Spectre of Intention Page 18

  I rolled my head to the side, savoring the crinkle of the pillowcase, the cool press against my cheek. I stared at the empty pillow beside me. Some would say we’d just jumped straight into bed. They wouldn’t realize we’d had twelve months of courtship over the phone, safe and platonic, and probably the only way either of us could have come to trust a partner again.

  Either of us.

  Because in my self-absorption, it had never occurred to me that he could be harboring a pain so deep.

  Losing a baby.

  Losing a wife.

  I couldn’t imagine it.

  Wished he’d never had to experience it.

  Because he wasn’t there, I reached over and stroked the place where his head would have lain.

  I heard the door open.

  Him. So easy to recognize now that I knew what I was feeling: that little bit of fear hiding even now in the back of his heart.

  He slipped in through a ray of moonlight. I saw the outline of my suitcases and my bag. He let them slide quietly to the floor next to the door.

  “Are you awake? We’re switching to shifts.”

  I sat up, holding those wonderful sheets to my breasts. He sat down beside me on the bed. He had a new shirt on. I worked on the buttons as he whispered.

  “They found two of them, Nathaniel Ma and Terry Rodriguez.”

  My hands hesitated over the last button.

  “Amilee said she and Stephan had a way off the boat. There’s a chance…”

  Cam cupped my cheek in his hand, raised my gaze.

  “That we won’t find them? Don’t think like that.”

  I sat up straighter and nodded. I hadn’t forgotten everything Kaitlin had taught me. But I hadn’t forgotten everything Ashley, the real Ashley, had known. And this, right now, in the shadows, in the perfect moonlight, would not be about me. I pushed that last button through the hole.

  Drawing my feet up under me, I let the sheets fall away. I wanted to take my time, undress him slowly. His intention brushed at my breasts. I kept my attention focused on tugging his cuffs free of his hands. I rose from the bed and drew his shirt away, laid it neatly across the nightstand. I turned back to him, savored his breath on my skin as I pulled his T-shirt free and lifted it over his head.

  Beautiful.

  Strong shoulders, solid chest—muscle enough to offer safety and support. Not so much to leave me feeling powerless. He was long and lean and…perfect.

  I lowered myself to my knees in front of him.

  I let him look his fill as I worked his laces loose, placed each shoe precisely so in front of the nightstand, set each sock carefully folded beside them. I ran my hands up his calves. I pressed my face to the inside of his knee and arched, wanting. But not yet.

  I rose.

  I took his hand and drew him up to standing, drew down his slacks and underwear, felt his erection spring free into my hair. I slid myself slowly up his body, letting the long silken strands caress him. Then I pushed him back onto the bed. He let himself fall.

  I crawled my way up him. I planted a hand on one side of his head, used the other hand to draw my hair away so it wouldn’t shadow his face. I looked into those slumberous, mysterious eyes. Just looked as his intention ran its ghostly hands over my body.

  Cam raised a warm palm to my face.

  “What’s this?”

  I let the want, the vulnerable need slide over my face, let him watch it.

  “I want to love you. If you’ll let me.”

  That fear spiked from his chest to mine. I placed my hand over it.

  “Shh.”

  I pressed my hand down against the hurt, used my other hand, my lips, my hair, my breasts to show him peace. I stroked my way down one side, across his chest, down his torso. Our two centers met and I groaned, arching against him. His arms came around me and he rolled us over.

  He rose over me, pulled my hand from his chest, and kissed my palm.

  “We never did this, did we?”

  He released my hand and those strong, smooth fingers stroked my face, brushed back each strand of hair. Then he slipped his hand under my head and cradled it in his palm. He held us eye to eye, that gaze I’d feared could see my very soul.

  And then I felt it.

  He wasn’t using his body to love me, he was using his desires. Ephemeral hands moved over my stomach, ghostly lips plucked at my nipples. I tried to throw my head back, but he held me tight, drank in my soundless scream. I obeyed incorporeal commands to open my thighs to him. He held my head still, watched me as I thrashed and cried out at the torture he meted out with his mind alone as his intention spread me, explored me.

  I clutched at the arm that held me fast.

  “Please!”

  His dark eyes looked dangerous in the shadowy light.

  “I could watch you all night.”

  His intention rammed inside of me.

  I screamed, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Please!”

  “All night.”

  He reached between us and suddenly I was shot full of heat, sensation, too much, too much sensation. But still he didn’t let me go.

  He watched as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He watched as our bodies slammed together over and over and over. He watched as my breath strangled in my throat and I screamed one last time. He watched as my head lolled in his hand as he finally took us both home.

  2:58 a.m.

  I groaned silently into my hand.

  I had tried so hard. But the idea that Stephan and Amilee had somehow gotten away, the idea of Mak loose somewhere on this ship, it tore at me and tore at me until I was soaked in chill sweat. I glanced over at Cam, so peaceful in sleep. And definitely used to having the bed to himself. I smiled.

  I carefully slid myself from beneath his sprawled form. Lifting my bag and one of my suitcases, I slipped from the room and quietly closed the door behind me.

  In the living room, I dug through the suitcase, pulled out a lace and silk nightgown that suited my idea of a nice “morning after.” I drew on a pair of lace underwear that I hoped didn’t clash too badly. I didn’t want to risk waking him by turning on a light.

  I fished my workpad and my tube of deodorant from my bag. I popped the bottom off the deodorant, let the file stick drop into my hand. Just seeing it, just feeling the insubstantial weight of it in my hand made me want to snap it in half right then and there. Jessie had died for this? This stupid piece of….

  No thinking about Jessie. I didn’t think my body could withstand another crying jag so soon. I popped the schematic file into my workpad, reassembled the deodorant tube, and dropped it back into my bag.

  I curled up with my workpad on the couch and brought up the schematics. There were four of them left. Where could they be hiding? Stephan had a way off the ship. What could it be? My eyes were too tired to focus on blue lines. I dropped my head back on the arm of the couch.

  Really, I didn’t understand why they needed these schematics anyway. They knew this ship well enough to find me, no matter where I went: to the pub, to the food court, the waiting room. Didn’t matter where. They always found me. The thought shot a little rush of adrenaline through me. I opened my eyes just enough to glance at the door, verify it was closed.

  I could have murdered for a sleeping pill right about now.

  But I knew I couldn’t trust myself with the damn things.

  No thinking about Jessie.

  Where could they be hiding? I wasn’t as smart as Stephan, not as clever and crazy, but if I were… They couldn’t have their own boat. I was light on my grasp of the details, but Jessie had briefed us on the basic array of sonar and radar that a ship this size had to be equipped with, plus the satellite feeds from the space station above us. Unless I was missing something critical, they just couldn’t have their own boat.

  So, they were hiding, waiting.

  They were still here.

  Think! Think!

  I slid the workpad off my la
p.

  I sat up.

  It was three o’clock in the morning. The whole ship was asleep. Could I…could I find them? They had to be somewhere near where the tenders launched or the supply ships docked. They couldn’t afford to be far away. If I was alone, if everyone on the ship was asleep….

  A tremor rocked my body. Alone with Stephan? Alone with Mak?

  I folded my hands in my lap, waited for the tremor to pass. Then I breathed myself slowly, deliberately into an artificial calm, let my eyes slid closed. Without Stephan my range was pitiful. Was it even worth the risk?

  I opened my mind and reached.

  Pain! God, so much pain!

  I scrambled from the couch. I ran. I burst through the bedroom door, stumbled to a halt beside the bed. Cam lay sprawled across the mattress. Sleeping. Peacefully. Heart racing, head still reeling, I backed out of the room, pulled the door closed with a quiet click. I blew out a breath, pressed my forehead against the artificial wood. Tears of relief and fear stung at my eyes. I rubbed them away.

  “Ashley, help me.”

  I spun around to see Stephan stagger from the shadows near the apartment door. I blocked the entrance to Cam’s room.

  “You stay away from him.”

  Then I caught my breath as that incredible pain leaked from his brain into mine. I risked lowering my eyes from his and saw where he gripped his upper arm, saw his fingers covered in dark streaks in the monochrome night. Blood.

  “He’s got Ami, Ash.”

  Stephan dropped into a dining room chair, let his head drop back against the wall. His face clenched. I caught myself taking a step toward him, then stopped.

  “He told me I’ve got fifteen minutes to get you and that fucking file back down to him or he’s going to shoot her in the gut and fucking watch her bleed out.” His whisper broke into a hiss through clenched teeth.

  I turned around, reached for the door handle.

  “Don’t!”

  I grabbed my head as his pain, his force of will invaded my mind. Stephan pushed off the chair and crossed the space between us. Gripping my arm, he dragged me toward the living room.

  “Are you really trying to get her killed? Get the fucking file!”

  A picture of Amilee cowering in the corner of some kind of garbage-filled storage closet, shaking and crying and begging flashed into my awareness. Stephan grabbing Mak’s arm. The punch as Mak turns around and shoots him.

  “God.”

  Shoving me toward the suitcase, Stephan sank onto the arm of the couch, his mental invasion slackening as the pain overtook him again.

  Fear and anger. I couldn’t work with that. I needed anger. Violent, vengeful anger. I thought of Jessie, Gerard, bleeding, suffering, lost. I thought of Cam and how there was no way I was letting that fucking psychopath touch him. I thought of Paula and her boy Brian, so innocent, vulnerable. And I thought of Amilee terrified and begging. The tremors in my hands slowed.

  Act. Now.

  I grabbed a pair of slacks and a suit jacket, pulled them on over my nightgown. I made a show of rifling through my bag, let him see me slide the twisted energy bar and the keycard into my pocket. Then I spun around, grabbed my workpad. With one hand I shut down the schematics file and yanked the stick. With my thumb, I set the pad’s alarm at maximum volume.

  I jogged over to the kitchen, left the workpad on the dining table, grabbed the towel from the refrigerator door. I slipped the stick in the tiny suit pocket at my breast. Something stabbed me in the finger. I hesitated.

  A goddamn bug. Fuck! Yeah, they always found me. Was I a moron? They’d been tracking me.

  Stephan snapped his head around. I erased the mortified realization from my head, from my face. He started to probe; I reached for his arm. He realized what I was doing and moved his hand. I tied the towel around the wound—for all the good it would do. I gave the knot a yank.

  Stephan swayed. I grabbed his shirt; grabbed for his mind, yanked him back. He blinked at me but pushed to his feet.

  “Where is she?” I demanded.

  “Somewhere in the operations side. He was already moving her when I left.”

  “Fucking great.”

  I wrapped my arm around his waist and headed us toward the door.

  Both of us knew there was only one way we would find Mak and Amilee in time. Stephan could increase my range to nearly a quarter of the ship. If I let him in. Completely let him in.

  I couldn’t help but feel I’d been maneuvered into this position.

  We cleared the vacant operations checkpoint. The gate had been pathetic as a deterrent. Back in with the lab rats. We made it to a windowed lounge area with laminate tables and metal chairs. I felt out with my limited range. All clear.

  I released Stephan to the support of one of the tables.

  I swore I wasn’t going to start hyperventilating, but even I could hear the little screech in my breathing. I turned my head away and bit my lip. Hard.

  Stephan started to raise his hand toward me. His blood soaked hand. He stopped. His intention stroked my cheek instead.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Ash.”

  I pressed my lips together, faced him.

  “Just do it.”

  He laid his hands on my arms, looked into my eyes. My heart lurched.

  “Relax.”

  I closed my eyes.

  And opened to him.

  He flowed into me, cool and liquid, so careful.

  Time, time, we don’t have time.

  With a roar in my ears, he slammed into me, battering my brain and my body. The barriers of my mind blew apart, he filled me with endless waves of sensation—thoughts, images, emotions, so much fear, so much pain. I felt the edge of the table cutting into his thighs, the throbbing of his arm spreading its tendrils through his whole body. I saw myself with my head thrown back and thought I’d never seen anything so beautiful. He pulled me in and took my mouth, and I responded just as he’d remembered, just as he’d known I would.

  Distantly, I knew I was drowning.

  Amilee.

  Stephan broke the kiss with a groan. A vague bubble of my consciousness bobbed to the surface.

  “Which way?” he whispered, his lips still hovering over mine.

  A vast, placid sea. Which way? No way. No way different from any other.

  “Find Mak, Ash. Find Amilee.”

  Blinding rage. Snarling, lashing. I flinched away.

  “That way, then,” he muttered.

  We walked. Endless white halls, rolling and pitching with the waves of contempt and anger getting stronger and stronger.

  “Come on, Ash. I can’t carry you. Talk to me.”

  Someone waded into my ocean.

  “Oh, god, Ashley. Ashley, where are you!”

  Here. For a while. And then not.

  Something dug into me. Something yanked.

  I gasped like a woman pulled from the deep. I clutched at Stephan, caught myself just before my knees buckled.

  “Too much! It’s not…like before.”

  Stephan grabbed my arm as I tried to right myself.

  “We’ve only got three minutes left. Can you make it?”

  I turned and pulled him, stumbling.

  “This way.”

  In my ocean I could see them waiting: the guard, nervous and bored; Mak, pacing, tapping, spitting obscenities; Amilee, ripping the air with her terror, searching, always searching. In my vertigo, I reached for that shiny smooth wall, used it to guide me. But it moved, constantly bumping, jostling me.

  Where were they?

  I drew Stephan to a stop. We were going to run right into the guard. We didn’t have to run right into the guard. Mak had tossed Amilee in a recycling chute. He thought it was just a garbage bin.

  “This way.”

  I used my keycard on the door for the canister loading facility. The one I didn’t know worked on this door when I’d used their recycling container so many days ago—because my boxes didn’t fit down that recycling chute.


  I led Stephan down the metal stairs, the traction stabbing into my bare feet.

  “Hurry. He’s heading toward her. Hurry.”

  I stumbled off the stairs. Stephan caught me, but I pushed his hand away.

  “The recycling chute. Release the recycling chute.”

  Stephan ran ahead, despite the jarring to his arm that sent flashes of gray through our vision. He grabbed the lever and yanked. We heard the doors along the length of the chute slide open. We heard her scream. Stephan’s terror looked at me, knew from me that she was still unharmed. I tried to pull myself together; I tried to hurry forward.

  “He’s coming. He’s coming. Push—”

  He understood. He propped his back against the giant wheeled bin. He saw me see her tumble, slide, hit. He shoved. Mak’s bullets pelted the cardboard.

  My legs finally locked in beneath me. I ran.

  I hit the metal bin, toed my way up the side.

  “Ami?”

  “Ash? Oh, my god. Oh, my god.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  I got a wrist wrapped in fishnet. Mak’s fury hit my too open mind. I dropped her. Almost dropped myself.

  Control, control, control.

  I waved a frantic hand at Stephan.

  “Close—”

  He saw what I saw, Mak trying to wedge himself into the chute. Stephan cranked the lever back, rammed it back into the closed locking position.

  One more time I reached out for Amilee. This time we grabbed and heaved. She caught the lip and swung herself over. I lowered myself a little more slowly, a little more carefully.

  I reached the floor, flung myself around, leaned back against the bin with my eyes closed. I felt like I was caught in a riptide, pulled out, slammed down again and again by the waves. I couldn’t breathe. Thinking my own thoughts—spurts and jolts.