Relentless (28 page)

Grant watched as she stopped to collect herself, pools forming beneath her eyes.

He wondered just how close these two were.

‘‘So I’m telling you
right now
,’’ Lisa said, a fierceness appearing behind her vulnerability. ‘‘If I find out that you weren’t worth what he’s done for you . . . I will make you live to regret it.’’

Grant blinked, thumbing his ring nervously from underneath. ‘‘Um, yeah . . . You got it.’’

Julie appeared from her bedroom, ignored the visitors and turned straight to Grant.

‘‘What did you do now? And why did you steal an ambulance?’’ she asked, sleepy.

‘‘How do you know about that?’’ he asked.

‘‘It’s all over the news. Or rather, you are. They’ve got police sketches of you and everything that they’re showing on television. Saying you were involved in another kidnapping—after
my
abduction— this time of a local research scientist.’’ She saw Daniel for the first time on his gurney near the window and stopped for a long second. ‘‘Okay,’’ she said, testy, ‘‘explanation.
Now
.’’

‘‘Well—’’ Grant replied but Lisa interrupted.

‘‘I tried to get him to take a rest, recover his strength, but he’s determined to talk to you. So come on.’’

Grant and Julie followed Lisa back into the living room. Daniel’s head was turned to the window and the shimmering sea of lights that filled the dark as sure as stars filled the sky. He appeared lost in thought at the sight of it all.

As if sensing Grant approach, he let out a shuddering breath.

‘‘I have a question,’’ Daniel said, wringing his hands together again and again, turning his eyes to Grant. ‘‘If your entire identity is stripped away from you . . . what remains? What’s still there? Who
are
you, really?’’

Julie hung back toward the couch, but Grant stood in place. ‘‘So you know, then,’’ he said.

‘‘I suspected.’’

Grant sat on the arm of the couch where Daniel could see him.

‘‘Forgive me,’’ Daniel tentatively began. ‘‘This is Lisa. My assistant.

Do you prefer Grant or Collin?’’ ‘‘Grant. My sister, Julie.’’

‘‘Of course,’’ Daniel nodded nervously. ‘‘Please call me Daniel.’’

Lisa retrieved a clear bag of fluid from a handful of supplies she’d brought from the ambulance—Hannah was due back in an hour or so with more—and hung it from a metallic rod sticking out of the top of Daniel’s wheelchair. She plugged the line from the saline I.V. bag into the matching line still sticking out of his forearm.

Daniel nodded a quick thanks to her and then turned his attention back to Grant. Lisa walked to the countertop that separated the kitchen from the living room and leaned back against it. She merely stood there, watching and listening.

‘‘I don’t know how to answer your question,’’ Grant said, standing and approaching the gurney. ‘‘I’m still trying to figure that out. A few weeks ago, everything was normal. Now, I have a different name, a different face, and a different life. And I can do things that no one should be able to do . . .’’

‘‘Yes, I know,’’ Daniel’s eyes danced with a twitchy energy that was disproportionate to his damaged body. ‘‘And to have come so far in only a handful of days . . .’’ he echoed thoughtfully. ‘‘I, on the other hand, have been waiting for this moment for
much
longer than two weeks.’’

Daniel swallowed and groaned as he shifted on his makeshift bed. ‘‘I have so much I need to tell you, and I hope you’ll allow me a bit of patience as I sort all this out. As you can see, it hasn’t been an easy road getting here.’’

‘‘What’s happened to you?’’ asked Grant, unable to hold the question back any longer. ‘‘And why were you in danger at the hospital?’’

‘‘I had a run-in with a detective named Drexel.’’

‘‘We’ve met,’’ Grant grimaced. ‘‘
He
did this to you? Why?’’

Daniel averted his eyes and dabbed at his forehead again. ‘‘I think he was growing desperate. Drexel’s one aim of late seems to have been to track you down,’’ he said meekly. ‘‘But before you let yourself feel too badly about your part in this, you should probably know that I’m not exactly guiltless, in the grand scheme.’’

‘‘Meaning?’’

‘‘We’ll get to that,’’ Daniel said, casting a glance at Lisa. ‘‘First, would you mind filling in the blanks for me on what’s happened to you? I mean, I know some of it, but I need to piece the details together. All of them.’’

Grant studied the other man. Daniel already knew what he could do, and he appeared to know the truth about who he used to be. Giving him the remaining particulars posed little risk.

So Grant told him.

He told him about that first day, about his sudden, inexplicable Shift and his encounter with the other man—Collin, the man who’d taken on the identity of his former self. He showed Daniel the ring he wore, and explained what little he understood about his strange new mental ability. He told him about saving Julie from the hit man, Konrad, and their struggle in his old apartment.

Grant continued the story with his adventure at Inveo Technologies and what he found out there about Harlan Evers. He told him about meeting Hannah, and Morgan, and her unusual home and the others who lived there, the Loci. He told him about his encounter at Drexel’s home, and what he did to the place. He told him about meeting Harlan Evers at the military base, and the bombshell the old man had dropped on him about his father—before the general was murdered by his own troops.

And lastly, he told Daniel about Alex, and what she claimed her role was in all of this. He ended by mentioning the person Alex said she worked for—the Keeper, the presumed mastermind who had somehow engineered Grant’s Shift.

He didn’t leave out a single detail that he could recall. It was the first time he had told the entire story to one person, and it was the first time Julie had heard some of the most recent information.

And all the while, Daniel listened with rapt attention, barely moving and hardly blinking at all.

Finally, Grant finished his story and fell silent.

He watched as Daniel processed this new data. It was a while before he attempted to speak.

‘‘That’s . . . something,’’ Daniel mumbled. ‘‘Under normal circumstances, I would find it all too incredible and coincidental to believe. That is, if I didn’t know what I came here to tell you. You see . . . where you see a sequence of random events, random manipulations . . . I see intent at work. I see
purpose
.’’

Alex was home asleep in her bed when a hand was placed over her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

‘‘My dear little girl . . .’’

She froze, her eyes darting about. She knew that voice.

‘‘Don’t be afraid,’’ said the man who had forced entry into her home.

Yet she nearly hyperventilated. This was impossible; her home was one hundred percent secure from outside influence.

‘‘I’m not going to kill you. I’m not even going to arrest you,’’ he continued.

Drexel
.

‘‘You’re much too valuable for that. I have bigger plans.’’

The Thresher’s sword clanged loudly against Devlin’s, the regal white-haired man
tsk
-ing and shifting his eyes unfavorably, as his feet danced lightly across the mat.

‘‘I see you still cling to your sword’s grip too tightly,’’ the older man frowned, disapprovingly.

The Thresher lunged. ‘‘I see you still talk too much during a match.’’

But Devlin spun away, surprisingly fast for a man of his age, and sliced into the Thresher’s left shoulder, leaving a red streak. The Thresher moved like lightning and cut a shallow gash into his mentor’s right leg.

They had been at this for hours in a solitary sparring room at a local gym, having told the building’s owners that they were merely sparring with rubber-tipped weapons. But they were all too real, and the Thresher had learned long ago not to rush the elder man’s speeches. He would make his point when he was ready, and no sooner.

Devlin slashed into the Thresher’s arm again, a cut deep enough this time to leave blood on his blade. The old man seemed more put-out by this success than his pupil.

‘‘Is
this
what you consider fast these days?’’ he spat, taking a closer look at the red streak on his sword.

Which accent was it this time? Australian? Kiwi? The Thresher couldn’t tell and had long ago given up trying to guess them all. Devlin had always been shifting between dozens of accents and dialects for as long as the Thresher had known him. It was a way of becoming invisible when the elder gentleman was forced to venture out into public. Yet he kept up the practice daily, whether public or private.

Man of a thousand pretenses,
the Thresher thought. It was just one of the many reasons he had come to despise the man.

For his part, the Thresher had no time nor use for deception. He found it pointless.

The Thresher watched him through vicious eyes. ‘‘I could take you with ease,’’ he replied, his weapon held low and threatening.

‘‘Yes I know. As do you,’’ Devlin said, lunging sharply to the right.

The Thresher dodged the blow with a swift twist to his left and a parry. ‘‘Your skills have never been uncertain.’’ The Thresher swung low and Devlin jumped. ‘‘You were beaten and taken captive by men with no proficiency of any kind. Because you knew there was no one who could defeat you.’’

The Thresher stopped. ‘‘I’ve grown overconfident.’’ It was very nearly a question.

But not quite.

‘‘You have no room for exploitable weaknesses. Your task is too critical. You know what is at stake, what now depends on you.’’

The Thresher swished and disarmed his opponent with a cunning flick. Devlin’s sword went flying through the air.

‘‘I do.’’

‘‘And you know
why
all of this falls to you?’’ Devlin asked though he certainly knew the answer.

‘‘I know why
you
believe it is my task. And I have agreed to take it on. But I do not share your convictions.’’

Devlin shook his head. ‘‘To know all that you know, and still not worship as the Secretum does. I shall never understand it.’’

The Thresher met his gaze coldly, uncaring what the other man thought of his beliefs.

Devlin squared his shoulders and placed his hands behind him.

Back to business. ‘‘You have his location?’’ he asked calmly.

‘‘I’m close.’’

‘‘Then return to your duty.’’

Lisa insisted they stop so Daniel could rest, but the man shrugged her off. He couldn’t sleep at this point anyway. It was better to push through. The time to rest would come. Lisa argued, but without success, and finally sulked away.

Daniel asked Grant, ‘‘Have you ever heard the term ‘psychokinesis’ before?’’

‘‘Moving things with your mind?’’ Grant asked.

Daniel nodded. ‘‘Right. It’s a fringe-science subset of parapsychology. Most ‘rational’ scientists completely discredit it without bothering to give it any genuine study, even though there are hundreds of documented, proven cases where no other explanation is available to rationalize how an unusual phenomenon occurred. Parapsychology is far more legitimate than it’s given credit for.

‘‘In recent years, it’s become a central field of study in the science of war. Imagine the balance of power shifting in a fight because all of the enemy’s guns have been removed from their hands, or their missiles are triggered to explode in the launch tube. The problem is, in almost every documented case where psychokinesis occurs, it’s a random, subconscious act. The by-product of a strong emotion or a violent deed. If it isn’t controllable, it’s of no use.’’

‘‘So
this
is what I’ve been doing? Moving things with my mind?’’

‘‘Not exactly,’’ Daniel paused, taking a drink to quench his parched lips. ‘‘Your thoughts affect material around you. It’s something much stronger than simply forcing your will onto an inanimate object. We found the knife that was embedded in the column in the subway. The results of tests we ran were . . . not at all what I was expecting.’’

‘‘Keep talking.’’

‘‘Well, there are pressurized weapons in the world capable of pushing solid metal deep into hardened concrete, but we
know
nothing like that was present in the subway. Which means only a powerful blast of energy or a projected force could have done it. So I was hoping to find a latent energy signature—an after-effect ‘fingerprint’ of whatever did this to the knife. But instead of showing an energy fingerprint, the readings we got indicated that the knife itself somehow had become energy.’’

Grant rubbed his forehead, glanced at Julie. ‘‘I’m sorry, I’m not following this.’’

‘‘My theory,’’ said Daniel, ‘‘is that somehow, your mind is able to transform its thoughts directly into energy. You didn’t move the knife by thinking about it, because I don’t think you were in control of what happened that way. When you panicked, your mind released some kind of energy that forced the knife as far away from you as it could go.

Your brain produced this blast that was fairly random, but it accomplished its purpose: your life was saved. Now you’re learning to control it, aren’t you? That’s how you got us out of the hospital.’’

Grant nodded.

‘‘I can help you with this; it’s the reason I’ve been searching for you. If you
do
gain control over it, it’s possible that you could even overcome the coinciding headaches you mentioned.’’ If he was making a sales pitch, Grant was already sold. But something still felt off.

‘‘What’s the catch?’’ Grant said.

‘‘The catch,’’ replied Daniel, looking away, ‘‘is that you’re going to have to trust me. Despite what I’ve been involved with.’’

Grant’s eyes narrowed. ‘‘Why don’t I like the sound of that?’’

‘‘For all the right reasons,’’ Daniel said wistfully.

35

‘‘Lisa?’’ Daniel called. She immediately sprung to attention and ran to him, fearing he was in some sort of pain. When she came near, he said, ‘‘I need you to go get something for me.’’

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘‘You want me to leave?
Now?
’’

‘‘I need something from the lab.’’

‘‘There’s nothing left at the lab,’’ she said automatically, watching him closely.