Chapter Two

Mia turned the deadbolt on the front door and tossed her keys into the bowl on the hall table. Traffic had been a bitch, and her headache was worse than ever. But home was a sanctuary, one she was always happy to be in.

The house itself, located on San Antonio’s northwest side, was an unexpected gift, left to her by her maternal grandmother at a time when she was searching for some direction in her life. She’d just received her doctorate and was casting about for the proper way to use it. She didn’t want to go back to Florida where her entire life would be conducted under family scrutiny. Then like a bolt from the blue, someone on her thesis committee called to let her know about a position at the DeWitt Museum in San Antonio.

“You’re perfect for it,” the professor said. “Exactly the kind of person they’re looking for. I’m sending a letter of recommendation right now, so call and set up your appointment.”

It had seemed like an omen. She interviewed for the job, was hired, and took possession of the house, all within a week’s time.

Located in the upscale suburb of Alamo Heights, the exterior of the building was a deep red brick that had faded to a soft rosy patina with age and weather. The interior, with its glistening hardwood floors, wide windows, and soothing earth tones, provided just the respite she needed from the images that bombarded her and made her unsettled.

The ones that had taunted her earlier still lingered in her mind. Once again she cursed the precognitive abilities that had plagued her all her life. Ignoring them when she thought she might be able to help made her feel guilty. Trying to carry forward whatever message she deciphered often got her in hot water. It was a no-win situation.

And the one with the tall, dark, very sensual man? That had never happened before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to happen again.

I want to fuck you.

And just like before, her body responded instantly, fire streaking through her veins and her pulse ramping up to almost jackhammer intensity. Startled, Mia shook her head and blinked her eyes. She couldn’t have this. She just could not have this strange man popping into her head and driving her to the brink of orgasm this way. Or any way.

Her head was pounding now, well past the bath-and-wine-cure stage.

Aspirin. That’s what she needed. She headed for the downstairs powder room where she usually kept a small bottle. But when she stood at the sink, looking in the mirror, the image of her face dissolved, to be replaced not by the man—thank goodness—but by the stupid little rock. Only this time it was surrounded by Plexiglas, and the hands were opening the door to the enclosure. And across the image, just a brief flash, was a sign bearing the word “carpenter.”

Mia closed her eyes, squeezing them shut. When she opened them, only her pinched face stared back at her. She opened the medicine cabinet, found the bottle of aspirin and shook two into her hand. Then she ran a cup of water to swallow them with. Replacing the cup, she rinsed her hands and face with cold water, trying to wash away the vision.

And the memory of what she’d done in her office.

In the kitchen she fixed herself a cup of herbal raspberry tea and carried it into her den. Of all the rooms in the house, this one always served as her refuge. The walls lined with bookshelves filled to overflowing, the sound system where she could play her favorite jazz and blues, the thick carpeting, and the graceful oak desk always seemed to reach out welcoming arms to her.

Today she wasn’t sure anyplace could soothe her, as disturbed as her mind was. Her body, too. She needed to do something to get the erotic image out of her mind completely. Finishing her tea, she returned to the kitchen and heated more water, dropped the tea bag in, and left it to steep while she changed into a tank top and yoga pants. The rock. She’d focus on that stupid rock. Maybe find a way to figure out what that was all about. She hated it when the messages in what she saw were unclear. If only it were possible to turn off her brain or whatever gremlins resided in it.

Sighing, she took her tea to her desk, booted up her laptop, and did a search for “rocks,” “Plexiglas,” and “carpenter” in any combination. Her efforts produced so many hits she wiped them out and tried to start again. It was always a laborious process, trying to figure out the meager clue that could mean absolutely anything. If only the pictures were more complete, more detailed.

If only they would take up residence in someone else’s head.

Finally, her eyes gritty and tired, her head still throbbing, she shut down the computer. She’d wait and try again tomorrow. Maybe she’d receive another clue by then that would help with her search. Or maybe, if she was lucky, the vision would disappear altogether.

The little clock on one of the shelves chimed eight times, and she realized she hadn’t eaten a thing since taking an early lunch. She rummaged through the refrigerator for sandwich fixings, finally settling for ham and cheese on rye and a Diet Coke. Sitting at the narrow rectangle that served as her kitchen table, a sort of antique she’d inherited with the house, she thumbed idly through the mail, pushing the junk circulars to the side to toss later on and separating the bills from mail she actually wanted to read.

Refilling her glass, she opened the newspaper that she’d picked up from her porch. She didn’t know why she even subscribed anymore, especially with publications shrinking and more and more people getting their news online. She seldom took the time to read it. Too often the things she read created disturbing images in her mind that tempted her to follow paths she knew would destroy her. How often had she simply placed her hand on an article and been shocked by images she couldn’t decipher?

But sometimes, like now, although the visions were vague they hit her with such force she couldn’t turn away from them. Something very bad had happened or was about to happen. Every nerve in her body was zinging her with that message, telling her it was somewhere in the newspaper. Whatever it took, she’d have to search for the answers, then use her normal method of sending a warning. And hope someone listened.

Mia almost never read the business section, unless she was seeking information on a possible major donor to the museum. Today, however, with her mind pushing her to seek clues, to skip nothing, she unfolded the section and smoothed it out to scan the headlines.

Zap!

A shock traveled from the newspaper to her brain. Her hand recoiled, and she blinked. What the hell?

Gingerly she touched the newsprint again. This time the Plexiglas image flashed through her brain, with hands reaching for its contents. She studied the page, deliberately not touching it, her eyes traveling over each article. A new hybrid auto. No, not that. A hedge fund under investigation. Definitely not that.

Then, at the bottom, a tiny announcement of a new robotics development by a company called Carpenter Techtronics. The story continued inside. Holding the paper with her fingertips, she flipped to page three to read the rest of it. There wasn’t much more. The reporter indicated that the company was holding back details until the press conference in one week. Chase Carpenter, the CEO, only mentioned that the invention would revolutionize the ability of the police and military to deal with criminals and the enemy.

Mia leaned back and raked her fingers through her hair, feeling the edges of the headache still gripping her skull.

Okay, so she had one or two tiny pieces of the puzzle. Maybe the gizmo looked like a rock. And now she understood what the “carpenter” sign meant. But she knew from past experience that wasn’t nearly enough. She couldn’t very well call up the company and ask them whether their new little baby was designed to look like a rock. Oh, and by the way, did it live in a plastic box? They’d either have her arrested or committed. But just touching the article gave her a sense of urgency.

All right. Back to the computer to do more research. But this time she’d focus on robotics and Carpenter Techtronics. There had to be some other thread for her to follow.

* * * * *

The Baltimore sun, a rare commodity during this rainy season, blazed through the massive window in Dan Romeo’s office, wrapping everything in a warm glow and mitigating the sterile feel of the room. Like the offices of the other partners, one entire wall was filled with banks of monitors providing feedback from not only the building’s own security cameras but also various jobs under contract.

The floor was finished in a gleaming hardwood overlaid in the center with an Americana woven rug, the only hint of softness in the room. The furniture was all severe angles and rough material. The extreme neatness and precision of the room bespoke Romeo’s years of training in the marines. His big frame was still tough and lean and in top condition, his eyes hard and watchful. His only concession to civilian life, besides his clothing, was the length of his nearly black hair that now touched the collar of his pristine dress shirt.

There were no names on any of the doors on this floor of the building Phoenix owned that housed their offices. As an international security firm formed by lifelong friends—a SEAL, an Army Ranger, a member of a Special Ops air team, a former Force Recon Marine and now a recently added former member of Delta Force—that did everything from teaching corporate executives survival skills and how to protect themselves from kidnapping attempts, to tracking corporate espionage, to full-blown hostage negotiation, theirs was not a business that advertised except by word of mouth.

A year ago Phoenix had just been Dan and his four partners. Now it had grown from a five-man organization with a phone and an answering machine to owning a building with office space and employing a secretary/receptionist who handled all the paperwork they hated and filtered their calls. They had also hired more agents, carefully selected and thoroughly screened. As their client base grew, the need for more agents grew along with it. That meant all the partners did not have to go into the field on every case.

While Phoenix had highly trained and capable operatives, the low-profile organization had earned its reputation partly due to the fact that they had their fingers on the pulse of everything, everywhere, at all times. And partly because they were known for their ability to handle any emergency while flying well under the radar.

They walked a high wire daily as they went about their jobs. Some of these jobs were even contracted with the US government. Long ago they had agreed to be on call for those times when a special job needed to get done and plausible deniability was paramount.

Sometimes it amazed Dan how a plan developed among the original four partners had created an organization like Phoenix. And he was damn proud of it.

Eric “Rick” Latrobe, a former SEAL, sat on the couch in the office. He was as light as Romeo was dark and just as forbidding. The business they were in was dangerous and often life-threatening. Keeping in shape mentally and physically was a requirement. No one would have mistaken either of these men for soft.

At the moment they were the only two partners on site, and they were enjoying morning coffee and the latest news.

“I see your friend Chase is about to launch a new product,” Latrobe commented, looking up from his laptop where he was skimming the headlines. “Heady enough for all the major news outlets to carry a blurb about it.”

Romeo nodded. “He says this one will put them in a class by themselves.”

“Going to the big press conference next week?”

Romeo pointed to his computer screen and grinned. “I guess I am. This is the third email he’s sent me telling me he wants me there. I think he’s a little nervous.”

“If what he has is as good as he says, I’m not surprised. Are you going there early to check out security?”

“I told him I would.” Romeo called up his calendar on the computer. “Anyway, Mike ‘suggested’ I might want to take some time off after Mexico.” He laughed. “He’s lucky I didn’t pop him in the nose. He did everything but tell me I’m getting too old for what we do.”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” Rick disagreed. “You gave the men time off. Why do less for yourself?”

Dan leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’ve decided to take Chase up on the invitation. I’ll be leaving Monday morning. Ed can fly me down there, so I’ll have four days to scope things out and see if we need to make any changes, although they should be airtight. After all, we trained his security people ourselves. Still, he sounds very jumpy about this project for some reason.”

Ed Romeo, Dan’s brother, was the other pilot who did most of the flying.

“Corporate espionage is the latest disease of the millennium,” Rick pointed out. “I’d be nervous, too, in his shoes. Send Justine the details, and she’ll plug them into the master schedule.”

Justine Henry was their worth-her-weight-in-chocolate-kisses office manager. She didn’t think it strange that she was told not to answer the phone, only to pick up the messages from the machine. Or to burn all her transcription notes when they finished a case after giving them to Andy, their newly acquired tech, to wrap his secret codes around. She just did what she was told very competently, kept her mouth shut, and kept track of the men and their equipment with terrifying efficiency. Her husband—a close friend of Dan’s who had served with him in the marines—had been killed by an Improvised Explosive Device, or IED, in Iraq. Now Phoenix was taking care of her and her two children.

Dan swiveled in his chair to face his computer. “I might as well make use of my time now to pick up everything new about Carpenter Techtronics. I’ll get Andy to run their staff through the Dragon. We haven’t updated our files on them this year, and I’d like to be prepared when I get there. Just in case.”

The Dragon was the ultrasophisticated computer system that, as Rick once said, could do everything but sing and dance. Andy, who had come to them through Mark Halloran’s wife, manipulated the machine like a violinist played a Stradivarius. If information on any subject in the world could be found, Andy and the Dragon could find it.

Rick raised an eyebrow. “Expecting trouble?”

Dan grinned. “My friend, I’m always expecting trouble. You know that.”

“Well, enjoy yourself. Have a margarita or two for me.” Rick grinned as he unfolded his long length from the chair.

As he left the office, Dan was already tapping search parameters into the computer.

* * * * *

The telephone conversation between the two conspirators was brief and tense. The closer the deadline loomed, the more uptight they became with each other. Being unable to meet in person put an additional strain on their situation—there was only so much you could do by telephone. You couldn’t see the other person, judge their facial expressions and the nuances of their body movements.

They weren’t exactly strangers to each other, nor was this their first project together, but that made no difference. Regardless of the relationship, lack of trust was inherent in both personalities.

“We have a very small window of opportunity here, you know. If we miss it, the chance is gone.”

“Did you expect any less? He’d take the thing home to sleep with him if he could.”

A sharp laugh echoed over the connection. “That would certainly make our job easier if he did.”

“We knew this wouldn’t be a cakewalk.” The voice carried a note of irritation. “But with so much money riding on this, it’s worth the effort.” There was a short pause. “This is the big one, you know. The one that will set us up for life.”

“I know, I know.”

“Not getting cold feet are you?” Now the tone was one of suspicion.

“Not on your life.” The voice was vehement, almost angry. “I don’t even know why you always ask me that.”

“Just checking.”

“After all this time? I’m good to go. Quit worrying.”

“Just do your part and we’ll be fine. Like I said, we have a small window. Use it wisely. Don’t screw it up.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” The voice was defensive. “Worry about yourself. I’m ready.”

They both disconnected and dismantled the throwaway cell phones they were using. They would dispose of the phones and batteries separately and at different locations. They couldn’t afford to take any chances on being traced or overheard.

* * * * *

At two o’clock in the morning Mia finally gave up her search and shut down her laptop. Her eyes were blurring, and the eyestrain was exacerbating her headache.

Applying normal search parameters in several search engines, she’d gotten as much as she could on Carpenter Techtronics, compiling a history of the company and a profile of its CEO. The information on robotics had been more difficult to collect because she didn’t always understand what she was reading. She finally printed out the articles she thought she’d need and slid them into a folder.

Tomorrow she’d call someone she knew, an engineer she’d met at a book signing who, strangely enough, had an interest in parapsychology. They’d become friends, meeting for the occasional drink or dinner. She was gratified that, when she’d finally blurted out her secret to him, he didn’t see her as a freak but as an interesting human being with unusual abilities.

Once she got to work in the morning, she could also tap into the LexisNexis system that the museum subscribed to—the vast, worldwide database of every piece of knowledge in the world. That always provided more than her independent searches could dig up.

Swallowing two more aspirins, she pulled on a sleep shirt and crawled into bed. But before she could close her eyes she felt her psychic power grab her, and the muscular God shimmered before her eyes.

“Go away,” she shouted, pulling the covers over her head.

Look at me.

The voice was just as commanding as it had been earlier.

As if she’d lost all free will, Mia lowered the covers and looked at him. He was back in the stretch boxers, but the impressive bulge at his fly showed that he was again fully aroused. She felt a gush of fluid in her pussy and squeezed her thighs together.

I want to fuck you.

“Go away,” she repeated, but this time in a whisper.

Let me see you. All of you.

Her hands moved as if they had a mind of their own, tossing the covers away and pulling up her sleep shirt until she was naked from the waist down.

Gorgeous. Next time I’m going to use my tongue on you until you scream in pleasure.

What? What? But how was that possible with someone who wasn’t even real?

She knew she was imagining it, but a whispery breeze stole over her as if his fingers were actually touched her. All her senses were in an acute state of awareness, so the ghostly touch aroused her as if the man had been real.

No!

She shouted it in her head and squeezed her legs together again.

He smiled, a slow, sensuous expression that promised unbelievable pleasure. Then, just as before, he was gone.

Mia turned over and buried her face in the pillow, willing herself to sleep. But the sleep she fell into was far from restful. Her dreams were invaded by ugly rocks chasing her through the city and a mechanized voice repeating over and over, “It’s all your fault.”

And like a hologram above them, the erotic God of her visions.