The Color of Courage (4 page)

They waited. I could hear Trace murmuring to the reporter, explaining that they didn’t leap into action without knowing what they were leaping into.

“It’s getting worse.” I focused, trying to pinpoint. “In the waiting area. Two people.”

Adam stood and maneuvered between tables to the front of the restaurant. He disappeared around the dividing wall that kept the waiting people from staring at the diners, and my apprehension rose.
My
apprehension, not an external emotion. I tried to compartmentalize it, but it mingled with the escalating tension until all I could feel was dread.

Everyone at our table was silent. Caitlyn’s eyes were bright, excited, but Trace, Kirby, and Summer sat still, staring at the entrance. Waiting for a signal from me or from Adam.

Time dragged. I tried to pick up Adam’s feelings, but he was too cool, too controlled, and I couldn’t read anything but green calm.

“I’m going up there.” I shoved my chair back and avoided Summer’s grab and Kirby’s protest. I was halfway across the room when Adam appeared. He held up two fingers, then four, then did a come-on gesture. He wanted Trace and Summer.

I turned and repeated the gesture. They rose immediately. Kirby put her hand on Caitlyn’s arm, but the woman didn’t look likely to move. She was scared and excited, natural fear warring with her desire to watch us in action.

Confident Kirby would keep the reporter back, I continued toward the waiting area. The closer I got, the clearer the emotions were. A man, fury warring with inadequacy and fear targeted at a woman who battled the same emotions. But where his were aimed outward, hers were turned inward. Classic abusive relationship.

They came into view. The woman clutched a stack of menus in white fingers. I recognized the hostess who had seated us.

Adam stood next to them, his calm easing over the room like a balm but repelled by the heat of the man’s and woman’s emotions. Trace and Summer were ready a few feet away. Trace saw me and stuck out a forefinger, pressing his thumb down and pursing his lips.

The man had a gun.

He was storming around, flailing his arms and yelling words I couldn’t focus on. Summer poised on the balls of her feet but didn’t act. When the man turned away from me, I could see the outline of the butt of the weapon through his tucked-in shirt.

Adam was trying to talk to him, to calm him, but it just seemed to agitate him more, having this stranger butting in. He spun, taking Trace by surprise with a backhand to the side of his head. He went down.

In most situations, the tension in the room would have erupted in a free-for-all. Someone would have gone for the guy. Someone else might have rushed to Trace, startling the man and inciting more violence. We all had good training. No one moved. But defensiveness added to the man’s fear, and he grew even more agitated.

Adam glanced at me. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted me to calm him down. We’d talked about me taking the next step with my abilities. Whenever I detected what others were feeling, especially in this heavily charged a setting, my own emotions shut down. I was able to achieve complete detachment so I could read the others. Adam wanted me to project emotion. This would be a perfect situation in which to try.

But I couldn’t. I shook my head. He frowned. I widened my eyes. He rolled his. I stifled an inappropriate laugh at our antics, then gasped. That tiny bit of laughter had pressed out from me in a light green bubble. When it burst, less than a second after release, it seemed to mingle with the burnt orange and mustard of the hostess, who was closest to me. The color blend was gross, but she relaxed the tiniest bit and became less frozen.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I
could
do it.

I concentrated on peace, calm, and happiness. I knew I couldn’t reverse their emotions completely, but the lower I aimed, the lower I’d reach.

I closed my eyes, as usual, but instead of reading the room, I tried to read myself. I rarely looked inward or at my own aura. I wasn’t surprised to find it almost taupe. In other words, colorless, reflecting my detachment.

Nature abhors a vacuum, so I imagined myself as one, filling with calm and happiness. The taupe deepened, then turned minty. I felt lighter inside. Like the bubble I’d seen. I concentrated harder, trying to expand the aura. To stretch it, turn it into a shield. I focused, tuning out the rantings of the man with the gun.

And it worked! The shield reached Adam first, who was already as calm as could be. On impulse I tried to merge with his projection. That worked, too. The shield spread further. It engulfed the hostess, whose fear lessened, allowing buried determination and self-protection to well up.

Trace and Summer were between the hostess and the yelling patron, who I assumed was her husband or boyfriend. Their faint anxiety instantly soothed. The man’s colors were more complex, his movements more frantic, and he kept bouncing into and out of the wall of calm. I couldn’t spread it any further.

Without thinking, I moved forward, slowly pushing the wall of calm ahead of me. The label made me laugh again. It sounded so comic book. I should capitalize it.

The humor enhanced the wall/shield/bubble. I imagined taking a deep breath and blowing it outward all at once. It swept over my target, who slowed. Confusion became the dominant emotion as my bubble warred with his destructive feelings. But slowly, everything he was feeling disentangled from each other, lining up in waves that overlapped but gentled.

When I opened my eyes, everyone was staring at me. I stood less than three feet from the angry man, who blinked, looked around, and backed up. He mumbled an apology and started to leave. I held my breath. He stopped, hesitated, then turned back and walked to the podium, ignoring the stares of the restaurant’s patrons who had come forward to watch.

“When you come home, we’ll talk. I promise I won’t . . . be like this.”

The woman nodded, her face flushed, and I saw hope around her.

“Will he?” Adam asked me, his mouth near my ear.

“I think so. He means it right now, at least. But people like that . . .”

“I know.” With a few smooth moves, he cleared the crowd that had gathered behind us, unnoticed by me. Trace and Summer walked over to me, both looking awed, but Trace was never one to bow to the reverence of a moment.

“You need to work on your expression in the mirror,” he said. “More savior, less in need of laxative.”

I smacked him on the shoulder, then tilted his head so I could see the side of his face. “How bad did he get you?”

“Not bad.” He stroked a finger over the shadow in front of his sideburn area. “It was my fault. I was off guard.”

“That’s two,” Summer told him. “Your record is worsening.”

Trace shrugged and moved away, back toward our table. He’d needed four stitches after the jewelry store altercation. Kirby was going to pick on him something fierce when she found out about this.

I started to follow Summer, but Adam caught my elbow and kept me in the lobby. I turned to face him and jerked in shock at the sudden emptiness as all the emotions flowing around me disappeared. I
hated
that. Everyone went blank when their feelings were about me, but Adam was like a black hole, sucking everyone else’s emotions away, too.

“You did great,” he told me, his fingers sliding slightly up and down on my arm.

“Not so great. Trace got hurt. And he might just wait for her at home with that gun.” I clenched my teeth together. “What good does it do when it’s just for a second?”

“It does a lot of good, Daley. You averted disaster today. You were amazing.”

There was something different in his voice with those last three words. I realized how close he’d stepped to me so we could talk privately, and I knew if I tilted my head up, he’d be within kissing distance.

But why the hell was I thinking about kissing Adam? We didn’t have that kind of relationship. He was the big brother I’d always wished my three younger ones were. A mentor, which by definition took him out of the realm of romantic possibility.

Didn’t it?

I looked up. I couldn’t help it. My breath caught in my lungs as my head tilted . . .

And found Adam looking past me, at the hostess. “You probably saved her life,” he said. “Whatever happens, she’ll be more prepared for it.”

“Maybe.” I stepped back. His hand fell away and this time, when he looked down at me, I sensed only regular blankness. I started to lift my hand, to reach for him, to get back the connection we’d just had. Then I realized what I was doing and walked away instead.

I was an idiot. Only a second ago I was terrified of the black hole. Now I wanted it back.

Chapter 4

I spent the weekend cleaning my apartment, telling myself I was eradicating reminders of Ian so I’d stop missing him. If you could call a stain on the kitchen floor and an old toothbrush reminders. He’d stayed with me often enough, as we’d found my tiny apartment more comfortable than his darker, more cramped place. But he’d remained a visitor, leaving nothing behind in anticipation of the next visit. I hadn’t noticed. He’d probably done it deliberately as his feelings for the new woman grew.

The two days crept by. I found myself longing for an emergency that would call me out, then hoping we didn’t get one. Along the way, I convinced myself the loneliness left by Ian’s withdrawal had affected my perception regarding Adam. In other words, it had been all my imagination.

It had to be. I needed Adam and HQ. As is. If I let myself want more, I’d end up hurt and alone, without even what I had today. It had been enough for two years and had become more important than ever.

Summer’s apartment was off Dupont Circle on the top floor of an old row house. On Sunday, I took the Metro from my own place in Adams-Morganin deference to the stuffy night, not wanting to arrive at the dinner party with my hair all bushy. Not that anyone from HQ would care, but there was always a chance Summer had invited someone to even things out, since I had no Ian to bring. Gender imbalance made dinner party hostesses cranky.

I still had to walk a few blocks and found my feet slowing the closer I got. I was being ridiculous. The bottle of wine was warming under my hand, my skin was developing a glaze, and my heart wouldn’t feel any more empty when I walked through the door than it did right now.

It did feel a good deal stupider, however, when one of her guests caught me hovering at the bottom of her front steps.

“Um, excuse me.” He gave that close-lipped smile people do when they’re trying to be polite but really want to roll their eyes and sneer. I stepped to the side, and he grabbed the rail and hopped up the steps. Then he stopped halfway.

“Are you . . .?” He pointed at the door. “Are you going to Summer’s party?”

I stopped staring at the house and really looked at him. He was an average guy. Average height, brown curly hair, light-brown eyes. He wore tan cords and a dark-brown jacket over a plaid shirt, and my heart sank.

She’d invited him for me.

“Yes,” I admitted, wishing I could say no and go home.

“Excellent. I’m John Bookman.” He held out a hand.

I shook it, sighing inwardly when his clammy fingers stayed loose in mine. What was Summer thinking? “Daley Charm.”

John beamed. Shamed by my initial reaction, I smiled back, at least resigned to being nice to him for the evening.

“It’s great to meet you,” he said, and I murmured an agreement and followed him to the door.

Out of habit, I did a feelings check when we walked into the living room together. Summer exuded glee and pride at the group she’d gathered together. John, next to me, simmered in smug satisfaction. Since it was directed at himself and not me, I figured he thought he was gonna get into my pants. My enthusiasm dimmed again.

I studied the rest of the room. Kirby’s dark curly hair was piled on her head, making her tower even more than usual over her date, a guy I’d met once and didn’t really like. Chad, I think his name was. He nodded nonstop as she chattered, looking like a bobblehead doll and not hiding his boredom one bit. It spread so wide it nudged the guy closest to him, who was fighting it with his intense interest in . . .

I gaped at Evan, the guy from the gym. What was he doing here? He was alone, leaning on his elbow on the antique dresser Summer used to store her CDs and DVDs. He watched her make introductions, and I detected the same mix of attraction and suspicion he’d had before.

“John, this is Sylvia.” Summer surprised me by drawing John away, toward a woman I hadn’t met before. She was John’s physical match, and delight glowed around her as Summer introduced them. So she
hadn’t
invited him for me. Relief made my shoulders sag, and I realized how tense I’d been for those few seconds since we walked in the door.

More relaxed, I set the bottle I carried in a small wine cooler on the wall opposite the one where Evan stood, then finished my survey of the room.

Summer’s boyfriend Frank was carrying hors d’oeuvres around to their guests. He was neutral, content. So he hadn’t noticed Evan’s interest in his girlfriend. He offered mini puff pastries to Kirby and Chad, then to Trace and Adam, who sat in the conversation pit in front of the fireplace. Trace had his arm around some woman I didn’t know. Her back was to me, but her intensity reached me without even showing a color. She was clearly trying very hard to connect with Trace. But aside from the arm he had over her shoulders, he ignored her.

Trace’s surfer-good-looks contrasted with Adam’s darker, brooding attitude. He was alone, sitting on a leather armchair and leaning forward, dangling a beer between his knees. I’d barely registered his worry and restlessness when he saw me and went blank.

It still unnerved me.

He glanced over his shoulder, then stood and came over to me. “Hey.”

I “heyed” back. He held up his beer.

“Want me to get you one?”

I made a face. “You know I don’t like beer.”

“I meant a drink, not necessarily a beer.” He stood next to me and watched the group with me for a minute. Summer now babbled back and forth at John and Sylvia, who wore identical expressions of patience and eagerness, their eyes firmly locked on each other.

“The matchmaker at work,” Adam commented.

I sighed. “I know. I was afraid she was trying to matchmake me. You’re lucky you have Rachel.”

A funny expression passed over his face. I figured it was one of those misplaced guilt things people feel when someone they knew suffered a breakup. I changed the subject quickly.

“So, that guy in the restaurant.”

Adam jumped on the new topic. “Yeah, no reports of a police incident at their address. Crisis averted, and I gave her some information so she can get help if she needs it.”

Of course he did. While I just fretted about it, he took action. “You were great in there. It always amazes me how calm you stay in every situation.” Frank wandered by and I grabbed a mushroom, automatically offering it to Adam, who stared at my hand for a few seconds before shaking his head. I bit into it, savoring the spices in the filling. Man, I was starving. I hoped dinner wasn’t going to be too long.

“I didn’t really do anything, you know,” Adam said. “It was all you.”

I laughed, automatically blowing it off.

“I’m serious. I want you to work on that more. You’re a lot more powerful than you think, Daley. I’ve always believed that.”

“Maybe.” It wasn’t that I thought I wasn’t powerful. I doubted the value of my power, and its applicability. But maybe that was all in my head, old insecurities combining with new ones and holding me back.

Summer came up to us, rubbing her hands together in glee. “That one was successful,” she murmured to me, barely acknowledging Adam. Behind her, John and Sylvia were chatting away and definitely hitting it off.

“One down . . .” Summer took my elbow and steered me toward Evan.

Understanding dawned. “Me?” I stared at her. “You invited him for me?”

“Yep.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

She stopped and stared back at me. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you—” I broke off and waited until Frank went back into the kitchen with the empty tray. “Because you want him, that’s why.”

Her hand tightened on my elbow.

“I’m not going to say anything,” I murmured, barely above a whisper. “But why invite him at all? He wants you, too, but I don’t know which he wants more. To fuck you or arrest you.”

She barked a laugh, drawing looks from all over. “You read too much into things.” But she knew I didn’t. “Come on.”

“No.” I caught her arm and held her back. “Seriously, Summer, who is he?”

Sadness engulfed her, surprising me. She’d been holding that back, deep, where I didn’t normally dig.

“He’s just someone I used to know,” she admitted. “I don’t want to talk to him, but sometimes it’s better to keep certain people nearby. So.” She tapped my shoulder. “You needed a date, and there he was. Serendipity!” She pasted a hostess smile over her sadness, and it faded as she drew it back in deep, trailed by faint purple. I sighed and followed her across the room.

Evan straightened as we approached. “What have you got for me, Summer?”

“Evan, I think you already know Daley.” She emphasized my name and he flashed a grin. Suddenly he went blank, too, and my breath quickened with anxiety. This was different from Adam’s blankness the other day. Less intense, yet somehow worse.

One of my recurring nightmares was me surrounded by people I know, all coming at me like zombies, no emotion in their eyes or auras. The possibility of the loss of my gift terrified me, now that I knew how to use and control it, and just as strong, if not stronger, was the more rational fear caused by not knowing how people felt about me.

I knew that was how normal people were all the time. They developed litmus tests and instincts for knowing how others feel, but lived with the knowledge that they could be wrong. For me, the difference between sensing how others felt toward other people and not sensing how they felt toward me made me feel like a total non-entity.

“We met last week,” I said, not liking Evan’s silent perusal.

“Yep.”

Neither one of us said anything else. Summer looked back and forth between us a couple of times, then shrugged.

“I have to go check on the hens. Enjoy yourselves.”

I waited. Evan watched me. Then, as if uncertain what to say, he lifted his chin to examine the room behind me. Flickers told me how he felt about who was in his line of sight. He was amused by Chad and Trace’s date and neutral about Frank, which surprised me. I expected jealousy, but only detected that when he landed on Adam. I could tell it wasn’t Trace because he was too far to the left, and when Evan shifted his gaze that way, the suspicion returned. Directed at Trace, and then at Kirby. He came back to me and went blank again. But I knew.

“It’s not just Summer,” I breathed. “It’s HQ.”

Evan retrieved his bottle from the coaster he’d set it on and tipped it back. “You want a drink?”

“Whatever.”

He moved off, slinking like a big ol’ preying cat, and I couldn’t believe the flutter in my chest as I watched him. It figured. He might be the perfect guy to purge Ian from my heart—someone I could get physical with without getting attached to—and he was not only lusting after one of my best friends, but possibly seeking to do harm to HQ.

I didn’t wait for him to come back with my drink but drifted over to Kirby and Chad, who used my greeting as an excuse to move away. I perched on his stool.

“You weren’t going on and on about that loan, were you?”

Kirby raised one eyebrow. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Give it a rest for a while, okay? You’re driving him away.”

She shrugged and picked up a piece of cold shrimp from the tiny plate on the shelf next to her. “I’m done with him, anyway.” She hadn’t tried to pitch her voice under the crowd noise, and I sensed Trace tuning in from a dozen feet away.

“How come?”

“He’s boring.”

I stifled a laugh. “I think he thinks the same about you.”

She opened her mouth, outraged, then realized the ridiculousness of that and subsided. “Good. So, who’s the cutie in the corner?”

I glanced over my shoulder at Evan. He was watching us, and instead of blankness I sensed suspicion again and felt better.

“I think he’s investigating HQ. I have no idea why.” I told her about the gym and his desire for Summer and her sadness about him, and then the broad suspicion I’d just picked up.

“Have you told Adam?”

“Haven’t had a chance yet.”

She popped a cheese ball in her mouth and dusted off her hands. “I’ll start looking into him on Monday.” She frowned. “If he’s got a problem with us, why is he here?”

I chewed my lip. She didn’t notice.

“For that matter, if Summer has an issue with him, why is he here? He could disrupt things with Frank.”

“She said she wants to keep him close,” I hastened to explain, too late. She had started counting people and cataloging who went with who. Light dawned.

“He’s for you!”

I sighed. “Apparently.” I did not want Kirby jumping on the matchmaking bandwagon. But before I could say more Evan moved up behind me, his heat invading my space. He didn’t say anything, just tapped my upper arm with the bottle of something-ice he’d gotten for me. That he knew my preference, even if he’d simply asked someone, annoyed me.

But I’d been raised with manners, so I thanked him and with effort resisted turning my back again.

Kirby introduced herself and with characteristic bluntness said, “So you’ve got a problem with us.”

“Do I?”

“She says you do.” Kirby motioned to me with her head.

“Then I must.”

His wryness pissed me off. I was used to people being skeptical of my ability, and usually I could let it roll off. Not with this guy, though. The red welled up in me like a thermometer.

I narrowed my eyes and studied the emotions flowing through him, not just the immediate ones floating
around
him. I didn’t do that often. People’s deeper emotions were private, and I only explored them in extreme circumstances. Like a crime in progress, or when they welled up like Summer’s had.

Or when someone pissed me off.

“I’m not a mind-reader,” I told him. “I don’t know why you’re after us or what your plans are. But I do know other things.”