Athena Force 8: Contact (22 page)

Since that wasn’t an answer, Faith just folded her arms and waited.

“Your roommate Moonsong said you were here,” he offered. “You’re gonna have to watch that one. She’s way too trusting.”

Maybe she was. Faith’s roommates had been surprisingly understanding about her secret identity as a police contact. They thought it was exciting. “So you’re here because…?”

“I’m not sorry I arrested you.” His jaw was a definite dare, just now. It went with his scowl.

Faith leaned into his space—and damned if it didn’t still feel good there. Familiar. Challenging. “Then I’m not sorry I tore your arrest to shreds.”

He shook his head, his mouth pulling into a mockery of a smile. “Right. You’re cute when you’re a smart-ass.”

In the distance, Faith could hear the ding-ding of the trolley approaching. In another minute, she was sure Roy would hear it, too. “I’m more than just cute. And I’m more than just a pistol in the sack.”

His eyes widened. “Did I say you weren’t?”

“I’m just clarifying, here. You searched my closet.”

“On an anonymous tip. Last time I heard, you were in favor of those.” He considered his argument, then added, “And I found something.”

“Like that justifies anything.”

“Maybe not to lawyers, hon. But as far as the truth coming out, yeah.”

The way he said “lawyers” made her grin. “So you really came all the way out here just to tell me you weren’t sorry?”

“Yeah. That, and to ask you out.”

Her own heart began to race, and her stomach began to flip-flop. But it felt good. It felt…normal. “Really?”

“We got a lot to talk about. Greg and Chet both got indicted, largely because of you being such a stupid Bernie. I figured you might want to celebrate.”

“And have sex,” she guessed. Not that the idea made her ill, but there were some trust issues to get past, here, too. On both sides. No matter what his body was telegraphing.

“I wouldn’t rule it out, but I’m determined to cram a dinner down you sooner or later.” Now his head came up. He heard the trolley, too. And here it came, the dark-green car with dark-red trim, up the center of St. Charles Avenue.

“What’s a Bernie?” she asked—and he laughed, a sharp bark.

“I’ve been calling you Bernie all this time, and you don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“Like Bernhard Goetz, the guy who shot those muggers on the New York subway. A Bernie’s a ringer, Corbett. Someone who looks completely helpless, then turns around and kicks someone’s ass.”

The more she considered that, the more she liked it. The more she liked him for thinking of her that way. “And I’m a Bernie?”

“You went after a guy with a gun. Who’d already tried to kill you once.”

“Only because the alternative would have been to let him get away.”

“Agony,” predicted Roy, his gaze caressing her face. “This is what you offer me.”

But he was lying. And she knew it. She was genetically engineered to be able to read people, after all…and what she read, she liked. Roy was a good guy, and a good cop. Roy liked her. And Roy was someone she could touch with pleasure, instead of dread, which counted for a hell of a lot, too. Someone whose touch opened up whole new worlds for her.

People had dated for worse reasons. And yet…

She deserved better. And oh heavens, so did he.

“Maybe I do,” she warned him. “Maybe I
am
agony, just waiting to happen to both of us. You may have noticed that I’m not…”

Her throat closed before she could say it.

“Not…corrupt?” he guessed, his eyes bright, mouth mocking with amusement. “Not cynical, like me and my cop friends? Not helpless and needy?”

So she had to say it. “Not normal.”

The streetcar was close enough that Faith didn’t need super-sight to read its curved numbers or the placard that read
St. Charles.

“So you’re special,” said Roy. “Woman-of-mystery, never-boring, one-of-a-kind special. This is a bad thing?”

“You don’t know the half of how weird I am.” Her melodramatic conception. Her super-sisters. Her ability to sense that, amazing though it seemed, he wasn’t lying now, as surely as she knew his eyes were gray.
But he didn’t know.
“You don’t know.”

“So how should I find out if you don’t give me the chance?”

Which, she realized with a rush of pleasant surprise, was exactly how normal people did it. Roy Chopin brought blessed normalcy to her life. And as for what she brought to his…

Well, maybe they could find out, at that.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll go out with you.”

She savored his relief. “Tonight? I know it’s short notice, but tonight’s my night off.”

The trolley was slowing now with a squeal of brakes. “I’ve got plans this afternoon with my sisters, but…Give me a call later today, and you’ll find out.”

“I would, but you keep throwing phones into the river.”

“Call me at home. Like a real date.” But it had been three days. And he was addictive. So instead of strolling back to the trolley stop, Faith rose onto tiptoes and offered a kiss, which Roy took with gusto.

Yes….

His lips were warm and real. His breath struggled in his throat, which seemed to be tightening with uncertain emotion. His hands pulled her possessively closer to the tall, hard, physicality of him, and when his tongue slid into her mouth, she shuddered her release.

Yeah, this was worth another try.

“Screw the streetcar,” he muttered breathily into her ear, making her shiver again. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

But at least one of them had to get better at delayed gratification. Shaking her head, Faith backed out of his arms. “Nope. A real date. Somewhere I can dress up.”

“Oh, now you’re high-maintenance all of a sudden?”

She jogged toward the streetcar. “You have no idea.”

Roy followed with his long stride, but when she looked over her shoulder, he seemed entertained. There was something to be said for increased expectations. “So where do you want to dine, Your Highness?”

“Greg took me on a riverboat.”

“Greg’s a sociopath.”

“One of many reasons I like you better.” The trolley rang its last warnings, and she heard it start moving, so she turned and ran full-out. She caught the streetcar and paced it as it picked up speed. She tapped on the door-glass, and the doors slid open. She jumped on board and flashed the conductor her monthly NORTA pass.

“You oughtn’t to be doing that, miss!” he scolded. “That’s dangerous. You oughtn’t get so close to the streetcar when she’s moving like that.”

But some days, Faith felt more sure of herself than others. She slid across an empty seat and hung out the open window to watch Roy’s retreating figure. “Call me!” she yelled.

And he held up one hand in a single, silent wave. She knew he would.

Maybe she was special, at that. Maybe it ran in the family.

“This is nowhere near as cheesy as I would have thought,” admitted Dawn, looking around the tasteful back room of Celeste Deveaux’s French Quarter parlor.

“Shh!” said Lynn. ‘Can’t you feel it?”

So the air in here didn’t vibrate just for Faith. That was a relief. Perhaps the best thing about having sisters was this sense of communion, of not being wholly alone in her abilities.

Like the ugly duckling realizing it really was a swan, after all. In Faith’s case, and Dawn’s, and Lynn’s, they were genetically enhanced swans, but that still counted, right?

“Don’t mind me,” murmured Celeste, her dark eyes half closed and unfocused. The sisters shut up. Celeste’s lips curved in a smile. She was used to people masking their uncertainties with humor. And Dawn in particular was uncertain about this.

But Faith’s sisters were only going to be in New Orleans another day. Shouldn’t they at least give this a try?

The medium’s expression turned solemn. “Talk to me, spirits,” she whispered, her hands spread. “I’m looking for a mother, these ladies’ mother, who never knew—”

She sat bolt upright, eyes closed.

The sisters tensed. Faith could hear it in their pulses, feel it off their body temperature, both of which created a strange harmony against the slower heartbeat and more shallow breathing of Celeste in her trance state. More important, Faith could feel…

Something. Someone. Between the sisters and Celeste.

“There’s a woman here,” murmured the medium. “A beautiful redheaded woman. I’m hearing an R, seeing rainfall…she says it’s her name. Do you know someone called…?”

“Rainy,” breathed Lynn.

“She says you’re her daughters. She says of course she knows you, now. How can…?”

“It’s a long story.” Faith searched the seemingly rich, intense air before them, seeking that sense of presence. How she would have loved to meet Lorraine Miller Carrington in life. She was certain her sisters felt the same. But maybe…“We’re so sorry we never knew her. We’re so sorry for what happened to her. We—”

“She’s happy,” insisted Celeste.

Lynn, beside Faith, caught a sharp breath of surprise. Lynn believed this was happening, too.

“She was murdered,” protested Dawn, clearly less willing to suspend her disbelief.

Celeste was swaying now, her voice a weaving of husky truths. “Everyone dies, baby. She says it’s not like she went anywhere. She’s so happy for everyone she loves, having the strength to go on with their lives. She’s…the woman’s laughing, saying names so fast I can hardly keep them straight. Darcy and Alex and Kayla. Tory and Sam and Josie. They kept their promise. She’s calling them your aunts, says she’s living through them as much as through you three, and that you’d better all get together.”

“We will,” said Lynn. “Of course we will.”

“She’s calling your aunts…” Celeste’s eyes opened with surprise. “Cassandras.”

Faith nodded. “I didn’t know that, when I chose the name.”

“Rainy thinks you did.” Celeste’s eyes closed again. “Where it counts. She says you three are Cassandras, too. She is so proud of you, so very proud….”

“But we haven’t done anything.” That was Dawn, but this time her challenge sounded more poignant. She might not want to believe this, but she was beginning to believe, all the same.

“You’re the one she wants to hug the most,” announced Celeste, turning to Dawn. “The others…Rainy says they’ve been getting some hugging. That makes her happy, too. But you haven’t yet. You deserve some. She says you’ve all done more than any mother could expect. If you do nothing else, ever, she couldn’t be more proud of the three of you. But you will do more. It’s in your blood.”

Lynn sat up. “Does she know who our father is?”

Faith held her breath.
Was
it Thomas King?

“She says even he doesn’t know it, yet. But stick together, and you’ll find him. Does that make sense? That seems to be what your mother’s most concerned about. She wants to be sure you three won’t forget each other, that you’ll meet with your aunts, that you won’t lose touch with the people who love you. Losing touch…that’s the only thing that makes this woman sad.”

Faith looked at her sisters, one to either side of her.

She held out her hands.

Lynn’s hand closed around hers first. Again, Faith got a rush of sensations—
computer. Craftiness. Someone waiting back home. Possibilities.

Faith was better able to channel the impressions, now. Instead of it feeling like an assault, it became a bond. This was her sister. They
should
know each other.

Dawn hesitated a moment longer. Then, almost grudgingly, she caught Faith’s hand in a strong grip.
Fighting. Training. Things to do. Loneliness.

Longing….

She caught Lynn’s hand as well, so that the three of them were truly connected.

“It’s a promise,” said Faith.

“A promise,” repeated Lynn.

Dawn only hesitated a moment. “A promise.”

Faith watched a tear of happiness slide from Celeste’s closed eyes—and knew the tear did not belong to Celeste.

Evelyn Vaughn

Evelyn began writing stories as soon as she was able to hold a fat pencil and spell out words. She’s been at it ever since.

Fourth in a family of five children, Evelyn has lived in Virginia, Illinois, Arizona, Louisiana and finally Texas. She currently lives in Texas with her 17-year-old, one-eyed cat and her sweet-tempered cocker spaniel. She recently bought a house with a great yard, largely for the cocker spaniel, but she loves it, too.

In her alternate life, she teaches writing and literature at Tarrant County College in the Dallas Fort Worth Metroplex.