Out of Sight Out of Mind (20 page)

‘Simplest explanation is that it’s a mistake.’ They were sitting in the garden. The paper lay on the bench between them. Jay tapped it. ‘You said you’d never used these test people before. They’re not reliable, that’s all. You’ve had other results, before and since, from your regular test place, that show nothing. These guys have transposed a symbol, mixed up results, something.’

‘No.’ Madison’s hand spasmed into a fist. ‘This isn’t just something you pick up at the pharmacy, Jay. It’s a specialist compound. As far as I know it’s only available from one source. It isn’t like anything I’ve used. From what I’ve read, it wouldn’t have the same effect at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. The pharmaceutical company is trialling it as a way of blocking negative emotions, for people in extreme mental distress.’ She picked up the paper. ‘The amount here is negligible, but the residue of this stuff stays in the body for up to twelve months. That’s one of the problems they’re finding with it.’ She stared at him, eyes troubled. ‘I think this is what was used to make the barrier, Jay. And someone has been tampering with the results at the lab, to stop us finding out.’

‘Staring at it all evening isn’t going to change anything.’ Jay prised the paper out of Madison’s grip and steered her firmly indoors towards her jacket and the car keys. ‘We had a date, remember? Dinner? Nightlife in the fleshpots of Tenby?’

He held his breath. His immediate impulse, to leap in to the car and head back to London, to hammer on doors, demanding answers, had lasted only a second. The sight of Madison’s pale, worried face, as she studied the results, had brought him up short. Sanity rushed back in an instant. They had a breakthrough, a small fragmentary clue, that was all. A clue that might lead to greater things, if it was followed up with care and discretion. And that wasn’t going to be achieved by kicking down doors on a holiday weekend.

At the moment, all he could do was reassure Madison and try to wipe away that frown. ‘Dinner?’ he prompted again. ‘We can give the fleshpots a miss, if you don’t fancy them.’ He was rewarded by a weak grin. He put his hand under Madison’s chin and gently raised her head, brushing a kiss across her mouth. ‘Forget it.’

Her hand quivered in his for a moment when he reached to take it. Then she let him lead her out to the car.

Dinner, of an enormous platter of seafood, accompanied by a well-chilled rosé wine, leached some of the tension out of her nerves. Jay’s refusal to endlessly analyse what she’d discovered was both frustrating and curiously soothing. In the end she gave in and did her best to put the whole thing out of her mind.

The night was warm. They wandered the narrow streets of the small town, hand in hand. Many of the shops were still open. Soft light, the occasional burst of music and racks and rails of stock spilled into the street. The pubs and bars were doing good trade. Jay piloted Madison around a clutch of tables set out on the pavement, looking enquiringly at her and miming raising a glass. She smiled but shook her head.

Their meandering progress took them towards the harbour. It was getting dark. Lights from boats anchored out in the bay glittered over the water as the craft bobbed in a soft swell. Madison leaned into Jay as they stood near the harbour wall. They eventually turned inland again, walking along a familiar street.

The shop where she’d bought the candles was at the end. It was closed. Madison peered through the thick glass of the windows. There was no sign of life, no lights or movement. Not even the cat stirred behind the panes. For some reason the silent shop sent a shiver running through her, until Jay wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to the heat of his body.

‘Tired?’ Jay backed her gently against the kitchen door, corralling her with an arm on each side of her body. His kiss was deep and questioning. Madison shook her head, clinging to him, her hands twined around his neck. Without speaking he lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs. They made love slowly and silently, to the background noise of the sea.

The next day it was raining. The sky was a solid, dense grey and water ran in sheets down the windows.

Weather to match his mood.

Jay stared out of the kitchen window, watching the deluge against the glass, hoping that Madison would sleep for a while longer. He pushed his hand through his hair. He’d done a pretty good job last night, diverting her thoughts, and his own, from those blasted test results, but today …

Why the hell did she have to find them
here?

And where the hell do they take us?

Unease, like a queasy mist, floated through his blood, blood tainted by a drug that wasn’t supposed to be there. He clenched his teeth on the sudden urge to scrub at his arms.

You can’t scrub this away – this is what you are. What you’re meant to be.

A faint, distorted image, that might be the reflection of his face, floated against the backdrop of rain. He put out a hand to trap it, knowing that all he would encounter would be cold glass. That was him – trapped behind a wall of glass, watching himself, noting his emotions – horror frosted over with a strange detachment.

Where you’re meant to be
.

He pulled his hand away, as if the glass burned. ‘You’re just bloody confused and not thinking straight.’

Abruptly he turned from the window to open the fridge. Breakfast. Keep busy, keep the questions at bay. Keep it light; don’t let Madison worry over it.

Above all, don’t let Madison worry over it
.

Focusing on the plash of the rain on the windows he set coffee to brew. When it was done, he carried it upstairs. Madison was still sleeping. Her hair made a sprawled halo on the pillow. Spiky lashes flickered against sun-kissed skin, delicately dusted with freckles. Jay’s heart turned over in his chest, with an emotion he couldn’t name, as he set down the steaming mug and crept back downstairs.

‘Forecast says clearing later.’ Jay looked up from frying bacon.

Madison stood in the doorway, in her robe, clutching the empty mug. A perky dragon grinned at him, coyly, from under the handle. Jay didn’t need to read her mind; her face told him everything she was thinking.

‘Hey.’ He put out a hand. ‘You have to stop brooding about it. You said yourself the results were tiny. Your testers probably thought they were too small to bother with. These guys were just more efficient. Yeah, I know.’ He answered the objection in her eyes. ‘Yesterday they were unreliable.’

He brought the pan to the table and dished bacon on to a plate, slid an egg beside it, guided Madison to a chair and pushed her gently into it, putting a fork into a hand. ‘Eat.’

Relief lifted his heart when she smiled wanly and began cutting bacon. He reached out and touched her hand. ‘Don’t worry any more about it. It’s a holiday, nothing we can do until the lab reopens.’ He fixed his eyes on her face, intent, his hand moving up to stroke her hair. ‘We always knew something put the wall in place. Now we know what. That’s a gain. You’ll figure out a way to use it. The rest—’ He shrugged. ‘It still could be some sort of mistake. If it’s not, then now we have somewhere to look. We can find out who could have got access to this stuff, and who in the lab might be working with them.’ He saw the pain in her face, at the thought of someone in her own lab betraying her. ‘There might not be anyone involved from your place. It only has to be one person,’ he reassured quickly. ‘Delivery man, messenger, someone like that. This could be a real, practical lead. Something we can use – but
not
today.’

She put down her fork with a sigh. He could see her turning over what he’d said, and accepting it. He let out a pent up breath.

‘How did you get to be so – rational?’ She picked up the fork again.

‘In the circumstances, it’s the only way to be.’

He sat down opposite, to tackle his own breakfast.

This thing is ongoing.

With an effort he shut his mind to the implications that were swirling there – someone watching him, watching Madison. Someone who knew what they were doing. Someone who wanted to stop him finding out what had been done to his memory?
Someone who knows who you are
.

Madison’s eyes were on him, huge in a strained face. Bitter regret, and a thread of fear, were suddenly overwhelmed by a quick, savage burst of anger. It caught him like a blow, under the ribs. All she’d done was try to help a stranger – now she was in the middle of God knew what.

He had to blot all that out of his mind, in order to blot it out of hers, until they could do something about it. Until he could make a plan.

He poured coffee, thinking of a diversion. ‘There’s applewood in a bunker outside the back door. We could light a fire. Assuming you’ve had the chimney swept recently, that is.’

‘Yes and yes.’ She smiled, making an effort. His heart lifted a fraction. ‘Sounds good. And I promise not to brood.’ She answered the question he hadn’t asked. ‘There’s a Scrabble board in the cupboard next to the fireplace.’

‘Oleaginous? That’s really a word?’

‘Means greasy.’ Jay flipped a tile into place. ‘What am I going to do with a Z and two Ys?’

‘Nothing.’ Madison pushed the board aside and crawled across the sofa to him. He welcomed her into his arms as she nestled back against him, watching the fire. The scent of apple smoke hazed across the room. Madison lay back against Jay’s protective warmth, watching the pictures in the flames. Fairy castles and hills and fugitive faces, forming and shifting and crumbling to ash. The only sound was the ticking of the grandmother clock and the drip of rain on the windowsill – and Jay’s soft, snuffling snores.

She turned in his arms, half amused, half indignant. He didn’t stir. He was sound asleep. Mouth open. She looked around for something to drop into it, then decided it was too cruel. She shifted the book of research papers that Jay was still reading, to stop it digging into her leg, and rolled sideways to look at him.

‘Anyone home?’ She put a gentle finger on his chin, tracing the faint stubble, letting the roughness trickle desire into her. If she was to wake him now, fuzzy with sleep …

She dropped her head, close to his face. His eyelids were flickering. For an instant concern flashed through her, then it subsided. This wasn’t a nightmare.

He was dreaming. She edged in closer, fascinated.

Dreams. The subconscious.
No one can control the subconscious
. What if—

She turned away, staring into the fire. She had no right to probe Jay’s mind when he was asleep, and unaware of what she was doing. It went against every code she tried to maintain for herself. But this wasn’t about knowledge any more. It was about need, and they’d almost run out of places to go on that.

She edged back, putting her arm across his chest, wondering if he was going to wake, not sure whether she wanted him to or not.

She felt, rather than heard, the sigh as he relaxed into her embrace. Her teeth snagged over her bottom lip. She didn’t have to do this. She could just hold him. Comfort him with the warmth of her body, the subliminal awareness of her presence. Nice, touchy-feely, unthreatening. Keeping the nightmares at bay.

And when he wakes you’ll still be running out of places to go. Except that you know – now – how it was done.

But not why.

With a last tiny quiver of conscience, swiftly muffled, she slid gently into Jay’s mind, and began to nudge his dreams towards that smooth, shining wall.

‘Christ!’ His head was splitting, as if someone had rammed a pile driver into it. In amongst the pulsing pain he knew … He remembered … ‘Jayston Creed.’

‘The
renowned
Jayston Creed. Mind-reading genius.’ Madison’s voice was low and hoarse, acid in his ears. His eyes finally focused. She was standing next to the couch. Emotion was flaring off her, compounding his confusion. ‘Known to his friends as Jay. And still alive, and practising, I presume.
He
did this.’ He could hear the wobble in her voice, under the acid. He reached out blindly, but she was too far away to touch.

Madison swallowed down the lump in her throat, ignoring the outstretched hand. She’d been such a
fool,
not to see. ‘He must have made quite an impression, the remarkable Dr Creed, to make you assume his name, when you couldn’t remember your own.’ Jay –
Jay?
had been strong enough,
God how strong
, to carry that precious scrap of memory through the mayhem that had been done inside his head. The imprint of the man who had done this to him.
I will not cry, damn it
.

‘That’s my name.’ The voice was muffled. She had to lean forward to hear him.

‘No.’ She shook her head so vehemently her vision swam. ‘I know you’re not Creed.’ She raked her eyes over him. ‘Try again – who are you?’

‘I …’
He
– she was back to that again – had his hand to his head. ‘That is me.’ His voice was still muffled. ‘I’m Creed.’

Anger and bitter disappointment fizzed in her chest. ‘I don’t think so.’ With a vicious lunge she scooped the Creed/Calver research papers that he’d been reading up off the floor, brandishing the author photographs under his nose: Calver – a slight, dark man, with a thin face and a widow’s peak, and another – taller, darker, with a pleasant, forgettable face. ‘That’s Creed.’ She stabbed at the picture. ‘And it’s certainly not you!’
Not those eyes, those cheekbones, that mouth
. ‘So, who the hell
are
you?’ she demanded again. ‘And what is this? A test, to see how good I am? An audition, to put me through my paces before your boss graciously invites me to join his team? I assume Creed is your boss?’ Her voice hitched. ‘I can’t
believe
I was so stupid.’

Cruelly, monumentally stupid
.

She flung away from the couch, wanting to hit something, afraid it might be him. Oh God, she should have known! She thumped her fist into her palm
. Jay – Jayston – the connection was staring you in the face, but you were so taken up with your own importance, your own
clever
investigations. So taken up with
him.

She should have realised – but how could she have known?
No one
knew what had happened to Creed. After the trial, he’d simply disappeared. The strongest rumours, from people in a position to know, were that he was dead. He’d been at the cutting edge of medical mind control, but when it all went hideously wrong, his reputation had plummeted. Before that – well, he’d been the man who
wrote
the bloody book. A legend, for his talent.

And now she knew. He was still alive, somewhere. Still working. Still recruiting. And he’d sent
her
a sample of his skill.

She forced some semblance of command over her limbs, reaching down to the table. ‘Here.’ She held out her hand.

The man with no name – sexy body, but no name – had dragged himself up into a sitting position. The heel of his hand was pressed to the bridge of his nose. She could almost feel his pain. She pushed the glass of water and the capsules at him.

‘Madison, I have to— Let me explain—’

‘Just take these,’ she interrupted. She wanted him clear headed when she bawled him out – right before she threw him out.

Fury clogged her chest. He was reaching for her, with his mind. She got a brief flash of confusion and chaos, gaping holes where memories were leaching through, before she blocked him, shoving him back viciously, like a fist in the face, enjoying the sight of him wincing away from her.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the glass and the tablets. As she dropped the pills into his palm she bit down on her reaction to the warmth of skin on skin.

All that was
so
over.

‘Wait for those to work. Stay out of my way until they do. Then we’ll talk.’ She didn’t wait to hear his response. She had to get out, before the tears overwhelmed her. She headed for the garden.

The clouds had parted, briefly, and the rain had stopped. Water dripped off bushes and the limbs of the apple tree. The bluebells had been battered by the rain but one or two were lifting their heads again, towards the light. She stood for a long time, looking out at the grey sea.

Betrayal. That was a new one. Her parents had left her, Neil had left her, but it hadn’t been like this. This man – whoever he was. He’d
played
her. Wound up her emotions, like a ball of string. For what? She would find out, before he went.

When the tears had finally petered out, she went back to the house.

She opened the kitchen door. She could hear the shower running in the bathroom upstairs. She scooped up her car keys and drove down to the village, a straggle of small shops beside the road. Although it was a holiday Sunday, the doors of the small general store were open. An optimistic array of ice cream and barbecue essentials was advertised in the window. Madison bought a pint of milk, and a paper, and then sat for a while in the car, reading the headlines, without seeing them.

When she finally returned to the cottage he was standing in the window, watching the track, sipping from the coffee mug in his hand. She sensed, without being told, that he’d wondered if she would be coming back
. Good.

The way his hair clung to his head she knew it was still wet from the shower. He was wearing a black cotton sweater and chinos they’d bought, together, a month ago. She wanted to slap him, punch him, kiss him mindless. But she wasn’t going to do any of those things.

He was going to answer her questions. And then she’d drive him wherever he wanted to go. And that would be that. She closed her mind to the cold, ragged-edged hole in her heart, and slid out of the car.

He’d got to the kitchen by the time she opened the back door.

‘You want coffee?’ He nudged the pot across the table towards her, then stepped away. Giving her space.

His voice was subtly different, she noticed. The mid-Atlantic intonation of someone who had been educated or trained in the States. They’d even altered that in the programming. Attention to detail. The work of a genius – and Creed was a genius.

He
was hovering in the doorway, looking pale and – apprehensive? Would he tell her now who he really was? Not that it mattered. She filled a mug. He’d put out two. It wasn’t going to get him any brownie points. She opened the milk and poured, then gulped greedily. The coffee was what she needed, to put some heat into a body that felt as if it were turning to ice. She didn’t need to be grateful to him for it, though. She could have made it for herself.

‘Headache?’ she asked eventually, to break the silence. She didn’t really care, except that she wanted him functioning well enough to get the hell out of her life.

He was watching her, not speaking. She shifted uneasily. His eyes were riveted on her face, as if he was trying to decode every nuance of her expression. There were lines of tension around his mouth that hadn’t been there yesterday. Nothing was as it was yesterday.

‘Gone,’ he responded finally.

‘Good.’

His mouth spasmed at the flatness of her voice. ‘I guess you’d like an explanation.’

She shrugged. She was going to get it, and then decide whether she believed it. But he’d sweat first.

‘What I want is, you, out of my house.’

That rocked him, she saw with satisfaction. Got him where he lived, wherever that was. He hadn’t expected it. Would the slick bastard think he could sweet talk her into letting him stay? Temper flared, brisk and hot, melting some of the ice. She banked it down. She needed to be in control here.

‘I have a few questions,’ she said casually.

Technical stuff.
Nothing personal. Like why? Or – did any of this mean anything? The things she wanted to know were for the good of science and the furtherance of learning, stuff like that. So the next time some genius decided to hook her, for whatever experiment he was conducting, by dangling a piece of beefcake with a hard-luck story in front of her, she wouldn’t be caught again for an idiot. He was watching her warily. Letting her make the running. Clever guy.

‘After I have my answers, you can pack. You can keep the clothes.’ She sure as hell didn’t want them. ‘I’ll take you to the station. There’s a train from Tenby to Cardiff. You can get a connection there to London. I presume you have friends, someone to pick you up?’

Damn, why had she asked that? She didn’t want to know. Didn’t care. Didn’t want to imagine him with his mates, laughing about how easy she’d been. Her nails bit into her palms. Easy – in every way. And much too stupid to recognise the product of a leading mind in her field, even when she had him on her investigating couch.

Her heart jerked when he finally spoke. ‘I’ll answer what you want and then I’ll leave.’ His eyes were sharp. She watched him inhale, then swallow. God, she was still so attuned to his body. ‘I think I can guess how you feel.’

Mister, you have no idea
.

‘Once I’m gone,’ he continued, ‘I think you should stay here for a while. Don’t go back to work too soon. Take some time.’ He jerked a hand through his hair, raking it hard back from his forehead. She watched the line of his arm, the movement of muscle under the sweater. ‘Will you at least promise me that?’

‘Why should I promise you anything?’

He grimaced. ‘Last request of the condemned man?’

She frowned, unable to see where this was going. Why did he want her out of the way? Something to do with the lab?

‘It’s no concern of yours what I do.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re thinking.’ His smile was grim. ‘And you won’t let me in to find out.’

Jay closed his eyes, to block out Madison’s accusing stare, while he pulled together whatever of himself he could get a hold on. Fuck. He was so bloody tired. His body felt as if it had been beaten all over with sticks. As for his mind …

He’d dared to hope that breaking through the wall might be a victory, not a defeat. That they’d laugh, cry, make love. That they’d
know.
Instead, all he had was a head full of shards. Bits and pieces of memory that still didn’t come together, and the seeping knowledge that what was behind them wasn’t anything like he’d imagined.

It was worse.

Life-and-death worse.

And somehow, in breaking through, he’d lost Madison
. And if you don’t have her, then you don’t have anything. It’s over.

He couldn’t do what had to be done alone, or he’d never have started this mess. Now he could see it for what it was. A mess. He’d been so bloody blind.
You should never have dragged her into this
.

But then she’d only been a woman in a photograph, a résumé, a handful of brilliant lecture notes. She hadn’t been real.

Now she was real in a way that was searing his heart.

He’d put her in danger.

It was up to him to get her out.

He put his empty mug down on the table. She was angry at the deceit. Humiliated. He could work with that. She wanted him gone. He’d go. Draw the fire away from her. If they had him, then maybe they’d let her alone.

His tired mind took a moment to see the flaw in the reasoning. The whole thing needed her, or none of this would have happened. So they’d be hunting for her.
But if they couldn’t find her?

If he refused to co-operate, she would be no use to them. Back in London he wouldn’t last long. If he went to the press? The authorities? If he played it right, there’d be a bullet in his head before nightfall tomorrow. If he could just work out the best way, the fastest way …

Obliterate this damn freak of a mind of yours, once and for all.

Madison stood, waiting for him to speak, her emotions too near the surface as she watched him. She ought to be going after him, getting the answers she’d demanded, but somehow she couldn’t get the words in order. The expression on his face tugged at her. He was struggling with something. He looked so … confused. Lost, and still in pain. Why did she have to be so aware of his feelings?

‘You have questions,’ he said at last. ‘I have one.’ His eyes were dark and clouded. She couldn’t read them
. Didn’t want to
. ‘The thing is … I don’t have all of it.’ Was he stalling? ‘Whatever you did to break through … What did you do?’ Curiosity flashed in the dark eyes. She hesitated.

‘You were dreaming. I directed your dreams. Got your subconscious to dismantle the wall, from the inside.’

‘Brilliant.’ His face lit with something that disturbed her, down deep. ‘So simple. So perfect.’

‘I shouldn’t have. Not while you were sleeping. It wasn’t ethical.’ Did she wish now that she hadn’t?

He brushed the objection away. ‘It worked.’

‘Did it?’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘You said it wasn’t complete.’

‘Not entirely. Maybe it needs more work.’ There was something like hope in his eyes. She baulked. She’d have to take him into her bed, her arms; hold him while he slept
. No way.

‘I’m sure one of your colleagues, or Dr Creed himself, will be able to complete the process, now it’s begun,’ she said primly.

Unexpectedly he dropped into a chair; put his arms down on the table. ‘We may as well get that one straight. I
am
Creed.’

Anger flashed over her. White hot. ‘Don’t tell me that. I’ve met Creed. Listened to him lecture. Shaken his hand. He even signed that bloody
book
for me. You are
not
him.’