Lucidity (8 page)

“Your fingernails are hard enough. Unless you’re planning to take up eye gouging. No.”

“I haven’t tasted chocolate in nearly two weeks!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.” He hated feeling like the evil caretaker, and it was hard as hell to deny her anything. But, technically, he was in charge here. His word was law. End of story.

“Munroe—”

“Get over it, Carly. You’re not leaving the premises.”

She drifted casually into the common room to join him, eyes bright and challenging. “Okay, then. You can go buy tampons for me.”

Parker gagged on his coffee and lurched to his feet as if called to attention. “Get dressed. I’ll have the car out front.”

Carly practically bounced for joy in the Jeep, silently swearing to make it up to Parker. She’d become an expert at this witness protection routine. Head in the clouds or not, there was no way she’d allow herself to run low on tampons. But she knew the big guy would rather face all the minions of hell than walk up to a cashier toting that little pink box.

It was a tiny lie. She simply had to get out. Between the demanding calls to dream and Parker keeping her cooped up, she was going stark raving mad.

And it would do him good to move outside four walls too. Stretch those hard-muscled limbs, maybe even crack a smile or two. At least it was the reason she used to justify her lie. And she really would make it up to him. Sometime.

The sunshine was haphazard at best, a milky sky with an accidental patch of blue peeking through here and there, but it didn’t matter. She was enveloped in her thick parka, heavy sweater and winter cap, yet she sat expectantly on the edge of the seat, as if her cruise ship had just set sail for the tropics. Fifteen miles to the nearest town. Fifteen miles of freedom. Even Munroe couldn’t dampen her excitement.

“You know the routine,” he droned. “Belvyn is a small town. They notice strangers. Look passive. Stop that sparkling thing you do. Don’t attract attention, don’t meet anyone’s eyes. If somebody seems suspicious, you let me know. We get what we need and get out. I’ve got the charge.”

Yes. The government-issued charge card with the fifty-thousand-dollar cash limit, that automatically
stayed
at fifty-thousand dollars, no matter what they bought. The one she could shop with forever and a day. Their people were right to give it to him, not her. “And can I get cookies, Daddy? And a dollhouse? And a pony? Huh, can I, can I?”

He pressed his lips into a firm line, despite the gleam in his eye. “You’d probably
enjoy
a spanking, wouldn’t you?”

Carly laughed, loosened her seat belt and slipped into her favorite pseudo-movie-star sunglasses. And, for the remaining five miles, she cranked the radio up loud, provocatively bumping and grinding in the seat until he too had to laugh.

She could see the hunger in those flinty eyes. Good. He enjoyed watching her move. Let him imagine what it’d be like to have his hands on her ass. Let him dream for a change.

Belvyn, Ohio, was a tiny Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

Parker had been to the town only once before. It was as simple and pretty as he remembered. Tiny shops in immaculate rows still bore the vivid sparkle of Christmas ornaments alongside the pastel fluff of Easter. Streetlights patterned after their Victorian counterparts were encircled by raised beds of bulbs, with purple crocuses nudging noses carefully through the snow.

Rucker’s Pharmacy was, apparently, one of the hot spots of the community. Sports cars, rusted vans and Amish buggies all vied for parking space around the corner location where the perky voice of a persuasive woman announced store specials to all who would listen.

Parker escorted a glowing Carly inside with his hand on her elbow, making a slow circuit of the aisles. No suspicious gatherings of men, no obvious threats. Still, he was reluctant to let her roam free—but she’d been right. Everyone needed an occasional breath of fresh air.

He’d pick up razor blades, an extra pack of ciggies, deodorant and a prepaid phone for himself. Maybe glance at a few of the half-truth tabloids to see if the One Hundred had been declared enemies of the state yet. By then, his lady should be ready to go.

But when he found himself finished and standing by the checkout, impatiently tapping his foot, he decided he’d waited long enough.

What was the deal with women and shopping anyway?

A cursory search of the mirrored domes that overlooked the aisles revealed Carly, still frowning over rows of nail polish, with a small shopping basket slung over one arm.

And sneaking up behind her, unseen, was a disheveled young man in the company of a woman, fingers curved and extended to grab her.

“
No!
”

A colorful stand of the latest DVDs went flying in Parker’s wake as he charged blindly through the store, shoving startled customers out of his way. Guy stocking up on cheap wine—pushed into the cooler. Baby stroller blocking the row—hurtled over. Dammit, he knew this had been a mistake. Carlotta was paying no attention at all, and he was attracting too much.

Taking the cut of a connecting aisle too sharply, he slipped, cursing, to one knee, his boots still slick with snow. That would smart like a sonofabitch later, but he couldn’t take the time to care.

Stumbling forward, he swerved into the second aisle and found Carly’s eyes, wide and surprised, on him—just as the strange man reached out and covered her face with his hands.

“Carly!”

Charging toward them like a maddened bull, Parker roared as Carly kicked forward, pulled back into the arms of her attacker. And then Parker was on them, shoving Carlotta violently aside as his arm locked around the throat of the attacker.

A woman screamed. He couldn’t tell whether it was Carly or the other. It didn’t matter. He had the man in a choke hold and his neck tilted at a dangerous angle. “Who are you?”

His prisoner sputtered and tugged uselessly at Parker’s arm, but offered no answer. Not in any intelligible language, at least.

“I said who the fuck are you, and what do you want with the girl?”

“Parker!”

He became dimly aware of desperate fingers digging into his other arm, his vest, as his prisoner’s face began to purple—as he was still trying to decide whether he wanted to strangle him or snap his freaking neck.

“Parker,
please
.” The voice was Carly’s, and she was frantically trying to shake him loose. “For God’s sake, stop being an animal. Let him go! I
know
the man!”

Wheeling to face her and maintaining his hold, he barely bit back a nasty retort. A dark, thin veil of murderous rage had fallen over his eyes, blocking out everything except the face of his quarry. He was hoping for a
quiet
killing. Why was she interfering? “Dammit, Carlotta, will you let me do my…what? You said what?”

“Munroe. Let. Him.
Go
. This is Sam Lorrie.” She gasped, still struggling to put space between his bulging arm and the man’s throat. “He helped organize the group experiment at Stanford. And that,” she added, inclining her head, “is Violet Cushing. A member of the One Hundred. This guy you’re about to strangle happens to be her boyfriend.”

“I…we…” the girl stammered, clutching a pack of pink marshmallow peeps to her chest. “Omigod, I’m sorry. Sam was just gonna cover Carly’s eyes while I yelled ‘surprise’. She was the last person I expected to see here. Please don’t throttle him. Honestly, we didn’t mean any harm.”

It was the stunned expression on the girl’s flower-fragile face that finally got through to him. The modern-day Betty Boop, with pouting cherry lips and short, onyx curls, looked like a child who’d stumbled upon the Easter Bunny masturbating.

Relenting, Parker allowed the thin body in his arms to slide bonelessly to the floor as she watched. “Sorry,” he muttered, not sure he was sorry at all. “I thought he was going to hurt her. Didn’t mean to make a scene.”

Violet turned wide plum-colored eyes to her friend. “Wow. I think I’ve been shopping in the wrong places. Carly?” she breathed, sounding very impressed. “Does he belong to
you
?”

Chapter Eight

Violet served her guests green tea with a twist of lemon and barely a dribble of honey. She made no secret of the smirks directed at her boyfriend, who sat on the floor, a safe distance from Parker, liberally spiking his tea with whiskey. “I may be having second thoughts, Sam. I didn’t know what I was missing by refusing to have a bodyguard.”

“If the crushing of windpipes and near wetting of pants is a turn-on for you, I’m glad I was available, doll.”

Carly liked these people. Not only because they were so down-to-earth and as much fun as she remembered, but because of how they’d handled the drama at the store. This was, apparently, Violet’s hometown, and she knew
everybody
. She had no trouble convincing the manager that Parker was her unstable cousin from Arkansas. Sadly, he’d gone off his meds and reacted violently when Sam tried to keep him from his favorite pastime—displaying his wee willy in a public place.

Dear Mr. Rucker had been very kind. Especially when the magic credit card appeared to pay for any damage, plus a hefty tip.

Carlotta was not, however, very happy with Parker. She might’ve been sympathetic, since the three of them had spent the past hour sharing pleasant memories from Stanford, and he was obviously an outsider. And yes, she understood he’d been protecting her, even if his all-encompassing rage had frightened her a little. He was her guardian, even if it meant being a menace to society.

But his brooding demeanor and the way he kept a wary eye on Sam, even here, in the comfort of Violet’s petite loft, left her simmering with resentment.

Carly loved the old, faded furniture, the garage-sale tables waxed to a high shine, and the oval eye of a window that made Belvyn look like a microcosm of the whole world. She thought she could sit here for hours, just watching people interact as if nothing was wrong.

Instead, she was sitting across from Parker and feeling very guilty about the ruckus she’d caused, just for a taste of freedom.

“I have to work a late shift tonight, but I hope you’ll consider staying for dinner, Mr. Munroe.” As she had for the past hour, Violet tried to draw him into the conversation. “As long as you can be discreet. Carly and I aren’t supposed to be meeting like this. In case we conspire to take over the world or somethin’. If the government found out, they might just rush in and kill us where we stand. Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Black helicopters and all, babe.”

“Don’t worry about me.” Parker sat back and stretched his legs, and Carly made a mental note to despise him for having such thick, hard thighs. “I’m an antisocial bastard. But I’m not a snitch.”

“You’re no such thing,” Violet chided. “You’re a warrior. That’s a Special Forces tattoo, isn’t it?”

Carly caught the change in Parker’s tone. The more impressed he became, the calmer he seemed. “Good guess.”

“No guess. I was an army brat. And I know the men who get them don’t take them lightly. Now I won’t need to worry about her. And you’re to be commended on how well you take care of our girl.” Violet sat on the floor beside Sam, curling into his arm. “Carly’s told you about the asteroid and what we do, hasn’t she? I can tell. You’re the kind of man a woman would trust, and I’m glad she has someone to share this with. She was one of the most talented members of our group, y’know.”

Parker scowled. “No. I didn’t know.”

Violet seemed amused, her gaze sliding back and forth between them. “Of course, she wouldn’t admit it. But her visualization tips helped a few of us land a place in the experiment. She’s got a powerful gift. She deserves to be protected.”

“But you don’t have a guard?”

“No.” She smiled gently. “Sam wouldn’t mind having an audience, complete with scorecards. He’s a little freaky that way. But I couldn’t have someone watching every time I wanted to hug my guy.”

Carly caught the look that passed between them. Although none of them had been allowed to become too close, everyone at Stanford knew these two were crazy about each other. She was glad they’d stuck together. Violet was managing a near-normal life here with a guy she loved. Now,
that
was a miracle.

Even Parker seemed to relax, gifting Sam with a genial nod. “You folks will have to forgive me. I’m not much of a believer in your cause. Just doing my job.”

Carly knew it. He’d told her so often enough. But it seemed doubly hard to hear in the presence of people with a real relationship.

Sam shook his long, dark hair. “Mister. I saw your face. That kind of anger doesn’t come with feeling protective.
Possessive
, maybe. Then again,” he added, noting Munroe’s cool stare, “I could be wrong. Don’t hit me.”

“Nobody’s hitting anybody.” Violet linked her fingers through her lover’s and chortled. “Sam and I actually disagree about the lucidity projects too. A lot. He’s into the quantum physics angle of all this. String theories and the concept of like energy attracting like. Me? I just believe in the basic goodness of people. I can’t tell you how often we’ve glared at each other from those seats you’re sitting in right now. But you two are even cuter at it.”