Beyond Control, page 24
He said it with such deadpan sincerity that she couldn’t stop herself from barking out a hysterical laugh.
“You mean because they almost killed you?”
“Yeah, that.”
She had been afraid to embrace him, lest the pressure against his chest interfere with his breathing. But when he held out his arms, she came into them with a small sob.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered.
“I was terrified.”
Likewise.
What happened?
My guess? They found out about us, and they don’t want to share the psychic stage.
They’d kill you for that?
Apparently, they’re not very nice people.
How do they know about us?
I’m guessing again. Somehow, they’ve found out about Crandall and Maple Creek. His thoughts came rapidly now. Suppose they never knew that anyone else like them existed? Suppose they thought they were unique. And now suddenly they get the news that there’s a whole bunch of us out there. Maybe they want to ensure that they’re the only ones with that kind of power.
She nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of using psychic power to do evil.
“Not everyone’s going to have the same reaction to finding out they have special gifts,” he murmured, his voice raspy. “Some people will grab for all the goodies they can get.”
She burrowed into his warmth, and he held her against himself, stroked his hands over her shoulders and into her hair. The physical contact and the mental contact helped ground her.
She swallowed. So my idea of getting a big happy family of us together was a little naive.
Sorry. It was a good idea. We just didn’t know what these people would be like—as individuals. And we have no idea how bad it was for the Trinity twins—how they got to be what they are. If the twins felt they had to make up their background, maybe the real story is so horrible that we can’t imagine it.
That could be true, but it’s no excuse for trying to kill you.
He held her more tightly. They would have done it, if you hadn’t been brave enough to grab the computer and yank out the phone cord.
I knew I couldn’t look at the screen or it would get me, too.
What did it feel like to you?
Like grabbing a live wire.
You didn’t see . . . a blue hand coming out of the screen?
No! Oh, Lord. That’s how it was for you?
Yeah.
She heaved in a breath and let it out. One more thing you should know. I . . . I couldn’t work the catch with my fingers. They were paralyzed.
He moved so he could give her a direct look. What are you saying?
I . . . I used my mind—to uncouple the catch.
He stroked a hand through her hair. Good for you! Something else we need to practice.
She felt a shiver go through her. “I just want . . . to be left alone . . . with you.”
“Soon.”
She tipped her face toward him. “You mean after we escape from the Crandall Consortium, from the police, and from the Trinity twins.”
“We will.”
“Jordan—how can we fight the world?” she whispered.
“I think we have to be keep working on our gifts.”
“That didn’t do Todd and Glenn much good.”
“I think they went off—if you’ll pardon the expression—half cocked. We have the advantage of knowing what happened to them.”
“Yes,” she managed as she struggled for strength she didn’t know she had. She felt a question from Jordan flickering at the edge of her mind but she blocked it.
“What are you thinking?” he demanded.
“You’re always coming up with clever ways to practice. There’s another skill we have to try.”
“You’re getting better at blocking me,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “What is it that you don’t want me to know?”
“I want to tell you in the regular way.” She gulped. Getting off the bed, she moved a few feet away from him. “We have to practice fighting off an attack. A mental attack.”
“Jesus,” he whispered, because he grasped the implications immediately.
“Do that to me. What they did to you.”
She saw his hands clench and unclench. “No!”
“Now that we know what kind of power they can call on, we have to be prepared,” she insisted. The hardest thing she’d ever done in her life was launch a sudden spear of energy at Jordan. But she made herself do it. Imagining a small thunderbolt—and hurling it toward his head.
He cried out, then threw up a shield. Not a pane of glass. A metal wall. She was about to praise his quick thinking when his eyes turned fierce.
He’d given her a moment of warning. Still the force of his counterattack was a steel spike ramming into her head.
Gasping, she struggled to call up a shield—the way he had done just moments earlier, but it was hard to do anything when the pain in her head made it difficult to think. She’d sent him a thunderbolt. But it was like a girl kicking a football. And he’d launched a man’s attack.
“Stop,” she gasped, even as she tried to fight him off.
His face contorted, and the pain mercifully cut off.
She collapsed onto the bed, her skin cold and clammy. The headache receded, and she was pretty sure he had taken pity on her—not that she’d fought him off by herself.
When he stroked her hair, she could feel his hand trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like hurting you.”
“Back to you.”
He held her and stroked her, but she knew he was thinking about the attack launched through the computer.
Her gaze darted to the laptop. “Is it safe to use that machine? Is it safe to use your own e-mail address?”
“Shit. I didn’t think of that. I just don’t know. Maybe it’s safe if I stay away from their Web site.”
“Or maybe not. Now that they know who you are—and that you were poking around on their site.”
They stared at each other, and he cursed again. “We are in one hell of a fix. Because if I can’t use the Internet, I might as well be on an atoll in the South Pacific.”
“Maybe that would be safer.”
“For a while.”
She felt like someone caught in a terrible psychological experiment. As if a diabolical scientist was testing her, but she didn’t know why—or for what.
She rolled onto her side, looking like she was weak and defenseless. Before he could reach for her, she attacked him again. Despite the emotional cost of hurting Jordan, she had a flash of satisfaction at seeing the shock and surprise on his face, even as she felt beads of sweat form on her own forehead.
While she still basked in the glow of her small victory, he gave her back what she’d sent him. She gasped and struck out again. And for several minutes, they engaged in a battle royal that no one else could see—or understand.
She wasn’t even sure how long it went on. But finally her mind and body were as limp as a beached jellyfish. Maybe Jordan felt the same way, because he stopped.
She lay on the bed, her breath shallow, and he moved beside her, clasping her hand, stroking her damp hair back from her face. You are very strong.
No.
Stronger than I am.
Are you sure?
Yeah. I gave up because you were winning. That’s the truth.
I was sure I was losing.
I guess we both were.
He opened himself completely and let her see for herself.
Can your male ego take that?
I hope so.
They lay quietly for several minutes.
Finally she asked, So where are the other children Dr. Remington created? What’s happened to them?
You mean Dr. Frankenstein.
Don’t call us monsters.
What would you call us?
“People struggling to cope with powers beyond ordinary human conception,” she murmured.
Okay. I’ll go with that for now.
He settled down beside her, and they both dropped quickly into an exhausted sleep.
Sometime later she woke up. Panic surged through her when she realized he wasn’t in the bed.
Jordan?
He stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed.
“Where are you going?”
“To get us some food.”
It had been hours since breakfast, and eating hadn’t entered her thoughts. But apparently he was being practical again.
“Let me come with you.”
“It’s better not to go out together,” he answered.
“You think they know we’re here?”
“I’m not making any assumptions.” He crossed the room and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Okay, so you’re not very hungry, but you could try and choke down a double cheeseburger with special sauce, french fries, and a Coke.”
“Right. More junk food.”
While he was gone, she dressed in slacks and a knit shirt, because having her clothing on made her feel less vulnerable. Then she made the bed and straightened the room.
He looked around when he came back and smiled. “Housekeeping again?”
“We both like a neat environment.”
“Yeah.”
They ate at the table by the window, but she sensed his restlessness during the meal.
You need your own space.
Yeah. Sorry.
She shifted in her seat. Don’t apologize. We’re both trying to work this out.
He nodded.
“Go to the library.”
“Huh?”
The befuddled look on his face made her grin. “Libraries have computers. Maybe you can get into the Net that way.”
“You don’t mind my leaving you again?”
“You know I mind. But we both need a togetherness break.” She said the words. They were a social lie. He needed a break. She wanted to be with him. But she’d vowed to give him as much independence as she could.
She forced herself to eat half her double burger and most of the fries.
He polished off his french fries, then asked, “You’re sure about . . . my leaving?”
“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice strong as she helped him clean up, then wrapped and stuffed the rest of her burger into the minibar.
“Be careful,” she added as he went through his notes, selecting what he wanted to take.
“I’m a macho guy. I can handle the library.”
She forced a laugh.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
When he left the room, she sent her thoughts outward, trying to follow him down the hallway, then out to the car.
She had suggested that they take some time away from each other, but when she lost contact, she had to fight down her panic.
Trying to focus her mind on something else, she lay down and began practicing some of the relaxation exercises she’d learned to use as stress relievers.
JORDAN felt the connection with Lindsay stretch, then snap, and it was all he could do to stop himself from going back to the motel room, gathering her in his arms, and hanging on tight. He was feeling guilty because he needed the time away from her—and she had given him permission to take that time.
More than that, she’d come up with the perfect excuse. He stopped at the motel desk and asked where he could find the nearest public library with computer access.
Fifteen minutes later he stepped into the building. It was a modern facility, with a computer room that patrons could use. Glad that he had an alternative to his laptop, he used one of the terminals to do a Web search. When he hit the button to call up the reference, he felt his throat tighten painfully. But nothing reached out to choke him as he read an article in a small religious magazine about the twins’ faith healing abilities. Did they really have that power? Or were the brother and sister using their psychic mojo to convince people that they felt better?
He read more references to the Trinitys. A minister with a national following had denounced them. Their newly built church was featured in an architectural magazine.
As he read through the article, he kept fighting an uneasy feeling that something bad was waiting to leap out of the shadows at him.
He almost got up and called the motel room. But he hoped Lindsay was sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake her up.
Still, the nerve-tingling sensation wouldn’t go away. Finally he had to stand up. Once he was on his feet, they carried him toward the door and back to his car.
LINDSAY knew she was asleep and dreaming. But that didn’t stop the fear crackling through her.
This time she saw Mrs. Vanderlin sitting in her fussy old lady’s living room, watching a soap opera.
Lindsay saw the woman smile. She had no idea that while she was enjoying Another Dawn, evil forces were gathering around her.
“Run. Get out of the house!” Lindsay shouted, but Mrs. Vanderlin didn’t hear the warning, and Lindsay had the sick, awful feeling that she was helpless once more in the face of terrible danger.
In the vision she heard a knock at the door. Mrs. Vanderlin looked up, her face filling with annoyance as she pushed herself awkwardly out of the chair.
The knocking came again, and she called out, “Just a minute.”
“No! Don’t answer it,” Lindsay screamed, but the old woman ignored her. She peered through the spy hole in the door, then turned the bolt.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping you could help me find Lindsay Fleming and Jordan Walker.”
“They were here this morning.”
Without being invited, a man stepped into the hall. “Where are they now?”
“In town. But I don’t know which motel.”
When the man spun her around and grabbed her arm, she screamed in pain and terror. Ignoring her reaction, he herded her back into the living room. Behind him, another man entered the house.
“You’re hurting me,” Mrs. Vanderlin whimpered. “Please stop.”
“Ease up,” the new man told his partner.
“Our orders . . .”
“Be nice to the lady.”
Lindsay clawed her way to consciousness. Waves of nausea rolled through her as she sat up in bed, clutching handfuls of the sheet. “Oh, God, no,” she gasped.
This was like what had happened with Sid—and with Leonard Hamilton. She’d seen they were in trouble. Only this time, she was sure it hadn’t happened yet. It was in the future. She could still save Mrs. Vanderlin, if she got there in time.
Jordan! she screamed inside her head. Jordan, can you hear me? I have to go over there and get her out of the house.
Snatching the phone off the bedside table, she called the desk. “I have to leave the motel and take care of a sick friend. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes. Can you call me a cab?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Luck.”
For a moment she blanked on the name. Then she remembered that was the last name Jordan had used when he’d registered.
She was about to jam her feet into sandals. Then she pictured herself holding Mrs. Vanderlin’s arm and hurrying her away. So she dug out socks and tennis shoes and got them on.
She was downstairs minutes later, pacing back and forth under the covered entryway, wishing she could just steal a car and leave. If she could have run to Mrs. Vanderlin’s house, she would have done it. But she was too far away for that.
THE sense of dread increased, making Jordan’s mind feel like a lump of plastic explosives about to detonate. He was halfway back to the motel when he thought he heard a scream inside his head.
His foot jerked on the gas pedal, then pressed down hard as he sped back to Lindsay. But he had to slow down abruptly when he saw a cop car from the corner of his eye.
Keeping within the speed limit was agony. Then he blinked as he turned into the motel driveway. A cab was several hundred feet in front of him. Lindsay leaped across the sidewalk and climbed in.
He wanted to roll down his window and shout at her, but it was already too late. The vehicle lurched off, leaving him sick and shaky.
Lindsay!
She didn’t respond.
What the hell was she doing?
Lindsay? Lindsay? Where are you going?
Either she couldn’t hear him, or she didn’t want to answer. He stayed behind the cab, then lost the vehicle as it roared through a yellow light.
“Christ!” He sat in her car, gripping the wheel, every nerve in his body screaming with tension. What was she doing—running out on him?
Even as he asked the question, he knew that was impossible. She wouldn’t run away from him. They needed each other.
When the light changed, he sped in the direction in which the cab had disappeared. The landmarks looked familiar, and all at once he was pretty sure he knew where she was going in such a hurry—back to Mrs. Vanderlin’s house.
But why?
Lindsay! he shouted in his mind. Lindsay!
To his relief, he got back a faint reply.
Jordan?
What are you doing?
Mrs. Vanderlin. They’re coming . . . They . . .
The words cut off, and he screamed aloud in frustration. “Lindsay—what? Tell me!”
Wait outside for me. I’ll bring her out. We have to get her away.
Ahead of him the cab pulled to a stop. Lindsay jumped out and rushed up the steps.
Wait.
I can’t. Don’t you understand, we put . . . in danger. Like we . . . Sid in danger . . . Like . . . Hamilton. The words were disjointed, and he knew he wasn’t getting everything she was thinking at him. But he got the gist.
Leonard Hamilton put himself in danger! he silently shouted back at her. But she wasn’t paying attention.
His heart in his throat, he pulled into the driveway and slammed out of his own car. No way was he waiting outside.
He was pelting across the lawn when he heard Lindsay scream. Not out loud. In his head.
God, no! Lindsay? What’s wrong? Sweetheart, answer me!
Fear threatened to swallow him whole. Desperately he ran toward the side door of the house and charged inside.
A man was standing in the kitchen, holding on to Lindsay’s arm.
He leaped toward them, the only thought in his mind to get her out of there. Before he reached them, another man charged into the kitchen.
“You mean because they almost killed you?”
“Yeah, that.”
She had been afraid to embrace him, lest the pressure against his chest interfere with his breathing. But when he held out his arms, she came into them with a small sob.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he whispered.
“I was terrified.”
Likewise.
What happened?
My guess? They found out about us, and they don’t want to share the psychic stage.
They’d kill you for that?
Apparently, they’re not very nice people.
How do they know about us?
I’m guessing again. Somehow, they’ve found out about Crandall and Maple Creek. His thoughts came rapidly now. Suppose they never knew that anyone else like them existed? Suppose they thought they were unique. And now suddenly they get the news that there’s a whole bunch of us out there. Maybe they want to ensure that they’re the only ones with that kind of power.
She nodded, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of using psychic power to do evil.
“Not everyone’s going to have the same reaction to finding out they have special gifts,” he murmured, his voice raspy. “Some people will grab for all the goodies they can get.”
She burrowed into his warmth, and he held her against himself, stroked his hands over her shoulders and into her hair. The physical contact and the mental contact helped ground her.
She swallowed. So my idea of getting a big happy family of us together was a little naive.
Sorry. It was a good idea. We just didn’t know what these people would be like—as individuals. And we have no idea how bad it was for the Trinity twins—how they got to be what they are. If the twins felt they had to make up their background, maybe the real story is so horrible that we can’t imagine it.
That could be true, but it’s no excuse for trying to kill you.
He held her more tightly. They would have done it, if you hadn’t been brave enough to grab the computer and yank out the phone cord.
I knew I couldn’t look at the screen or it would get me, too.
What did it feel like to you?
Like grabbing a live wire.
You didn’t see . . . a blue hand coming out of the screen?
No! Oh, Lord. That’s how it was for you?
Yeah.
She heaved in a breath and let it out. One more thing you should know. I . . . I couldn’t work the catch with my fingers. They were paralyzed.
He moved so he could give her a direct look. What are you saying?
I . . . I used my mind—to uncouple the catch.
He stroked a hand through her hair. Good for you! Something else we need to practice.
She felt a shiver go through her. “I just want . . . to be left alone . . . with you.”
“Soon.”
She tipped her face toward him. “You mean after we escape from the Crandall Consortium, from the police, and from the Trinity twins.”
“We will.”
“Jordan—how can we fight the world?” she whispered.
“I think we have to be keep working on our gifts.”
“That didn’t do Todd and Glenn much good.”
“I think they went off—if you’ll pardon the expression—half cocked. We have the advantage of knowing what happened to them.”
“Yes,” she managed as she struggled for strength she didn’t know she had. She felt a question from Jordan flickering at the edge of her mind but she blocked it.
“What are you thinking?” he demanded.
“You’re always coming up with clever ways to practice. There’s another skill we have to try.”
“You’re getting better at blocking me,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “What is it that you don’t want me to know?”
“I want to tell you in the regular way.” She gulped. Getting off the bed, she moved a few feet away from him. “We have to practice fighting off an attack. A mental attack.”
“Jesus,” he whispered, because he grasped the implications immediately.
“Do that to me. What they did to you.”
She saw his hands clench and unclench. “No!”
“Now that we know what kind of power they can call on, we have to be prepared,” she insisted. The hardest thing she’d ever done in her life was launch a sudden spear of energy at Jordan. But she made herself do it. Imagining a small thunderbolt—and hurling it toward his head.
He cried out, then threw up a shield. Not a pane of glass. A metal wall. She was about to praise his quick thinking when his eyes turned fierce.
He’d given her a moment of warning. Still the force of his counterattack was a steel spike ramming into her head.
Gasping, she struggled to call up a shield—the way he had done just moments earlier, but it was hard to do anything when the pain in her head made it difficult to think. She’d sent him a thunderbolt. But it was like a girl kicking a football. And he’d launched a man’s attack.
“Stop,” she gasped, even as she tried to fight him off.
His face contorted, and the pain mercifully cut off.
She collapsed onto the bed, her skin cold and clammy. The headache receded, and she was pretty sure he had taken pity on her—not that she’d fought him off by herself.
When he stroked her hair, she could feel his hand trembling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t like hurting you.”
“Back to you.”
He held her and stroked her, but she knew he was thinking about the attack launched through the computer.
Her gaze darted to the laptop. “Is it safe to use that machine? Is it safe to use your own e-mail address?”
“Shit. I didn’t think of that. I just don’t know. Maybe it’s safe if I stay away from their Web site.”
“Or maybe not. Now that they know who you are—and that you were poking around on their site.”
They stared at each other, and he cursed again. “We are in one hell of a fix. Because if I can’t use the Internet, I might as well be on an atoll in the South Pacific.”
“Maybe that would be safer.”
“For a while.”
She felt like someone caught in a terrible psychological experiment. As if a diabolical scientist was testing her, but she didn’t know why—or for what.
She rolled onto her side, looking like she was weak and defenseless. Before he could reach for her, she attacked him again. Despite the emotional cost of hurting Jordan, she had a flash of satisfaction at seeing the shock and surprise on his face, even as she felt beads of sweat form on her own forehead.
While she still basked in the glow of her small victory, he gave her back what she’d sent him. She gasped and struck out again. And for several minutes, they engaged in a battle royal that no one else could see—or understand.
She wasn’t even sure how long it went on. But finally her mind and body were as limp as a beached jellyfish. Maybe Jordan felt the same way, because he stopped.
She lay on the bed, her breath shallow, and he moved beside her, clasping her hand, stroking her damp hair back from her face. You are very strong.
No.
Stronger than I am.
Are you sure?
Yeah. I gave up because you were winning. That’s the truth.
I was sure I was losing.
I guess we both were.
He opened himself completely and let her see for herself.
Can your male ego take that?
I hope so.
They lay quietly for several minutes.
Finally she asked, So where are the other children Dr. Remington created? What’s happened to them?
You mean Dr. Frankenstein.
Don’t call us monsters.
What would you call us?
“People struggling to cope with powers beyond ordinary human conception,” she murmured.
Okay. I’ll go with that for now.
He settled down beside her, and they both dropped quickly into an exhausted sleep.
Sometime later she woke up. Panic surged through her when she realized he wasn’t in the bed.
Jordan?
He stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed.
“Where are you going?”
“To get us some food.”
It had been hours since breakfast, and eating hadn’t entered her thoughts. But apparently he was being practical again.
“Let me come with you.”
“It’s better not to go out together,” he answered.
“You think they know we’re here?”
“I’m not making any assumptions.” He crossed the room and laid his hand on her shoulder. “Okay, so you’re not very hungry, but you could try and choke down a double cheeseburger with special sauce, french fries, and a Coke.”
“Right. More junk food.”
While he was gone, she dressed in slacks and a knit shirt, because having her clothing on made her feel less vulnerable. Then she made the bed and straightened the room.
He looked around when he came back and smiled. “Housekeeping again?”
“We both like a neat environment.”
“Yeah.”
They ate at the table by the window, but she sensed his restlessness during the meal.
You need your own space.
Yeah. Sorry.
She shifted in her seat. Don’t apologize. We’re both trying to work this out.
He nodded.
“Go to the library.”
“Huh?”
The befuddled look on his face made her grin. “Libraries have computers. Maybe you can get into the Net that way.”
“You don’t mind my leaving you again?”
“You know I mind. But we both need a togetherness break.” She said the words. They were a social lie. He needed a break. She wanted to be with him. But she’d vowed to give him as much independence as she could.
She forced herself to eat half her double burger and most of the fries.
He polished off his french fries, then asked, “You’re sure about . . . my leaving?”
“Yes,” she said, keeping her voice strong as she helped him clean up, then wrapped and stuffed the rest of her burger into the minibar.
“Be careful,” she added as he went through his notes, selecting what he wanted to take.
“I’m a macho guy. I can handle the library.”
She forced a laugh.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
When he left the room, she sent her thoughts outward, trying to follow him down the hallway, then out to the car.
She had suggested that they take some time away from each other, but when she lost contact, she had to fight down her panic.
Trying to focus her mind on something else, she lay down and began practicing some of the relaxation exercises she’d learned to use as stress relievers.
JORDAN felt the connection with Lindsay stretch, then snap, and it was all he could do to stop himself from going back to the motel room, gathering her in his arms, and hanging on tight. He was feeling guilty because he needed the time away from her—and she had given him permission to take that time.
More than that, she’d come up with the perfect excuse. He stopped at the motel desk and asked where he could find the nearest public library with computer access.
Fifteen minutes later he stepped into the building. It was a modern facility, with a computer room that patrons could use. Glad that he had an alternative to his laptop, he used one of the terminals to do a Web search. When he hit the button to call up the reference, he felt his throat tighten painfully. But nothing reached out to choke him as he read an article in a small religious magazine about the twins’ faith healing abilities. Did they really have that power? Or were the brother and sister using their psychic mojo to convince people that they felt better?
He read more references to the Trinitys. A minister with a national following had denounced them. Their newly built church was featured in an architectural magazine.
As he read through the article, he kept fighting an uneasy feeling that something bad was waiting to leap out of the shadows at him.
He almost got up and called the motel room. But he hoped Lindsay was sleeping, and he didn’t want to wake her up.
Still, the nerve-tingling sensation wouldn’t go away. Finally he had to stand up. Once he was on his feet, they carried him toward the door and back to his car.
LINDSAY knew she was asleep and dreaming. But that didn’t stop the fear crackling through her.
This time she saw Mrs. Vanderlin sitting in her fussy old lady’s living room, watching a soap opera.
Lindsay saw the woman smile. She had no idea that while she was enjoying Another Dawn, evil forces were gathering around her.
“Run. Get out of the house!” Lindsay shouted, but Mrs. Vanderlin didn’t hear the warning, and Lindsay had the sick, awful feeling that she was helpless once more in the face of terrible danger.
In the vision she heard a knock at the door. Mrs. Vanderlin looked up, her face filling with annoyance as she pushed herself awkwardly out of the chair.
The knocking came again, and she called out, “Just a minute.”
“No! Don’t answer it,” Lindsay screamed, but the old woman ignored her. She peered through the spy hole in the door, then turned the bolt.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping you could help me find Lindsay Fleming and Jordan Walker.”
“They were here this morning.”
Without being invited, a man stepped into the hall. “Where are they now?”
“In town. But I don’t know which motel.”
When the man spun her around and grabbed her arm, she screamed in pain and terror. Ignoring her reaction, he herded her back into the living room. Behind him, another man entered the house.
“You’re hurting me,” Mrs. Vanderlin whimpered. “Please stop.”
“Ease up,” the new man told his partner.
“Our orders . . .”
“Be nice to the lady.”
Lindsay clawed her way to consciousness. Waves of nausea rolled through her as she sat up in bed, clutching handfuls of the sheet. “Oh, God, no,” she gasped.
This was like what had happened with Sid—and with Leonard Hamilton. She’d seen they were in trouble. Only this time, she was sure it hadn’t happened yet. It was in the future. She could still save Mrs. Vanderlin, if she got there in time.
Jordan! she screamed inside her head. Jordan, can you hear me? I have to go over there and get her out of the house.
Snatching the phone off the bedside table, she called the desk. “I have to leave the motel and take care of a sick friend. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes. Can you call me a cab?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Luck.”
For a moment she blanked on the name. Then she remembered that was the last name Jordan had used when he’d registered.
She was about to jam her feet into sandals. Then she pictured herself holding Mrs. Vanderlin’s arm and hurrying her away. So she dug out socks and tennis shoes and got them on.
She was downstairs minutes later, pacing back and forth under the covered entryway, wishing she could just steal a car and leave. If she could have run to Mrs. Vanderlin’s house, she would have done it. But she was too far away for that.
THE sense of dread increased, making Jordan’s mind feel like a lump of plastic explosives about to detonate. He was halfway back to the motel when he thought he heard a scream inside his head.
His foot jerked on the gas pedal, then pressed down hard as he sped back to Lindsay. But he had to slow down abruptly when he saw a cop car from the corner of his eye.
Keeping within the speed limit was agony. Then he blinked as he turned into the motel driveway. A cab was several hundred feet in front of him. Lindsay leaped across the sidewalk and climbed in.
He wanted to roll down his window and shout at her, but it was already too late. The vehicle lurched off, leaving him sick and shaky.
Lindsay!
She didn’t respond.
What the hell was she doing?
Lindsay? Lindsay? Where are you going?
Either she couldn’t hear him, or she didn’t want to answer. He stayed behind the cab, then lost the vehicle as it roared through a yellow light.
“Christ!” He sat in her car, gripping the wheel, every nerve in his body screaming with tension. What was she doing—running out on him?
Even as he asked the question, he knew that was impossible. She wouldn’t run away from him. They needed each other.
When the light changed, he sped in the direction in which the cab had disappeared. The landmarks looked familiar, and all at once he was pretty sure he knew where she was going in such a hurry—back to Mrs. Vanderlin’s house.
But why?
Lindsay! he shouted in his mind. Lindsay!
To his relief, he got back a faint reply.
Jordan?
What are you doing?
Mrs. Vanderlin. They’re coming . . . They . . .
The words cut off, and he screamed aloud in frustration. “Lindsay—what? Tell me!”
Wait outside for me. I’ll bring her out. We have to get her away.
Ahead of him the cab pulled to a stop. Lindsay jumped out and rushed up the steps.
Wait.
I can’t. Don’t you understand, we put . . . in danger. Like we . . . Sid in danger . . . Like . . . Hamilton. The words were disjointed, and he knew he wasn’t getting everything she was thinking at him. But he got the gist.
Leonard Hamilton put himself in danger! he silently shouted back at her. But she wasn’t paying attention.
His heart in his throat, he pulled into the driveway and slammed out of his own car. No way was he waiting outside.
He was pelting across the lawn when he heard Lindsay scream. Not out loud. In his head.
God, no! Lindsay? What’s wrong? Sweetheart, answer me!
Fear threatened to swallow him whole. Desperately he ran toward the side door of the house and charged inside.
A man was standing in the kitchen, holding on to Lindsay’s arm.
He leaped toward them, the only thought in his mind to get her out of there. Before he reached them, another man charged into the kitchen.
