of someone who’d led a regular life. Since the age of thirteen, and probably even before that, he had been trained not to trust.
But he had trusted Renee tonight more than he had anyone else in a very long time. She had that effect. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. This woman was dangerous on so many levels.
Renee watched as Mark opened the door to her apartment and entered first, his weapon in his hand.
She resented that. It was her place to clear her own quarters. He would bully her if she allowed it, but she decided to choose her battles. If she didn’t, they’d be at each other’s throats the entire time.
He rejoined her in the small sitting room. “Looks okay.”
“Thanks. Excuse me for a minute.” Renee immediately went into the bathroom, turned on the water and made a phone call to see if there were any further results to her earlier inquiry. Nothing had changed, but she hadn’t really expected it to and was glad it hadn’t.
She believed Mark. He’d never have gotten into the course they had attended together without a bona fide and rather remarkable association with one of the elite forces battling terrorism. Lazlo had an excellent rep. They hired the best and got results.
“Where do I sleep?” he asked when she returned.
She pointed to the antique recamier, a one-armed lounge that wasn’t even comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”
He sat on it, bounced once and frowned. “And perhaps a back brace for the morning?”
Renee turned away from him as she suppressed a laugh at his expense.
He had a dry sense of humor, but his having one at all surprised her. He almost never smiled without qualifying it with a lift of that left eyebrow. “For a homeless person, you’re not very appreciative.”
“I was hoping you might want to keep me under closer surveillance for the night, in the event I’m not really who I say I am.”
“Share my bed?” She chuckled. “And here I thought Brits had no sense of humor. You’re a riot.”
He grinned. “And I was under the impression Americans were…unreserved.”
“Profiling at its worst, I guess. I’ll get you that pillow.”
Renee left the room in a hurry, hoping he hadn’t noticed that split second of consideration she’d given his suggestion.
They were unwilling partners now and would be pretending an intimate relationship during the coming days. The idea of establishing a real closeness with him to insure his help and full cooperation was so unprofessional it was laughable. And tempting, she had to admit.
Really, really tempting.
Chapter 4
Sleep had proved elusive at first with her guest in the next room stirring restlessly as he tried to get comfortable. But eventually Renee slept for exactly four hours and woke refreshed. Her internal clock operated without fail, always had.
Her skill at remote viewing had been amazingly productive this morning, too, she thought with satisfaction. Good to know that wasn’t going to suffer because of the distraction sleeping on her sofa. She had worried it might, since Mark had virtually waylaid her subconscious that morning long ago when she visualized him taking a shower. Her particular and unusual ability had secured her the job with the team of agents who had talents similar to hers and she would hate for anything—or anyone—to interfere with it.
She loved what she did. Usually. In any case, the remote viewing she did was not exactly hardship duty. She liked putting it to good use and it didn’t sap her energy, give her headaches or other bad effects. Unless she counted the uncomfortable feelings of arousal the vision of Mark had caused her back in the training course. No more of those, she promised herself.
Immediately on waking, she always focused her mind on Deborah Martine. This morning the woman appeared to be in her apartment. Or town house. The exact location or layout was never clear, but it was definitely Deborah’s abode.
Renee had “been there” before, a number of times, in different rooms. Three images presented this morning, an unusual occurrence: Deborah, Sonnegut and another man, one Renee had never viewed before. This was the only person outside the current group that Deborah had met with, at least in the early morning.
Renee sat up and grabbed her sketchbook, quickly recording the details she had gleaned before they escaped her. The visions came easily most of the time and played out like disjointed videos without sound. Some were clear as day. Some were hazy, nearly indistinct and colorless, a bit like half-remembered dreams. This morning’s had proved exceptionally good. She wielded her pencil with confidence.
Architectural details of the building’s exterior came first. She needed to locate the building and these new image fragments would surely help. Double arches, done in stone. Old and in need of sandblasting. Hmm. Not that unique in the older section of the city, but that in itself was a clue. At least it narrowed the search area. When she exhausted those particular clues, she turned to the new face on the block, the interesting stranger.
Tall, almost as tall as Sonnegut. Dark, handsome, deadly. She wondered if this man could be the one Mark was seeking. Pencil flying, Renee laid down the gesture drawing that would serve as a guide for a more detailed delineation of features.
Trying hard to recapture every nuance of the vision, she closed her eyes again, seeking clearer memory of her impressions.
“So you lied.”
Renee jumped, her pencil and pad flying out of her hands as she dived for her weapon.
A large hand clamped around her arm. She checked her response, which would have broken at least his thumb, maybe his wrist. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded.
“Better question. Why did you lie about having seen Trip?”
“I didn’t see him until just now!” she exclaimed, realizing too late what an explanation of that would entail. And how unlikely it would be that he’d believe it. Still, there was no way around it unless she lied again.
He released her, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her through narrowed eyes. “Just now,” he repeated, glancing around her messy bedroom. “Hiding in your wardrobe, I suppose?”
Renee shook her head and grimaced, seeking a way to begin that wouldn’t make her sound certifiably nuts. She inhaled deeply and began to explain. “Do you remember the studies undertaken in the seventies? The ones that explored the…inexplicable? Project STAR?”
“Psychic phenomena,” he said, tongue in cheek. “Discontinued after your military intel community computed how little bang they were getting for the enormous number of bucks they were shoving down a rat hole?”
Renee took another deep breath and tried again. “No, it’s ongoing. They turned it over to…another agency that had fewer constraints and better funding.” She added a smile. “I was…am one of their subjects.”
He brushed a hand over his lower face and shook his head. “You’re telling me that you’re psychic.”
“Not
