At the Clearest Sensation Read online

  “May not have a choice. He’s coming hard.” Devlin tried to see the driver, but they’d descended into the leading edge of the tunnel and all he saw were the strobed reflections of the overhead lights bouncing off the windshield.

  The roar of the Hummer’s engine quickly overwhelmed the heavy thud that the ’57 Chevy was leaving in its wake.

  “He’s not changing lanes. Sorry, Katie, just try to keep it smooth.” Then Hannah shifted over to the left lane.

  The Hummer followed them.

  “Okay, that’s not a good sign.” There’d been no reason for the Hummer to have followed them.

  Devlin glanced ahead. Isobel was still cruising along in her lane. They were deep in the tunnel now. Rare for Seattle and its traffic issues, the steady flow of cars was well-spaced and cruising at highway speeds. There’d been no reason for the Hummer to have followed them.

  It felt surreal, like being under full sail just before a storm crashed down and shredded your sails because you’d left them up too long.

  Hannah switched back, and so did the Hummer.

  He started calling out distances, “Five car lengths, four, three—do some of that amazing driver shit, Hannah—two—”

  At one, she jolted into the other lane and slammed on the brakes.

  Devlin was nearly gutted by the seatbelt as the Jeep tried to stand on its nose.

  The Hummer blew by just inches away, swerving at them but missing.

  “Do you think he doesn’t like Jeeps?” Ricardo offered one of his rare dry comments.

  “It’s him.” Devlin had seen his face. The Hummer had a new car sticker still on the rear window.

  “Him who?”

  “Warn Isobel,” the Hummer was already accelerating toward her in the Chevy. “It’s the guy from the tunnel. This tunnel. He’s been waiting for her. Warn her!” He shouted the last at Ricardo.

  Who did nothing except gaze into the distance.

  “Why aren’t you warning her?” Devlin grabbed Ricardo’s arm and shook him.

  Ricardo reached over casually, pinched some nerve on Devlin’s arm that hurt like fucking wildfire. He casually released it, and Devlin snatched his arm back.

  “I already did warn her. Through Michelle.”

  Devlin had to shake himself. It was one thing knowing about it. It was another thing watching telepathy in action. If he—

  Isobel was accelerating hard, but the Hummer was a massively overpowered vehicle, and sixty years’ of technology newer.

  It leapt after her.

  Hannah was chasing in the Jeep, but there was no chance of overtaking the Hummer in time. Or of Isobel pulling ahead.

  “Where’s the bottle?” Ricardo asked in that deadpan tone of his.

  It steadied Devlin’s nerves just enough for him to think.

  The bottle?

  Why was Ricardo asking—

  He wasn’t!

  Michelle was.

  For Isobel.

  The bottle of nitrous oxide. Boost juice! The drag racer’s best friend.

  “Under the seat, valve by her right foot. The arming switch is under the dash above her right knee. Then put her foot down—hard!” Devlin was having trouble breathing.

  The Hummer was almost in striking range, and it wasn’t slowing down.

  “Three, two…” Hannah was counting.

  On one, just moments before the Hummer slammed into the Chevy’s tailfins, the old 150 leapt.

  It jumped from two hundred and seventy horsepower to three-seventy between one heartbeat and the next. He could only pray that his rebuild on the small block V8 held.

  The Hummer gunned its engine, but Isobel was just plain gone.

  By the time the Jeep reached the end of the tunnel, neither vehicle was in sight.

  Ricardo’s radio squawked as Anton called down from the helo.

  “The Hummer went down to the surface streets. Isobel just plain flew out of the end of that tunnel. Damn but that woman can drive.”

  Devlin looked at the congested highway ahead and figured not only could she really drive—even on a bar bet he wouldn’t have tried slaloming through that mess at speed—but she must have nerves of steel.

  Chapter 15

  “Look at this footage!”

  Isobel would rather be huddled in the corner of a shower and hiding from the world.

  They were back on the houseboat, streaming the three synchronized video feeds of Michelle in the Chevy, Katie in the Jeep, and the helo up above.

  The opening sequence and the descent down the hill had come out exceptionally well.

  Then the Chevy and Jeep reached the tunnel entrance, and the yellow Hummer showed up like a blot of darkness on the screen. Isobel closed her eyes and it was all she could do to not be sick right on the coffee table.

  “He’s trained,” Hannah remarked softly as the Hummer did its four-wheel drift onto the highway at the beginning of the chase, the last image captured by the helo before all three vehicles disappeared into the tunnel.

  Isobel forced herself to look up at the big screen.

  “Run it again.”

  While Ricardo worked the controls, Devlin slid an arm around her shoulders. “You were amazing.”

  “I was scared shitless,” she nodded toward the screen. “Next you’re going to tell me how sexy that is.”

  “The way you drive, oh yeah.”

  Isobel tried to ignore him, but that arm around her shoulders was all that was keeping the panic-shivers away.

  Ricardo hit play and she watched the car handling.

  “No,” Isobel had them run it a third time despite the churning in her gut. “No. It’s none of the Hollywood trainers; the technique isn’t one I’ve seen. I’ve watched or worked with all the main ones.”

  They kept watching in silence.

  Katie had managed to pan the camera around to capture the Hummer on its first attack on the Jeep.

  “Delta?” Ricardo asked.

  “SEAL,” Hannah corrected him. “See how he handles the moment when I hit the Jeep’s brakes? A Delta would have been expecting that move, compensated, and clipped us. They would have had the same training I did.”

  “What would have happened if he had?” Katie had wrapped a blanket around her shoulders despite the warm evening and Anton practically pulling her into his lap.

  Isobel had seen it on a couple of films, but it was Devlin who answered.

  “We were going close to eighty at that point. Even with Hannah driving, it wouldn’t have been recoverable. A twist and stumble, then a kitty-corner end over end. Even with the roll bars, no survivors.”

  Hannah looked thoughtful, then nodded at his assessment.

  In silence, they watched through the end of Isobel’s race out the far end of the tunnel with the nitrous still burning hot in the engine. The helo’s camera had followed the racing Chevy, not the Hummer peeling off on the first exit ramp.

  “Who the hell was that guy?” Devlin asked in the silence that followed. “And what does he have against actresses?”

  Ricardo tapped on the laptop computer. “I took the images Katie captured of him and sent them in. If there’s an answer, he’ll find it.”

  “In? To where?”

  When no one else responded, Isobel answered him, “To Michael, our commanding officer.”

  She could see in Devlin’s eyes that he was pulling back. Shifting away. And that was far more painful than she’d expected.

  “Commanding officer?” He barely whispered it.

  “We’re independent contractors to a very special team inside the US government.”

  “You’re a military team? What is the actress-thing, just a front? A front for psychics, telepaths, and whatever? Or is that all a lie too?”

  His reaction, now that it had kicked in—after they’d become lovers—was the last thing too many, and it tipped her over the edge.

  She managed to make it up the stairs and into the bathroom. She managed to lock the door this time, before she
simply collapsed onto the tile floor and wept.

  “You are so not just going to sit there!” Michelle got right up in his face.

  “Back off, Red.” Devlin didn’t know what the hell was going on, but whatever it was sucked.

  “You can’t just let her walk away like that. You just gutted her.”

  He’d gutted her? He wasn’t the one spewing lies here.

  “The hell I can’t.” Even though he suspected she was right in principle, he didn’t need to take on these people’s garbage. Some weirdo, psychic, or psychotic filmmakers with delusions of military grandeur. He’d run his life just fine not wallowing in someone else’s shit.

  Her fist connected with his jaw, hard enough to snap his head aside. He wasn’t in the mood to compliment her on her technique. The fact that it appeared to hurt her hand even more than his jaw was a bonus, but not enough.

  He put his hand over her face and gave a hard shove.

  She flew backward over the coffee table and landed on her back in the middle of the living room. In half a second, she’d scrambled to her feet and crouched ready to charge him.

  Anton caught her in mid-leap. Even his six-five and built like a tank was barely sufficient to stop Michelle’s rage.

  “You may want to be walking your ass out of here right about now, brother. Count-a three I’m gonna unleash her.”

  “Jesus!” Devlin pushed to his feet and was out the door in two and a half.

  A moment later there was a loud smash as something hit the back of the door. Michelle’s scream of “Bastard” did not sit well.

  Devlin ground to a stop eight steps down the dock. He didn’t even make it ten goddamn steps.

  He was used to screaming actresses calling him a bastard. They’d crawl into his bed, then expect him to be upset when they walked away. Why the hell should he care? They’d each had their fun. Always seemed to piss them off though.

  Except he turned and looked back at the houseboat. Not at the first story, but the second.

  Isobel Manella had been more than fun. She’d been incredible. From the moment she’d stepped onto his sailboat, she’d been absolutely fantastic. Temperamental at times, but even then, fantastic.

  US military. Why had that thrown him?

  It shouldn’t have been such a goddamn big surprise. Two ex-Delta Force, who maybe weren’t so ex. Two helo pilots with their own personal Black Hawk helicopter. Who had that?

  Except Katie was clearly a civilian, just by her going sheet white when he talked about how their Jeep could have flipped. She was in way over her head. And Michelle—he rubbed his sore jaw—for all her fighting spirit, hadn’t looked much happier. Paramedic. Not corpsman. Not military medic. Just a standard paramedic.

  And Isobel.

  Sure she was amazing, but she was still a goddamn civilian.

  He thought about his friends from the streets. The Burned Puppies, the Fry Boys, churned out by the US wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Their brains misfiring so badly they could barely function, never mind hold down a job.

  But even the worst of them, suffering from TBI and PTSD so deep they’d never get clear of it in a thousand years, had a code. Part of that code was you don’t risk civilians.

  And some military commander was sending a woman like Isobel into harm’s way? He wanted no part of that fucked-up shit.

  But even if he couldn’t sense her, he could imagine Isobel’s pain.

  “Shit!”

  He walked back down the dock, jumped up onto the rail, and climbed to the second floor.

  Chapter 16

  The bathroom door handle rattled.

  “Go away!” Isobel screamed at it before curling back up on the floor.

  There was a click, and Devlin opened it easy as could be.

  “You know, these things just have a little pin lock to release them.” He shut the door behind him and locked it again.

  She kicked at his ankle with her shoe and missed. Instead her shoe flicked off and skittered under the sink.

  He slid down to sit with his back at the door.

  The ornate tile was cool enough against her butt to send a shiver up her spine. That had to be the cause, because no way was it about him seeing Isobel Manella wrecked there on the floor as if she was a real-life, devastated woman. She never let anyone see her when she was like this, not even Michelle.

  “I thought you were gone.” Her throat was beyond hoarse. She hadn’t wept like that in—since she’d found out Ricardo was going to live after his rescue from torture. But that had been a release. This had been agony.

  “Yeah, me too. Guess not.”

  “Why?” God, she sounded like a frog.

  He inspected the ceiling. “Good question. Haven’t got a great answer on that one.”

  “Make something up.” After all, that’s what men always did.

  “Maybe I just want to have sex with you again.”

  “Fat chance in hell.”

  He rapped his knuckles on the floor. “Yeah, the tile is kind of hard. Plenty of room in the shower though.”

  “Dream on.”

  “Okay. Don’t mind if I do,” he actually whistled for a moment as if he was doing just that. “You got me in a weird place, Belle.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I thought it meant something.”

  This time he hummed a real tune between his teeth.

  It took her a moment to recognize the Beatles tune, “Michelle” – ma belle. “Two timer.”

  “Yeah, totally the wrong woman.” He rubbed his jaw as if it hurt. “You got me between a rock and a hard place here. I gave up on caring about women long ago, or at least any particular one of you loons. But then I renamed my boat after you and—”

  “Ha! I knew that wasn’t her name.”

  “It’s painted right across her stern.” He must have spotted her total disbelief. “Stayed up all that first night to sand off her old name and paint it new. Even registered the name change.”

  “You do that for all the women you want to sleep with?”

  “Hell no,” and he said it so derisively that she actually believed him. “They say it’s bad luck to change a boat’s name.”

  “Is it?”

  “Jury’s still out. I dunno,” he shrugged. “It just felt right. I don’t have any of your superpowers, but I tend to trust my gut instinct. It just…felt right.”

  Isobel tried not to be charmed, but wasn’t having much luck with it. She forced herself up and leaned her back against the tub.

  “You’re a real mess, you know that, right?”

  She rubbed at her eyes. “I was crying.” More like weeping her guts out.

  “Shit, Belle. Not talking about that. You could put on a James Cagney mask and you’d still be the most gorgeous person in any room.”

  “I’m not some lame female who’s just going to melt over a compliment.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Not what I was saying anyway. It’s just a truth. Just like you being a mess.”

  Isobel sighed and rested her forehead on her knees. Maybe if she just ignored him, he’d go away.

  “You’ve always been The Strong One since the day you were born, haven’t you?”

  Against her better judgment, she looked up at him.

  Goddamn but the woman had dangerous eyes. So dark and deep a man could get seriously lost in there.

  What the hell had he been saying? Something, anything, so that he didn’t just sweep her into his arms and try to find some way to make it “all better.” A ploy that he’d bet would earn him far worse than a sore jaw.

  “You’ve got your six friends pulling at you every which way. The military fuckers breathing down your neck without giving you any of the proper training that you need. Your best friend who wants to treat you like an emotional invalid. Your friend Jennie has thrown your entire career path into question so now you’re bankrolling a filmmaking dream you don’t even know if you want. Then the
re’s that pain-in-the-ass-sailor temporary-bed-partner who knows he has more issues than Methuselah had kids but never gave a shit about them before. And now some guy with a hard-on to end you permanently. How messed up is that?”

  She watched him in silence for a long time.

  He could see the thoughts crossing that expressive face. As if he’d just given her a checklist and she was going through them one by one and putting herself back together a little more with each one.

  “Name one issue,” she finally asked.

  “Me?” He waved his hands helplessly in the air. “Just one?”

  She waited.

  “I dunno. Trust, for one.”

  “And who was the last person you trusted?”

  Sure hadn’t been some bimbette actress. He had buddies and pals…but real friends? The kind you could count on like Isobel counted on hers? Not a chance any social worker or any of his foster parents. Some of the guys he used to hang with? No, you didn’t trust them, cause when they lost it, they were trained to be lethal.

  The last person he’d trusted?

  Maybe the first one.

  “Belle.”

  “What?”

  He shrugged to indicate that was his answer.

  She put her head back down on her knees. “You idiot. Couldn’t you pick someone better than that?”

  Actually, no, he didn’t think he could.

  Chapter 17

  At the soft knock on the bathroom door, Devlin looked up as if he could see who it was through the wood.

  “My brother,” Isobel offered. Michelle would have just gone for the knob, then tried to kick it in when she discovered the door was locked.

  At Isobel’s wave, Devlin tripped the lock and shuffled aside far enough for Ricardo to slip in and join them. He simply nodded at Devlin, acknowledgement without surprise. Not much got past him. He silently closed the toilet and sat down. After a glance at her face, he dampened a washcloth in the nearby sink and tossed it to her.