At the Quietest Word Page 3

  It wasn’t hard to trace Ricardo. She couldn’t feel him, their telepathy was limited to just words, but there was only one figure in the dimly lit barn with fewer than four legs. He slumped on a hay bale at the far end of the aisle.

  His funk was so deep that he didn’t notice her until she was quite close. When he did, he jolted to his feet, spun away, and walked squarely into the closed door at this end of the barn. Bouncing off, he landed hard on his ass.

  Again he scrabbled to his feet.

  :Do not (hard snarl) run away from me.:

  He froze with his back to her.

  She reached out toward his back.

  :Don’t touch me.:

  She flinched—no need to hear his shout behind the words as she could see it in his abrupt hunch.

  But she completed the gesture.

  At the moment of contact, he slumped.

  She could feel the heat of him against her hand. Beneath her fingers and his light shirt, the powerful ripples of his shoulder muscles shifted as he practically twitched beneath their simple contact. She knew that he’d been whipped, nearly to death several times, but feeling the long lines of scar tissue crossing her palm made her realize that it was the first time she’d ever touched him.

  :Please don’t.: It was barely a whisper inside her head.

  :You’re a mess, Manella.:

  :Tell me something I don’t know.: He slowly squared his shoulders until he stood up straight once more. She let her hand slip off when he took the single step away before he turned to face her.

  “I’m sorry, Michelle. I would never intentionally hurt you.”

  “Duh!”

  He managed a twisted grin for a moment, but wouldn’t quite look at her, instead studying her left ear. Ricardo only used her name rarely. And then only her last name. Her first name told her just how badly he felt—out loud no less.

  “I’m guessing I interrupted a bad memory.”

  :You were never stupid.: Even when she spoke aloud, he was far more likely to answer her silently.

  She thought a lot about Ricardo—it was hard not to, with his thoughts impinging directly on her brain—but she’d tried not to think of those first days as she’d become the conduit of his rescue.

  :Who are you?:

  :What’s happening to you?:

  :Where are you?:

  :Who do I contact to come find you?:

  The spiral of unknowns and panic had escalated through six sleepless and utterly maddening days.

  It had taken her time to batter through him begging her—if she was real—to get a message to his sister Izzy. Each time he regained consciousness, he returned to that like his sister was the only hope that still existed in his life.

  After his rescue, Michelle became incredibly sad: not just for Ricardo, but for herself. Anton cared for her like any decent semi-brother would—or real brother, for that matter. But if his world came apart, she doubted she would do more than drift through Anton’s thoughts. If that.

  Ricardo worshipped his sibling.

  Finally unraveling that his sister Izzy was Isobel Manella, who had been Michelle’s college roommate for years before she’d become famous, had had her really kicking out the jams. She’d contacted Isobel to find Ricardo’s commander and called Anton. Pure chance had Anton’s unit doing a rotation on one of the Navy’s littoral combat ships, which was just offshore Guatemala.

  Her weird telepathic connection to Ricardo had let her guide Anton’s ability to “see” remotely until his team could pinpoint the jungle base camp and take them down hard. Anton could always target “hidden” enemies with a pinpoint accuracy that had kept his crews and commanders in awe. He’d rained down hellfire on the drug lord’s camp.

  Ricardo had never really explained what had happened to him aside from being a captive of a bloody-minded bastard. It hadn’t taken a genius to know he’d been tortured.

  For nine months he’d specifically asked her to not come meet him. She would have gone anyway if Isobel hadn’t warned her off.

  “For you to see him now… Shame is very hard for a man like my brother. You saved his life and he thinks you are some kind of angel.”

  They had both laughed, but it’d had an edge to it that had more to do with not crying than anything else.

  Each time she reached out, wondering if the connection would still be there, he’d replied that he was fine. Physical therapy. And I thought PT sucked when it meant physical training. This is way worse. (Laughing.) They’d learned that, especially early on, they had to define the emotion; telepathy was worse than e-mail for communicating feelings. Now that they’d been inside each other’s head for a year, em-tags—not even little emoji pictograms passed between them down whatever this strange channel was—weren’t as necessary.

  One time she’d contacted him just as he was coming out of recovery from an operation. The drugs made him more susceptible to actually telling her what was going on.

  :Rebuilding my leg. Third time. Doc’s saying…hang on…thinks he finally saved it. New shoulder next time.: She’d called in sick to work and kept him company as he faded in and out while lying in the recovery room but learned little more about what had happened. At least she knew he was alive. Perhaps it was just as well; there were some things she didn’t want to know.

  She did learn a lot about his sister though—more than she’d learned being Isobel’s college roommate. Ricardo really did worship his twin.

  Nine long months Michelle had waited to meet him.

  In that time, she’d quit her job in retail—it was hard to care about women’s dresses after listening to the few tidbits Ricardo or Anton let slip about what had happened in the Honduran jungle.

  Instead she’d become an EMT. She’d always been a good student when she cared, and this time, she had. Three weeks for EMT-Basic. She hadn’t even noticed Intermediate going by on her way to EMT-Paramedic. For the nine months that Ricardo had kept himself sequestered, she’d worked on nothing else. It fueled her. She had some purpose at last. Double-shift ride-alongs to get her practical hours. Studying anatomy, symptoms, negative drug interactions, and more until she was ready to drop.

  She hadn’t told Ricardo, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the same thing he was doing; she didn’t want to have him discover “his angel” had been no more than a clerk in a high-end dress shop. She’d let him think that she’d always been a paramedic.

  The problem was, they had this unique method of communication that required no more than a focused thinking at one another, but they’d both fallen into the habit of barely using it.

  Now he stood with his back to the barn door as if awaiting a firing squad.

  :Goddamn it, Manella. Will you just relax?:

  He didn’t shift at all until a horse in the nearest stall stuck his head out to sniff at Ricardo’s shoulder. Finding no carrots or sugar cubes, the horse snorted loudly and Ricardo jumped.

  How far in his head did a Unit operator, even a former one, have to be to not notice a horse-sized horse? The big gray retreated and silence slid back over the long barn.

  Finally his eyes drifted to hers. :I’m so sorry that—:

  :Heard that already. Try something new.:

  He dropped down onto the hay bale. “I was back in the jungle. The moment you touched me, I thought…”

  “You thought someone had come to torture you some more.”

  Again, he inspected her carefully.

  :Of course I know that’s what happened. As someone just suggested, I’m not an idiot. Oh, wait, that was you.:

  He dug his hands through his hair. He’d let it grow long until it spilled down to his collar. Michelle idly wondered what it would feel like slipping through her fingers. It added to the dark and dangerous look he wielded like Captain America’s shield to keep everyone at a distance.

  Without even noticing, she’d let it distance her as well.

  It was the one thing Ricardo had never wanted Michelle Bowman to know about him.
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  His weakness.

  Pathetic man that he was, he’d shattered there in the jungle. Would have told them anything. Tried to tell them everything.

  But they hadn’t cared. All they wanted was his pain.

  His body finally worked again, mostly. He’d tackled physical therapy with the same focus a Unit operator brought to every challenge. His minimum day now was three hours of workout and a 5K run. The pain was…manageable. The mental shit? He’d thought he’d had that blocked.

  :I can’t…trust myself.:

  :That’s okay, I trust you.:

  :Just proved that shit wrong.:

  :No.: Michelle leaned back against the horse stall. When the horse stuck its head back out, she reached out to scrub at the animal’s cheek. The horse sighed happily and leaned into it. :You proved it right.:

  :Bullshit.:

  :Horseshit would be more appropriate to the setting.: Michelle petted the horse’s nose, then sat down next to Ricardo on the hay bale.

  He tried to scoot farther away, but he was already at the end and couldn’t quite bring himself to running away again.

  :I can prove it.:

  :How?:

  :With the way you’re trained, how hard would it be for you to break my arm or even kill me?:

  He could only stare at her in disbelief.

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. But you didn’t.”

  :Nearly did.:

  “It’s like being pregnant. You either are or aren’t. You either did or didn’t, and…wait for it, suspense moment…you didn’t.”

  Ricardo propped his elbows on his knees and studied his interlaced fingers. He’d cut off his hand before he’d hurt her. The only reason the torturers hadn’t already done that was they knew they could cause more pain if his hand remained attached.

  His hands ached, as they hadn’t in a long time. He’d done enough PT that they were as near normal as they’d ever be. But this time the ache was different.

  All he could feel was how thin and fine Michelle’s wrist had been in his grasp. How just the slightest bit more pressure would snap it. With the right twist, shattered bones would have sliced veins before punching through skin; she’d be bleeding out right now.

  His hands had almost done that.

  He’d almost done that.

  Should have left me to rot in the jungle. That was one thing he knew for truth.

  Michelle’s hand touching his shoulder was like warm ice. It soothed everything in its path and it chilled him to the soul. She was everything he wasn’t.

  He’d never been able to quite erase the angel image from his mind. In his delirium, he’d seriously considered the possibility that’s what she was. Knowing she was a mortal woman, whom Isobel had occasionally mentioned in letters, was all that had separated her from supernatural manifestation.

  He was a man destroyed in so many ways.

  “Ricardo.”

  How was he supposed to ever live up to her standard? She’d saved his life.

  All he’d done was leave everything he’d ever been in the jungle.

  :Ricardo!:

  :What?:

  Michelle blew out an exasperated breath. :It’s time for…:

  Ricardo waited, half fearing she’d tell him to go to hell. He’d already been there. As Michelle’s hesitation stretched out, he was unable to move, to think, to even turn and see what he might be able to read from her face.

  “It’s time for dinner,” she said quickly, rising to her feet and taking a few steps along the horse stalls.

  Like he could eat at the moment.

  :She said for you to be there or she’d kick my ass. Again.:

  :Again?:

  Michelle rubbed her hand on her backside as if Isobel really had kicked her.

  He couldn’t imagine anything that would make Isobel kick her best friend.

  :Now, Manella. (Stern command.) Let’s go. Get your shit together.:

  Not likely. But he didn’t send that thought. He knew that was never going to happen.

  Chapter 3

  “You’re telling me this is just a coincidence?” Michelle studied Emily Beale and Michael Gibson, who sat at the head of the table. “That Isobel just happens to be filming on your ranch and is on our Shadow Force?”

  “Yes,” Emily said it simply with no hint of another agenda as she passed the bowl of baked potatoes around the big kitchen table.

  The room was a mash-up of a massive commercial kitchen, a table that could seat more than a dozen ranch hands at a meal, and a cozy seating area of couches and chairs around a big river-stone fireplace—unlit at the moment, but clearly well used. Everyone else from the ranch was apparently out at a big bonfire with the film crew.

  The chef had left them huge platters of mushroom-stuffed pork chops, tomato-spinach quiche, and crusty bread still warm from the oven before going off to oversee the campfire cooking.

  At the big table there were just Emily, Michael, and the six members of Shadow Force: Psi.

  Michelle thought their new name was pretty cool, but a glance at the sullen Ricardo and she wondered how much longer the team would hold together.

  Emily took her time chewing a slice of pork chop before she continued. “Our ranch has been looking for various ways to expand our income opportunities. Weddings, helicopter tours, cooking retreats with our master chef,” she waved a hand at the spread before them and no one looked surprised. “Films were a logical next step considering the beauty of this ranch. A location scout tipped us that Isobel Manella was to star in the first big-budget Old West romance in years and we bid on the contract. I knew nothing of Ms. Manella’s or your team’s other skills.”

  “Then who—” Michelle cut herself off as Ricardo and Isobel, who were sitting across from her, both glanced at Michael Gibson.

  He acknowledged their attention with the slightest tip of his head, but didn’t speak.

  Maybe Ricardo had taken lessons in “not speaking” from his former commander. Actually, now that she thought about it, Michelle rarely heard a peep from Hannah, the team’s newest member, either. She too had been a Delta Force operator. Three Deltas. Including Emily, there were three Army helicopter pilots. Then Isobel…and her.

  :Talk about being totally outclassed.:

  :You (query)? Not. A. Chance.: Ricardo’s thoughts sounded very emphatic.

  :Look around this table.:

  He actually did look around at Hannah and her cowboy fiancé, her own semi-brother Anton, even his own amazing sister Isobel, before focusing back on her. :Not even a little, Michelle.:

  Again, her first name. It was impossible to doubt him when he did that, even if he was completely wro—

  :I’m not just being nice—was never good at that. You shine.: Then he looked down abruptly, as if suddenly fascinated by his plate.

  Michelle waited, but there were no other words, not even the spillover thoughts he believed were reserved for himself. If anyone else around the table had noticed their exchange, they were showing no signs of it.

  She waited for her own reaction, but it was so slow in coming. Ricardo treated her like some crazy mix of angel, his twin’s best friend, teammate, and toxic plague. He avoided her at every chance, but was it because of some crazy pedestal he had her up on? That fit way better than the other emotions she’d tried to fit on him: disdain, dislike, anger?

  “Another aspect of Henderson’s Ranch,” Emily was telling the others, “is that we provide a certain type of security consulting to our government. The full knowledge of that operation is limited to three people. My assistant Lauren and I oversee that. Colonel Gibson wishes to create an action arm under that umbrella.”

  “Us,” Ricardo said softly. “And why would you want us? We don’t even know what we are yet.”

  “No one does,” Gibson spoke for the first time. “You’re the unknown in so many ways. I had never heard of anyone having such capabilities until Ms. Manella called to inform me of your call for help. Before I could respond, Anton Bowman
was airborne with a strike force that should have been insufficient to penetrate the jungle. It was only as I was researching his record that I realized he, too, must have some uncanny ability.”

  “Seeing,” Anton grumbled out.

  “Seeing?” Gibson still didn’t understand what her semi-brother could do.

  “I can see shit that’s hidden. Like I’m walking a path with my eyes, but none of the rest of me is there. Can’t hear or feel, but I can usually see just fine once I get a little guidance.”

  “Remote viewing,” Emily said, as if such things were absolutely normal.

  Gibson actually blinked in surprise. “What else don’t I know about you five?”

  “Six,” Michelle didn’t like being left out. Even if she wasn’t special in any way like the other five, she counted too.

  Gibson just scowled at her.

  “I will not be dismissed out of hand. I’m—”

  “Michelle,” Isobel cut her off, “has never appreciated her own skills, or the fact that others can appreciate them. Your confusion is very apparent, Colonel Gibson; as apparent as Ms. Emily Beale’s carefully masked perplexity—as if she’s heard of remote viewing before. And no, Michelle, my brother Ricardo’s absolute trust of you is not misplaced in my opinion either.”

  Michelle felt as if she’d just been kicked again. But not by Isobel’s foot this time. No, the kick was somewhere in her head. :You trust me absolutely (query / astonishment)?: Then she added, :(Total disbelief).:

  Ricardo’s answering dark gaze required no words and left her helpless to respond.

  “Don’t you sometimes wish you could hear what they’re saying to each other, Colonel?” Isobel continued complacently. “I can sense Michelle’s deep skepticism and my brother’s equally absolute certitude and yet I don’t know what they are saying to each other. I only perceive the feelings they are saying it with.”

  “We,” Ricardo finally looked away from her to face Gibson, but it didn’t seem to release Michelle from her paralysis, “are not what makes this a team, Colonel. My sister Isobel is the essential sixth member. You need to integrate her empathy into your considerations. Also, that she is by far the smartest person at this table. No offense.”