Man of her Dreams

“Come this way, Ms. Shepard.”

Unable to find her voice, Darby followed. The receptionist said nothing more as she resumed her seat behind her well-polished desk.

Madam Talia led Darby down a long narrow corridor and then into a small room that resembled the parlor in her mother’s home. The upholstered furnishings were New Orleans red, the wood detailing a rich mahogany.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” her hostess suggested with a wave of her arm.

Darby sat in one of the chairs flanking a small table. Madam Talia settled in the one adjacent to her.

“I’ve been wondering when I would meet you,” she said to Darby.

Startled, Darby smiled. “I…I don’t understand.”

“I’ve always known you were here, Ms. Shepard,” Madam Talia said. “I just didn’t know why, but I think that’s about to change.”

Emotion surged into Darby’s throat. She resisted the impulse to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “I need your help,” she said tightly.

“You seek the children, do you not?”

Darby nodded. Tears stung her eyes. How could she know? She started to ask but changed her mind. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she could help. Darby didn’t have to wonder, she knew the answer, felt it to the very core of her being. This woman was the real thing.

“I’ve seen him,” Darby whispered. “I just don’t know how to focus. I don’t know where he is.” She shrugged. “The woods…water. I don’t know.”

“I’ve searched for him myself,” Madam Talia admitted. “But he eludes me. But then you understand that, don’t you?”

Darby shook her head. “I don’t understand any of it.”

The older woman took her hand. A rush of energy shot up to Darby’s shoulder. She trembled at the intensity of it.

“We see what we’re destined to see. At least most of us do. I’m not so sure about you. You’ve spent too much time blocking…suppressing your gift. You may have a much larger gift than the rest of us.”

Darby tried hard to restrain the shaking that had started in her limbs, but she wasn’t entirely successful. “I dream sometimes. See things that don’t always make sense. That’s all.”

Madam Talia laughed softly. “You have no idea what you’re capable of, my dear. You’ve come to me for guidance, for focus and yet you possess a gift far more powerful than my own.” She reached for Darby’s other hand. “Let us meditate a moment.”

Madam Talia closed her eyes. Darby moistened her lips and tried to calm her racing heart, but that wasn’t happening this side of the grave. Still uncertain of herself, she closed her eyes as well and tried to relax, tried to open her mind to the sensations she knew were out there…waiting.

Energy whirled around her…around them. She could feel its power; it was like standing too close to an electrical plant’s substation and feeling the tiny hairs stand up on your skin.

The images came in clipped flashes, too fast to interpret. Fast and furious. Children, the woods, the water, the flowers growing in pots. Lots and lots of posies growing in pots on the porch of a dilapidated old shack. Near the water.

Her breath stalled in her lungs when she looked directly into clear gray eyes. The scar stood out in stark relief on his cheek. The stubble of two days’ beard growth darkened his jaw. He taunted the children, laughed at their cries.

Ring a-round the roses. Pocketful of posies.

Sensation after sensation slammed into Darby. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

She was there.

The children.

Anna…the boy…and another girl.

But Darby had to hurry.

The hum of energy died as abruptly as it had started. Her eyes opened and Madam Talia stared directly at her.

“What did you see?” she asked, her voice weak, frail. She looked weary.

Had joining hands with Darby done that to her?

Suddenly the vision came back to her in one rapid whoosh. The cabin, the flower pots, the children.

“I know where they are.”

The words were scarcely a whisper, a thought spoken.

Darby was on her feet before the command left her brain. She had to find them.

“No,” Madam Talia said, her voice firm now, her expression hard. “You go to the police. Let them find the children. Do not go into the woods, Darby Shepard. Go home.” Her eyes widened and she looked suddenly afraid. “Better lock your door.”

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Darby walked into the precinct office at Jackson Square. She remembered the detective who’d questioned her last evening. Still had his card.

Her movements awkward as if she no longer held dominion over her muscles, she walked up to the duty desk and said, “I need to see Detective Willis.”

The uniformed sergeant didn’t look up from the papers he was busily shuffling. “Detective Willis is a busy man. How can I help you?”

Darby moistened her lips and summoned her courage. The shaking wouldn’t subside. She just couldn’t stop it. “Please, sir, it’s urgent that I speak with Detective Willis.”

He looked up at her then. “Like I said, lady, it’s me or nothing. Now, how can I help you?”

She took a breath, nodded stiffly. “All right…I…just…” Her gaze locked with his. “I think I know where the children are.”

Chapter Three

Center

Ghost Mountain

Colorado

Governor Kyle Remington shook his head at the collection of newspapers on the conference table before him. Center and its advanced work were the most tightly kept secrets in the nation. How could this happen? “Tell us how this happened, Director O’Riley.”

His gaze shifted from the dozen or so papers and settled solemnly onto Richard O’Riley. The other members of the Collective seated around the long conference table turned their attention in his direction as well. O’Riley was the man whose primary responsibility was to protect the nation’s top scientific research facility.

“There is no easy explanation,” O’Riley stalled. He had gotten the first ripples of intelligence on this matter at dawn this morning. Dupree, Center’s senior intelligence analyst, had picked it up on the Net. Not the Net as in the Internet, but Center’s Net, a specialized surveillance system that monitored all sources of mass communication—the World Wide Web, telephones, satellites and the like. Certain key words triggered the Net and the source of the key words was then recorded and analyzed for relevant data.

More than a dozen Louisiana newspapers had rushed to change copy at the crack of dawn to include a break in a big case involving missing children in New Orleans. By 7:00 a.m., every single one of those front pages had recounted a story right off the pages of a science fiction novel. Psychic Teacher Leads Police To Child Killer…Teacher Uses Special Gift To Find Missing Student…etcetera, etcetera.

Eve was all grown up.

For sixteen years, Center had assumed her case to be a failure. But now they knew differently.

The whole damned world knew differently.

“Darby Shepard, aka Eve, was deemed a failure sixteen years ago,” O’Riley began. The impatient expressions pointed in his direction told him they wanted to hear something they didn’t already know. “At age ten, after years of intensive training, she continued to show no progress. In fact, she became combative and uncooperative.”

“Why was she not terminated?” a senior member wanted to know. “Isn’t that the usual protocol for failures?”

O’Riley bit back the first response that raced to the tip of his tongue. “Yes. Termination is the standard protocol. However…” He wondered what he could possibly say that would make a difference. He looked from one face to the other. He had known the members of this elite committee for more than twenty years. They represented the most distinguished scholars, the most dedicated politicians, and still there were times when O’Riley wondered if it was enough. Was any mere human, or collective of the species, really qualified to make these kinds of ultimate decisions?

Maybe he was simply getting old and soft. Maybe he’d always secretly had a heart that wasn’t completely made of stone. His ex-wife certainly wouldn’t agree with that theory. But then that’s why she was his ex—he lacked the human compassion she needed, hadn’t paid enough attention to her. But how could he? He was too busy keeping these bastards straight, saving the world and all that jazz—taking care of little girls like Darby Shepard.

“We’re waiting, Director,” Remington reminded him pointedly. “Why is Eve still alive? How did this happen?”

If he were smart, he’d simply blame the decision on Daniel Archer—after all, he was dead. What could they do to him? He certainly couldn’t deny the charge. But no, O’Riley wouldn’t do that to his old friend. This was his mess; he would clean it up. He’d had his own reasons for making that decision. Reasons they didn’t need to know. Daniel Archer had been the one to bring this program to fruition. He deserved better than to be O’Riley’s scapegoat.

“The decision was mine,” he said bluntly. Looks were exchanged, as he had known there would be, but he ignored the blatant lack of decorum and continued, “She was a ten-year-old child. Our only failure past the sixth division.” Not one embryo that had developed past the sixth division had proven to be a failure. Only Eve. “I saw no reason to terminate what I considered an innocent life. Medical wiped her memory and she was entered into the mainstream as an orphaned child with traumatic amnesia.”

“Then she had no memory of her time at Center,” another member suggested, his tone as well as his expression hopeful.

O’Riley almost laughed at that. Who among these distinguished gentlemen would give the order to terminate Miss Darby Shepard, he wondered? Not a single one. They would leave it up to him—just as they always had.

“I have no reason to doubt Medical’s ability to thoroughly cleanse memory imprints,” O’Riley agreed. “But that’s a chance we can’t afford to take.”

“Are you suggesting a termination at this late date?” Remington wanted to know.

Ah, a leader with balls. How refreshing, O’Riley mused. Terrence Winslow, the former head of this esteemed group, had certainly possessed none. Then again, this could all be show for the boys around the table.

“A termination may not be necessary,” O’Riley offered. “My recommendation would be to send someone in to assess the situation. Someone who could get close to her and determine if she remembers anything about Center. If she understands the true nature of her gift.”

“Who would you recommend for the assignment?” This from the newest member of the esteemed group.

O’Riley had already considered who would be the best man for the job. There wasn’t even a question. “I’ve already briefed Aidan. He’s ready for the operation.”

“Why Aidan?” Remington inquired.

“He’s a seer. He’ll be able to touch her mind better than any of the other Enforcers.” He felt no compunction to go into the other issue. There were things even the Collective didn’t need to know. The Enforcers were genetically enhanced creations. As human as O’Riley, only better. They secretly served the world whenever the need arose.

“A seer…” Remington considered the designation for a moment. “In other words, he possesses the same traits that supposedly failed in Eve.”

“That’s right,” O’Riley agreed, though he didn’t see the point. The whole frigging room was well aware of what a seer was. “All Enforcers have a heightened ability to read the sensory signals of other humans. Aidan and Eve were the only two we believed to have achieved the highest level of so-called clairvoyance genetically possible. We, of course, later deemed Eve to be a failure. Apparently that was not the case.”

“Apparently,” Remington parroted.

Another exchange of suspect looks around the conference table. O’Riley really hated this shit. Why didn’t they just let him do his job? They’d get their briefing afterwards and his world would be a happy place again.

“Aidan will assess the situation and I will make a decision based on that intel.” ’Nough said, O’Riley didn’t add.

“When will the Enforcer be ready to move into position?”

“Today.” As Center’s director, he had never believed in putting off until tomorrow what could be done today. Besides, the situation could blow way out of control in a hell of a hurry. He wasn’t completely immune to the urgency or the possible fallout if she suddenly started telling tales outside school, so to speak.

“Is there any chance Galen could connect the woman to us?” the most senior member next to Remington interjected into the conversation.

A kind of hush fell over the room. No one even wanted to think the man’s name, much less hear it out loud.

“It’s been months since we put him out of business,” O’Riley responded. “I don’t think we have to worry about him at this point. He lacks the power to strike, even if he were so inclined. There’s no reason to believe at this juncture that he has or will make the connection. Eve was a young child when Galen left the program.”

“But there is that risk,” Remington countered.

“That’s right,” O’Riley conceded. “There are a number of risks involved. Each is being evaluated and will be handled appropriately.”

“Fine.” Remington looked around the table. “Any other questions?”

The members of the committee declined further discussion on the matter. O’Riley hadn’t expected anything different. None of these men really wanted to know how he planned to handle the situation. They merely wanted it to go away.

So did he.

After the perfunctory handshakes were exchanged, the conference room emptied post haste. Remington loitered at the door, apparently having more on his mind.

“You have another question, Kyle?” O’Riley opened the discussion. No point beating around the bush.

Remington could be president, O’Riley considered with a mental chuckle. He had those all-American boy good looks, even at forty. Blond hair, blue eyes, broad smile that gained him trust and access wherever he needed it. Not for the first time since he’d assumed the leadership of the Collective, O’Riley wondered just what he hoped to do with his future. Whatever his plans, he was keeping quiet about those aspirations at the moment. The Collective was quite happy with President Caroline Winters. Perhaps when her second term was completed, Kyle would make a bid for the White House.

“I just want your personal assurance that this matter is going to go away without trouble. We’ve scarcely recovered from the whole Winslow-Marsh-Thurlo ordeal. With Galen still at large, I just don’t want any more ripples in the stream.”

Dr. Waylon Galen was the original creative mind behind the Enforcers. A difference of opinion nearly twenty years ago had formed a division amid the two lead scientific minds developing the project. When the Collective chose Dr. Daniel Archer’s assessment over Dr. Galen’s, he walked away. He was thought to have died shortly after that. They had since learned that he was not only alive and well, but he’d been plotting for years to overtake what he considered his project once more.

His attempts failed but cost the lives of several people involved with Center, including Dr. Daniel Archer. Though Galen’s operation had been disabled, he still represented a threat. One way or another, O’Riley intended to find him. He had no intention of admitting it to Remington but the situation with Darby Shepard had, to his way of thinking, presented an opportunity.

She might be the one final shot he had of luring Galen into a trap.

“You have nothing to worry about, Governor,” O’Riley assured Remington. “The situation will be resolved without further incident.”

Remington pursed his lips and nodded. “I just need to be sure you’ve learned something about loose ends in the past sixteen years.”

O’Riley’s gaze locked with the governor’s. “I understand what I have to do, sir. I never make the same mistake twice.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.”

O’Riley watched Remington hurry to catch up with his buddies. He shook his head, a smile tempting his lips. Would wonders never cease? Their new, fearless leader wasn’t just putting on the dog for his faithful followers after all. He actually did have the guts to follow through with a suggestion.

Be that as it may, this was still O’Riley’s show and he had every intention of doing it his way. Darby Shepard wouldn’t be sacrificed until he was certain the elimination was absolutely necessary.

He might be considered a hardcore bastard by most, but he still had a heart.

AIDAN WALKED the dark street, using the night as camouflage for getting the lay of the land. This was his first trip to New Orleans. Though he had studied the necessary maps and cultural background of the city, nothing took the place of firsthand knowledge.

His target had recently changed her place of residence. Apparently her new notoriety came with a price—her privacy. She’d taken a temporary furnished apartment in the Garden District. The school board had insisted she take a leave of absence from her teaching duties until the hoopla surrounding her recent celebrity status died down somewhat. According to Center’s intelligence, however, the board intended to let her go permanently. The school was a private institution; the wealthy parents whose children attended didn’t want a teacher who possessed such special talents, though it was her special talent that had saved the life of one of those very children.

Darby Shepard—Eve—would have little say in the matter of her future. If his assessment cleared her of being a threat to Center, it would take leaving New Orleans and changing her name for her to get back any semblance of a normal life, he concluded.

He thought about the woman he’d studied on paper before coming here. Her physical features were appealing. Long silky brown hair, pale brown eyes…the color of wet sand. Tall, slender. Yet she looked strong, athletic. Smart, judging by her university scores. But then, why wouldn’t she be? Like Aidan, she’d been genetically designed in a lab. Every possible advantage had been assured before the first cell division.

Eve represented the only female Enforcer. Some considered that to be the reason for failure. Perhaps the female of the species just wasn’t strong enough for the extent of the gene manipulation to take fully. A remote predisposition for frailty, some theorized. But Aidan didn’t think so. He’d watched Eve’s history at Center. She’d faked her failure. He was certain of it.

Something about the little girl she had been drew him on an unfamiliar level. He had no real memory of her. It had likely been removed years ago after she was eliminated from the program. But as he’d watched her development from toddler to preadolescent as electronically chronicled by Center, he’d felt a kind of bond with her. They had been educated together, side by side. The only two who possessed the full status of seer. To a degree, they had been separated from the others to protect their elevated ability to read human responses. They had, in effect, been trained and educated in a kind of solitary confinement most of the time. As children, they’d only had each other. Of course, Aidan had been mainstreamed with the others after the age of twelve, when it was deemed he could more readily handle all that he would sense in a multipopulated environment.

Now he and Eve were to be thrown together once more. Only this time, he would be the one judging her true ability. And she would not fool him. He wondered if she ever really had. Perhaps he had known and had simply chosen to keep the information to himself…to protect her.

In any event, things had changed. His assessment would not be influenced by childish delusions.

To a certain degree, she was now the enemy.

He would be her judge and her executioner, if necessary.

When he would have turned the corner from Broadway onto St. Charles, two men stepped out of an alley and blocked his path. The dim glow from the streetlight scarcely offered any real illumination, but his night vision rivaled any technology the military possessed. Light was not required.

“Gimme your wallet, man,” the taller of the two growled. He waved the knife in his hand for emphasis.

According to Aidan’s research, this area of the city had a much lower crime rate than certain others. That these men would attempt to mug him surprised him to some degree.

“Is this your usual territory?” he asked the man who’d spoken. Not that it mattered, really; he was merely curious.

“What the hell you talking about? Territory? Just gimme your freakin’ wallet!”

“Yeah, man, maybe you don’t like your face the way it is,” the other one offered as he, too, showed off his weapon of choice.

Aidan frowned. The weapon lacked any length to speak of. Perhaps a four-inch blade. Foolish choice, in his opinion. “Contrary to popular thinking,” he said to the second fellow, “size does matter when choosing a weapon.”

The taller one lunged for him. Aidan stepped aside in a flash of movement, allowing his adversary to hit the sidewalk face-first. The other made his move then, but he was too slow in addition to lacking a suitable weapon. Aidan grabbed his wrist, twisted viciously, snapping his arm with little effort. The pathetic excuse for a switchblade clinked to the ground seconds before its owner crumpled, howling in pain.

“I’ll kill you!”

The first man had regained his footing and was making another dive for Aidan. One swift kick and he was on his knees. A well-placed blow to the back of the head and he wouldn’t be getting up again this side of daybreak.

Aidan walked away, leaving the one writhing in agony and the other unconscious.

He decided that the crime statistics of this city couldn’t be trusted, which wasn’t an actual problem but more of a nuisance.

Continuing along the tree-lined avenue, he watched for the side street that would take him to the eighteenth-century villa-turned-apartment building. The mansion sprawled around a lushly landscaped rear courtyard, which greatly increased its value, according to the real estate information he’d perused on the Internet.

As he approached the building from the rear access, he didn’t fear being seen since he wore all black—shoes, slacks, shirt and the full-length duster. He reached into his duster’s interior pocket and removed the slide card required to open the electronic lock on the back gate. The technology worked much like the keycards on hotel rooms, only this one was a little more high-tech. Excellent security, unless one gained access to the necessary computer chip. Duplicates could be made of anything if one possessed the right technology. He had not needed to bother with a duplication since he had leased the only vacant apartment.

Inside the enormous courtyard, Aidan paused to survey the area that apparently appealed to the wealthier of the species. Lush plantings, along with a large, ornate fountain, gave the space a tropical feel. Admittedly, the area presented a certain atmosphere of luxury. He turned his attention to the balconies overlooking the courtyard.

Darby Shepard occupied the apartment on the third floor to the left of the building’s rear entrance. Despite having moved in only a couple of days ago, a box of blooming flowers tumbled over the lacy ironwork enclosing the balcony. He looked to the empty balcony to the right of hers. That one would lead to his temporary quarters.

He studied the windows on either side of the French doors on her balcony and calculated that the window between their balconies looked directly into her bedroom. She would be sleeping there now. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind, reaching toward her room. Yes, she slept. He sensed no movement of her mind.

In his experience, even his elevated skill didn’t allow him to read a person’s every thought, especially if they blocked efficiently. He could, however, sense mood and emotion, even intent, quite easily. Thoughts were more difficult. Broadcasting was far easier than reading. She would block him the instant she sensed his awareness level, but he had years of training under his belt that she did not possess.