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  Thom shook his head. “Hard to say. There's always going to be an undercurrent of jealousy between those with Talent and those without. I'm not sure how organized it is, though. I've been hearing of some guy who calls himself the Reverend. Says Talent comes from the devil.” Thom rolled his eyes. “He's very popular with the un-Talented.”

  He took another swallow of his beer. “Since the fighting stopped, there are so many new people coming and going, I can't keep track anymore. I used to know all the employees here. Not anymore. The waiters are all new, even the guy mixing the drinks. It's not the same.”

  “I've heard of the Reverend. Shing's keeping an eye on him. I can handle new faces, so long as the war is over.” Malachi leaned back in his chair. “I was tired of the fighting, tired of losing young lives, patching up kids who had no business killing.”

  He'd barely ended his sentence when the women returned. Laughing, Jan interrupted. “Well, that's the last time I try that!” She plopped down in Thom's lap and kissed him hard on the mouth. “What a mess! I think I'll stick with my standard incompetence, thank you.”

  “If that's what you want to call it.” Thom leered, but the kiss he gave her spoke volumes.

  Sheyna and Carly reclaimed their seats. Malachi thought Carly looked happy and relaxed, dressed casually in canvas pants and a sweater. Suddenly the resemblance slammed into his gut—she'd been wearing the same outfit in his first precog. He glanced about the crowded room, searching for anything that might present a threat, then turned his attention back to Carly.

  She took a swallow of her beer and rolled her eyes. “We really pissed off the waiter. He did not see the humor in the situation.”

  “We cleaned up the mess. All he had to do was stand there and glower at us.” Sheyna touched Malachi's shoulder. “He was radiating hatred. Not merely irritation, but absolute loathing for all of us. You might want to have Shing Tamura keep an eye on him.”

  Malachi covered Sheyna's hand with his. Did you notice Carly is dressed in the same clothing she wore in my original precog vision? There was an aura of danger and darkness in what I saw.

  Sheyna's words were loud and clear in his mind. I'd forgotten what she wore. The significance can't be ignored. We should contact Shing tonight and keep close watch on Carly. Her fingers tightened, subtly warning him of a new situation.

  “Hello, Tim.” Jan glanced over Carly's shoulder and smiled.

  “Hey, kid.” Malachi sent a silent thank you to Sheyna and smiled at Tim, hoping to make him feel welcome among his friends. He stood there, just behind Carly, all the pain and love he felt for the woman so obvious Malachi wanted to shake her.

  She stared at her beer, but didn't turn around. Her shoulders looked tense, her face had gone deathly pale.

  “Carly?” Tim reached out and touched her shoulder. “We need to talk. Okay?”

  She looked up, away from him. “I… Tim, I…” Tears streamed down her face. Sheyna reached for her, but Carly shoved the chair back, twisted past Tim and ran across the center. She almost collided with the waiter at the doorway, pushed past him, and disappeared through the door.

  Tim turned to follow her, but Malachi grabbed his arm. “Give her a minute to get herself under control. She's been quietly looking for you all night. I think she'd finally decided you weren't going to come.”

  “What's going on?” Tim straddled the chair Carly had just left. “She's been avoiding me for two weeks over something I can't change, something that means nothing. Why's she so hung up on our age difference? It's stupid.”

  “It's not just the age, Tim.” Sheyna covered his hand with hers. “It's her Talent. She wonders if you care for her for herself or for the power she gives you. It's very complicated, the way a woman's mind works.”

  “You think I don't know that?” He grinned ruefully. “How can I convince her I'd love her without her Talent?” He laughed. “Admittedly, the sex wouldn't be nearly so good, but that's not what made me want her the first time I saw her in Mal's vision. Her Talent is part of who she is, what we are. As for the age difference…in my mind, it's not an issue. I guess I just have to convince Carly's mind.”

  Malachi interrupted. “Tim, she's wearing the same outfit she had on in the precog. Same sweater, same pants. I sensed darkness in the vision. At the time, I thought only of the danger Carly represented to us, not something that might befall her. It might mean nothing, it might mean she faces danger. You better make sure she's okay.”

  Tim nodded and stood up. “Thanks, Mal. I didn't notice what she was wearing. I'm going after her. I'll keep her safe. This time she's going home with me, so don't wait up.”

  * * * * *

  The stars spread across the nighttime sky like jewels scattered over black velvet. Once she wiped the tears from her eyes, Carly spotted the Big Dipper and the North Star, right where they belonged. They'd been in the same place a hundred years ago.

  One hundred years meant nothing in the cosmos. How could she let twenty years destroy her happiness? She felt absolutely foolish, standing out here in the dark at the edge of the compound, listening to the music and laughter spilling out of the rec center.

  Listening to the music and thinking of numbers.

  She couldn't get the math out of her head. Jan was twenty-five years younger than her lover. At twenty-four, she was less than half Thom's age, yet she adored him. Tim might be only twenty-five, but his maturity was that of a much older man. She'd thought he was at least in his thirties when she'd first met him. Carly knew that if she wanted to get technical, she was actually a hundred and twenty years older than Tim.

  She pressed her knuckles against her lips, not certain if she wanted to laugh or cry. She'd been such an idiot, upsetting Tim, making herself miserable. No one cared about the stupid difference in their ages. Why should she? It wasn't like she and Tim were getting married.

  They were terrific together in bed. Just thinking about him filling her, loving her, made her hot and wet and ready. She hugged her arms around herself, contemplating her return to the rec center, the apology she knew she owed to everyone.

  Time to eat some crow. She'd been underfoot at Sheyna and Mal's long enough, worried everyone sick and made Tim unhappy for nothing. What an idiot.

  Almost giggling with relief, she started back across the compound.

  They came out of nowhere, dark and menacing, cloths covering their faces, the large fabric sack one threw over her head suffocating her and restraining her arms.

  She cried out, but the sound was muffled. She kicked her feet, hoping to at least trip one of her opponents, but he shoved her back and she fell, hard. She heard a loud ripping, realized it was tape being torn from a roll and suddenly the sack tightened around her arms, her throat, across her mouth.

  Someone sat on her, wrapped her ankles together until she felt trussed up like a calf at a rodeo. Grunting in frustration, twisting and turning, she struggled to draw enough air through the cloth.

  He hit her across the temple, hard. Stunned, afraid, she went perfectly still. Both attackers picked her up, slung her between them like a sack of flour, and, moving at an uncomfortable jog, carried her away from the music, away from the sounds of her friends, away from everything Carly knew.

  * * * * *

  Struggling for some semblance of control, Tim paced back and forth in front of the table. “I can't find her. I looked all over out there and, unless she's hiding from me, she's taken off.”

  “Or been taken.”

  “What do we do, Mal? There's no sign of anything, no sense. I don't know where to start. If she just wants to avoid me, that's her right, but I'm scared to death…”

  Sheyna touched his arm. Tim knew it was as much for comfort as to read his mental state, but he didn't mind the intrusion. She cared. They all did. Once again he realized how lucky he was to have such good friends. “Tim, the clinic is locked and Carly doesn't have a key. If she's gone back there, I imagine she's sitting on the front step, feeling really foolish. Look fo
r her there, first. We'll check around the compound, see if we can find her. Try not to worry.”

  Try not to worry. Right. Tim raced across the darkened compound, his mind open to anything that might lead him to Carly. He hoped like hell he'd find her on the front step, but deep in his heart he knew she wasn't there.

  * * * * *

  The carpet smelled where she'd been unceremoniously dumped, and the room reeked of cigarettes, unwashed bodies and sweaty clothes. Carly lay on her side, still trussed in the bag. The tape around her face had loosened enough to allow her to breathe, but fear and anger kept her on the edge of hyperventilation.

  Two men argued, their voices rising and falling, far enough away that she was unable to understand all of what they said, especially over the rush of her own breathing. Obviously they were aware of her Talent, what little she had. They feared the Talented members of the Institute, but their hatred was stronger.

  Carly struggled to slow her breathing. She needed to hear them, needed to understand what was going on.

  Footsteps, muted on the carpet, drew closer. “You're sure she can't do anything? She can't, like, set fires or move stuff or read our minds?”

  Carly tried to identify the voice. She couldn't.

  “Not a thing. I heard them talking. They said she can't do any of that stuff. The bitches thought it was funny, throwing beer and glass all over the place. I made 'em clean it up. All she does is, she makes the others better. If you can lift a little, she makes it a lot.”

  The waiter?

  “How?”

  “Hell if I know. I told him about her. Just before I got off my shift. He said he'd pay.”

  “Told who? Who wants her? What are we going to do with her? I let you talk me into this stupid scheme, but…”

  “You idiot. I'm gonna sell her to the Reverend. You've heard him speak. The guy's really sharp—he's got a huge following, bigger'n anyone realizes. He says Talent's an abomination, that it's the devil's work. He's got lots of ideas, lots of plans. I told him tonight about the bitch, how she can make their powers even stronger. He's real interested. I gotta let him know I've got her.” He laughed. “I never thought it would be this easy to snatch her.”

  “How interested? How much money?”

  “Enough.” Carly heard another bark of coarse laughter, then a sharp jab in her ribs rolled her from her side to her back. Hands groped her legs, tested the tape wound around her ankles and knees. Added new tape around her arms and body. Someone grabbed her breast and squeezed hard. Another hand pressed down on her pubic bone and fingers slipped between her bound legs, touching her through the fabric of her canvas pants. She clenched her jaw and kept silent.

  “What's she look like?”

  “A babe. She looks good. Later, we'll check her out. Maybe give her a trial run.” He laughed again. “Hell, we'll have plenty of time. I won't see the Reverend until tomorrow night. Right now, I need a drink.”

  “Works for me. Rec center?”

  Laughter. “Why not? I'm off for the rest of the night. Besides, if anyone sees us there, they won't connect us with the bitch disappearing.”

  She heard them walk away, heard the door slam.

  She lay in the dark, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, the ragged sound of her breath echoing against the filthy sack.

  Tim? Find me, Tim. Please.

  Chapter 9

  “I've looked everywhere, Mal. Where can she be?” Tim struggled to control his breathing. Panic wouldn't help Carly. She needed him.

  Gods, he needed her. So many lonely nights since she'd chosen her course away from his. He'd ached with wanting her, now fear filled him with pain. He might not be the empath Sheyna was, but he sensed danger, sensed Carly's fear.

  Something terrible had happened here tonight.

  Malachi grasped his shoulder, steadied him. “I don't know, Tim. We've checked all over the compound, but I really thought she'd be at the clinic. I wanted you guys to have some time together. Shit. I should pay more attention to my instincts. Sheyna, do you sense her at all?”

  They stood just outside the rec center, Thom, Jan, Sheyna and Malachi. Supporting him, helping him. Tim watched his friends' faces and realized this was his family, they were the ones he counted on. If anyone could help, these four would.

  Sheyna lifted her face to the heavens, composed herself with hands pressed together in front of her chest, palms joined as if in prayer. She bowed her head, concentration obvious in the rigid line of her shoulders, the silence that surrounded her.

  A long moment later she spoke. “She was here,” she said. “She walked here.” Sheyna practically glided across the tarmac surface, eyes half closed, her hands now pressed to her temples. She paused at the small fence separating the rec center parking lot from the rest of the Institute grounds.

  “She stood here, not for too long. Her thoughts lie heavy in this spot.” Sheyna turned to Tim, a soft smile on her face. “She was thinking of you. I feel happiness, a sense of decision.”

  The lioness turned and walked back toward the lights of the center. Suddenly she stopped, flinched as if she'd been struck. “Here. Something frightened her. Someone. No…two. There were two men here. Right here. I see only darkness, sense fear, panic even. She can't breathe, her face is covered. The men smell of beer, of stale smoke. There is much anger. A sense of loathing.”

  Sheyna suddenly looked toward Malachi. “One of them…the waiter. The same hatred I sensed from the waiter, earlier tonight.”

  “Find him.” Thom's voice interrupted, his authority clear. “I'll check the rec center. Malachi, you and Sheyna see what else you can sense in the area. Tim, find out where he lives. He's new here. Jan, get Shing Tamura on this—now. We'll split up and see if anyone knows where the bastard is.”

  Tim stopped Sheyna with a hand to her wrist. “Thank you,” he said. “We'll find her. We have to.”

  She nodded, brushed his cheek with her fingers, then turned and followed Malachi into the night.

  * * * * *

  Carly willed her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to grow more even and productive. Her captors were gone, for now. She wasn't certain how long she'd been held, but someone must be looking for her.

  Dear God, let it be Tim.

  She dropped her newly learned shields. She had no idea how close she had to be for someone to use her power, but with any luck, Tim or Sheyna, or even Malachi might be within her range.

  She thought of Tim, of the short time she'd spent with him. All of her arguments seemed so silly, now. What did years matter when your love was timeless? Tim filled an emptiness she'd lived with for much too long. His laughter, his consideration, his love for her.

  Who was she to deny her own feelings, much less his? She was forty-five, not eighty-five. If Tim wanted babies, she could still give him children. If he wanted a lover, she knew she could give him everything he wanted and needed. She'd let the fashions of her era determine her actions in his.

  She'd not been capable of telepathy, but she remembered the sense of Tim in her mind. She tried now to recapture that, to send out a plea for help.

  Nothing.

  Still, she left her newly built shields down, opened her thoughts to the night, and waited.

  Awareness sharpened. She sensed the hollow, empty feel of the room, felt the despair that lingered here, the anger and hatred. She imagined her mind traveling outside her body, leaving the stink and the loathing, searching for Tim in the quiet stillness of the night.

  She floated free, unbound, unfettered. Stars sprinkled the heavens, the grounds of the Institute lay below. There! She spotted Sheyna and Malachi near where she'd been captured. Thom appeared to be heading for the rec center, Jan was running across the compound, headed directly for the security office. Carly wanted to tell them to look closely for the waiter, but her voice did not exist on this plane.

  Where was Tim? She floated lower, searching, sending out tendrils of thought to draw him to her. So strange, this floating, flying self.
How much was reality, how much her imagination? How much due to the lack of oxygen in her imprisoning sack?

  She hovered, part of the air, partly mist, her thoughts as hazy as her appearance. Tim must be close. She sensed him, wanted him. How could this astral body have needs so base and human?

  There! She floated down, closer, followed him toward the clinic where Malachi kept records of all the Institute's inhabitants. Tim stepped up on the porch, paused. Looked around, his brow creased with thought. His long black hair had come loose from its customary leather tie. It tangled in disarray over his shoulders. With a look of exasperation, he shoved the dark mass out of his eyes and stared directly at Carly.

  Did he sense her presence? She floated closer, closer still until she all but embraced him. Couldn't he see her? Why couldn't he feel her love? She reached out, stroked his cheek, pushed a tendril of long dark hair away from his face.

  He stared, wide-eyed, directly at her. His voice was a hoarse whisper, a ragged cry of pain. “Carly? I know you're close. I feel you. Where are you? Oh Gods, Carly. I love you so much. Where are you?”

  Crap. She didn't have a clue how to tell him. She reached out and touched his arm. He brushed away what he obviously thought was a bug.

  She opened her mind, dropped whatever shields she might still hold. Experienced all the love, the need, the wanting she felt for him.

  He looked at her. Directly at her and nodded, as if understanding. She knew he didn't see her, but he at least felt her presence. “Take me there. Take me where they've got you.”

  Slowly. She had to move very slowly now, drawing her astral self back to the physical, keeping contact with Tim, holding on to the fine silvery thread of her real existence. So new, this method of travel, but exhilarating, wonderful..