Chapter 6 #2
“I’ll go in alone. You stay here, and kind of slip down in your seat like you’re worried the husband might spot you. Okay?”
Jake could see she wasn’t okay, but she gave her agreement. He left the bag in the driver’s seat, and before he reached the door, he looked back at Rachel. She had slid lower in the seat, but he knew she was watching him.
She came from a much different background than he did. Making up stories didn’t come easily to her, but she was adapting very well to the life they were leading at the moment.
What about in the future? He tried not to think about that.
Could he keep it out of his mind when he touched her again?
He couldn’t say. He only knew he felt like he was in a huge truck, rushing to some dangerous destination.
The brakes had failed, and he was trying with all his strength to keep the rig from plunging off a mountain and smashing on the jagged rocks below.
He didn’t think that was too much of an exaggeration for the present situation. A lot of stuff was going down. In a very short span of time.
He and Rachel were in danger, and not just from the cops or the guy who had found them twice in less than an hour.
All of which was bad enough, if you considered normal scenarios.
But there was another factor as well. He and Rachel were on the brink of what she’d called a Vulcan mind meld that was either going to save their lives or fry their brains.
He wasn’t certain how he knew that, but he was pretty sure it was true. Maybe from the headache that had tinged his pleasure when they were headed for the bedroom.
He cut off those thoughts as he strode into the motel office.
It had appeared empty, but a guy popped up from behind the counter.
He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with a wiry build and narrow shoulders.
He was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and Jake would bet he’d been taking a nap in his chair.
“Help you?”
“I hope so.” Jake cleared his throat. “My lady friend and I need a room for the night. Trouble is, her husband is starting to wonder where she’s been disappearing in the evenings.”
The clerk nodded.
“He could be out looking for us. Or he could have . . . you know . . . gotten some friends in the cop department to beat the bushes for us.”
“Uh huh.”
“If anybody comes around asking questions, I’d appreciate your keeping your mouth shut about it.”
When the guy looked at him expectantly, Jake got out a roll of bills and peeled off a hundred. “If somebody does show up lookin’ for us, could you give me a heads-up after they leave the office?”
“Sure thing.”
“Do you have a room around back?”
“Yup.” He turned and detached a door key off the hook. It was to room fifteen.
Jake took the key and signed the register as John Smith. He wrote down a license number at random and strode back to the car where Rachel was waiting.
“You told your nasty little story?”
“Yes. Better than saying we’re a pair of murderers.”
“There’s that.”
He drove around the back of the motel and they both got out. When he unlocked the door and stepped inside, she followed.
It was a pretty minimal place, but no worse than he had expected. There was a double bed, A beat-up dresser with an old TV. A sagging chair. A small bathroom.
He looked at Rachel, sensing her uncertainty.
“Sorry,” he said.
“None of this is your fault.”
“Or yours.”
She swallowed. “Back before Evelyn Morgan came in for that reading, I thought I knew what I was doing. I mean, my life had run along familiar lines for years, and I was happy with the way things were going.”
“Were you really happy or did you tell yourself you were?”
“I was as happy as I could be.”
“And now?”
“I’ve leapt into the unknown.”
She laid her hand on his arm, and he knew she was thinking they were wound up in a situation that they still didn’t understand–except that they were being chased by a murderer and the cops. But that was only part of it. They still had to deal with whatever was happening on a very personal level.
“Sealing the connection between us is our best shot. Or maybe if we go any farther, we blow our brains out. I don’t mean with a gun,” she said in a strangled voice.
He had been thinking something similar. They were walking a fine line between passion and destruction.
“How do we . . . do it?” she asked.
He laughed. “The usual way.”
Knowing he had reached the limit of his endurance, he hauled her into his arms.
She gasped at the contact, gasped again when he wrapped his arms around her and dragged her tight against his body.
She didn’t try to pull away. They both knew it was too late for that. Instead she clung to him with a desperation that echoed his own.
Again, it wasn’t simply a guess about what she was feeling. He knew.
They swayed together in the center of the little room, and when his hands began to move over her back and shoulders, she did the same, touching him, increasing the contact.
He was so hot now that he thought he might explode, but he wouldn’t rush this. He wanted to draw out the pleasure of making love with her for the first time, and he also knew that rushing could be a fatal mistake.
So they touched and murmured unnecessary words to each other because there was nothing they could say that the other didn’t sense.
The message came to Mickey loud and clear from Kira’s mind to his.
We’re going to New Orleans.
Why?
First I was thinking about the dead lady. Evelyn Morgan. Now I know something’s changed. And it’s got to do with us.
She’s dead. She can’t hurt us.
But someone else can, and we’ve got to get rid of them.
She must have felt his resistance, because she gave him a stern look.
Mickey tried to make her understand the panic he was feeling. We have a good thing going. I don’t want to mess it up by sticking our noses in where they don’t belong. Why can’t we just stay in Baltimore and keep out of it? We can go anywhere else in the country we want. We could even go to France.
Neither one of us can speak French.
Well, what about Canada?
Too dangerous. Can’t you feel it?
He swallowed. He wanted to ignore the gnawing sensations of danger that had him waking up in the middle of the night.
Someone else is about to get the power.
Maybe not. And what if they do? We don’t have to get anywhere near them.
Suppose they come after us?
Why would they?
Because they know it’s either us or them, and we have to stop them before they get complete control.
She went silent, and he could feel her sending her mind out toward the other ones. The man and woman who were like him and Kira.
He didn’t know why it had happened to them. The mind meld thing. He didn’t know why it had happened to anyone else, either.
Maybe they’ll blow their brains out. Like we almost did.
We can hope.
We don’t have to go after them, he said again without much conviction. She was the one who made the major decisions, and he knew that they would be heading south if the other couple survived.
When they’d gotten close before, Jake had picked up impressions of Rachel’s past. And she of his. Now they were both focused on this moment in time. The two of them. Alone in a room. Where nobody could interrupt them.
We hope.
We’re all right, he assured her, praying it was true. And she caught that too.
You can’t lie to me.
I was trying to reassure you.
You can’t do that either. Not really.
Because he hated hearing her say that, he lowered his mouth to hers for a kiss that would have silenced her words.
It couldn’t silence her thoughts, but he knew she was doing the same thing he was.
Focusing on the two of them. Arousing each other.
Getting ready to take a step that would change everything.
Everything’s already changed.
That was true, too.
His head was pounding. A background beat that he didn’t like.
But that was part of the whole thing.
The first time a woman makes love, there’s pain.
Not a headache. Despite himself, he laughed. And she did, too.
Maybe we have to break through a barrier, get tuned to each other.
How?
Only one way.
A man’s answer.
She made the wry observation, but he knew they were on the same wavelength.
Their clothing was in the way. He worked her shirt out of her waistband and slipped his hands under, sighing as he stroked the soft skin of her back.
Then he reached up to unhook her bra so that he could slide his hands to her front and cup her breasts.
“Oh.”
He smiled as he kissed her. He wanted to make her so hot that she couldn’t think straight. Maybe that was the way to wipe out the pain building inside his skull.
He knew she caught that thought when she slid her hand down the front of his body, cupping her fingers over his erection, rocking her palm against him.
Not too much of that. I want this to last.
She raised her hands, doing what he had done, slipping her fingers under his tee shirt so that she could stroke his back before pushing the fabric up.
He stepped away from her and pulled the shirt over his head.
She unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it away along with her bra.
He stared at her in the dim light coming through the Venetian blinds. “You are so beautiful.”
She grinned. “You’ve got a pretty nice chest, too.”
He crossed to the window and pulled the cord, closing the blinds. Then he walked to the bathroom and turned on the light, closing the door partway so that there was only a dim glow in the bedroom.
When he looked back to her, he saw that she had turned down the covers and was reaching for the button at the top of her pants.
“Let me.”
She went still as he crossed to her, worked the buttpmm, then slowly lowered the zipper so that he could reach his hand inside her pants and panties, combing his fingers through the crinkly hair at the juncture of her legs.
He felt so much. Too much. Sexual arousal, the thoughts leaping toward him–and the pounding in his head that might wipe out everything else.
He strove to put that worry out of his mind. It wouldn’t happen if they did this right.
Which was what, exactly?
As he caressed her, he moved his lips against hers, stroking then nibbling with his teeth. He knew the exact amount of pressure that would bring her pleasure instead of pain because he could follow her reaction to the sensations.
A firestorm of heat threatened to overwhelm him. If he didn’t make love with her. . .
He couldn’t finish the thought because the idea of stopping had become unbearable. Worse than the pounding in his head. He would die if he didn’t make love to Rachel.
And die if he did?
He sensed her fear, and he knew she sensed his in equal measure.
He thought of the tried and true male line about not being able to stop. It was a lie. He could always stop.
Until this moment.
They staggered together to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. He rolled toward her, gathering her close, his body rocking against hers.
When it registered that neither one of them had taken off their pants, he groaned.
Her laughter rang in his head as they rolled away from each other, each shedding the remainder of their clothing.
When they were both naked, he reached for her again, both of them gasping at the sensation of skin against skin.
They were both trembling, coping with more than any individual should have to bear alone. His head throbbed, and he knew that he might stroke out from the intensity.
He heard her gasp. Not just the sound, but in his mind–generated by the same pain he felt.
If he let her go, would it stop? Or would snapping the connection now finish them off?
Maybe that was the key to survival. The courage to see this through–no matter where it led.
The only path is forward.
Together.
We aren’t alone, she answered.
Still it was hard to hold on to that truth in any rational way. Needing to be closer to her, he slid his hand down her body again, dipping into her sex, finding her wet and molten for him. He didn’t have to ask if she was ready to take the final step. He knew.
Yes!
And she didn’t have to use her hand to guide him into her. They simply did it, moving from separate individuals to one being in a smooth, sure motion.
He was inside her. Or was she inside him? He didn’t know anymore where he ended and she began. He only knew that every sense was tuned to her. Every thought. And she to him.
One of them began to move. No, it was both of them because the pressure in their brains was too great, and the only way to relieve it was through sexual climax.
That didn’t make sense. Yet he thought it was true, at least with the part of his mind that could still function coherently.
Or was it simply instinct that had him grasping for completion, desperate to finish this–and bring her along with him, because if it didn’t end soon, he knew he would die.
None of it made sense. But he was beyond trying to understand what was happening. He could only focus on the wonderful sensations–his and hers–as they rushed toward ecstasy . . . or death.
He couldn’t have stopped now if the door had burst open and the man with the gun had come charging in firing at point-blank range.
He clung to Rachel and she to him. Not just with his hands, with his mind. It was everything. What he had sought his whole life. Yet as he hovered on the edge of a blinding explosion, he wasn’t sure he would survive.