Echo 8 (20 page)

—Charlotte Brontë,
Jane Eyre

C
URIOUS EYES
followed them as they made their way down the car deck.

Tess returned their interest as she passed, surprised to find they in no way resembled any street people she'd seen. Their clothes were clean and in good condition. None of them looked sick or underfed. There was no smell of stale spaces or unwashed bodies, and unlike the deck below, this part of the boat was clean and free of clutter.

She kept alert for a sympathetic face, but their gazes quickly dropped away. The whole thing was eerily reminiscent of something from
Watership Down
, a book she'd had to read in college. Were the Echoes keeping these people healthy and happy so they could feed on them? It was inspired, she had to admit. No one kept tabs on the homeless. If some of them disappeared into the bowels of the ship, who would notice? Only the others who risked the same fate for a dry bed and full belly.

At the opposite end of the car deck they climbed another set of stairs—wider and less steep this time, embellished with art deco flourishes. They led to a spacious seating area on the next level, with larger windows and rows of benches running the length of the boat. More people gathered here, playing cards or chess and talking quietly. Though many of the benches were soiled or ripped open, this level too was free of clutter and dust.

As Maggie led her to a third flight of stairs, Tess stumbled and fell to the deck. She hauled herself up by the railing, wheezing and coughing. Maggie stood a silent sentry while Tess rested and recovered. Was there a scrap of pity in the woman? Tess glared at her.

“Not there yet, honey, keep going.”

Tess stared down at her foot, willing it to move to the next stair.

“I'll take it from here, Maggie.”

Tess glanced up to find Mac standing at the top of the stairs. She thought about how she'd walked and talked with Ross on the stairs at Seattle Psi. Mac was even dressed like Ross—like
civilian
Ross. Faded jeans and T-shirt, but instead of the basketball sneakers he wore motorcycle boots. Mac was the same height, roughly the same weight, though the muscles in Mac's arms had more of a bulge, like he spent more time at the gym. His hair was a bit longer, and stubble darkened his chin.

Maggie hesitated, eyeing her boss. Tess realized that Maggie was probably as concerned about what had happened belowdecks as she was. Who was this man?

“Are we going to have a problem?” Mac asked sharply.

Maggie frowned. “Nah.”

“That's good, because I need you to go down and make sure the others understand that nothing has changed. Make sure they're keeping an eye on our new friend, and make sure lunch crew is covered. Business as usual, got it?”

Maggie's shoulders hunched, and she turned and started down the stairs. “Okay, boss.”

Mac descended quickly, and Tess braced herself as he reached for her. But when he lifted her in his arms, there was no pain. Only an uncomfortable tingling sensation, like a sleeping foot.

“Ross?” she breathed. Her hand curled around his neck as she looked into his eyes.

His lips curved into a smirk. “Interesting.”

Her heart dropped all the way back down to the engine room. She let her head fall to his shoulder so she could master her tears unobserved.

Don't give up. He may still be in there
.

They emerged into a more upscale seating area, with individual chairs arranged in a half circle around the front windows. The damn thing was like a floating hotel. She noted that
here
was where the food was kept. Maggie had apparently set a trap for them.

Mac wound around to a final set of stairs that took them up to the bridge. This space had been converted to sleeping quarters. She noticed a series of doors open to the deck outside, which pointed out the fact that there had once also been a series of walls dividing the space. At the end of the room was a gleaming copper wheel. A stick of incense burned on the instrument panel, filling the space with the aroma of sandalwood.

The room's only furnishings were a bed—just a mattress on the floor—and a leather chair and ottoman with a small side table. Mac set her down in the chair and crossed to the bed, where he lifted a cutting board laden with cheese, bread, and fruit. He placed the board on the table. Then he closed and bolted the door at the top of the stairs and sat down on the ottoman.

“No one will bother us now.”

She shivered.

“I know you're hungry.” He gestured to the cutting board.

“Is this how you fatten up the lambs?” Exhaustion had scrubbed the wry edge from her voice.

“You don't want it?” He reached for the board, but she grasped the edge of it with her fingers.

“Smart girl.”

She'd moved past hungry to nauseous, but she knew she had to eat to keep her brain working. She nibbled a few bites of bread and cheese, and soon her appetite returned. Mac lifted a carafe from under the table and poured two glasses of water.

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

“I want to know what you make of what happened down there.”

“How about you let me talk to Ross, and I'll tell you my theory.”

Mac moved suddenly closer, caging her in the chair by gripping the armrests. Emergency sirens whined in her head.

“Answer my question, or I'll go looking for answers myself.”

Tess rubbed her lips together and said carefully, “You sure you can still do that?”

He smiled. “I have no problem with putting my hands on you again to find out.”

She swallowed and set down her water glass with trembling fingers. “It would help me if you'd answer a few questions first.”

She held her breath while his eyes moved over her face. Finally he said, “Go ahead.”

“Can you tell me what it felt like?”

Mac sat up, releasing the chair and crossing his arms. “I felt invaded.”

She arched an eyebrow at the irony. “How do you mean?”

“He's nothing like me. He's rigid and obedient. A prisoner to his job.”

Keep him talking.
She needed to gather information without making him suspicious, but her heart pounded so loudly it threatened to give her away. “So you've seen all of him? His thoughts and feelings. His memories.”

Mac grunted. “He shut me out fast, like you tried to do. Limped off wounded and hid himself in some hole I haven't been able to uncover.
Yet
. I actually learned more about him from your mind than his.”

Not gone!
The thought thrilled through her, and she struggled to keep her expression from betraying the surge of hope.

“Do you feel him inside you? Does he communicate with you?”

“Oh, he's there. I can feel him …
watching
.”

She almost sobbed with relief. Could she help him fight Mac?

She needed time to think, and for that she needed to keep him talking. Glancing down, she saw the fingers of one hand rubbing at his biceps. There was a tattoo there—a dragon, with a long tail that coiled around his arm.

“What were you on your Earth? Not FBI, I take it?”

Mac snorted and swallowed the rest of his water. “I was a meth dealer, Doctor. High-end. I lived in a penthouse with a view of the Sound. I had a collection of vintage bikes, a rockstar girlfriend with a million-dollar habit, and enough guns to arm a militia.
No one
fucked with me. How's that for irony?” He laughed. “Speaking of irony, you know your boyfriend's little brother is a meth addict? It's good to be an only child. Poor Ross … I'm his worst fucking nightmare.”

Anger surged, and her mouth skipped out ahead of her brain. “You've certainly come up in the world. Captain of a rusty, floating graveyard.”

A smile twisted his lips. “All of the people I knew are dead. I'm not. That makes me a survivor.”

“That makes you a parasite. Just like you were on your Earth.”

Mac lifted an eyebrow. “And your faithful companion down below is different
how
?”

“Jake? He hates what he has to do to survive here. You've made it your new career.”

Mac laughed. “I get you, Doctor. You like the men in your life to have a healthy measure of self-loathing. No one could keep up with
you
in that department.”

“I like myself fine,” she replied, holding his gaze.

“I've been in your head.”

“Funny how the people who really
should
loathe themselves never do.”

“Careful,” growled Mac, leaning close again. “I put up with a lot from a sexy woman, but you can cross a line with me. Now, I've answered your questions. It's time for you to answer mine.”

Pressing back against the chair, she told him what she'd told Jake—that she thought he and Ross were so closely entangled they couldn't exist separately in the same space.

“So you think this is permanent,” he said.

“I think once you grabbed him it was inevitable. But you existed separately before he came here. I think it's possible you could again. I might be able to help you.”

She shuddered as a slow smile spread over his face. “Why would I want to do that? I'm not tied to this shipwreck anymore. I can start my life over.” He reached up and dragged a fingertip from her cheek to her chin. “I feel human again in all the most important ways.”

Tess sat up slowly, holding his gaze as she reached a hand behind his neck and pulled him closer. His lips curled again into a grin, and she closed her eyes and thought about Ross.

The kiss was hard and hot, and when it finished she murmured against his lips, “Let me talk to him.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“Let me talk to him,” she repeated, threading her fingers into his hair, “and I'll do anything you want.” Until the last word she managed to keep her voice steady.

His arm curled around her waist as he murmured, “Have you fooled yourself into thinking you have a choice?”

Her heart pounded, her breaths coming in little gasps. How closely fear mimicked passion in the body.

She felt the same tingling she had on the stairs—she was still transferring energy, but the stream was very weak.

His lips came down on hers, but this time she pulled away. “Do what I asked, or I'll fight you.”

His hand came to the back of her neck, closing like a vise. “You really
have
got yourself fooled. But I tell you what, Doctor. You go on and look for Special Agent McGinnis. I won't stop you.”

She let Mac take her lips, and he immediately opened his mouth, devouring her, groaning into her throat. She dug her fingers into his hair, letting him take over as her mind went searching.

Ross, where are you?

Yes, come out, Ross. Come and see what I've got.

She shuddered at the sound of Mac's voice in her head, and it struck her that he was using her too, trying to force Ross into the open. What would happen if Ross surfaced? Would Mac absorb him completely? Or could Ross break away?

Ross was strong enough to fight. She just had to give him a reason.

Levering herself up from the chair, she broke the kiss. She walked to the bed and Mac followed, pushing her back and covering her body with his.

*   *   *

Jake listened to his guards argue about what would happen if they fired one of the pistols they were waving around like idiots. Would the bullet punch a hole in the boat? Would it ricochet? How many times?

Jake shut them out and focused on his hand.

He always cut the energy transfers off before he was sated. He hated seeing how they drained her. Hated the dark depressions under her eyes, and watching her stumble as she walked. Besides that it hurt his heart—and parts farther south—being so close to her and not being able to touch her.

He still hadn't recovered from the long, hungry stretch the night before. The transfers since then had been brief. Was he starting to be able to see through his hand? How much was enough? he wondered, eyeing the idiots with the guns.

Listening now to their ridiculous argument, he realized it might be enough for them to
believe
the bullet would pass through him.

“Hey, dumbass!” he called, rising to his feet.

*   *   *

Mac made a hungry sound as his lips pressed against her throat. His hand slid down and began fumbling with her skirt.

Tess, stop this! Now!

Ross!

His voice came urgently, an angry echo across her consciousness.

Hurt him, Tess. Make him STOP.

I need you, Ross.

As Mac spread her legs with his knees, she sank back into the memory of Ross in her bed. Mac reached down between their bodies, pulling at his own clothing.

“Ross,” she murmured, blocking out the sound of silky laughter in her ear.

He pushed into her with a groan that slowly built in his throat to a shout. His eyes snapped open and bored into hers. Two tears slid down his face in quick succession.

His head sank against her neck. “I don't know how long I can fight him,” he rasped. “You have to get out of here.”

“Ross!” cried Tess, relief cresting like a tidal wave. He tried pulling out of her, but she held his face in her hands. “I'm not leaving without you. We'll fight him together.”

He drew in a breath, shuddering like it hurt. “He's strong, Tess.”

“He had the advantage of surprise before. But we know him now.
I
know him, and I know you're stronger.”

Ross pushed his hands against hers, threading their fingers together as their gazes locked. “I won't let him touch you again.”

Her mother once said the same thing.
Mac's voice sliced between them and ricocheted around in her brain.
Then she died and left her with him.