Part 29 (1/2)

”It was very good news.” The smile she'd suppressed earlier broke out. ”He didn't dismiss it out of hand. And I know he wants to place mobile labs in four or five spots across the country to improve our timeliness. I might have to become a contracted worker rather than be employed directly through the agency, but . . .” She shrugged. It was a trade-off she was willing to make. Especially if it meant she and Zach would have some time to see where their relations.h.i.+p was leading.

”Did you call your mother today?”

The question threatened to dim the quiet satisfaction she felt after Raiker's-almost-capitulation. ”She still won't take my calls.” And from the guarded responses she got from Lydia's doctor, she didn't expect that to change anytime soon. Her mother's path to emotional recovery looked like it might prove to be as slow as the disintegration of her mental health.

He slipped his arm around her waist for a hard hug. As she leaned against him, she realized with a note of surprise that it was becoming easier to accept his support. They regarded each other silently for a moment. ”Unfamiliar territory,” he said finally.

”It is that.” For both of them.

”Fortunately guiding in foreign terrain is something I do have experience in. The first trick is to go in prepared.”

”Good advice, I suppose. If you know what to prepare for.” He wasn't the only one who'd avoided long-term relations.h.i.+ps like the plague.

”You don't go in alone.” His hand slid down to caress her b.u.t.t.

”Small chance of that.” Obeying his urging, she pressed closer, feeling a little of her trepidation leak away when his arms came around her.

”You trust your partner.”

She saw the flicker in his eyes. Knew he was thinking of the fight they'd had before she'd tracked down Paulsen. ”Back atcha.”

”I'm a quick learner.” He reached up to toy with a strand of her hair, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ”Last thing to remember is we're in this together.”

Going up on her tiptoes, she nipped at his bottom lip. ”I'm counting on that.”

”Then there's no reason in the world that we shouldn't expect a successful journey. Complete with enough thrills and adventure to satisfy us both.”

His lingering kiss stemmed the sound of agreement she would have made. There was nothing more to add, at any rate. Cait had a feeling that teaming up with Sharper was going to be the trip of a lifetime.

Turn the page for a preview of

the fourth book in Kylie Brant's

exciting Mindhunters series.

DEADLY FEAR.

Coming soon.

from Berkley Sensation!

Icy fingers of fear clawed through the fabric of sleep and brought Ellie Mulder instantly awake. Old habits had her keeping her muscles lax, her eyes still closed as she strained to identify what had alerted her. When she did, her blood ran as cold as the frigid Colorado wind beating against the windows.

She could hear him breathing.

It was the same snuffle snort that warned her whenever he was coming for her. He'd returned, just like he'd threatened. He'd s.n.a.t.c.h her from her bed, from her home and this time, she'd never get away. Not ever.

Her eyes snapped open as a scream lodged in her throat. The old terrors were surging, fighting logic, fueled by memory. It took a moment to see through the veils of the past and notice her familiar surroundings.

She was home. In her room. In her bed. And Art Cooper wasn't here. He would die in prison.

A long sigh of relief shuddered out of her. The bright illumination of the alarm clock on her bedside table said one-eighteen A.M. The sleep scene on her computer lit the corner of the room that held her desk. And the large aquarium on the opposite wall was awash in a dim glow. She often ”forgot” to turn it off.

The items had been chosen because of the light they afforded. Her mom and dad had worried when she'd needed doors open and lights blazing to go to bed at night. But they'd been happy when she'd casually mentioned wanting a computer. Had expressed an interest in tropical fish. Had selected things to decorate her bedroom like the brightly lit alarm clock. Those things were normal, the psychologist said. And Ellie knew it was important that she seem normal. Even if it was a lie.

The slight noise sounded again and she tensed, her hand searching for the scissors she kept on the bedside table. But even as her fingers gripped the handle, her mind identified the sound. It was the gurgle of water in the overflow box for the aquarium. Not Cooper's breathing.

The recognition relaxed her, but she didn't replace the scissors. She kept them clutched in her hand and brought them close to her chest, the feel of the small weapon comforting. Learning their daughter slept with a knife under her pillow had made her parents cry. So Ellie had to pretend not to need that anymore. She had become very good at pretending.

So good that her mom and dad were thrilled about her new interest several months ago. She'd heard the psychologist tell them that the act of creating, of folding and cutting paper into pretty shapes would be very therapeutic for her. So there was never any fuss about the constant paper sc.r.a.ps on the floor. New supplies appeared on her desk without her ever having to request them.

Only she knew that the new hobby was an excuse to keep a sharp pair of scissors with her at all times. And the psychologist was right. That part, at least, was very therapeutic.

The initial flare of panic had ebbed. She listened to the blizzard howl outside the windows and found the sound oddly soothing. Bit by bit, she felt herself relax. Her eyelids drooped.

She had the half-formed thought that she needed to replace the scissors before her mom came in the next morning to check on her. But sleep was sucking her under, and her limbs were unresponsive.

It was then that he pounced.

The weight hit her body, jolting her from exhaustion back to alarm in the span of seconds. She felt the hand clamped over her mouth, the p.r.i.c.k of a needle in her arm and fear lent her strength far beyond her years. Rearing up in bed, she flailed wildly, trying to wrest away, trying to strike out. She tasted the stickiness of tape over her lips. Felt a hood being pulled over her head.

There was a brief flare of triumph when the scissors met something solid, and a hiss of pain sounded in her ear. But then her hand was bent back, the weapon dropping from her fingers and a strange numbness started to slide over her body. She couldn't move. The hood prevented her from seeing. A strange buzzing filled her head.

As she felt herself lifted and carried away, her only thought was she was being taken.

Again.

Icy needles of sleet p.r.i.c.ked Macy Reid's cheeks as she hurried across the tarmac at the Mana.s.sas Regional Airport. The sleek black private jet sat waiting, its motors idling. It looked impatient somehow, looming dark and silent in the shadows, as if it had somehow taken on the personality of the man waiting inside it. Adam Raiker, head of Raiker Forensics and her boss, had demanded she be there within the hour. Her home in Vienna, Virginia was nearly twenty miles from the airport. Since the usual D.C. traffic was light at four A.M., she'd made the trip in under forty-five minutes.

An attendant took her suitcases and stowed them for her as she wiped the frigid moisture from her cheeks and made her way up the steps to the aircraft. Her satisfaction at arriving early dissipated when she recognized the man seated in the roomy black leather seat next to her boss. Kellan Burke. Fellow forensic investigator and all-around pain-in-the-a.s.s.

Her stomach gave one quick lurch before she ordered it to settle. She gave Raiker a nod. ”Adam.” She barely glanced at the other man as she chose a seat on the other side of her boss and buckled in. ”Burke.”

”The inimitable d.u.c.h.ess Macy.” Kellan gave her a sleepy smile that she knew better than to trust. ”Been awhile since we've been paired on an investigation. Miss me?”

”Like a case of foot rot.”

”A comeback,” he noted admiringly. ”You've been practicing.”

She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and d.a.m.ned yet again the fair complexion that mirrored her emotions. Almost as much as she d.a.m.ned the man for being right. Experience had taught her that it paid to have a ready repertoire of witty replies if she was to spend any length of time in Burke's presence. Unfortunately, those replies usually occurred several hours after they were required, leaving her at the crucial moment as tongue-tied and frustrated as an eight-year-old.

Adam pressed a b.u.t.ton on his armrest that would alert the pilot to ready for takeoff. Then he sent them a look. ”Any squabbling and you'll ride in the luggage compartment. Both of you.” He leaned forward to withdraw two file folders from the pocket of his briefcase and handed one to each of them as the jet began its taxi down the runway. Macy seized it, grateful to have something else to focus on.

”Steven Mulder.” Burke was studying the first sheet inside the folder, his expression thoughtful. ”Why is that name familiar?”