There had been more than Duran liked to think about, on virtually every level of this, and from the very beginning. Failed experiments. Assumptions that had turned out to be incorrect. Unintended consequences. Because Murphy was right about the human need to be free, the unwillingness to merely serve, to be subjugated.

  Oh, some could be, certainly. Psychopaths and sociopaths like Astrid, who had made her choice quickly and easily because it was something new in her life, an adventure. An adventure in which she could play an important, pivotal role. A role that gave her power, at least over many others.

  She liked that.

  There had been a few like her. And others who, for their own reasons, had chosen to, in essence, betray their own people. And in so doing also revealed an inherent weakness in their characters.

  In the beginning, there had been a few.

  But not enough, not nearly enough, and all of them flawed. Not enough to serve the purpose. Especially once they had discovered what Murphy and her people must have, by now, understood as obvious. Murphy had said it.

  That some combinations simply don’t work. That nature fights back. That biology fights back.

  How many of his own people had died in those early years? How many of Murphy’s?

  How many were still dying even now, for what might well be reasons that no longer even mattered? Perhaps even no longer existed? And even if the reasons still existed, still mattered, what of the cost?

  Had the cost been, already, too high? Or, as Murphy had suggested, had so much been spent on . . . a useless attempt to stop what had already happened?

  Had he spent his life, his entire life, in service to a cause that no longer mattered? No longer even existed?

  Truth? A kind of truth? Or simply the stalling tactic she’d needed to get her people into place, set up the necessary safe houses or clinics or other outwardly normal places. Places where young women, their minds already irreparably damaged and their bodies changed in ways those doctors and scientists on Murphy’s side might be able, now, to understand and even to remedy, waited to give birth to an entirely new generation of born psychics.

  Born with the potential of . . . extraordinary abilities, or such was Duran’s hope.

  Murphy had had time enough to at least have a plan in place, because Duran’s people had had time enough. Barely. Much of their previous network of homes and clinics and other facilities had been compromised or could be, so the decision had been made at the highest levels to move those valuable assets, mothers and babies born and still in the womb, to other, safer locations.

  A move scheduled to begin in the next few weeks, because finding and readying suitable places and suitable caretakers had taken time even for someone with Duran’s resources.

  He had no idea how far Murphy’s side had progressed with plans of their own that had to involve relocating pregnant women and their unborn babies. Plans to keep them safe and healthy.

  He was not even certain if Murphy and her people had truly grasped the realities of any planned rescue. Damaged women and unborn children those women would simply turn away from after birth. Infant orphans in every real sense, psychic orphans who would, to say the least, require specialized care.

  For a long, long time. Perhaps for life.

  For the first time Duran wondered if the resistance could have, by now, discovered the true scope of the eugenics operation. Was that even possible?

  It had taken Duran and his people decades to set up the houses and clinics, each with a cover story, each intended to be in use for only a few years before closing down. Decades to get that operation up and running smoothly. They had been careful. Very, very careful. And for the past three decades and more, the operation had remained a secret from the resistance.

  Until Tasha Solomon had been located by them. Until Duran’s superiors had begun pushing, hard, for faster progress. Until he had followed the instinct of the moment and pointed Murphy in a direction she might never have explored on her own.

  But that had been only weeks ago.

  Even with the technical and researching genius of someone like Tucker Mackenzie, could they have found all the houses and clinics currently operating?

  All of them?

  * * *

  • • •

  Tasha stirred slightly, raising herself on an elbow to look down at Brodie. He opened his eyes and smiled faintly, startling her just a bit because she had so rarely seen him smile. And never like that.

  “John—”

  “No regrets, Tasha.”

  “No. I mean, not from me. I just don’t want you to feel—”

  What he felt flowed through their connection, all the warmth and the certainty and the love. And was met instantly with the depth and certainty of her own feelings.

  Tasha smiled, and made herself even more comfortable at his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “You were right. This connection of ours is very handy and saves a lot of time. And words. I thought I’d have to argue.”

  “It does save time. But there was never anything for you to argue against, Tasha.”

  “You’ve always wanted to stay as closed up as you could, we both know that. To not share yourself with anyone else, unless a psychic needed to read you, trust you. And even then, you had to force yourself to invite that kind of pain. And these last weeks, you’ve always been so . . . so adamant about being my Guardian. I thought that was all you wanted to be.”

  “Now you know better.”

  She did, and knowing that was a warmth and strength she wanted to wrap herself in. And just be. Be only a man and a woman who had found something neither had ever known before. A man and a woman, connected now, with the time and leisure to explore that connection, to become familiar with it and with each other.

  That was what she wanted.

  But there was a world outside. A war outside.

  Tasha was aware that their connection was there, both sides open but not as widely as they had been even moments before. Instead, it was . . . as though doors had been quietly pushed almost closed.

  “For privacy?” she asked, knowing he’d understand.

  “Partly. Because even though we never have to be alone in our own minds again, sometimes solitude is necessary. And because it’s new. Because we’ll have to find a balance that suits us. That fits us. Because we don’t yet know what we’re capable of.”

  “You know you’re psychic now. That you’ve been psychic ever since Duran was testing me with that maze thing and you pulled me out.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I know I’m psychic with you. That I can know your thoughts and emotions through our connection. I don’t know if it goes beyond that.”

  “I do. There’s something else in you, John. It isn’t telepathy or empathy, not what you feel through our connection. It’s something else. Something so deep inside you that you can’t see it yet. Can’t use yet. Something that hasn’t been . . . triggered.”

  “Do you know what it is?” he asked almost idly, one arm holding her against his side, the fingers of his other hand stroking the arm she had flung across his chest.

  “I caught a glimpse when I was in that maze. But . . . just a glimpse. Almost more a sense. A sense of something really powerful.”

  “Negative? There’s been a lot of negative in my life the last ten years or so.”

  “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “There was a lot going on just then, but whatever it was it didn’t scare me. Didn’t make me feel wary or frightened. If anything, it . . . gave me the sense of something strong and sure, something certain I could hold on to if I needed to. I don’t see how that could be anything negative.”

  “Then we’ll wait and see,” Brodie said wryly. “If I’ve learned anything from you psychics over the years it’s that it’s never wise to force a psychic ability.”

  “It’ll come when you need it. Be triggered when you need it.”

  “Or when I least need it and probably don’t want it,” he said with a low laugh. “We both know there’s a downside to every single psychic ability we’re aware of.”

  “True enough. So we wait and see.”

  “We wait and see.”

  Tasha wanted to hold on to this warmth and comfort as long as she could. Wanted to shut out the world and all the dangers there. Wanted to forget, if only for this peaceful time with him, that there was a war—and they were both soldiers.

  Wanted to forget what had awakened her in such agony. It had brought him to her, and she could never regret that. But what had happened only hours ago . . .

  Quietly, he said, “If you need to talk about it, it’s okay, Tasha. We have to, sooner or later. And with the others as well. Some of them, at least.”

  It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, to even think about.

  Not now. Later. They could talk about it later.

  Couldn’t they?

  He hesitated, his reluctance to put her through any of this obvious, but said steadily, “When you woke up, it was because you’d heard the ones in the house screaming.”

  She nodded without lifting her head, wondering if the echoes of those awful sounds would ever not lurk somewhere in her mind. “The babies. Just the babies. I only heard them.”

  “None of the adults? Not the mothers or any of the caretakers?”

  “No. Only the babies. All of them. The infants only days or weeks away from being born—and even the ones months away from being born. But no adults.”

  “How can you be sure? Because it was . . . wordless?”

  “More than just wordless. I got the sense they didn’t even have language, not yet, especially the ones barely into the third trimester. It was . . . primitive. Raw emotions. They felt threatened, then terrified. Helpless. They had power but no focus. No way to save themselves, even though they cried out for help.”

  Brodie frowned, not liking any of the thoughts flitting through his mind.

  “You had no sense of when it started? Of how long the house had been burning, or what might have started the fire?”

  “Who,” she said instantly. “Who started the fire.”

  That was what he’d feared she would say.

  “It was arson?”

  Tasha lifted her head from its comfortable resting place on his shoulder and looked down at him, realization dawning on her face. “Yes. Someone set the fire. Someone deliberately destroyed those women and babies.”

  “How do you know?” he asked her quietly.

  “Because . . . they knew. The babies. They knew someone intended to kill them.” She frowned. “That’s how the nightmare started. I mean, I didn’t see them. I wasn’t even sure who they were at first. What they were. I’d been dreaming some silly dream about being back in school and knowing I couldn’t graduate because I’d somehow missed a final exam.”

  “Typical anxiety or panic dream,” he noted.

  “Yeah. I even remember knowing it was a dream and telling myself to snap out of it. Then I sort of drifted . . . and then I felt a sense of being threatened.”

  “You were frightened?”

  “I . . . felt like I should be. Then everything just sort of faded around me, and . . . I was floating. But it was dark, and I couldn’t see anything. Before I could figure that out, things shifted again, and I wasn’t really floating anymore. It was still dark, and I felt like something was wrapped tightly around me, so I could barely move. But I wasn’t afraid of that. That made me feel safe. And I heard a sound. Sort of a thumping. With a rhythm.”

  “Like a heartbeat,” he suggested.

  SEVEN

  Tasha drew a breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, like a heartbeat. Just one at first, then more than one, like echoes, because it wasn’t the same rhythm. But I knew there was more than one. A lot more. And I was trying to listen past the heartbeats, because all of a sudden, I felt so threatened. I knew . . . there was danger. Close. I knew there was someone close. Someone bad. Someone who was afraid of me. Someone who wanted to hurt me, to . . . destroy me.”

  “You were feeling what the babies felt. Even before the fire started.”

  He didn’t sound surprised, but Tasha was finding it a bit difficult to accept. “But . . . I didn’t get the sense they heard anything to disturb them. Not a threatening voice or sound. Nothing to explain what they were feeling, not then, not at first. Everything was peaceful, and then . . . they were afraid. Some more than others. Some of them knew there was a threat close by. Others were just . . . afraid. Wordless and growing stronger.”

  “What about their mothers?”

  “Sleeping,” Tasha answered immediately, faintly surprised that she really had sensed anything about the mothers. “Not uneasy. Not afraid. Not . . . aware of any threat. Not even dreaming. Just sleeping.”

  “The babies knew that?”

  “I think so. I don’t think I would have picked it up any other way. I think . . . more than one of them tried to reach out to their mothers. It would have been natural for them to try, especially being psychic. But the ones who tried knew their mothers couldn’t help them. Couldn’t save them. Couldn’t even hear them.”

  “Did they know who wanted to destroy them?”

  Tasha shook her head slowly. “No sense of identity. No name. No words. No language. They felt . . . danger. They felt threat. And an enemy. An enemy who wanted to destroy them. Raw, primitive emotions, not words. If they knew who it was, they didn’t have the ability to communicate that to anyone else. At least, not to me.”

  “Did you get any sense of who it was?”

  “No. No, by the time—by the time I felt their absolute terror, heard their screams, the fire had engulfed the whole house. Whoever started it had to be long gone by then.”

  “What about the caretakers? We know there are caretakers, at least one nurse and usually two. Someone else at each place; Tucker says it is probably administrative, which makes sense in that sort of setup. All of them living in the house. Any daily help, anyone who came every morning to cook and clean, that sort of thing, didn’t live on-site. But the nurses did. Whoever was in charge did. Were they gone, or do you think you just couldn’t sense them for some reason?”

  Tasha frowned, then shook her head. “I just don’t know. I don’t know how reliable my senses are when it comes to knowing how many people might have been there.”

  “Why?”

  “Distance, maybe? Or just being blind and deaf to everything except the babies. It was . . . horrific, what was happening to them. Their terror and agony. Maybe that blocked anything else I might have sensed.”

  Brodie’s arm tightened around her, but his voice remained quiet. “You couldn’t help them. You were too far away.”

  “I wish that made me feel better,” she murmured.

  “You heard them,” he said. “We might not have even known otherwise.”

  “The Bishops know.”

  “I’m betting they don’t know as much as you do. They saw the fire, maybe they even picked up on the screams of the babies telepathically. But you know what they felt.”

  Tasha drew another breath, this one shaky. “Then I hope that makes a difference somehow. I hope it helps. It’s . . . not something I ever want to go through again.”

  “I know.”

  There was, she realized then, a real comfort in knowing that he really did understand. Because he had felt her pain. And theirs. She let herself be comforted by that, knowing he was aware of how she was feeling.

  “There will have to be an investigation, an official one,” Brodie said. “It’s the law. Though I have to believe Duran has someone inside law enforcement to . . . shape the story he wants the media to have.”

  “Maybe Bishop can get someone inside for us,” Tasha said after a moment.

  “He’s probably the only one we know who can. And if everything I’ve heard about him is true, he’s already working on that angle. And quietly. I’m betting he and Miranda were gone by the time the fire trucks arrived.”

  “They hadn’t planned to go into the house or stay any longer than necessary, and they wouldn’t have changed the plan. They got there too late to do anything to help, I’m sure of that. But they must have seen.”

  “Then Bishop will already be working to get someone inside the investigation so we’re able to get our hands on the report before Duran has time to replace it with his own version of what happened.” He frowned again. “That could bring Bishop too far out into the open for my taste.”

  “With psychics taken by Duran’s people calling out to Bishop in that last, desperate moment, and his own psychics involved in snatching those people, I doubt very much that Duran isn’t totally aware of the Bishops.”

  “Aware is one thing and being certain they’re actively working against him is something else.”

  “He must know, or at least suspect, how Bishop would react once he found out about this. That he wouldn’t just stand by while psychics, any psychics, are being hurt. And that would go double, triple, for psychics he’s been keeping tabs on for years who just vanish—especially when their last psychic scream of fear is his name.” She shivered without being aware of it.

  * * *

  • • •

  They had not raised Miranda’s shield after the fire because neither of them had wanted to be alone after that, so she heard it as loudly as he did when the telepathic cry came through so strongly that it actually caused Bishop to jerk.

  Bishop!

  Help me!

  Don’t let them get me . . . please . . . don’t let them—

  And then it ended with chilling suddenness.

  In the near-silence of the jet’s cabin, Miranda looked at her husband, not needing the stark pallor of the scar twisting down his left cheek to tell her how upset he was.