Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

It might be warm outside, but our June lineup will thrill and chill you!

* This month, we have a couple of great miniseries. Man of Her Dreams is the spine-tingling conclusion to Debra Webb’s trilogy THE ENFORCERS. And there are just two installments left in B.J. Daniels’s McCALLS’ MONTANA series—High-Caliber Cowboy is out now, and Shotgun Surrender will be available next month.

* We also have two fantastic special promotions. First, is our Gothic ECLIPSE title, Mystique, by Charlotte Douglas. And Dani Sinclair brings you D.B. Hayes, Detective, the second installment in our LIPSTICK LTD. promotion featuring sexy sleuths.

* Last, but definitely not least, is Jessica Andersen’s The Sheriff’s Daughter. Sparks fly between a medical investigator and a vet in this exciting medical thriller.

* Also, keep your eyes peeled for Joanna Wayne’s THE GENTLEMAN’S CLUB, available from Signature Spotlight.

This month, and every month, we promise to deliver six of the best romantic suspense titles around. Don’t miss a single one!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Man of Her Dreams
Debra Webb

ISBN: 9781408947333

Man of Her Dreams

© Debra Webb 2011

First Published in Great Britain in 2011

Harlequin (UK) Limited

Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, including without limitation xerography, photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

This ebook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the prior consent of the publisher, in any form or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this work have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l.

® and TM are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

COMING NEXT MONTH

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and with the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing full-time and in 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Books by Debra Webb

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

583—SAFE BY HIS SIDE*

597—THE BODYGUARD’S BABY*

610—PROTECTIVE CUSTODY*

634—SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT: BABY

646—SOLITARY SOLDIER*

659—PERSONAL PROTECTOR*

671—PHYSICAL EVIDENCE*

683—CONTRACT BRIDE*

693—UNDERCOVER WIFE**

697—HER HIDDEN TRUTH**

701—GUARDIAN OF THE NIGHT**

718—HER SECRET ALIBI*

732—KEEPING BABY SAFE*

747—CRIES IN THE NIGHT*

768—AGENT COWBOY*

801—SITUATION: OUT OF CONTROL†

807—FULL EXPOSURE†

837—JOHN DOE ON HER DOORSTEP††

843—EXECUTIVE BODYGUARD††

849—MAN OF HER DREAMS††

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

864—LONGWALKER’S CHILD

935—THE MARRIAGE PRESCRIPTION*

948—THE DOCTOR WORE BOOTS

995—GUARDING THE HEIRESS*

SILHOUETTE BOMBSHELL

22—JUSTICE

33—SILENT WEAPON

*Colby Agency

** The Specialists

†Colby Agency: Internal Affairs

††The Enforcers

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Aidan—An Enforcer, a genetically engineered seer assigned to complete the Prophecy Mission.

Darby Shepard—A simple schoolteacher who has unexplainable dreams. But if she’s so simple, why is her life in danger?

Madam Talia—A local New Orleans psychic. Can she help Darby discover the truth before it’s too late?

Detective Lance Willis—He has to nail the serial killer who has been preying on children. Can Darby help him bring the man to justice?

Jerry Lester—A twisted murderer who is obsessed with children.

Howard Thomas—The Shepard family attorney. Does he know more about Darby’s adoption than he’s telling?

Director Richard O’Riley—Center Director. He has the power to order Darby’s elimination. Will his conscience let him do what’s best for Center?

Governor Kyle Remington—The new head of the Collective. The man in charge of the Collective has traditionally left the day-to-day operations to O’Riley. Will Remington prove a more forceful leader than his predecessor?

Dr. Waylon Galen—The creative mind behind the Enforcers. Will he win this time?

Wizard—Darby’s cat.

Prologue

Ring a-round the roses,

Pocketful of posies

Her mother watched from the kitchen window as six-year-old Christina Fairgate frolicked in the backyard. She clutched her favorite doll under one arm and skipped around the circle she had made in the grass with the other dolls and stuffed animals from her room. She sang the nursery rhyme over and over, as if she expected her audience to join her.

The autumn Louisiana sun hovered like a glimmering orange in the western sky. Its golden rays were still powerful enough to force a sweat even as it slipped downward in surrender to the coming dusk.

Christina’s mother smiled at the pleasant scene, then turned back to the oven to check on the special treat she had prepared for her daughter. One hand gloved with a thick mitt, she opened the oven door and removed the baking pan, allowing the delicious smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies to fill the air.

A sound of approval on her lips, she set the pan aside so the cookies would cool. After turning off the oven she poured her daughter, as well as herself, a cool glass of milk. A little snack this close to dinner wouldn’t hurt. Handling the still warm dessert gingerly, she loaded a small plate with cookies and placed it on a tray, along with the two glasses of milk. No need for napkins. Licking gooey chocolate from fingers was part of the fun of homemade cookies.

But neither of them would ever taste those lovingly prepared cookies for when she made her way to the backyard with the laden tray, her little girl was gone.

Days would turn into weeks and weeks to a month before the body would be found.

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down.

Chapter One

New Orleans

Two months later

They were coming for her.

Another test, more poking and prodding.

She couldn’t let them know. If they ever found out what she could do…

Block the dreams. Don’t look. Don’t see.

They could never know the truth.

The man in the white lab coat smiled down at her. He spoke of his own daughter. He seemed kind. Much kinder than the other one. But she knew better than to trust even him. He wanted to know the truth so he could tell the others. And she would never be safe, never be free if they knew the truth.

It didn’t matter that they’d held her prisoner her whole life, even before she was born. She could see beyond the walls, beyond the hiding place where they conducted their secret tests. She knew the truth.

But they could never know.

Never, never, never.

If they knew they would keep her forever.

Darby Shepard bolted upright in her bed. Her breath came in ragged gasps. She shoved her sweat-dampened hair from her eyes and forced her respiration to slow.

She was safe.

At home.

In her own bed.

No need to be afraid.

Long minutes passed before her racing heart calmed. She hated those dreams. Shivering with the receding adrenaline, she cursed herself as she stumbled out of bed. 7:00 a.m. already. She had to hurry or she’d be late for school.

As she quickly showered and then dressed, she tried repeatedly to put the dream out of her thoughts but she couldn’t. It was always the same. The men in the white lab coats were coming for her. She had to keep her dreams a secret. Could tell no one. Couldn’t tell them what she saw. She paused, her fingers stilling on the buttons of her dress. The part that got to her the most was the idea that the dream was a little too real.

She never told anyone what she saw in those nightmares. Never shared the dreams that came, unbidden, with another living soul for fear of…what? The men in the white coats? Maybe.

Darby quickly brushed her damp hair and twisted it into a braid. There was no time to dry the waist-length tresses or even to grab a bite of breakfast. She would be late for school. What kind of example would the teacher set if she showed up late for school?

Teacher. She did so love her work, loved the children.

The crisp October morning sent goose bumps across her skin as she pedaled her bike as fast as she could, quickly moving from Cohn to Broadway and then along Sycamore Street. Halloween was scarcely more than a week away. The ghosts and goblins would be out well before then. Like the North Pole was to Santa, New Orleans was the home to Halloween and all sorts of other wicked things.

She bore to the right on South Claiborne Avenue, then took a hard right onto Jefferson. She scarcely had time to notice the eighteenth-century cobblestoned streets she loved or the tourists and fortune-tellers alike who were already moving about this morning. Soon the streets would be filled with vendors and leftover partygoers from the night before.

Usually she took her time, absorbing the ambience, the history and architecture that still fascinated her after a lifetime of exploration. New Orleans was the kind of place that one never tired of admiring. There was always some new aspect that drew one in, whether it was the varied architecture along the lushly landscaped streets or the ancient foreboding of the numerous cities of the dead. Or even the crumbling lanes and alleys in the less savory parts of town.

Good and evil shared this domain; only time would tell which would prove victorious. Or perhaps it was the ever-shifting balance that captivated visitors to this historical city.

Children between the ages of five and nine scurried through the towering main entrance of the Iris Goodman School as Darby swung off her bike and chained it to the rack near the front of the post-Civil War building. The prestigious elementary school had served this uptown neighborhood for nearly a hundred years and Darby for four. A private facility, the classroom sizes were small and the academic offerings large.

Her satchel banged against her thigh as she took the steps two at a time. She paused at the door and drew in a deep breath before entering the school. She did so love her position as kindergarten teacher. However, adopting the proper comportment was essential.

Inside the chatter and clatter made her smile. The smell of old books and history bolstered her sense of belonging. This was what she’d been born to do. Teaching the children…protecting them.

Uneasiness slid through her at that last thought. She swallowed back the anxiety that attempted to climb into her throat and strode determinedly to her room. Three or four of her charges were already storing backpacks in their cubbies.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” Darby offered as she settled her bag on her desk.

“Morning, Ms. Shepard,” echoed from the rear of the room.

Happiness bloomed in Darby’s chest as she watched more little ones filter into the room, leaving moms and dads waving from the door. She wiggled her fingers at the proud parents and wondered how it felt to have a child, to love and cherish it. It must be so hard to leave them at school, especially in the beginning.

She wondered then if she would ever know that feeling. Could she ever trust anyone enough to share herself that way? The hollow feeling she always experienced at the thought of family, past and future, often made her wonder if something else was missing in her life. She’d read somewhere that one in eight pregnancies started out as twins. According to the research, the surviving twin always felt as if something were missing in his life. Maybe that was her problem. She definitely felt an unexplainable emptiness.

Dismissing the extreme line of thinking, she focused her attention on taking out the papers she’d graded the night before and preparing for class to begin. And people thought the kids were the only ones who had homework.

In five minutes, the bell would ring and the school day would officially begin. Twelve sets of parents had entrusted her with not only the safety of their offspring, but also with the task of teaching the children everything they would need to know to begin their journey through the coming school years. Considering some of the headlines of late, that was saying something.

“Have you heard?”

Darby looked up to find Sandra Paige from the kindergarten classroom across the hall rushing toward her. Sandra had been the first person to make her feel welcome when she started here four years ago. They’d been good friends since.

“Heard what?” Every instinct warned Darby that she did not want to hear whatever her friend and coworker had to say but there was no way to avoid it. It was the bane of the white-collar world: gossip.

Her face pale and her eyes wide with worry, Sandra ushered Darby into the corner farthest from where her students still lollygagged around their storage cubbies.

“A third child has gone missing,” Sandra whispered, her voice as frantic as the worry in her eyes.

A peculiar stillness fell over Darby. Images flashed through her mind but she blocked them, refused to look. “Who was she?”

“Allison Cook from over at Isidore Newman.” Sandra frowned. “How did you know it was a girl?”

It had started with Christina Fairgate. In the three weeks since her body had been discovered, two more children had gone missing, one boy and one girl. So far, the police were stumped as to finding a connection among the three. There were no matching details whatsoever. Two were from wealthy families, the other from a single mother living in the projects. One black, two whites. Approximate age was all the three had in common, discounting the events surrounding their disappearances, of course. In each case, the child had been at home playing in his or her own backyard with one parent or both inside the house.

Darby swallowed hard, then shrugged stiffly. “Just a guess.” To stall her friend’s inquisition, she quickly asked, “They still don’t have any leads? No witnesses? Nothing?”

Sandra shook her head in weary resignation. “According to her mother, one minute she was there, the next she was gone. In broad daylight, just like the others.”

The scent of home-baked chocolate chip cookies abruptly filled Darby’s nostrils. The image of a little blond-haired girl skipping around in circles flashed before her eyes. Ring a-round the roses. Pocketful of posies.

Darby slammed the door on the other images and sounds that tried to intrude. She would not look, refused to see. From the moment Christina Fairgate’s body had been found, she’d experienced those images…the smells. She didn’t want to see. God, she didn’t want to know.

“Are you all right?”

The sound of her friend’s voice jerked her back to the here and now.

“Fine.” She blinked. “I’m fine.”

Sandra nodded, her expression thoroughly unconvinced. “Oookay,” she said, dragging out the syllable. “I have to get back to my classroom. I’ll talk to you later.”

Darby managed a nod. More like a twitch.

Another child had gone missing.

Two in the space of as many weeks.

Where are the others?

The question slammed into her brain, sent a wave of adrenaline surging through her veins.

There were others. The police just didn’t know yet. Five or six, more maybe. She’d sensed it from the beginning. Why were the sensations coming now? Why couldn’t she make it stop? Or learn something useful from it?

The bell rang, jerking her from the troubling thoughts and sending students scurrying for their seats. Darby moistened her lips and manufactured a smile. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, she directed her attention to her class. “Let’s get settled, girls and boys.” She paused long enough for two stragglers to make their way to their seats. “Today is Monday,” she continued when all eyes were focused on her. “Let’s talk about what makes Mondays special.”

Even at five, the children knew there was absolutely nothing special about Mondays.

AT 4:30 P.M., Darby slowed the momentum of her bike in front of an antebellum home in the Lower Garden District. She stopped on the side of the street, propping her weight against the curb with her right foot, keeping her left on the pedal to facilitate a hasty departure.

Corinthian fluted columns supported the home’s double gallery. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed the last of the sun’s warming rays to tumble across its floors. She didn’t have to get off her bike and walk to the rear of the property to know that lovely gardens, bordered by brick walks with a bubbling fountain in the center, graced the backyard. Though sorely out of place in its nineteenth-century setting, a colorful metal swing set—red, yellow and blue—stood proudly in the middle of it all.

Yellow crime scene tape sprawled across the front of the property, flapping in the wind, its middle sagging and giving the appearance of a sinister smile.

This was the home where Allison Cook lived…the yard where she’d been playing when she disappeared.

A shadow moved through the lush shrubbery. Male, she knew, but she couldn’t see his face. Yet his voice was familiar. She heard that raspy, evil voice in her dreams. No one can save the children. They belong to me. One, two, I’m coming for you. Three, four, better lock your door.

Darby shuddered, pushed the voice away. She stared at the bushes where her mind had conjured the image of the shadow. Did the police know that he’d been hiding there? He’d watched until it was safe to grab the little girl. She concentrated hard, tried to see how he’d hushed the child. An inhalant. Quick, painless. The child would slump helplessly in his arms.

Her fingers tightened on the handlebars. How long did he watch the children before he made a move? Where did he take them afterwards? If she could see, if she dared to really look, maybe she could save the ones who weren’t dead…yet.

The latest victim was still alive, but she couldn’t sense anything definite about the others.

“Move along, ma’am.”

Darby jumped at the sound of the harshly barked order. Uniformed policeman. NOPD.

“This isn’t a sideshow,” he snapped impatiently. “Have some respect for the family. Now move along!”

Darby blinked, dragged her sluggish mind from the trance she’d slipped into. She had to go. The realization that a cop was speaking to her, the visual implications of his uniform and the cruiser parked a few feet away, suddenly cracked through the haze.

“I’m sorry…I…” She looked back at the house one last time. The sound of weeping, the weight of overwhelming anguish, abruptly echoed through her soul.

“Let’s see some ID.”

Another voice.

Male.

Darby’s gaze collided with dark brown eyes that were methodically sizing her up. The eyes belonged to a man dressed in a suit. A cop, too, she realized when he flashed his badge.

“I’m Detective Willis. Let’s see some identification, ma’am.”

Still feeling dazed, she fumbled in her satchel for her wallet. She showed him her driver’s license and waited for him to ask the questions that would come next.

“Ms. Shepard, what brings you to this neighborhood?”

He wouldn’t want to hear the truth. “I was on my way home.” She mentally grappled for an excuse to be on this street. “I thought I’d stop by Sardi’s Deli.” She knew the place. It was only a few blocks away. Though there were delis close to home, he couldn’t prove that she hadn’t been headed to this particular one for one reason or another.

He studied her a moment longer as she put her wallet away. She could feel him assessing her, deciding if her excuse was legitimate or warranted further questioning.

Realization struck her then. They were desperate for a lead in this case. They were hoping the perpetrator would show up at the scene of the crime again. Perhaps to get a look at the grieving parents. He would so love that. The children belonged to him now.

Her senses went on alert as the detective reached into the interior pocket of his jacket. She held very still so as not to give away her edginess. When his hand came back into view, he held a small white business card.

“Why don’t you call me if you think of anything from your observations that might assist us in this case.” The statement was made grudgingly, but the look of desperation in his eyes didn’t back up his indifferent tone.

Darby reached for the card, her fingers brushed his and in that one instant she felt his pain, his fear. Fear that he wouldn’t be able to solve this mystery. Pain at having watched the autopsy of one dead child, fear that another might follow soon.

She nodded. “Sure,” was all she could manage.

Pushing off with her left foot, she sped away from the Cook home and the lawmen stationed there. Four children…one found murdered. How many more would be sacrificed before they stopped this madman?

Trying hard to think of anything but those helpless children, Darby rushed home, pushing herself to the limit. By the time she reached Cohn Street, her legs ached, her lungs burned. She lugged her bike onto the porch that fronted the shotgun house she called home. The place had been divided into two apartments. Hers was the one-bedroom on the left side. Her neighbor, a stewardess who spent a lot of time away from home, occupied the two-bedroom on the right. The place had a small but nice yard that the landlord went to great lengths to keep looking sharp. He’d won the city’s beautification award for rental property several years running. Inside, hardwood floors, ancient yet well-maintained fixtures and a gas fireplace provided the primary details Darby had been looking for when she found the place.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside the cool dark interior. Wizard, her tomcat, met her at the door. He yowled and wound himself around her legs, tail twitching. Darby tossed her satchel aside and ushered Wiz out the door. She’d had him neutered long ago so he wouldn’t wander far.

Without bothering with lights, she went straight to her bedroom to change out of “teacher” wear. Jeans and T-shirts were her preferred attire.

I’m coming for you.

The words whispered through the darkness, sending fear snaking around her chest.

Darby closed her eyes and forced all thought of the missing children from her mind. This was why she never looked, never allowed herself to see. Once it got started, she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t let the visions…the dreams…take control of her life. Not again. She’d allowed that to happen once. Thank God she’d still been at home with her parents then. They’d protected her. But there was no one to protect her now.

Better lock your door.

Darby turned on the shower, stripped off her clothes and stepped beneath the spray of water. She focused on the feel of the hot water pelting her skin. She blocked all other sensory perception. She would not see, would not hear. There was nothing she could do to help those children. The dreams were never complete. Just enough information came to torture her with sounds and sensations. Never enough to help. It had always been that way.

And even if she could see, how would she ever convince the police to believe her?

She had to let it go. There wasn’t enough information to make a difference. She sensed snippets, voices, images, but there were never sufficient pieces of the puzzle to put it together. Back in junior high school, when her parents had spent the weekend coddling her after a fierce “dream” episode, she had promised herself she would never let the dreams take control again. The record of her “episode” was no doubt included in her school transcript. Crazy. Out of control. Talking nonsense.

The episodes had always been there, even before her real life had begun. Darby braced her hands against the slick tile walls and thought back to her early childhood. That place. The white lab coats and the constant poking and prodding. The only thing she could figure out from that time was that she’d been a part of some sort of experiment. She’d lived at this place hidden away in the mountains. A hospital or clinic. They’d called it Center. She remembered the word, the place, but not in detail.

Her gut told her she’d been born there and would never have escaped if she hadn’t played the game she’d devised. Fear knotted inside her at even the thought of being back there again. She had known somehow, had sensed, that her future depended upon her not being able to perform as they required. All she’d had to do was pretend she didn’t see, that she didn’t understand.

When all means to prompt what the men in the white lab coats had obviously thought to be her hidden talent failed, they had sent her away.

At first, she hadn’t been able to remember Center or the men in the white coats. She’d been adopted by a nice family in New Orleans, the Shepards, and for a while she’d drifted in a sea of nothingness. It was as if she’d been born the day they brought her to their home. Only instead of being an infant, she’d been ten years old. Gradually, a few meager memories of her time before had come to her in dreams and visions, the very ones she struggled not to see to this day.

As a result of the intense episode in her junior high days, her adopted parents had insisted that she be evaluated. The evaluation had shaken loose even more of her hidden past, but she’d never told anyone. The psychologist had considered her “episode” a traumatic event brought on by puberty and had prescribed medication. Darby had carried those tranquilizers with her since. Whenever she felt control slipping, she took them faithfully for a few nights. The nagging dreams would stop. Her refusal to look, enabled by the medication, kept her sane most of the time.

Now and again, the struggle to focus on the here and now rather than on some stranger’s immediate past was nearly more than she could bear. The fight to keep the portal closed was a constant battle.

Darby twisted the knobs to the Off position and reached for her towel. Now, she decided, was a perfect time for that extra help. She’d been extremely lucky for several years now. She’d been able to control those heightened senses without the medication. But her usual means weren’t working. The voices and images kept coming, tearing her apart and at the same time telling her nothing.

She couldn’t risk another psychotic break like the one she’d experienced all those years ago. The adoptive parents who’d loved and cared for her were gone now, leaving her on her own. Alone with no protection, no support system.

She had to be strong, had to protect herself.

Wrapping the towel around her, she headed to the kitchen in search of the pills that would make the voices and images go away.

She filled a glass with water and unscrewed the childproof lid on the bottle. As much as she hated running from anything, she understood the necessity in this case. She couldn’t lose control under any circumstances. There was no one to protect her from the voices and the images. No one to protect her from the men in the white lab coats.

If they learned where she was and that she had fooled them all those years ago, they would come for her. She knew things, though she didn’t understand what any of it meant, that she shouldn’t. With every fiber of her being, she felt certain that if they ever found out she had the dreams, they would come.

Better lock your door.

Chapter Two

Darby stared at the front page of the Times-Picayune.

Third Child Missing—Police Have No Leads.

She took another long drink of water in an attempt to dampen her dry mouth. The pills left her with cottonmouth as well as a heck of a hangover. But they worked. She hadn’t dreamed at all last night. Even now, staring at the headline, she felt nothing. Numb maybe, but that didn’t count.

Tossing the newspaper aside, she pushed to her feet and gathered her satchel. She hated the medication, hated this feeling of nothingness. But it was better than the alternative, wasn’t it?

She dragged her fingers through her hair and sighed. Was it really? If she tried—really tried—could she see the man’s face? Could she help those children, assuming either of the last two taken was still alive? She just didn’t know. And, God, if she could help…she didn’t even want to think that way. The little Fairgate girl was dead. No one could help her now.

Work. She needed work to distract her. Having managed to wake up on time this morning, she was actually a little ahead of schedule. She’d take the scenic route this morning. Get some fresh air and exercise. That would clear her head.

Feeling better already, Darby hung the long strap of her satchel over her head and onto the opposite shoulder so it wouldn’t slip off and knock her off balance as she rode her bike. She said goodbye to Wiz and locked up her cozy apartment. After settling onto her bike, she took Broadway, then St. Charles over to Jefferson. The scenic route would be just the distraction she needed. She’d always loved the old homes and ancient live oaks that lined that street. There was just so much history there.

Darby wondered as she rode, the wind wafting her hair over her shoulders, if that’s what made her feel so at home in New Orleans. The sense of history, of old souls hanging about. Some might find that odd, eerie even, but not Darby. She liked the feeling of being close to such a colorful and varied past.

There was no place in America like New Orleans.

When she’d been a teenager she’d sneaked into Lafayette Cemetery with some of her friends. The others had gotten spooked and ran for their lives, but she’d been enthralled with the City of the Dead. It had seemed mystical, healing. She hadn’t felt the least bit frightened. Maybe because she understood the ambience there. She sensed the energy left behind by those who’d come before her. It wasn’t good or evil spirits, as her friends had assumed. No ghosts. Just the essence left behind by all those souls who’d once walked this same earth. People had nothing to fear from the dead; it was the living who committed crimes.

Clairvoyance was vastly misunderstood, to Darby’s way of thinking. Though she hadn’t precisely studied it and definitely hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, she understood her particular talent. Perhaps it was different for others. She possessed no ability to speak with the dead or even the living, other than by the usual means. She merely felt things on a much more heightened level than other humans. Sometimes she wondered if she actually was…human. The dreams she experienced at times reminded her of things that she’d seen in the movies. She wondered on those occasions just what they had done to her at that place…Center.

She shook off the silly notion. Yes, she was human. Her personal physician would vouch for that. Though she’d never been sick, she had had the required physicals throughout her life. When she thought about it, the idea that she’d never had the first virus or typical childhood illness could be seen as odd. Dr. Tygart simply chalked it up to good genes.

The memory of the one accident she’d had as a kid followed on the heels of that. She’d broken her arm falling from a tree. It had hurt for a day or two. Dr. Tygart had been amazed at how quickly she healed. Practically overnight. Again, he’d raved about how lucky she was to have inherited such excellent genetic traits.

She’d read about genetic manipulation, had heard about designer babies. Who hadn’t? But she was twenty-six years old. Scientists hadn’t had the technology to do such things that many years ago.

Frowning, Darby dismissed that line of thinking as well. Obsessing about her murky past was not the kind of distraction she’d had in mind this morning when she’d taken this longer route.

Directing her attention back to the lovely historic homes, she admired the craftsmanship and felt blessed that those with the money and wherewithal had chosen to maintain the beauty of the Old South. She’d even thought at one time of going into the antiques business with her mother. But after the accident, she just hadn’t been able to bring herself to set foot back in that shop. Nor had she been able to sell it. So she leased the elegant Jackson Square shop and someone else made his living in antiques there. She’d closed up the big old house outside of town, promising herself she’d move there one day and have a large enough family to fill it. Every summer, she spent a couple of weeks in her parents’ home, airing the place out and removing a year’s worth of dust.

Even after five long years, she could still feel their presence there. Too strongly. Unlike the cemeteries, where the lingering essence of so many pressed in around her without disturbing her, this was different. It was deeply personal, more than she could bear. Maybe in time.

Darby stopped for a coffee and beignet. The powdered sugar melted in her mouth; the beignet tasted so good she had to lick her fingers. Feeling energized by the caffeine and sugar fix, she covered the rest of the journey in record time. The usual fortune-tellers, street charlatans and tourists had already gotten thick on the sidewalk.

She parked her bike and merged with a group of children to climb the massive stone steps to the school’s front entrance. A smile moved across her face and she realized then and there that going back on the medication had been the right thing to do. She loved her work, loved her life; she didn’t need the unnatural interference of the dreams. It would serve no purpose, since she had never once been able to harness the power she possessed and focus it precisely enough to make any sense of what she experienced.

Her so-called “gift” was useless.

Had she had any real talent, she might have prevented her parents from taking that weekend trip that took their lives. An unexpected college project was all that had prevented her from boarding that fishing boat with them. What good was a gift if you couldn’t help those you cared about?

The moment Darby entered the school’s enormous main hall, a heavy weight settled upon her like a casket covered with shovelful after shovelful of graveyard dirt. Sadness. Desperation. Or a combination of the two. The halls and rooms were oddly quiet. Even the children seemed to rush to their rooms as if they’d felt the same dark weight as she.

Headmaster Theodore Yeager waited at her classroom door. Uneasiness crept up her spine, slowing her step as she neared him. Why would he be waiting at her door? Had a parent complained about her work? That didn’t seem likely. She had a great relationship with all her parents. The children loved her. In the four years that she had worked here, she’d never had a single complaint.

“Good morning, Mr. Yeager. Is everything all right?” She studied his somber expression and even before he spoke, she knew the news was bad. Very bad.

“Ms. Shepard, let’s step into your room.”

She followed him inside, where he closed the door. Where were the children? Usually Anna or Tyler got to the room even before her. The sound of emptiness echoed around her, adding another layer of dread to her uneasiness.

“Your students are in Ms. Paige’s room. I wanted to speak with you privately before class begins. I called you at home but you’d already left.”

She had left a full thirty minutes early this morning. “What’s wrong?” She couldn’t bear not knowing any longer. A kind of mental darkness pressed against her mind…tried to show her something, but the medication was still working too well for it to get past.

“I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this but little Anna Talbot went missing early this morning.”

Denial broadsided Darby. “No.” She shook her head. No. There had to be a mistake.

“I know how close you are to all your students, Ms. Shepard. They suspect the same person who has taken the other children. It’s horrible…just horrible.”

This couldn’t be. She refused to believe. Her body started to shake. She couldn’t control it. Tears flooded her eyes, making vision impossible. The next thing she knew, Mr. Yeager had guided her to the chair behind her desk.

“I’ll have Ms. Paige keep your class until you’ve composed yourself, Ms. Shepard. We don’t want to frighten the children. This is so utterly horrible. I can hardly believe it myself. I—”

“How do they know it was him?”

Mr. Yeager frowned, stared at her as if from some far away place. “They…oh…they found the flowers…the…” He threw his hands up, flustered. “Whatever kind of flowers this monster leaves.”

“Posies,” she murmured. That’s why at least one newspaper had dubbed him the Bouquet Killer. He always left a handful of crushed posies behind when he took the child. “They’re sure it happened this morning?” she asked, suddenly remembering that the other three had gone missing just before sunset.

Headmaster Yeager nodded. “She went outside to get her lunchbox from the car. She’d forgotten to bring it inside last evening. Her mother said she’d only been gone a minute, maybe two, when she went to the door to see what was keeping her.” He shook his head. “She just needed her lunchbox to prepare for school.”

Darby stood. Her legs were still shaky but she had to pull herself back together. The other children needed her. She had to be strong for them. Poor Anna. A sob ripped at her chest. Poor…poor Anna.

The morning dragged into noon with no word from the Talbot family or the police. Darby had no appetite but she forced down a few bites during her lunch break to stave off the dizziness. The teachers speculated that all the Bouquet kidnappings would end in death. Darby scarcely kept her pitiful excuse for lunch down. Finally she excused herself and went back to her room early.

When the children were down for their afternoon nap, she propped her arms on her desk and laid her head there. God, she was so tired…and she couldn’t get the image of sweet little Anna out of her mind. So smart. So pretty. Darby held back the tears, just barely. But a moment or two with her eyes closed would definitely be beneficial. Her eyes were red and tired from fighting tears all morning. She needed to rest them…just for a moment…

Ring a-round the roses.

Pocketful of posies.

Anna…Anna…I’ve got you, Anna.

He laughed long and loud, the sound pure evil. His jaw was hard, scarred…a long, thin scar down his right cheek.

One, two, I’m coming for you. Three, four, better lock your door.

Darby tried to wake herself up, but she couldn’t. She was trapped in the dream with…him. She could smell his sweat, could feel little Anna’s fear. God, help her! She didn’t want to see! No, please, she didn’t want to see!

They belong to me now.

Darby jerked upright. Her breath whooshed out in a rush. She blinked twice and fought for her bearings.

Her classroom. She blinked again. The children were still sleeping.

She swiped at her wet cheeks. Anna. She closed her eyes and suppressed a sob. Dear, sweet little Anna.

Darby stilled. She’d heard his voice distinctly this time. Had even gotten a glimpse of his profile. A scar ran down the length of his cheek on the right side of his face. His nose was overlarge and his jaw flinty, hard.

For the first time in her life, she felt with a fair measure of certainty that this time she might see more. Her heart started to pound all over again. She surveyed the room. The few children whose parents hadn’t picked them up after hearing the news slept soundly.

She could try. She dragged in a hollow breath. She had to try.

Darby closed her eyes and focused on the image of the man she’d seen in her dream. She prayed he was the one…the Bouquet Killer. If he was and she could see him more clearly, could make out details of where he was, then maybe she could help Anna and the others.

Please, God, she prayed, let them still be alive.

She had never tried to bring on a dream before, had never discussed the dreams at all with anyone—not even her parents after that one time. A part of her had been too afraid of the men in the white coats finding out. Some part of her had known with certainty that if they found out, they would come for her. So she kept her secret. But she had read about self-induced hypnosis. So she started there.

Relaxing her muscles one by one, she lulled herself toward total relaxation. She pushed away all thought and opened her mind to the sensations around her. The smell of books and drying finger paint from the children’s artwork. The soft snoring of one of the children. The hard feel of the wooden desk beneath her arms. The texture of her own skin where her cheek pressed against her forearm.

Light slashed through her brain, blinding in its intensity. Her respiration picked up, each breath harder than the last to draw into her lungs.

She could smell the water…the river. Rotting foliage. The grass was deep. No, not grass…weeds…underbrush. The woods. She was in the woods along the river. It was dark. She was alone. The ambient sounds of night echoed so loudly in her ears she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t. If she screamed, he would know she was there.

A sound came from behind her. She stopped dead in her tracks. It came again. The brush of foliage against fabric. Someone was behind her…coming closer.

Darby turned around slowly, careful not to make a sound.

She sucked in a breath…sat straight up at her desk.

It was him.

She blinked.

Shook herself from the mist of sleep still clinging to her soul.

“Ms. Shepard!”

“Ms. Shepard, what’s the matter?”

Darby blinked again and the children’s faces came into focus. All six of those who remained in her class stood in front of her desk staring at her wide-eyed, fear dancing across their little faces.

“I’m fine,” she said thickly. “Sorry. I’m fine.”

Her fingers were clenched into fists. Her heart hammered in her chest.

“You kept jerking and wiggling,” little Matt Caruthers told her. “My dog does that sometimes when he sleeps. Were you having a nightmare, Ms. Shepard?”

She nodded and forced her fingers to relax. “I guess so, Matt. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten any of you.”

Darby stood, smoothed her hands over her skirt and moved around her desk. “Let’s read a story. Jenny, you choose this time.”

For the rest of the afternoon Darby went through the motions. She read to the children and they talked about the different stories that each of them loved. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep those deep, dark woods out of her mind. She’d seen him there. Somewhere near the river. Of course, in New Orleans that could be a lot of places. But it was something.

For the first time in her life, she felt certain she could reach out and touch him…see what he saw. That’s what she’d been doing in the dream. That’s why he’d been behind her. She’d been seeing through his eyes part of the time.

But how much time did she have before he hurt one or all of the children? Could she spare the time it might take to focus her mind fully on his location?

Time was her enemy.

The children might not have time.

WHEN HER LAST STUDENT had gone, Darby rushed from the school without exchanging the usual pleasantries with her friends and co-workers. She had to hurry. She pedaled as fast as she dared in the afternoon traffic. She had made up her mind that she needed help for this. The kind of help only a self-professed psychic could give.

She’d heard the other teachers talk about Madam Talia. Some even admitted to having had their futures told by the woman. Madam Talia had a reputation for being the best in New Orleans. One of those magazine talk shows had even done a special program on her. Darby wasn’t exactly sure she believed in that sort of thing, but she didn’t have anything to lose. If the woman knew anything at all about clairvoyance, she was way ahead of Darby. That was all that mattered at the moment.

Madam Talia’s shop boasted a landmark location on the corner of Bourbon Street. Well, Darby deduced as she parked her bike on the sidewalk and locked it securely, at the very least the lady was making a living. She had to be doing something right. Surely Darby would sense if the woman was a fake.

There was only one way to find out.

An older woman dressed much like any typical receptionist met Darby in the small lobby. Surprisingly, the waiting room was decorated in an elegant and conservative manner. It was nothing like she’d expected.

“My name is Darby Shepard,” she told the receptionist. “I’d like to see Madam Talia. It’s very important.”

The lady, who was dressed in just as quietly elegant a fashion as the office was decorated, smiled patiently. “I’m very sorry, Ms. Shepard, but you’ll need to make an appointment. Madam Talia is booked weeks in advance. She doesn’t take walk-ins.”

Darby’s hopes fell. But she had to see her today. Desperation surged. “I’ll only take a minute,” she countered. “It’s extremely important. I really need to see her today.”

The woman looked sympathetic but said, “I sympathize with your urgency, but there’s simply nothing I can do. Madam Talia is with a client as we speak and she expects her next appointment to arrive shortly.”

Darby heaved a sigh. Oh well. The whole idea had been foolish anyway, she supposed. She’d just have to go home and see what she could do on her own.

“Thanks anyway,” she offered, then turned to leave. Worry gnawed at her insides. She had to help those children. She should have tried before now, shouldn’t have been such a coward. If something happened to them, it would be partly her fault for not trying to help sooner.

“Ms. Shepard.”

Darby wheeled around at the sound of the new voice that called her name. Though she had never met Madam Talia, she knew instinctively that the refined lady who had addressed her was, indeed, the woman she wanted to see.

“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.

He would be the stronger one.

Not bothering with the interior stairwell that would lead to their apartments, he scaled the vine-covered trellis. He braced one foot on the edge of his balcony and the other on hers so that he could peer through the window of her bedroom.

To his surprise the window wasn’t even closed, much less locked. He pushed the window inward a bit and surveyed her room. The bed stood across the room directly in front of his position. Her hair spilled across the white pillowcase. It looked longer than he’d expected. In the recent photos he’d seen, she’d worn it up in some fashion. But now it was down and splayed over the pillow next to her like a veil of silk. Her long legs looked golden against the white linens that barely draped her body.

Eve was no longer the little girl he remembered. She looked very different…very attractive. His mouth parched as if he’d been many hours without drink. But he had not. This was a physical reaction to her beauty. Just as the hardening sensation in his muscles was. She was beautiful…even more so in repose. An almost overwhelming urge to touch her seared through him. But that would be a mistake.

He watched her a while longer, then climbed onto his balcony and unlocked the French doors the old fashioned way—with a credit card.

Sleep was essential for now. When daylight came, he would make his presence known to her. His profile was simple, a cover she would no doubt trust without second thought.

He did not anticipate that Operation Prophecy would take long. Assessing her skill and memory imprint should be simple. He looked forward to learning about this new Eve.

Aidan stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed.

Sleep came quickly and so did his dreams.

DARBY SAT bolt upright in bed. Her breath rushed in and out in labored gasps. Perspiration beaded on her skin.

Dreaming…she’d only been dreaming.

Of a man. Not the horrible man she’d led the police to, but another stranger.

He’d stood in shadows but she’d felt him watching her. His gaze had moved over her skin like a lover’s caress. She shivered even now, wide awake. The darkness had prevented her from making out the details. But she sensed something familiar about him.

But that wasn’t possible.

She shivered again and her gaze locked onto the window.

Had she left it open that far?

Rubbing her arms against the sudden chill of the autumn night, Darby climbed out of bed and crossed the room. She peered out over the courtyard that had drawn her to this place. It was so beautiful. She’d always wanted to live in one of these old houses but didn’t see the need for the expense. After all, her parents’ home sat completely empty.

But everything had changed now.

She doubted it would ever be the same.

The memory of the men in white lab coats made her shiver yet again, and this time she reached for the window’s lock. She had to train herself to be more careful now. She had to be aware of her surroundings at all times…aware of those around her at all times.

With a wistful sigh, she turned away from the window and started back toward the bed. She paused midway, her attention inexplicably drawn to the wall that separated her apartment from the neighboring one.

All her senses buzzed to life, drew her to that wall as if it were a flesh magnet.

She moved closer…closer…until she could reach out and touch it. She gasped and drew away, as if the satiny white plaster had somehow burned her. Frowning, she pressed her hand there again, this time without drawing away. A kind of energy flowed through her, excited her on a startlingly primal level. The feeling made her giddy, made her afraid, somehow.

Shaking off the foolish sensations, she climbed back into bed. Too early to start the day yet. With that thought came an uneasy feeling…it followed her back to her dreams.

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