Max rubbed his hand over the jaw she’d watched him shave a few minutes ago when she’d gone into his room ostensibly to talk about the case. The experience had been starkly, beautifully intimate. “The pattern’s too political for a serial killer,” he said, waiting until she stepped into the elevator before following. “That kind of a sociopathic drive wouldn’t have allowed him to keep his urges leashed to the extent of only committing murders on the verge of a big deal.”
“There’s another rumor that might be more apropos,” Sophia said, curling her fingers into her palms to keep from touching the smooth skin of his jaw, breathing in the fresh pine of his aftershave. ”That Nikita and Krychek have some kind of an alliance.”
“Now that fits the pattern,” Max murmured as the doors opened at the garage level. Heading to the vehicle they’d rented at the airport, a vehicle that had spent the entirety of the past forty-eight hours sitting in the garage—Max having had access to an Enforcement car, while Sophia remained in the hotel to work—he dumped their bags in the trunk. “Someone’s trying to cause suspicion between the two.”
“Do—” She was cut off by the beeping of her cell phone. Pulling it out, she said, “Sophia Russo.”
“Thank God I caught you—Max’s phone won’t go through.” It was an unfamiliar voice, trembling as if the speaker had run a hundred miles. “This is Faith NightStar.”
Getting into the car when Max opened the door for her, Sophia immediately realized the reason for the call. “You had a vision.” And the visions of a cardinal F-Psy were accurate to within a hundredth of a decimal point.
“Yes,” Faith said as Max snapped on his safety belt and went to put his thumbprint on the starter. “The car is rigged. Do you understand?” Frantic words. “Don’t start the engine.”
Max’s thumb brushed the ignition switch.
“No!” Sophia jerked Max’s hand away from the ignition with a wrench that had his head snapping toward her.
“Sophia!” Faith’s voice merged with Max’s demand to know what was going on.
“I’m fine,” she said to Faith, tremors shaking her frame. “We’re both fine. Here, you better speak directly to Max.”
Leaning back in her seat, she tried to get her heart to beat in a normal rhythm as Max had a short, sharp discussion with Faith. Closing the phone, he ordered her to step out of the car. Neither of them said a word until they were standing in front of the innocuous-looking vehicle.
“I’m getting the bomb squad,” Max said, using her cell phone to make the call when his own proved to have a flat battery. “They’ll be here in five minutes, tops.”
“So soon?” She had to focus on the mundane, on the practical . . . rather than on the fact that Max had come terrifyingly close to death.
Max touched her lightly on the back, and she realized just how much she’d missed the contact in the frenetic pace of the past two days. No one had ever told her that touch was something you became addicted to, the loss of it a hunger, an ache deep within.
“They work out of the same Enforcement building we used as a base.” His hand dropped away as an Enforcement vehicle drove into the garage. “Still, that was damn fast.”
Two men and one woman stepped out, all three in the protective gear of the bomb squad. “Tell me what you know,” the woman said.
“We got the heads-up from an F-Psy—” Max began.
“Foreseer?” The woman whistled. “I didn’t realize they made civilian predictions—heard it was all business.”
“Faith NightStar,” Max said. “She’s part of DarkRiver. She saw the car explode after I started the engine.”
“Hmm. Given current technology, it’s got to be some kind of a detonation message being sent to the actual device.” She was already moving toward the car, equipment in hand. “You two might want to clear the garage. You’re not wearing protective gear.”
Max nodded to the entrance ramp. “We’ll be waiting outside.”
“I’ll give you a yell soon as we locate anything.”
Faith paced across the beautifully lighted cave that was her home office, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.
“You cold, sweetheart?”
Looking up, she found Vaughn in the doorway. Her jaguar had a streak of white dust on his face, a rip near the bottom of his T-shirt, and was so wonderful she still couldn’t believe he was hers. “No.” But she walked into his embrace. “Hold me.”
“Hey.” His arms came around her, strong and warm, one hand gripping a chisel he’d clearly been using on his current sculpture. “I thought you said the cop and his J were all right?”
“They are.” She ran her fingers over the gritty dust that covered the skin of his arm. “But I still have this knowing that something bad is coming.” She hated the amorphous knowings even more than the dark visions. At least the visions showed her something concrete, something she could fight or avert. “It’s an emotional knowing—connected to someone who’s important to me.”
“Did you try the exercises you’ve been working on to fine-tune your control over your abilities?”
She nodded, sliding her hands under his T-shirt and to the muscled warmth of his back. “I can’t break through the veil. And Vaughn, it’s something really, really bad.” Ice filled her heart, coated her veins. “What if I can’t stop it?” What if she lost one of the people she loved?
Vaughn pressed his lips to her brow. “We discussed this. You’ll go mad if you take responsibility for every evil you can’t stop.” His tone was gentle but absolute. “You saved two lives today. Celebrate that.”
Raising her head, she met those golden eyes—eyes of a jungle cat made human—that had become the fulcrum of her universe. “It’s hard.” And part of the reason why so many F-Psy had gone irrevocably mad in the past—that need to save every life, avert every sorrow, could devour the unwary.
“That’s why you have me.” Lips against her own, intense protectiveness in the way his body curved over hers. “Let’s see if we can’t get you into a better frame of mind.” And then her jaguar was purring low in his throat as he peeled off her clothes. “It’ll come to you if you’re relaxed.”
She felt her heart lighten with sensual humor. Oh, how she needed him. His ability to play, to laugh, to love, made every darkness bearable. “So you’re stripping me naked for my benefit?”
A look so innocent, it would’ve done one of Tammy’s rambunctious twins proud. “Of course.”
Faith let him love her, let him comfort her . . . and hoped it would break open the deadlock on her mind. Because whatever was coming, it was a crushing, terrifying blackness that only ever meant one thing.
Death.
CHAPTER 28
We don’t choose our parents. And their mistakes aren’t our own. You are what you make yourself—don’t ever forget that.
Sophia allowed herself to lean against the garage wall once they’d exited onto the quiet street outside. She wasn’t concerned about setting off alarm bells if caught on surveillance—even Psy sometimes lost the perfect posture that had been drilled into them as a symptom and indication of control.
Max braced himself with one arm on the wall beside her, his eyes ablaze though he kept his distance. His earlier touch everyone would discount as a human action inspired by the emotions of the moment. But if he touched her now, Sophia knew she wouldn’t be able to resist crumbling into his embrace.
“You okay?” Rough tone, violence contained.