ragged as he arched. “God, no.”

“Good. Because I want to watch you come anyway. I need to see your face. There’s nothing hotter than a man losing control.”

Silas fell back against the pillows, hands fisting at his sides. “Enjoy the show, because I’m getting there.”

“I know you are.” She worked her hand faster, watching his expression and adjusting the rhythm and pressure according to his reactions. “Like this?”

“Harder,” he gasped.

He bucked, helpless in her grasp, and she’d never been so turned on in her life. So big, so powerful . . . and at her mercy. She gave him the extra pressure, and he lost it, panting and moaning as he spiraled up.

“Look at me,” she whispered. “You’re mine when you come.”

His body locked. The orgasm rolled through him in waves that left him trembling. He spurted on her hand, on his belly, and chest. With one fingertip, she touched and tasted. Shivers wracked him; Juneau didn’t know if she’d ever seen anyone come that hard before. An odd tenderness suffused her. She picked the sheet up from the floor and used it to clean him off, and then she curled up against him.

It took him two tries to get his arm around her. “Damn.”

“Feel better?”

“Better is a nap. This is . . . I don’t know what this is.”

She nestled her head against his shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But I still want the sex, you know.”

“Give me a few.”

“If I must. Just remember you’re on the clock, mister.”

A startled laugh escaped him. “I seem to have lost my time card.”

“Don’t worry, I’m keeping track.”

“Are you?” He brushed the hair away from her face, gazing with an expression that unsettled her.

“I was teasing.”

“I know. It’s just . . . people don’t. Tease me, I mean. They look away. They hurry off. I’m not used to this kind of normal.”

She jabbed her elbow into his side. “I think I’m offended. Nobody’s ever called me normal before.”

“I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Silas ran his hand down the curve of her hip and drew her atop him.

Juneau glanced down in mock surprise, admiring his erection. Damn, the man was big. “Has it been a few minutes already?”

“Looks that way.”

“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll do the honors. I’m still humming.” She reached for the condoms and drew out a foil packet.

He watched as she tore it open and then moaned when she rolled it down his cock. Huskily, he observed, “You’re good at that.”

“I’m not going to win any awards for abstinence, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ve always been careful about it.” Her answer sounded defensive, even to her.

But it wasn’t as she’d feared. He didn’t judge her for knowing what she wanted and going after it. Nor did he condemn her because she liked sex and didn’t care whether it always occurred in the confines of a committed relationship.

Silas merely watched with silent, avid admiration as she rose up on her knees and guided him into her body. She worked slowly, stretching to accommodate him. He lay beneath her, stomach rippling with the effort of letting her set the pace. But despite his best attempts, his hands framed her hips and he pulled her down, hard.

She grinned. “Impatient?”

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No. It’s . . . good.” Supporting herself on his chest, she moved on him experimentally, watching his face.

As she rode, he licked his lips, eyelids drifting to half-mast. It seemed like he was in control, except his breath came in ragged gasps. Each time she pushed down, he arched to meet her, and they found a rising rhythm. Oh God. So . . . hot. Yeah. Like that. Need spiraled into pure and perfect tension.

“It’s been so long,” he gritted out.

That was the only warning before he flipped her beneath him and caught both her wrists above her head in one big hand. Then he set the pace, driving with long, deep thrusts. Juneau wrapped her legs around him and tilted her pelvis, moaning when his strokes became more powerful. For the first time, she felt almost overwhelmed by a lover, as if his intensity might break her wide open—and not in the physical sense.

Yet unable to resist, she tightened her thighs, working her hips faster against him.

Getting there. So close now.

She stared up into his dark, tormented eyes, the dark hair falling across his brow, and she drew him down. His lips took hers as he claimed her body, his tongue gliding against hers. God, he tasted good, equal measures fervor and desperation. She’d never had anyone kiss her as if he were starving for her, and it sent her over the edge. Her pussy tightened on his cock, making him moan into her mouth, and then he arched, grinding into her.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck, Juneau.”

Recovering before he did, she held him and wouldn’t let go, even when their heartbeats slowed. His tears dampened the side of her neck, and what the hell did she say now? Part of her wanted never to let him go.

“Wow,” she said eventually.

Silas smiled down at her, dropped a kiss on her nose, and then went to dispose of the condom. Mmm. Delicious. She could barely remember feeling better than this. The world was crazy outside the bungalow, but she wouldn’t think about it tonight.

When he came back, he lay down beside her, gentled somehow. “How’d you come by your name anyway? It’s unusual, isn’t it?”

At this point, she didn’t even mind answering, though she’d told the story countless times. “I was conceived there. My mom always wanted to visit Alaska, and I guess she was really grateful my dad took her.”

He laughed softly and drew her into his arms again. Listening to the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat, she decided, Hell, yeah, the future can wait.

NINE

“I’m clear,” Finch said.

Mockingbird slumped in relief; he’d honestly never expected to hear from this agent again, after his signal went dead. But he must have ditched it in case the enemy was tracking it, too. “How?”

“I think a new power popped up on her radar. They lost me.”

Kestrel’s weakness offered their one saving grace. Sometimes he even planned for it and orchestrated a simultaneous firing of abilities among his agents to overwhelm her, so she couldn’t track any of them. Unfortunately for Finch, he hadn’t been able to coordinate anything on such short notice, so he’d been stuck, waiting and hoping. This was unexpectedly good news.

“Lie low for a while. I’m going to see what I can find out about what’s going on in their organization.”

“Roger that. No powers. I’m on vacation in Mexico.”

“Enjoy the sun.”

This part he loved. He didn’t need the keyboard. Instead, he thought about the information he wanted and it filled the screens around him. Which was why he always knew more about the Foundation activities than they did. If he didn’t work in a protected room, Kestrel would find him in a heartbeat. As it stood, she didn’t know where he was, and he preferred to keep it that way. But he had to be careful. Unlike most hackers, since he used his brain, he was susceptible to viruses that translated as physical ailments. It had taken him years to devise firewalls for his mind, and they were still imperfect.

“Shit,” he said.

Mockingbird read the lines a second time. Ecuador. According to the other data, that had to mean they were going after Silas after all, the sneaky bastard. He must’ve saved Finch’s ass, firing up . . . whatever he can do. All the more reason to get Tanager to him quickly.

He memorized the coordinates Kestrel had sent to the extraction team, and then said, “Call Tanager.” The computer complied, and in a moment, he heard Tanager’s voice.

“This better be good. I just arrived in Puerto López.”

“How? The region’s unstable.”

“I . . . persuaded a pilot to land a small plane nearby. Military base.”

That was Tanager, all right. She could convince her mark to do damn near anything, even if it was stupid, dangerous, or completely counter to his best interests. She was a great asset in the field.

“I know where your target is. Or at least where the strike team’s headed. You ready?”

“Always,” she said.

Mockingbird gave coordinates. Tanager scrawled the location; he heard the pen scratching on paper. “I’ll find someone to take me. Thanks for the info.”

“That’s my job.”

TEN

Silas roused early, a habit born of living so long on someone else’s timetable. He heard nothing now but the lap of the waves and the cry of seabirds. But something hid in that silence. A noise had woken him, but the sunrise kept its counsel. Still, his nerves prickled. Gently, he set Juneau away from him.

God, she was beautiful, but he didn’t linger. He couldn’t let her soft skin or pretty hair distract him. Something wasn’t right.

He crept outside and pulled his clothes off the line. Fortunately, they were dry and permitted him to dress quickly in the half-light. Cocking his head, he listened again. Then he heard them. Footsteps. They were trying to be quiet, but rocks covered the path leading down from the road, and it was impossible not to make some noise. Lots of men, incoming. He snatched her shorts and tank top, and retreated, trying to think, to plan.

It has to be the Foundation. They know, somehow. Though it sounded paranoid, he didn’t doubt his instincts, even if he didn’t understand why or how. They’d take him and kill her because of what she knew, what she’d seen. That, he could never allow. He’d promised to protect her, and he would—whatever the cost.

“Juneau,” he whispered. “Wake up. I need you to hide for me. There’s going to be a fight.”

She didn’t wake up groggy, unlike most people. By the time she got her feet on the floor, she was already stepping into her shorts, eyes gummy but alert. She didn’t even ask him any questions as she pulled the shirt over her head. Instead she cupped his face in her hands, laid a firm kiss on him, and said, “Be careful.”

Silas caught glimpses of them as they surrounded the house, geared in black, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying tranq guns. He surprised the first one at the patio door, but he silenced any outcry with a gesture, cutting off his oxygen. Agony flared, though this couldn’t kill him; it just made him wish he were dead. Blood vessels popped in his own eyes, sending jags of pain tearing through his skull.

He stayed away from inflicting wounds for a reason. Unlike other applications of his power, cutting people made him bleed as well. Though he could, in theory, skin someone alive, he’d take too much damage to walk away. Therefore, choking and broken bones offered the best solution, pain without actual injury.

The curse connected him with his victim, making Silas part of the hunter’s skin and bone. He felt each thrash, each spasm; it wasn’t empathy or telepathy, nothing so kind or clean. No, it was a death bond. When the other man breathed his last, the resultant reverb nearly knocked him on his ass.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

If there were a lot of them, the mental echo might knock him out. No. That can’t happen. If they took him, they’d terminate Juneau, and they’d never stop until they perfected his ability for use in black ops. Imagining a whole squadron of men killing in silence, without remorse, sent a cold chill through him. He just had to thresh through them, however many there were. He’d been fighting ever since he first discovered what he could do, fighting against what he might become.

Not anymore. He’d already killed to protect her. He’d do it again and again, however many times they required it of him.

Cold settled inside him as two more pushed through the back door. Silas swung around the corner to avoid the tranqs. The darts slammed into the wall, and then he took them. Twin gestures, dual focus. He’d never done that before, and anguish streaked red-black across his field of vision. These men, he didn’t choke out. He snapped their necks cleanly, as he’d sworn he’d never do again. The resultant blaze in his own spine made his eyes water, but it wouldn’t last. No damage. No broken bones. Only blood drew blood. He just had to hold on and stay alert.

How many were left? He crouched and hugged the wall, edging down the hallway. They would be coming in the front, too. Surrounding a structure was protocol for these guys. He felt shaky and nauseated from the feedback, but he forced himself to keep moving. Juneau didn’t make a sound in the closet, thank God. Silas didn’t know if he could do this, if he had to worry about her, too.

Since it wasn’t a big house, he reached the door fast. No choice. Gotta end this. He flung it open, expecting to dodge more tranqs. Instead, he found a small woman with white blond hair, cut in short, jagged strands, standing before three motionless men. They wore gear just like the others, but they’d forgotten their mission. Her voice rolled over him, sweeter than a nightingale’s song.

“You don’t want to hurt us,” she was saying softly, irresistibly. “You’re going to put down those guns, turn, and walk into the sea. Nice day for a swim, don’t you think? Then you’re going to swim until you can’t see land anymore. Once you’re out there, you’ll check out the ocean floor.”

Horror overwhelmed him. Even though she wasn’t focused on him, he felt the siren call of her voice, and he almost wanted to go with them when they took their first somnambulant steps toward the sea. Silas planted his feet and watched them go, pain pinching at his temples.

“You’re like me.”

“Nuh-uh, pal. We’re all special snowflakes . . . I’ve never seen the same ability manifest twice. Mockingbird thinks the abilities come from our unique genetic code. But if you mean I’m a former test subject, then . . .” She tapped her nose.

“Who are you?”

“Tanager will do. I’m here to extricate you, but we need to move fast, since we’ve both used our abilities at this site. Come on.”

The bounty hunters were almost at the ocean now, still shuffling like sleepwalkers. “Do you have a vehicle?”

She nodded. “It’s parked up on the road.”

“Let me go get Juneau.”

“Mockingbird didn’t say I was supposed to rescue anyone else.”

Silas spun. “It’s nonnegotiable. You take both of us, or neither. I presume you have some use for me, or you wouldn’t have come.”

The woman sighed. Her makeup looked particularly heavy in the morning light, eyes ringed in dark kohl. Her lips, too, were painted black, offering sharp contrast to her spiked platinum hair. She ran tired fingers through it and then said, “Whatever. We need to make tracks.”

He went inside at a run and found Juneau pressed up against the back of the closet. She reached for him first, letting him draw her out. But she was trembling, despite her silent bravery. He hugged her close for a moment and then stepped back.

“Come on. We’ve got a ride out of here.”

“Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

He shook his head. “Not now. If this woman is telling the truth, we can expect more hunters . . . and soon.”

“Hunters? I thought they were looters, because of the quake. What—”

“Juneau. Do you trust me?”

“I—yeah. If you were going to hurt me, you’ve had more than one shot, and you’ve been nothing but kind.”

Kind. Most men would be offended by that word, but it wrapped around his heart like barbwire. She saw something in him nobody had, at least not for years. Not since before he was taken.

“Then let’s go. I promise you’ll find out more after we get moving.”

Wordless, Tanager led the way back to the road, where a driver waited in a battered Jeep. He looked military from his bearing to his haircut, but his eyes held that hypnotic shine as he turned to watch them cresting the rise. His hands still rested on the wheel, like he hadn’t moved since she got out of the vehicle. Creepy.

“I found my friends,” the woman said. “Now you need to drive us to Ayampe. There’s nothing more important to you than our safety. Understand?”

“Sí.”

So her power works across language barriers. Interesting.

Tanager got in front, and he helped Juneau in back and then swung up himself. The Jeep jerked into motion. This early, the wind was cool. She laced her fingers through his. The trembling had stopped, but she still seemed spooked—and she hadn’t even seen the bodies—or the lemming men drowning themselves.

“What happens once we get to Ayampe?” he asked Tanager.

“I find us a pilot and get us the hell out of Ecuador.”

“Doesn’t that mean using your ability? I thought you said we couldn’t. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It would be for you, since you don’t know how to block Kestrel. As long as we stay on the move and get back to base, which is built to conceal us, we’ll be fine.”

“Before today, I haven’t done . . . that in more than five years.”

“Well, you were detained, weren’t you? And hiding your light under a bushel.” She winked at him over her shoulder. “Clever boy.”

Silas set his jaw. “Regardless, I’m not likely to recidivate if I have a choice. I’m more interested in making amends.”

“Whatev. Talk to Mockingbird about that.”

Juneau glanced between them, her eyes widening. “She’s . . . like you.”

“I wish people would stop saying that,” Tanager muttered. “I’m starting to feel not special, and that makes me bitchy.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Silas asked, indicating the driver. “Won’t he tell the Foundation everything, if they find him?”

If she expects me to let her kill some random guy—

Tanager shrugged. “He’ll remember exactly what I tell him. He won’t say anything about us. As far as he knows, he decided to take a sudden vacation.”

Damn powerful gift.

“Where are you taking us?” Juneau spoke in a low, firm voice, despite the fact that she had to be seriously freaked out.

“I didn’t want you,” Tanager told her. “The big guy insisted.”

Silas sat forward. “That doesn’t answer the question. I’d like to know, too.”

“I’m not telling you where. I’ll tell you what. You’ve been tapped to join the resistance. If you decline the invite, after speaking to Mockingbird, I’ll give you the story I want you to remember, and leave you somewhere safe. After that, you’re on your own. But the Foundation has your scent now, and they’ll never stop looking. So you’re better off with us.”

“The Foundation?” Juneau frowned, glancing at Silas for explanation. “This sounds like an episode of The X-Files I saw once.”

Shit. It’s time I told her everything.

So there, in the breezy backseat of an old Jeep, he did.

ELEVEN

None of this seemed real. Several hours later, Juneau glanced around the “safe house” and wondered what the hell she was doing here. The safe house was more of a warehouse, all random junk, bare swinging bulbs, and echoing, cavernous space. This shit had nothing to do with her. She needed to call her family and let them know she was okay, maybe go visit before she took her next overseas job. She no longer kept a place in the U.S. because she didn’t linger long enough stateside for it to be worth it, and her mother enjoyed when she came home, however brief it might be.

But she glanced across the table at the big man, nursing a cup of coffee, and her heart did a funny dance in her chest. Maybe it was stupid to think he needed her, even a little, but she’d noticed the way his onyx eyes sought her, as if reassuring himself she hadn’t left. It wouldn’t hurt to stay awhile, if they’d let her make a call.

“Tanager,” she said. “Is there a phone I can use?”

“Sure. Back office. Dial nine first.”

“Who pays for this place?” Silas asked.

“Not us. Mockingbird keeps the power and phone on, charges it to the parent company that owns the property.”

Christ. Juneau stood and left what had likely been the break room, crossing the dark floor with its looming ceiling. Broken windows adorned the walls like sharp teeth, casting shadows from the swinging bulbs. She stifled a shiver as she passed into a darker hallway. There were no light fixtures back here, so she had to feel her way along the walls. She slid her fingers through something tacky, and she shuddered.

Inside the office, she found the switch. Radiance flickered overhead, highlighting the general wreckage of the room. The phone was ancient, a rotary dial—the kind her grandmother had leased from the phone company—and it sat on the floor, right beside the jack. Whoever these people were, they didn’t travel first class.

Juneau knelt and dialed; it took way longer when you had to wait for the wheel to finish spinning to input the next number. But the sound quality was good as the call went through. Her mother picked up on the third ring; she sounded faintly out of breath. Maybe she’d been outside in the yard or sitting on the porch.

“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”

“Junie!” Nobody but Melva Bright ever called her that. Right now, she didn’t mind. “God, we’ve been so worried about you, ever since we heard about the quake. Your brother’s been calling all over Ecuador, trying to get news.”

“Jack?” she guessed. He was the lawyer, better suited to getting information out of people than Joseph, the surgeon.

“Who else? Where are you? Are you safe?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure.” That much was true. “I got a lift with some other survivors, and we’re making our way out of the country. I’ll come home as soon as I can. Things are . . . unbelievable here.”

“I can only imagine. But thank God you found a phone to let us know you’re all right.”

“I have to go. There are others waiting to use it. Give my love to Jack and Joe.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

After she disconnected, she sat for long moments, holding the phone as if she’d lost her lifeline. Her mother’s voice lent the situation an illusion of normalcy, but clearly things weren’t. Taking a deep breath, she headed back to the others. She entered silently in accordance with Tanager’s gesture and propped herself against the wall. The other woman perched on the edge of a worktable, swinging her legs.

At first, she didn’t know why she had to be quiet, and then the laptop crackled. A ray of energy shot from it—and holy shit—she’d never seen anything like it, outside the movies. A small, holographic image appeared, glowing blue. Surely this was fake; this thing couldn’t actually talk. But the figure turned as if acclimating itself, and focused on Silas. It didn’t have features—didn’t look like any particular person—it was just an avatar.

“I see Tanager got you out.” The voice was unquestionably male, but it came out with electronic interference, different than a voice scrambler. This was a new thing altogether.

“I always get my man.” The blond woman grinned, showing straight, white teeth. She’d fit right in at clubs where Juneau had partied in college; everyone wore black and too much eyeliner. Leather and metal spikes, preferred attire.

“That’s why I sent you,” the hologram said to her and then added to Silas, “I imagine you have questions.”

“To say the least. Who are you? For that matter, who’s she?”

“I’m Mockingbird. You already know Tan. We don’t use real names, even in private, in case one of us is captured. We’re both part of a resistance movement, working covertly against the private organization that created us.”

Whoa. To be honest, Juneau hadn’t given full credit to the big guy’s story. He’d seemed to want to unload, and it seemed churlish to deny him that opportunity, even if she didn’t buy what he said. Although it was damned hard to explain what he could do otherwise, but her worldview didn’t allow for secret labs and Mengele-style human experiments. That was way darker than she’d wanted to believe. However, now she’d watched Tanager Jedi-mind-trick two men, using the power of her voice alone. In conjunction with Silas breaking people with his brain, she had to admit the evidence was compelling. The Chinese curse May you live in interesting times had come true with a vengeance. Shit didn’t get more interesting.

Which presented an interesting question. If they were a covert operation, what did they do with normals? A cold chill surged through her. She didn’t want to die for the uber-cliché of knowing too much. It might be her imagination, but Tanager watched her with greater than necessary focus, given she wasn’t doing anything.

Surely Silas wouldn’t let them hurt her. If he can stop it, a small voice said. If Tanager works her siren mojo on him, he may not be able to resist. Come to think of it, she’d only seen the ability work on men. Maybe it wouldn’t work on Juneau, and if so, she could defend herself. Die trying, anyway.

“And what do you want with me?” he asked.

“For you to come work for us.”

Silas laughed, but the sound faded as he realized nobody else shared his amusement. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly. We could use a warrior to help us take out their hunters.”

His black eyes turned sharkish. “You mean set myself up as bait. Use my ability to lure them in and then execute them when they show up.”

A shiver rolled through her. He didn’t sound offended; he sounded . . . intrigued. Silas studied his hands once more, as if he saw blood on them—and maybe he thought he could mitigate that with more. She didn’t know if she agreed, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through either, if what he’d told her was true.

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but essentially, yes. I coordinate all the agents from a secure location. Under most conditions, you would be working alone, though if we locate another facility like the one in Virginia, you would definitely be on the strike team sent to clear it.”

Silas froze. “There are others?”

“At least four. Two have been relocated since Shrike took out Dr. Rowan, and the other two never pop up on my informational grid. It’s possible those have shut down because they’re old—they were established in the seventies—but I won’t rest until I’ve liberated all the test subjects and shut down this program for good. If we make it too difficult and too expensive, the moneymen will cut off the research and close those divisions down. By yourself, you can go individually to each family and say you’re sorry for their loss. That’s all. With us, you can accomplish much more.”

“I’d work with him again,” Tanager said. “He’s cool in a crisis. He was swatting those bloodhounds like flies when I arrived.”

“How do you pay for all of this?” By Silas’s expression, he didn’t mean the rusty, abandoned warehouse.

“I won’t lie to you. My talent is such that I can skim from corporations without leaving virtual fingerprints. I set up numbered accounts for our operatives and we’re funded Robin Hood-style. But I target the parent companies behind the Foundation, if it makes you feel any better.”

“I have a couple of conditions,” Silas said. “If I work with you, I still need to visit those families. Otherwise, they’ll never know what happened to their children, their mothers and fathers.”

Juneau’s heart gave another little twist; his passion moved her. So few people cared about anything, anymore. God, she loved a man with a mission.

Tanager dropped lightly to her feet. “You’ll need some help with that, hoss. These people will have no reason to accept the truth from you.”

“And you’ll give them a reason?” Silas asked.

“It only works on men,” she answered, confirming Juneau’s hunch. “But chances are, we can find some male relative to convey the news. If I tell him we’re cops and we have news about Sally Missing, he’ll repeat it with one hundred percent conviction.”

“Why would you help me? This is personal.”

Her gaze went hard. “Because I want you onboard, and if this is what it takes, so be it. You can teach the Foundation to fear us—and what it feels like to be hunted.”

“Could you give me a few minutes to talk to Juneau in private?”

“Of course,” Mockingbird said. “Tanager, take the laptop to the back office. I have some things to discuss with you anyway.”

TWELVE

This was a new thing. Unlike most, his ability was constantly evolving. Two weeks ago, Mockingbird hadn’t been able to do this. Unfortunately, such power came at a high cost. He wouldn’t be able to do this forever, which meant he had to step up the recruitment and find someone who could take over for him. Which wouldn’t be easy. As far as he knew, he was unique. But then, everyone was.

What he was doing now, he guessed, was some form of technically powered astral projection, impossible to say for sure. Science hadn’t advanced anywhere near enough to try and chart the reasons why.

“You sure about this, Tan?” In this form, he could see her only in sparks of Tanager-shaped light.

God, he envied Silas. To be able to work out in the field, up close and personal with her? That sounded like a fucking dream come true. Lucky bastard. But the truth was, Mockingbird was far too vital—and too fragile—to survive outside his controlled environment. He hadn’t always been so weak, but the stronger his ability became, the more his body deteriorated. I am an imperfect adaptation , he thought, while waiting for her answer.

“I’m positive,” she said. “We need him. The combat abilities are rare, and even more rare for them to manifest in someone who isn’t batshit crazy.”

That much was certainly true. It seemed as though causing physical harm to others through paranormal means didn’t do the human psyche any good. Part of that could be attributed to the experiments, of course, and long captivity. But they’d found some subjects who’d come into their powers on their own, and to a man, they’d turned to mass murder as a hobby. But Silas was different, and Tanager was right. They had to have him. Her short-term cooperation with his personal penance was a small price to pay.

“Very well.”

He hated thinking of all the time she would spend with Silas in close proximity. Sometimes knowing an operative’s background provided too much insight. But of all his agents, she was the only one he’d formed a personal attachment to, even though he shouldn’t, even though it was stupid, and wrong, and pointless. She’d never even seen his face. Never would.

That’s me, the ultimate untouchable.

“It won’t be a big deal. I like him. And it’ll be nice to have someone around that I can talk to about shit. Plus, he’s had it worse than me, which takes some doing.”

He wished he offered the warning for altruistic reasons. “I think he has some attachment to the regular who came in with him.”

Her tone turned cold. “Yeah. I was going to ask—what do you want me to do about her?”

THIRTEEN

“You’re going to do it.” It wasn’t a question.

Juneau had borne all the weirdness with an almost unreasonable calm. Not that Silas wanted a woman by his side who couldn’t face the unexpected without melting down. But he didn’t know how much more she could take.

“Yeah. But I don’t know how it’s going to work. You and me.”

Juneau shrugged. “Hey, you’re in demand. I’m just somebody you dug out of a rock pile. I appreciate you looking out for me while we were in Ecuador, but I gather we’re stateside now. That means once I head out, I can take care of myself. I need to get new IDs made, replace my bank card, and go see my family. I’d really like to hug my mom.”

He would, too. But after so long, he couldn’t imagine what he’d tell her. Sorry for six years of silence. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. Yeah, that’d go over well. But he had to address the fundamental misconception in what she’d said.

“You’re not. In fact, you’re the only person I’ve trusted with who I am in years.” Since before he’d been taken. “I’m not ready to lose that. Maybe you’d rather walk away, I don’t know. It hasn’t been long enough to be sure what we feel isn’t what they call emotional response to extremity.”

“Any port in a storm?”

“Exactly.”

She nodded like she agreed with him, and his heart clenched. Doing the right thing sucked. He wanted to beg her to stay with him and never leave, because he might never find anyone like her again.

“So what do you suggest, then?”

He took a deep breath, nearly unable to voice the words for the razors in his throat. “We should part ways, at least for a while. Get some perspective. And maybe you’ll decide you want nothing more to do with me.”

“I should go to Chicago anyway. That’s where my family is.”

How funny—and sad—that despite what they’d shared, he hadn’t known that about her. “I’ll open an email account.”

Silas told her the name and service he’d use; she committed it to memory. Juneau pushed away from the wall. “I should bail before they get back. Something tells me they won’t like how much I know about their organization.”

“They don’t know if they can trust you yet.”

“Neither do you,” she said softly. “You’re taking a big risk on me. I might be able to parlay what I know into a big payout from these corporations.”

He shook his head, smiling. “You teach English to impoverished children for a few dollars an hour. You don’t own more than you can carry. If money motivates you, then you have an odd way of showing it, Juneau Bright.”

Her eyes shone, as if she wanted to—but would not—weep. “I hate how well you know me already . . . and how hard this is. I know it’s the right thing, but this is the first time a man has ever asked me to go before I was good and ready.”

That hit him like a brick in the gut. “I’m trying to be noble here. You’re not making it easy.”

“Best quick and clean, then.” She crossed to him, set her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him as he’d never been kissed in his life, as if she wanted to steal his breath and keep it, so she’d always have some of him with her. It made him feel . . . loved. Maybe it was the wrong word, but he clutched it close to his chest. “Good-bye, Silas.”

Watching her leave hurt worse than killing with his hellish power. Grant that it’s not forever, he thought. Grant that she comes back to me. In his mind’s eye, he saw a painting his mother had owned—a tchotchke with a quote imprinted on it—something about loving something and setting it free. He suspected whoever wrote that down initially had never loved a woman like Juneau Bright.

This is best. She’d lived her whole life avoiding ties. The last thing she’d want is a permanent arrangement with someone like me. I’m damaged goods. At least this way, she may remember me fondly. I’ll always be a hero in her eyes. Sadly, those thoughts offered scant comfort.

When Tanager returned with the laptop, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Where’s the chick?”

“I cut her loose.” He met her stare measure for measure. “Is that a problem?”

She smiled. “Not for me. Mox may disagree.”

“Don’t call me that. We can’t have her in the wind, knowing what she knows.” A pause. “She’s got family in Naperville. I bet that’s where she’ll go. If she’s not with you, as in your personal business,” Mockingbird’s tone made it clear what he meant, “then we need to take care of her.”

“No. If she’s harmed, I’ll find you and make you sorry. I’m not working with people who think nothing of punishing innocents.”

“MB means bringing in our resident mind-fucker, hoss.” Tanager laughed softly. “She won’t be injured. She just won’t remember you.”

“You have someone who can do that?” he asked.

“You’d be surprised what Mockingbird’s turned up. He has an eye for talent.”

Much as he hated to consider becoming a blank spot in her memory, if she didn’t get in touch with him, it might be best. He could start this new life with no ties. Silas just wished that didn’t sound so fucking lonely. But at least he’d have purpose.

“Can you give me a window of opportunity?” he asked. “We’re not . . . together, but we were. Briefly. It’s up to her if we continue to be. She can’t make that decision if you cut me from her brain too quick.”

Mockingbird asked, “What sounds reasonable? If you trust her, I’m willing to give her a little time. I don’t think she’ll run right to the Foundation, and even if she did, it would take a while for her to find anyone who would believe her.”

“I think she’s solid,” Tanager said, unexpectedly. “I don’t think she’d sell him out. At least, not voluntarily.”

Silas froze. “Will the Foundation go after her?”

“They might, if anyone had survived the strike in Ecuador. But since you ended three and I drowned the others, nobody will be talking.”

He felt like ice water ran in his veins. “You’re sure they all died?”

“Positive.”

The Mockingbird holo cleared its throat. “How long, then?”

“A month?” Silas figured if she hadn’t emailed him in that time, then she’d have decided it was best to leave things be.

“Done. I won’t send Finch until I hear from you. And welcome aboard. Tanager has your first assignment.”

The woman nodded. “Foundation bloodhounds are hunting some poor bastard here in Texas, and we’re taking them out. It’ll be safer if we use my ability as bait this time. That way, Kestrel won’t know we’re working together. We can plan more on the move. Ready?”

Despite the lingering pain of farewell, he preferred to stay busy. So, “Yeah. The sooner, the better.”

“I like the way this guy thinks. Do you have anything else for us, MB?”

“The pharmacy on the corner of Fourth and Main has a prescription for you, Silas. It’ll help with the pain after you use your ability.”

“Tanager told you?”

She shrugged. “You were in bad shape when I showed up. Dealing with a few more guys would’ve put you on your ass. You need to countermand that.”

“Does your siren voice have a drawback?”

“Siren voice.” She laughed quietly. “I dig that. And yeah. But I’m not telling you what it is. It’s . . . personal.”

Shit. He was sorry he’d asked. “Thanks, Mockingbird. I appreciate the extrication. Not just for me either.”

“Thank me by kicking some goon ass.” The holo sounded almost . . . sad. But why would he?

“All set?” Tanager closed the laptop without a farewell and rolled into motion. “Then let’s hit it.”

FOURTEEN

The bus station in Houston was grungy. Not unusual in that regard.

When she’d emerged from the warehouse, Juneau hadn’t even known where the hell she was. They’d flown in at night and then hopped a second plane. They’d worn blindfolds, too, all enough to set off her fear-o-meter. Fortunately, it had been daytime when she slipped out, and she’d felt safe enough to ask directions from a couple of milling teenagers.

“Bus station’s about eight blocks that way,” one kid said.

His friend added, “Can’t miss it. It’s right by the McDonald’s.”

Easy enough. She felt conspicuous in her wrinkled shorts and tank top. The weather didn’t quite match her attire, but it was warm enough that she didn’t look crazy, at least. Just maybe . . . overly optimistic. A fair number of people hung around in the fast-food restaurant parking lot. Others made their way by crossing an actual set of railroad tracks. Doubtless the bus station’s on the wrong side, too.

But there was no help for it. She brushed past two seedy men who stood smoking by the front doors and found the pay phones. Deep breath. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handset. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Make the call. Leave all the crazy behind. And I have his email, if I decide I want to get in touch later. Thus bolstered, she dialed zero for the operator and asked to make a collect call.

“What number?”

She gave her mother’s and then spoke her name at the tone. Thirty seconds later, she had her mother on the other end of the line. “Where are you, honey? Can you talk more now?”

“I’m in Houston,” she answered. “And yes. But my stuff got buried in the quake. I’m going to need a hand getting home.”

“What can I do?”

Wiring money could be tricky, since she had no ID and no friends here. “Could you buy me a one-way ticket to Chicago, online, and then call to confirm my description with the ticket agent? I hope they’ll give me a break if my mother vouches for me.”

“Absolutely. I’ll book you on the next bus and be waiting for you at the station on this end. Give me ten minutes to make the purchase and then call.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”

And she was. Juneau never minded the live up to your potential talks because her mother delivered them with warmth and concern, never nitpickery. But by this point, even her mom had accepted she would never fit the corporate mold. She went into the bathroom to wash her face and hands, and braid her hair. She used a thread unraveled from her tank top to tie it off. It was amazing what one could become accustomed to. In the mirror, her face looked thin and tired.

She left the bathroom and headed up to the front counter. The woman seemed to recognize her by the slight smile. “I just talked to your mom. That hair’s unmistakable.”

“I don’t have ID. I lost everything in Ecuador. Now I’m just trying to get home.”

“Oh man. You’re a quake survivor.” The agent looked as though she wondered how the hell Juneau had wound up in Houston, but she didn’t ask. “It’s not a problem. You have twenty minutes until your bus arrives.”

“Good timing. Thank you so much for this.”

“Anytime. Enjoy your trip.”

Well, that would take some doing since she had no money. But fasting for twenty-four wouldn’t do her any harm. Spiritual types did it all the time.

The bus ride seemed interminable. She transferred in Dallas and then passed through Garland and Greenville. Juneau spent fifteen glorious minutes, drinking from a water fountain in Texarkana, trying to fill up to drive away the ache in her belly. She was weary and heartsick, so ready to come home. Midnight found her in Little Rock, and by four a.m., she was sitting in Memphis, waiting for the driver. They spent an hour there. At last exhaustion took its toll, and she slept. The next thing she knew, it was two fifteen in the afternoon, and she’d arrived in Chicago.

As promised, her mother was waiting for her. She hugged Juneau and then stepped back to look at her. “So glad to have you home, safe and sound. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

If, going forward, she never spent another minute in a bus station, that’d be fine. To Juneau’s vast delight, her mom had brought food. Praise the glorious midwestern obsession for feeding people in times of trouble. The nylon lunch bag held a chicken salad sandwich, an apple, and her favorite sweet: peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips. To cap it off, a bottle of sparkling water. She dug in while her mom drove, navigating the afternoon traffic. It was colder here than in Houston, so she was glad for the car’s heater.

“There’s a sweatshirt in back if you need it.”

Juneau finished the apple and then snagged the hoodie. She wriggled into it with a sigh of satisfaction and then went back to her meal. Her mom knew enough to be patient, so she could enjoy the food. She still makes the best chicken salad ever.

“Thanks.”

“It’s what moms do. I hope you intend to stay awhile this time.”

She thought about it. “Yeah. I think I’ve had enough traveling for a bit. You haven’t turned my room into a home gym yet?”

“No. I keep it up for you, since you don’t have your own place.” But there was no disapproval in her voice, just statement of fact.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week. After I shower. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. It must’ve been pretty rough.”

Juneau thought of her lost coworkers and the children, and the big, dark eyes of the survivors she’d left behind. Even she couldn’t muster up a light reply, so she merely nodded and turned her head against the window, wondering where Silas was right now. It felt strange to be alone; he had been right to call their bond one formed in extremity. But she didn’t feel whole without him nearby. Surely that would change in time. It wasn’t love. It had been sex—and a memory she could treasure.

Naperville. Juneau couldn’t believe she was here. It was all so . . . normal with the neighborhoods laid out in organized grids, streets planted with flowers, and trees standing stately in the yards. This time of year, everything was greening up. Springtime in the Midwest was beautiful. So different from the tropical climate she’d become accustomed to in Ecuador.

It took two days to prove her identity sufficiently to replace driver’s license and passport, and then fill out the requisite forms. Her mother fussed over her, and she didn’t mind. After everything, some TLC hit the spot.

For the rest of the week, Juneau tried not to think about Silas. She didn’t think about the sharp curve of his nose, how good he was in bed, or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Not about how he’d stepped between her and a bullet or how he’d protected her every step of the way.

That weekend, her brothers came from Chicago to check her out personally. They’d both called to make sure she was all right, but her mother insisted they should all be together her first weekend home. Not for the first time, she wondered how Jack and Joseph felt about being asked to drop everything just because she’d turned up like a bad penny. They never complained, though. Apart from the hideous teasing they’d forced her to endure as a tween, her brothers were pretty cool guys. Both were disgustingly successful—a credit to her mother, who’d raised them on her own. Juneau couldn’t remember her father; he’d died when she was four.

It’s a good thing I keep clothes in my old room, she thought, tugging on a pair of jeans. They fit loosely, even though they were at least ten years old. Juneau found a T-shirt and then went down to greet her brothers.

Jack was the oldest—and the tallest. He had dark hair and blue eyes; they all took after their father, leaning toward height. Growing up, Juneau had despaired of ever being as pretty as her mom. Even now, Melva Bright looked ten years younger than her actual age, and people were starting to mistake them for sisters—that could be depressing, if she let it. She didn’t.

Joseph looked more like Juneau, sharing similar features, along with gray eyes and lighter brown hair. They’d always been closer as kids, and still were today. He had slender hands, and each time she saw him, she marveled that he saved lives on a daily basis. She hugged them each in turn and suffered through a prolonged scrutiny.

“Yep,” Joe said at length. “She still has all her parts.”

Jack laughed. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Absolutely.”

Her oldest brother kissed her forehead. “It’s good to see you, Junie. You had us worried shitless.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It was so good to see some things stayed the same, no matter how much everything else changed. They enjoyed a meal in her mother’s kitchen, catching up and laughing. Her mother focused on why her brothers hadn’t married yet.

“It’s not like you aren’t settled in your careers,” Melva said, gesturing with her fork. “And I want grandchildren while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

Jack choked on his antipasto. “Maybe you could let me find the right woman before you mentally impregnate her, Ma?”

Gazing around the table, Juneau knew she should be totally happy right now. No question. She’d survived an insane, incredible situation, but it was all over. By now, she ought to be thinking about her next job, checking lists online, and finding a new adventure. Instead, she felt stuck in a holding pattern, unable to make a choice.

She sat quiet while the others talked, and after dinner, she washed up the dishes, then grabbed a sweatshirt out of the hall closet and went out to the porch to sit on the swing. Over the years, she’d done a lot of thinking—and brooding—here. It wasn’t quite warm enough, but she needed the push and sway to align her thoughts.

Joe followed her out eventually. “Mind if I sit?”

“Would it stop you if I did?” She grinned up at him.

“Nuh-uh. You have that I need to talk look.”

“Maybe I do.” She drew one knee up and wrapped her arms around it while still gently nudging the swing with the other. “I met a guy in Ecuador. In fact, he’s the only reason I’m alive.”

“Wow. That’s major.” Sometimes Joe still sounded like he was sixteen, and that always made her smile. But these days, he had a perspicacity he’d lacked in his younger years. “So you’re into him, but you’re wondering if the hero factor’s coloring your opinion.”

“Exactly. He was the one who suggested we cool it for a while. Give us time to get perspective and see how we feel down the line.”

“Sounds like he has his head on right. I appreciate that he didn’t take advantage.” Her brother mock-scowled. “He didn’t, did he?”

She laughed softly. “None of your business.”

“Do I have to kill him?”

“Please. I’m thirty-three, Joe. Your list would be pretty long, at this point.”

“I so don’t need to hear that.” He ruffled her hair gently. “What are you going to do, then?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Later that night, she went up to her room and flicked on the ancient computer. It still ran, but her mother only had dial-up; she used email, but she didn’t figure the Internet machine was good for anything else. Instead of checking her messages, Juneau went to the website Jack had designed for her and scrolled through the old picture galleries. These shots shared one commonality: they featured her and a group of strangers with whom she’d lost contact as soon as she left the country. She didn’t have many close friends, just a series of friendly acquaintances. Nobody stayed in her life because she didn’t let them. She always had to keep moving.

So was it at all possible that she wanted to keep the one man who’d told her to walk away? Maybe it was just sheer mental perversity making her think so. As requested, she’d give it time. It couldn’t be love, anyway; she’d decided long ago she just wasn’t wired to stay with one man.

But how will you know if you never try?

By day eight, she had to admit it: Silas was a hard man to forget.

No matter how many days passed, she couldn’t forget him. No amount of conversation made her stop longing to hear him laugh again. Nothing she did drove him out of her mind. Juneau woke with the sound of his voice in her head and the memory of his touch lingering on her skin. She played the Blink 182 song “I Miss You” repeatedly, until her mother asked her what the heck was wrong.

So at the end of the month, she emailed him.

FIFTEEN

It was done, then.

It was just as well Silas had work with Tanager; otherwise he would’ve had too much time to focus on the pain. He missed Juneau more than he could’ve imagined. Some bonds couldn’t be broken, but maybe she was better off without him. He checked his email obsessively. The month passed in interminable agony, and on that last day, he woke up feeling dark as a moonless night.

Tanager was gone from their shared flat. She’d be headed to Chicago now. To find Finch and make sure he put Silas from Juneau’s mind. She’d made her choice and so couldn’t be trusted with their secrets. Soon she would recall nothing of their time together, but at least he would remember that he’d had something beautiful for a little while.

His partner’s absence meant they wouldn’t be working today. In the last month, he’d learned how to manage the pain associated with his ability with a judicious combination of meditation and meds, but he didn’t mind the break. It gave him time to make peace with the inevitable. Silas couldn’t honestly say he was surprised. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from checking the account he’d set up just for Juneau one last time.

And there it was in black and white. Hope. Salvation. The potential for all future joy.

Silas, I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t know if you’re the one, but I want to find out. I can’t do that if I’m not with you. Call me. J.

He started to dial her number, and then he paused with his fingers on the dial. Shit. Fuck. He had to stop Tanager. With trembling hands, he punched in her cell, but it went to voice mail. She might already have some guy in the air in his personal plane. For obvious reasons, Tan never flew commercial.

He sat down at the computer, calling to book tickets while he worked online; successful multitasking had never mattered so much. If the number’s listed, yeah. Here we go. Silas scrawled the address. Thanks, reverse lookup. Then he did try to call Juneau, intending to tell her to stay the hell away from Tanager, but she didn’t answer. Fuck. Maybe it’s already too late.

“First available flight to Chicago. Yeah. Thanks.”

Every second the ticket agent delayed, chatting away, made him want to reach through the phone and throttle her. At last they wrapped up and he sprinted for the door. He had no idea where Tanager was, whether she’d already left the city. If only he had some clue—he scared the shit out of his cabbie with his muttering and growling. For once, Silas didn’t care at all, as it motivated the man to drive faster.

He leaped out at the airport and vaulted over a trolley full of suitcases. The delays seemed endless. First he used a self-service terminal to print out boarding passes, since he’d memorized his confirmation code, then he had to wait in an endless security line. Shit had changed a lot while he was locked up. Fortunately, he had nothing to search, which made the agents glare at him, because it meant he was breaking some travelers’ algorithm. He didn’t care about that either.

Finally, he took his seat on the plane, and the whole time he was in the air, he found it hard to sit still. The only thing in the world that mattered was finding Juneau before Tanager had Finch mindfuck her. Don’t let me lose her, he thought, and his desperation carried the weight of a prayer.

He hired a driver at the airport, since an hour in a town car cost about the same as paying for a grubby cab. On the way, he called Tanager four more times, but she didn’t pick up. He left six messages and then texted her for good measure. Don’t mess with her. Juneau still wasn’t answering either, and maybe when she did, she wouldn’t know who he was.

“Do you want me to wait?” the driver asked as they pulled up in front of a good-sized house with white siding and a brick walkway. “That’ll be another hour.”

“No. It’ll be fine.” He hoped.

Silas slid out of the car and sprinted up the drive to the porch. Inside, he could hear voices. He rang the bell, and in the seconds it took for someone to answer, he died a thousand deaths. A small woman who looked to be anywhere from forty to sixty answered the door; she had Juneau’s stormy eyes.

“Ah, you must be Junie’s young man.” To her credit, she didn’t bat an eye at his appearance.

Relief left him weak . . . and uncertain how to proceed, now. He followed her into a living room decorated in warm, inviting shades of peach and brown. Tanager sat sprawled on the couch, drinking a Coke. She aimed a daggered grin at him.

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, low.

Finch was nowhere to be found. Which meant he’d made it in time.

“I know. I’m not a nice person.” Her expression said I like to fuck with you.

Before he could decide whether to hug her or bitch her out, Juneau came out of the kitchen. Her step faltered when she saw him, surprise lighting her features, then she came at a run and threw herself at him. He’d never been greeted like that in his life, not even when he was normal. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

“Missed you,” he whispered, for he had no explanation why he was here, otherwise. “And I thought this would be better than a call. Surprise.”

“Someone turned the ringer off on the phone anyway,” she answered, her voice muffled by his chest.

He cut a look at Tanager, who smirked. Guilty, she mouthed. Clearly she enjoyed driving people crazy. But now that fear had receded, he didn’t even care. Her fuckery had gotten him here faster. Without her interference, they might’ve screwed around with phone calls and tentative plans that dwindled into doubt. She’d prodded him until he came charging in like a rabid bull. And Juneau didn’t seem to mind.

“Let’s go in the kitchen.” Mrs. Bright beckoned to Tanager. “I suspect these two have some talking to do.”

Tan shook her head. “I gotta bail. I just wanted to see his face when he walked in.”

Juneau and her mom seemed puzzled by her words and her swagger as she left. Silas couldn’t stop smiling. He rather liked the little bitch—and he was certainly grateful to her.

He didn’t let go of Juneau, even as he maneuvered them to the couch. Tucking her against his side, he said, “I was worried you’d write us off.”

“I tried,” she admitted. “But I kept thinking about you. And doubting myself. Why the hell would I ever go looking for greener pastures when I already had somebody willing to die for me? And you just met me. I’m guessing it only gets better from here, though relationships are a new thing for me.”

“Me, too. We’ll find our way together if that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

“I’m not going to have a normal job, you know. It will mean traveling a lot and doing dangerous things. And I’ll be partnered with Tanager for a while yet.”

“That works for me. I didn’t say I wanted to settle down, only that I want to be with you. I’m sure I have some skill they can use.” She canted her head, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They don’t just hire people with powers, do they? Because I think that’s discrimination.”

For the first time that month, he laughed. Only she had ever been able to bring out the lightness in him like this; he’d always been serious, even as a kid, focused on string theory, particle physics, and shit that puzzled the rest of the world. He’d wanted to make a difference—and he would, just not in the way he’d originally intended. But as John Lennon said, Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.

Silas kissed her temple. “I tried so hard to give you space and distance, so you could be sure this is what you want. But without you, I was so much nothing. Just skin and bone, going through the motions.”

Juneau exhaled in a shuddering breath, and then her mouth found his in a kiss that broke him and reshaped him with its heat and sweetness. Even though she hadn’t said the words, he felt it in her lips with each brush, each tease. I love you. I love you. Afterward, she framed his face in her hands and rubbed her forehead against his. With her fingertips, she traced the patterns on his arms. He still remembered all the names of the people he’d hurt, but he no longer felt quite so doomed or displaced. Working with the resistance, he could make amends in a tangible way.

“This is a kind of madness, but I don’t want it to stop.”

“Our life together won’t be safe or settled, but I promise it’ll be extraordinary. If you come away with me, I’ll dedicate the rest of my days to making you happy.”

“That’s exactly what a mother wants to hear,” Mrs. Bright called from the kitchen.

The oh-so-beloved woman in his arms gazed into his eyes and laughed. “Sold. But I think you’d better come meet my mother properly.”

“I’d love to.”

And that was the last normal thing they ever did.

Don’t miss

Skin Heat

by Ava Gray,

now available from Berkley Sensation!