True Shot (26 page)

She clenched her fists. “I saw it happen. I
saw
you kill him.”

 

“
You know you want it. That’s why you came back. You were just as frustrated as I was that Daddy interrupted us.
”

 

Sam woke to the slowing motion of the car as it banked into a turn and bumped over a few potholes. She kept her eyes closed and breathing even, the sound of the gunshot echoing in her ears while her heart hammered against her ribs. It took her several moments to breathe through the fear, to remind herself that she was safe, with Mac, and Robert Radnor couldn’t hurt her anymore. Or anyone.

And now she knew that Flinn Ford had trapped her.

Yes, she’d killed Radnor. But she hadn’t
planned
to kill him. She’d
planned
to get his confession on tape and see justice done. She’d brought the gun for protection. A foolish, grief-stricken girl who’d stopped thinking clearly the moment her world imploded right on top of her. Flinn had taken advantage of her confusion and fear.

But, thank God,
oh, thank God
, she wasn’t the coldblooded killer Flinn had led her to believe. At least, not that time. Who knew what she’d done since?

She still wanted to go home. The thought of it both excited and terrified her. What if her family couldn’t handle what she’d become? What if
she
couldn’t handle what she’d become?

“Sam? Hey, Sam.”

She opened her eyes to the artificial light of parking lot lamps and blinked several times, surprised to realize the car had stopped.

“Over here.”

Even in the dim light with his features in shadow, she felt the warmth of well-being at knowing it was Mac who sat next to her. “Hi.”

“You okay? You were sleeping pretty deeply the past hour.”

“Did I snore?”

“Can’t you see my ears bleeding from all the noise? Sheesh.”

Smiling wider—he had such a knack for lightening the weight of her dread—she pushed away the lingering effects of the latest flashback and looked around. “Are we there?”

“Yep, we’re in St. Pete. I thought we’d grab some dinner before checking in at the hotel since Charlie and Alex aren’t due until morning. I’m starving. What about you?”

She nodded. “I could eat.”

“Are you okay with seafood?”

“Hello, grew up in Florida.”

“Hey, I grew up in Philly, and cheesesteaks aren’t on my list of favorites.”

As they walked across the parking lot, the breeze blowing off the gulf was cool and salty. Being out of the car, breathing in fresh air, felt great. And as they walked side by side to the restaurant door, she smiled some at the foolish hope that Mac would take her hand. When he didn’t, she admonished herself for the disappointment. Knowing him, he kept his hand to himself to avoid sending her careening through his memories.

She reached out and caught his fingers with hers, bracing herself mentally for whatever might telegraph itself from his past. Nothing did, and she let her shoulders relax, smiling at the pleased look Mac cast her way as he snugged her hand more firmly into the heat of his.

Her curiosity about his thoughts got the best of her, and she tried a quick trip into what he was thinking. Just for a second.

Nothing.

Odd, she thought. When she’d slipped into his head when they were snuggled up together, she’d barely had to think about it. If she couldn’t control it at will, how could she rely on it to do the job of a government spy? Was there a trick to her ability, a way to trigger it other than simply by touch? Or maybe her handlers had used drugs in some way to enhance her ability. She thought of the patch she’d pulled off her hip. Maybe that was its purpose.

Mac opened the restaurant door for her, and she preceded him inside. The décor was standard for a seafood joint: Fake fish, netting and life rings draped the dark wood paneling, and a lobster tank occupied a section of the entryway.

All was fine until the faint fishy smell reached her nose. Nausea immediately followed, and she turned toward Mac. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work for me.”

He didn’t question her—she probably looked as green as she felt—just grabbed her hand and pulled her back outside. The fresh air helped push back the nausea as he led her back to the car. Once she was settled in the passenger seat, and Mac was behind the wheel again, he asked, “What was that about? It didn’t smell that bad.”

“I don’t know. Guess my stomach is just sensitive.” She wondered whether removing the mysterious patch had screwed up her body’s chemistry.

“Sam?”

“Uh . . . I don’t know.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Busted. How did he do that? Wasn’t she supposed to be the one with psychic abilities? She cast him a small, chagrined smile. “I might have removed one of those patches, like what smokers wear when they’re trying to quit.”

“So you’re a smoker?”

“I don’t think so. I had a flashback of Flinn Ford checking it. I highly doubt he’d be that interested if it were a nicotine patch.”

“So it was for something else. Jesus, Sam, why didn’t you tell me? If something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“To be fair, I’ve just told you, and you still won’t know what to do if something happens.”

“Well, yes, that’s true. But I could have at least alerted ER staff to the existence of the patch if . . . well, shit. What else could it have been for? Birth control maybe?”

She hadn’t thought about that. And it would make sense during a mission in which taking a daily pill would be inconvenient. Of course, that assumed she was sexually active enough to require constant birth control. Was that possible? Did she have a lover she didn’t even remember? And here she sat, falling for Mac Hunter . . . no, wait . . . really? She was
falling
for Mac?

“Sam?”

She glanced at him, startled by the intensity of his stare. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Could the patch have been for birth control?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you felt different since you took it off?”

She debated lying then wondered why she should. She trusted Mac with her life. “My empathy seems to be behaving differently.”

“How so?”

“It’s less . . . immediate.”

“What does that mean?”

“Before, I could get right into another person’s head and know what they were thinking then and there. Now, I don’t think I can.”

Without a word, he grasped her hand, folding it between both of his, and watched her face.

Her stomach tensed at the warmth of his large hands engulfing hers, the depth of emotion in his eyes as he peered at her. Her pulse kicked up a notch. She liked his face. His angular jaw and a day’s growth of beard—even the sharpness of his concern—did nothing to temper the kindness evident in his features. She sensed that he was unlike any man she’d ever known.

“ Anything?”

She laughed under her breath. She’d been so distracted by her reactions to him that she’d missed anything that her empathy might have picked up. She focused now, and her heart rate started to skitter, because while she didn’t land in his head, she felt the heat rise between their hands. When his thumb shifted over the inside of her wrist in a light caress, she drew in a fast, surprised breath.