Call Out Page 18

  I leaned in for a closer look and nodded. “I can see that, now. From a distance, all I could tell is it looked a lot more high-tech and a lot more menacing than my 38 special.”

  “You have a gun?” London asked.

  “Of course she does,” Carmichael replied. “Southern girl and all that.” He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes.

  “My Aunt Jean bought it for me as a housewarming present when I moved into my first apartment in Houston. Taught me to use it, too. She was kind of the father-figure for Alex and me, growing up.”

  “Your daddy not around?” Carmichael asked.

  “He died in the line of duty when Alex and I were really little.”

  “The line of duty?” London asked.

  “He a cop?” Carmichael wanted to know.

  I shook my head. “He was a fireman. He died saving two little girls.”

  “He died a hero then,” Carmichael said.

  “That doesn’t mean much to an eight-year-old girl who misses her daddy or a six-year-old boy who doesn’t understand what ‘death’ is.” I shook my head. “Don’t get me wrong, I get it now, for sure. I’m damned proud of my dad. But it was hard as hell at the time.”

  “Of course it was,” Martine said. “I was far older than eight when I lost my father, and still it was hard.”

  “Yeah. I think it was even harder on me when Mom died,” I added, tears pricking at my eyes. “We’d gotten to that point where we were friends instead of just mom and kid, you know? And then she was just...gone.”

  London reached for me, but I waved him away and swiped at my tears. “I’m okay,” I said. I turned my attention back to painting London’s nails and tried to clear my mind. I felt the tiniest trickle of comfort spill into me, and I looked up to meet London’s eyes. He offered me a tentative smile, and I rolled my eyes at him. “I said I was okay. But thanks.”

  After I’d finished up my paint job and the enamel had set, London and I went back to the living room. I felt wrung out after my unexpected trip down memory lane, and I would have liked to curl up in bed. However, I knew from an unpleasant experience the day before that without music or some other sound for buffer, I could hear Dylan and Brian through the wall. Not how I wanted to spend my afternoon, especially in my current state of mind. I opted instead for snuggling with London on the sofa while he joined in on the male sports ritual.

  The game ended just a few minutes later, and I thought my luck might be changing for the better. The guys tussled over the remote, argued over what to watch next, and settled on a comedy farce that I actually liked. Peterson went to spell Martine so she could rest for a while, and I wondered if the security shifts made waiting around more or less tedious. I snuggled closer to London and wished for something to break up the monotony a bit.

  They say be careful what you wish for, and they’re right. I got my wish, but not in anything like the way I was daydreaming about.

  One second London was wrapped up with me on the sofa, his fingertips tracing an idle path up and down my arm. The next, he jerked away and slid to the floor to curl up in the fetal position with his arms over his head, hands tearing at his own hair.

  Ashe and Adrian both leapt up from the sofa and hurried to London’s side. Quinn jumped up as well, vaulting over the back of the sofa to take off down the hallway at a dead run. I tried to fight my way through the onslaught of London’s terror but all I could do was sit like a statue, watching Ashe and Adrian trying to help him.

  Adrian talked to London in a soothing voice, letting him know he wasn’t alone, and held his hands to keep him from hurting himself. Ashe laid a hand on London, and I guessed that he was projecting calm or maybe throwing up a shield. Unlike the other times, it didn’t seem to be doing a damn bit of good. Instead, London jerked, trying to pull away.

  What seemed like an eternity later, Martine rushed into the room with Quinn right behind her. She slid to the floor like a skateboarder landing after a failed stunt; it had to have hurt, but rug burn seemed to be the furthest thing from her mind. She elbowed her way between Ashe and Adrian, cradling London’s head between her hands, her palms against his temples. He stilled, but the terror continued to roll off of him.

  Another eternity passed before London fear eased enough for me to shake off the second-hand effects. I moved to kneel beside Adrian, who still held London’s hands. I leaned against Adrian and covered his and London’s joined hands with my own smaller ones. From there, I could see London’s face. His eyes were wide and wild like those of a cornered animal. I tried to hold back tears, but that’s something I’ve never been too good at. I lost that battle almost before it started.

  Glancing up, I noticed first the strain in Ashe’s face – just a faint hint of stress around his tired eyes. Then I looked at Martine and saw that she, like me, was crying. Beads of sweat stood out on her brow, and the muscles in her arms trembled.

  We all jumped when she suddenly snarled, “Fuck you, you two-bit whore!” I don’t know if it was the unexpected shout echoing in the silence or the string of swear words from the normally refined Martine that shocked us more.

  Ashe let go of London and laid a hand on Martine’s arm, and she stopped trembling. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, though, as if she didn’t have the strength to do otherwise. No more than another minute passed before Martine’s body sagged and her hands slipped away from London’s face. Quinn was there to keep her from pitching forward, easing her down to lie on the floor with her head in his lap. London shook off mine and Adrian’s hands and heaved himself up into a sitting position. He swiped at sweaty brow with the back of one arm, the other pulling me close to his side.

  “What just happened?” Adrian asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  “This wasn’t like the other attacks,” Ashe said.

  “But we were kind of expecting it,” Quinn added, stroking Martine’s hair in a way that made me wonder if they were more than friends, or if maybe he wanted them to be. “It’s why I called Martine in on this job, actually.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “After what Julia did to Brian, we had an idea she might try a sending on London,” Ashe said. “The other attacks were emotional projections, but this time she made him see things.”

  “That’s not…exactly…true,” London said, the words coming out stilted, hesitant. “Before...there were images. They just...they weren’t....” He broke off, trying to find the right words. Or maybe any words. He was still shaken.

  “Take your time, Stretch,” Ashe said.

  The barest hint of a smile touched the corners of London’s mouth and was gone again. “The images were vague, before. Like a dream. A nightmare. This time was different.”

  “More vivid?” Ashe guessed.

  London raised and lowered his head in a slow-motion nod. “Yeah. Not like a dream. More like....” He trailed off, looking for words again.

  “Like a movie?” Adrian asked.

  “No. Not really,” London replied, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “More like...it was happening while I watched.” He raised his head to glance around the room. “But Martine...she stopped it.”

  “That’s why I brought her in,” Quinn said. He looked down at Martine and said, “I didn’t know it would wipe you out like this.”

  Martine made a sound of derision deep in her throat and struggled to sit up. “I am not wiped out,” she protested, her Haitian accent stronger than usual. “But I admit I was not prepared for the depth of this Julia’s....depravity.”

  London took a deep breath and let it out. His voice sounded almost normal again when he said, “I need to know what you saw.”

  It was Quinn who protested. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re already in shock....”

  “I need to know,” London said, cutting him off. “All of this – it’s about me. Julia wanted to send me a message, and I need to know what that message said.”

  “She wasn’t sending you a message,” Martine
said, leaning forward to look up into London’s eyes. “She was trying to break you. Had you seen what I saw...I don’t want to know what would have happened. Hearing it second hand will be bad enough, but I agree that you should know.” She pointed at me and then to Adrian. “You two don’t need to hear it.” I started to protest, but she cut me off. “Just go,” she urged, her voice soft and earnest.

  “Please, Em,” London murmured in my ear.

  Ashe nodded. “You two should go. We’ll tell you what we can, but right now you need to clear out.”

  As much as I hated being sent out of the room so the Super Friends could have a pow-wow, I knew that arguing would only delay the inevitable. I hugged London as best I could while sitting next to him, turned his face toward me to press a quick kiss to his lips, and then followed Adrian out of the living room.

  By some unspoken agreement, we wandered down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Dylan stepped out into the hall as we passed her door.

  “We heard yelling,” she said.

  I turned to face Dylan, and past her I could see Brian tugging a t-shirt over his sweaty, tangled hair. No need to ask why it had taken them so long to investigate the shouting.

  “It was Martine,” Adrian told her. “There was another attack.”

  “On Martine?”

  “On London,” I said. “Martine kind of intercepted it.”

  “They said it was a vision,” Adrian added, “like the one....”

  “Like the one Julia threw at me,” Brian said, cutting off the explanation. “Shit.”

  He pushed past all of us, headed for the living room. Adrian followed close on his heels. I could hear him telling Brian that we’d been kicked out of the room, but Brian wasn’t listening.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” Dylan demanded.

  I sighed and gestured for her to follow me. I led her to my room and crawled up onto the bed to sit with my back against the headboard. Dylan perched sidesaddle on the edge of the bed, facing me. Once we were settled, I told her what I knew about the attack.

  “That fucking crazy bitch,” Dylan snarled.

  “She’s a dead crazy bitch,” I said, startled by the strength and conviction in my own voice. “She just doesn’t know it yet. I hope I get the chance to do it myself.”

  We were both quiet for a little while, stewing.

  “Do you really think you could do it?” Dylan asked.

  “Kill Julia?”

  “Yeah.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “If it were kill-or-be-killed, or kill-or-watch-someone-I-love-get-killed, then hell yeah. But just to put her out of our misery....” I sighed. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Me, either. Even after everything,” Dylan admitted. “So...how screwed up is it that I really hope she puts me in one of those kill-or-be-killed situations so I can pop a cap in her ass?”

  I smirked and shook my head. “Pretty screwed up, Dylan. But I feel the same damned way.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dylan and I both realized at the same time that Brian and Adrian hadn’t returned from the front room.

  “So the little women have to sit in a corner and be quiet?” Dylan asked, her eyes flashing. “I don’t fucking think so.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “So not happening.”

  We made our way down the hall together, both of us spoiling for a fight. I walked into the living room a second or two ahead of Dylan, ready to tear into the first person who questioned my being there.

  Two steps into the room, I froze in my tracks. Dylan and I weren’t the only ones spoiling for a fight. The air crackled with tension in a very literal sense. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  “Why would you even suggest that?” London demanded, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He glared at Quinn, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

  “Because it could be useful,” Quinn replied.

  “Useful? How the fuck could it be useful?”

  “How could what be useful?” Dylan asked.

  London whirled to face us, his eyes blazing. I couldn’t see magical auras like Adrian, but I swear I could feel the power radiating off of him. For the first time, he kind of scared me.

  Brian laid a hand on London’s arm. “Quinn wants to know if London can do this sending thing now.”

  I saw my own disbelief mirrored in Dylan’s face as she turned toward Quinn. “You want to know if he can make people see nightmares? What the fuck? How is that going to be helpful? Are you trying to give the crazy bitch another reason to want him on her side? Cause that’s what’s going to happen if he starts throwing visions at her.”

  “I never suggested he try a sending on Julia,” Quinn said. “But we don’t have anyone here who can gauge London’s power without seeing what he can do and how fast he can pick it up. I just think it would be good to know these things since it could make a big difference in a fight.”

  Ashe tried to talk, but London interrupted, his voice low and hard. It was scary and sexy all at the same time. “If you don’t want me to try the sending on Julia, then which one of my friends did you want me to torture?”

  Quinn just stood there looking like a landed fish, at a total loss. I guess he hadn’t thought things through.

  My mouth opened of its own volition, and I promptly shoved my foot in it. “Who says it has to be torture?” I heard myself ask. “Why couldn’t you send happy thoughts? Rainbows and kittens or something?”

  London turned a little more, so he was facing me full-on. He didn’t even seem to notice when Brian’s hand tightened on his arm in a gesture of warning. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Don’t you snap at me, London Dahlbeck,” I snapped right back. “All I did was ask a question.”

  London shook off Brian’s hand – I guess he had noticed it after all – and lowered his head, every muscle in his body still tense with rage. I thought he was trying to get himself under control. Boy was I wrong.

  As temper tantrums go, London’s was a unique one. It didn’t involve yelling, or hitting anyone, or breaking things. He struck out with his magic instead, and I never even saw the strike coming.

  Between one breath and the next, I found myself sprawled, naked, on satin sheets. London, also naked, stood at the foot of the bed staring down at me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He stalked forward like a jungle cat on the prowl to crawl onto the bed between my legs, his hands gliding over my bare skin as he moved forward. He paused with his hands on my spread thighs to look me in the eye. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes never leaving mine, he slowly lowered his head....

  And then I was back in the living room of the safe house, head spinning and breath coming in short gasps. I think I would have been on the floor if Adrian and Brian weren’t holding me up. I leaned harder against Brian, and he wrapped his arm around me. I looked up at him and was startled by what I saw there: he was looking at London – his longtime friend and almost brother– like he wanted to punch him in the throat.

  “I’m okay, Brian,” I managed to say. I hugged him a little tighter and forced myself to face London.

  The rage had faded from London’s face, replaced by a strange combination of hunger and guilt. I pushed away from Brian and held a hand out toward London.

  “Truce?”

  London swallowed hard, nodded, and then stepped forward, ignoring my proffered hand in favor of wrapping me in his arms. I hugged him back, and I felt some of his tension ease.

  “You’re a total bastard, you know that, right?”

  London ran a hand over my hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “Did you seriously have to stop right when things were getting interesting?”

  That surprised a laugh out of him. “Blame Martine. Or Ashe, actually, since it was his idea. They stopped me.”

  I turned in his arms to look at everyone else. “You all suck,” I said.

  Ashe’s face broke into a smile, and he
shook his head. “Trouble,” he said.

  Everyone started asked questions then: asking if I was okay (Brian and Adrian), asking for details of the sending (Quinn), asking London what the hell he had been thinking (Brian, again). I ignored them all, waving away the questions with an impatient flap of my hand. Instead of answering them, I pulled London over to the sofa to cuddle. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it would do for now. At the moment, I had questions of my own.

  “Okay, so....” I let everyone simmer down and settle into their own seats. “Long story short: I’m fine, and London proved he can handle that sending thing just fine – at least from across the room. Farther than that and who knows? That good enough for you Quinn?”

  Quinn had the good grace to look ashamed of the furor he’d caused. “More than.”

  “Good. Now maybe you boys covered this while I was exiled from the room, but there’s something that’s bugging me. London picked this thing up on the fly because he’s a special flavor of...what’s the word you guys use? Practictioner?” Quinn nodded, and I continued. “What I want to know is how did Julia learn to do it? Last night, Ashe said he didn’t think Julia had the ability to launch a psychic attack, but we know she’s behind this – or at least behind the attack on Brian.”

  “That’s another thing,” Dylan added. “Why attack Brian in person if she could do this sending thing from a distance? Why take that kind of risk?”

  Ashe and Quinn exchanged a look, and Quinn said, “There are a couple of theories on that.”

  “Hypotheses,” Martine corrected with a roll of her eyes. I smiled at her, and she smiled back. “And you only need one hypothesis if it’s the correct one. In this case, that would be this: Julia wanted us to know that she has the ability to project visions as well as physical sensations and she wanted us to know that she was watching us very closely.”

  “It’s also possible,” Quinn added, “that she doesn’t have enough metaphysical juice for long-distance sendings. She may have chosen a face-to-face attack to throw up a red herring so we wouldn’t know who was behind the long-distance attacks.”