Rendezvous at Midnight (5 page)

She heard his voice, although his lips didn’t move. It took a moment for her body to catch up with her brain, but when it did, she flung him aside and rolled out of bed, reaching for the first thing she could find—a corner of the sheet. She pulled it up to cover her, heedless of the mess she made of the bed.

“What did you do?”

He met her shocked gaze, and she felt a calming wave flow through her. “If you can’t take this, I’ll remove the memory of it. Please take a few deep breaths, Lisa, and listen. It’s nothing weird, I promise. It’s just…I’m telepathic.”

“That’s not weird? You’ve been listening in to my mind all this time?” What had she let herself in for? She controlled the shaking in her voice. “Get out.”

He lifted up on one elbow, careless of his nakedness and his half-hard penis. She tried not to look, not to remember his wonderful lovemaking. “Just hear me out. Then if you still want me to leave, I’ll go. After I’ve made the necessary adjustments.” That didn’t sound good. Lisa mentally measured the distance between where she stood and the door.

He smiled. “I won’t stop you and I won’t hurt you, but if you don’t want this, I have to remove your memory of the last few minutes. The thing is, Lisa, I need to read you. Deeply. And if I do it against your will, it’ll hurt like hell. Let me, please.”

“Read me?”

The strange sensation in her mind was him. She felt him move, and then she heard him again.
Open up, sweetheart. Let me in
.

It sounded so much like what they were doing a short time before, she gasped and something slipped inside. Warmth radiated through her, eased into her mind. It was as if he’d entered her somewhere else, possessed her. She suspected if she tried to push him away it would hurt, perhaps even damage her. Rage filled her, redness drowning the calming waves he was sending her.

“Relax. You can tell me to fuck off when I’m done.”

She had little choice. He explored her. She felt him, an invasion she didn’t want, but it felt so good. Was this what their lovemaking had been about?

No. I’ve wanted you for a long time. But I heard some news when we arrived that made matters more complicated.

What
?

“People like me—psychics—we’ve existed for a long time. It’s a genetic accident, something we’re born with. But there are others who want to destroy us, an organization of people who call themselves Anti-Sensitives. Bastards who torture and murder. We just want to live in peace, but they won’t let us. I know there’s an anti-sensitive on the team. I need to make sure it’s not you.”

Fury replaced rage.
You don’t trust me
? She hadn’t known she could do that, answer back.

I do, but I have to be sure. It isn’t just me they’re after, though I’m probably their primary target this weekend. I need to isolate who it is, and take him or her into custody.

Custody?

Yeah
. He paused and she felt him withdraw. This time he spoke aloud. “I’m sorry, Lisa. I had to do that.” He bit his lip. “There’s something else.”

“Tell me.” She hardened her heart. The intrusion was just about unforgivable. She wasn’t going to be sweet talked back into bed with him, however inviting he looked.

“There’s danger for you here. I felt it the minute I came in here. A malevolent presence, aimed at you.”

She lifted her upper lip in a sneer. “I thought you said ghosts were harmless.”

“Not completely. Some are dangerous. You’ve heard me say that, too.” He seemed completely sincere, but he’d kept so much to himself she didn’t know if she could trust him. “I want to link with you, so I can be sure you’re not in danger.”

“Seems like a good excuse to me.” She folded her arms under her breasts, anchoring the sheet more firmly.

He regarded her closely, his eyes unreadable. “Can you keep this quiet? The knowledge of what I can do?”

She felt his anxiety inside her head, for God’s sake. “I need to think. At least allow me time for that.”

“If you promise not to tell anyone, I can do that.”

She frowned. “Can you stop me from telling anyone?”

“No. That would be compulsion. We’re not allowed to make anyone do something against their will. We can persuade, but not compel. But I’ll know if you tell anyone else, and I can remove the memories from you and whoever you tell. I want to keep in touch with you this weekend. Then, if you want, I’ll leave your mind.”

That, more than anything else, persuaded her. She watched him get out of bed, standing unself-consciously on the other side from her, as if he knew coming closer would intimidate her. Of course he knew. He’d just read her mind. “You’ve got until the end of this shoot.”

“Okay. I should know who the anti-sensitive is by then.” He gazed at her, gentleness in his eyes. “I suppose I’ve blown it with you?”

He deserved a lesson and she wanted to be alone, to think things through on her own. “Too right. Now fuck off, Scott.”

He did as he was told.

***

Cursing himself, cursing the CIA, cursing Gareth Fuller, who’d passed on Mr. Smith’s orders, Michael dressed for the night shoot. He’d never felt less like contacting ghosts, but he might be able to manufacture a few instances where he could sweep in and read the others. The biggest danger was Ayesha. She was sensitive, though not a psychic, but she might detect him. He’d leave her until last.

At least he knew Lisa was in the clear. He had to do it, and the gamble of letting her see and know what he was doing had been very deliberate. He wanted her, and he wanted her for more than just a passing affair. She had to know. If she couldn’t cope with his psychic gifts, better he knew now than further down the line. He still hoped she’d come to terms with it. He needed the contact, the touch of her mind in his, his in hers, to keep her safe from the malevolence directed at her, as real as a stalker’s attention and just as threatening.

He glanced into the mirror, deciding he’d better shave. It was going to be a long night, what with one thing and another and he was dark-haired, so the stubble showed badly on the tape. His Hungarian heritage had given him naturally pale skin, which made it worse, and there weren’t many opportunities to improve his tan in Seattle. He needed a vacation. He’d deserve one after this.

He still hoped to take Lisa with him, but after her shocked reaction to his revelation, he didn’t think it likely.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a pair of black pants and a dark, wine-red silk shirt—one of several he’d brought with him to keep the continuity police happy—he left his suite. Lisa wasn’t there. He could sense her now. She must have gone ahead.

He hit a speed-dial number on his phone and Cliff, the other soundman, answered. “We’re in the pool area. Lisa’s just finished her introduction to this segment.” Michael reviewed his mental timetable and remembered they’d agreed to start at the first class swimming pool, where various phenomena had been reported over the years.

He took the stairs leading from the first class suites down to the spacious foyer outside the dining room, and then down more stairs to the pool. He hadn’t quite reached the outer doors when he saw her in the dim light filtering through from the pool area.

Lisa had a few costumes, period clothes from the fifties, so he wasn’t surprised to see her in a white swimsuit with a rubber cap covering her hair. “Hi,” he ventured.

She turned and smiled at him, as though he hadn’t scared her to death earlier. “Hi.” Perhaps she’d gotten over the shock. Perhaps things would be all right after all.

She looked gorgeous. The swimsuit covered her from bosom to thighs, and he could see the lines from the bones that shaped the garment. He had reason to know she didn’t need them. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was breathy, as though he’d taken her by surprise.

“Have you forgiven me, then?”

“I might make you work for it.” She shimmied toward him in a movement that sent blood rushing to his groin. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” He half-closed his eyes and opened his arms. “Let me see if you feel as good as you look.”

She paused, staring at him appreciatively, her gaze going over his body once, twice. By the second time, he was as hard as stone. “Oh yes. I want you to find something out for me. See if you can’t get some justice for me.”

“Justice?”

She flowed into his arms and with a shock as sharp as a lightning bolt, he knew this wasn’t Lisa. It was her mother.

***

Already on edge, Lisa leapt about six feet when she heard the heavy thump from outside. Then she ran, straight for the doors. Since Brant and Cliff, the soundman, had to dump their equipment, she got there first. The doors opened with a shove of one hand. Confront, don’t run. She’d learned that early in life and it had always proved the right thing to do.

She saw a lone figure, slumped to the ground, crouching low. His fingertips touched the floor and he balanced on the balls of his feet. He looked up as the doors opened.

“Jesus, Michael, are you all right?”

He opened his mouth but paused when the cameraman and soundman followed her into the dimly lit space. “Slipped. There must be some wet tiles here.”

Brant laughed harshly. “Wet tiles? The pool’s drained, has been for some time.”

A long pause ensued while Michael got to his feet and dusted himself off. Brant produced a flashlight, a ghost hunter’s essential tool, and shone it around the spot where Michael had fallen. Or slipped. But she thought he’d been about to say something else before the men had followed her through. She’d ask him later. No, she corrected herself, she most certainly would not. The only thing she wanted to learn was how to block her thoughts completely. Michael had said there were others like him; he’d said “we”. It creeped her out that there might be other people reading her thoughts, intruding into her mind.

He gazed at her but then looked away, as if he knew what she was thinking. Of course he knew. She could never be alone with her thoughts again.

“Heyyyyy, will you lookit that!”

Gray tiles, ridged to avoid slipping. Wet gray tiles. “They’re coming from the pool.”

Cliff followed the line of wetness with his flashlight, back through the double doors. He pushed open the doors. “Shit.”

Inside, the surface was cement, not tiles, and when they followed Cliff through, they all saw the wet patches were, in fact, footprints. They were drying as they looked at them.

As if coming out of a dream, Brant snatched his camera up to his shoulder and switched it back on. He focused in, the lens turning as it adjusted to the close-up.

“Footprints.” Brant got some good shots of the prints. Then he panned over to the pool, where a layer of dust obscured the design on the blue tiles at the bottom. “This pool hasn’t been filled for a while. Maintenance said it needed a complete overhaul. They’re going to restore it to its original condition as part of the renovations this winter and reopen it in the spring.”

“So where did the bare wet footprints come from?” Lisa spoke clearly, doing her job.

“Even the water to the showers is shut off,” Brant said.

“Michael? Can you sense anything?”

Of all the times in all the programs she’d asked him, he’d never looked at her with such anguish in his eyes. “Yes, I can sense something. She’s here, standing next to you. The same height, the same build. Nearly the same face.”

Now she knew why. “My mother?”

“She’s not talking.” He looked to the side of her, where he’d said the ghost was standing. Shit, she wanted to run, she wanted to run so much! She could feel herself trembling.

“What’s your name?”

“Rosanna.” Did the voice sound in her head or outside? Or both? It must have been both, because the guys gasped.

Brant’s voice shook when he spoke. “Did you hear that?”

They usually had to make the most of every small noise and sound, but not here, not now. Triumph shone in Brant’s face. This would make their fortunes. He glanced at his camera, double-checking the settings, and when Cliff saw him, he visually checked his mike.

“Do you want us to help you, Rosanna?”

“You know I do.”

She must be getting better, because this time the voice was wholly in her head. This time she wanted to get in touch with Michael. She stared at him, and almost immediately felt his intrusion, gentle and apologetic.

You wanted me here?

She spoke to me.

Me, too. I won’t go any further into your mind, Lisa, I swear
.

Even now she wanted to feel him closer, deeper. Her own mind betrayed her.

Lisa, this is the way they communicate with me. Don’t be scared. Let me handle it.
He spoke aloud, in the gentle, half-hypnotic voice she’d heard him use before when he spoke to ghosts. “If you’re here, Rosanna, or any other spirit, talk to us. We’re here to listen.” He paused, and a diatribe exploded in Lisa’s head.

I want that bastard who hurt me. It hurt so bad, I couldn’t bear it and when I woke up, I couldn’t leave this damned ship. I watched them leave, all the passengers, and I couldn’t leave. I had it made, I had a deal. And then someone did this to me. What happened
?

“You d—”

Lisa didn’t know how he did it, but Michael cut off her thought. She couldn’t communicate, only listen.

“She doesn’t know what happened to her. I need to help her through this, but I don’t think I can do it tonight. She’s agitated, distressed.”

“Does she know who Lisa is?” Brant asked.

Michael flicked a glance at her, and his eyes lingered.
Wow
. The tone was completely different from the one he’d used a moment before.

She stopped herself preening but she knew she looked good, in the tight-skirted mid-fifties tailored suit, but the girdle she wore underneath in a fit of accurate-itis pinched, and the bra was pure agony. Her hair, dragged back and pinned into an Audrey Hepburn chignon, sent spikes into her skin every time she moved her head.

He swallowed. “Yes, she knows. It’s why she’s here. She died when Lisa was a baby, so she never knew her. ‘My baby is beautiful.’ I can hear her saying it.”