Touch No Evil Page 14

  “Come on, Kylie. Lesson’s not over yet. Get up.”

  I force myself upright, overacting being off-balance. If he thinks the kick to the head has left me senseless, I can use that. And my jaw feels funny. It’s probably broken. Simms wasn’t lying. He is better than me in hand-to-hand combat. And I’ve let my anger get the better of me, which makes him even more of a threat. But, sometimes, all it takes is a little distraction to turn a fight.

  And speaking of little distractions. No sooner do I lock eyes with him than Hope appears right behind him in a shimmer of glowing light. Simms doesn’t notice her until she’s driven her foot straight up between his legs from behind.

  His eyes bulge.

  She vanishes before he swings a backhand strike through where her head had been only an instant ago.

  I attack with an open-hand punch/slap that, if done right, can render a man senseless… and I did it correctly. My strike connects better than I could ever have hoped, and Simms spins halfway around and collapses. On the way down, his head hits the sharp corner of a metal server, and blood spurts. He ricochets off and lands with a thud. The metal corner does considerable damage, puncturing his skull as surely as if he’d been shot… and Simms, I’m certain, is dead before he hits the ground. Eyes wide, he stares blankly as blood seeps from the large wound in his head.

  Hope appears next to me, and I turn her away from the sight.

  Julia walks up next to me, staring down. “Okay, so I was wrong. It wasn’t a gunshot to the head. But close enough.”

  I pull her in, too, but don’t bother turning her away. She’s a big girl.

  I stare down at the man who raised and trained me, and try to feel bad for him, but I don’t.

  No, not at all.

  Chapter Thirty

  Geryon decides not to bother hanging around Qumran 4 since he has no chance of getting his hands on Hope.

  After several jumps back in time here and there, varying by months and years with each repetition, still no luck. He even travels back to the exact place and time when he and Echidna grabbed the kid, but no trace of her exists in that shadow of the past.

  Puzzled, he works out several different angles in an effort to discover some sort of solution, but every time he comes to the same conclusion—somehow, something shields or cloaks Hope’s history.

  Waiting around for Echidna to return seems futile, so he trudges back to the hotel where they enjoyed a night of passion. If Hope escapes Echidna’s grip on her, then the woman he loves will be trapped in whatever era they’d been in when the child got away. He can jump back a thousand times and never come close to her. In fact, he has no idea even if he should search the past or future.

  Geryon waits several days before it appears unlikely Echidna will return to the present with Hope. He doesn’t want to admit it, but waiting even an hour means something has gone wrong. If she has the ability to return, she’d have come back to a point in time soon after they’d left. To keep himself from worrying, he tries to psychically locate Hope or the PSI team in Israel, but has no luck. Clearly, they are shielded. If PSI was smart, they’d have probably wasted little time in getting the girl as far away from Israel as possible, and hidden deep with the scrolls in hand. While he mulls that over, he considers what to do... wait here? Or look for Echidna?

  Screw the whole lot of them, he thinks.

  He’s going to find his missing partner and lover, one way or another. He just needs to find some clue, something, anything in the historical record. Would Echidna think to leave him such a clue? He doesn’t know, but he will find it if it exists.

  It’ll be there. It has to be.

  I’ll find you, he thinks. Wherever you are...

  ***

  Lucky for Echidna, the patch of green she spots on the desert horizon turns out to be a genuine oasis rather than a mirage.

  Though it takes several hours, she makes it into the shade and relative cool of the lush green paradise. She collapses beside the clear, deep pool of water, jams her face below the surface, and draws in a long, cool drink. Refreshed and feeling closer to alive once more, she takes a few breaths while idly swatting at the sand that has gotten everywhere. Her hands aren’t up to the task of getting rid of it all, at least not without scratching all the skin off her body. Even if she had a damp cloth handy, that wouldn’t work either. She’s gone rolling down far too many sand dunes for that. No, the only way she’s ever getting rid of all the sand requires more drastic measures.

  After a look around at the miles of endless sand—and no people to watch her, Echidna strips out of her clothes, leaves them in a pile on the sand, and eases herself into the surprisingly cold water. Instant relief spreads over her body, both from the sand washing away from her everything, as well as the reprieve from heat. Limp from the sensation, she floats for a while, gazing up at the leaves of palm trees swaying in the breeze. She dips under, drinking more and rinsing her mouth again, still finding the odd granule of sand.

  Comfort lasts only about twenty minutes before a low chuckle emanates from the shadows.

  She twists to glance toward the sound, keeping her reaction casual.

  A tall, well-muscled man in the robes of a desert traveler emerges from the dark spaces between trees and approaches the edge of the pond, peering down into the water. Judging by his attire, and the lack of anything even close to technological, she figures she hasn’t been left by Hope in the far future. No, somehow, Hope had not only gone to the far past, but traversed physical distance as well.

  Maybe she won’t kill the brat. A talent like that is far too useful. Despite having a man stare at her nakedness, she ignores him and daydreams about all sorts of wonderful things the child could do for her. No vault can hold anything back from her. No security system in the world will be able to protect valuables, prototypes, information, or anything. That kid can go anywhere and anywhen she wanted.

  Echidna only has to find a way to control her. Perhaps she has been rash in her hostility, but at the time, she only expected to use the kid once. She’ll have to try a different approach altogether. The child has been far more willful than anticipated; hell, she’s proven much tougher than even Noah to influence. She’ll have to appeal to the girl’s wants, whatever they may be. The two of them could own the entire world; she has only to convince Hope to put her abilities to a use worthy of them.

  She glances down, acutely aware that the clarity of the water leaves nothing to the man’s imagination, nothing perhaps but a slight distortion of the rippling surface. Rather than panic, she decides to use her exposure as a tool.

  “You have me at a distinct disadvantage, sir,” says Echidna in her best Egyptian Arabic, hoping it will be suitable for communication, and with any luck, sound formal enough to make the cover story she plans to use more plausible.

  “I think that some creature fell from heaven and landed in this fortunate pool.” He flashes a large smile. “Since you have spoken to me in the tongue of the pharaohs, then I might be correct.”

  His dialect strains her ears. He speaks an older form, somewhat different from what she’s been taught. Talk of pharaohs doesn’t particularly encourage her. That means she’s landed in a period of time quite far back, enough to tax her historical knowledge.

  “Not from heaven, but from the land of the pharaohs,” she says, trying to get a bead on just where she is.

  “To hear the pharaohs speak, there is no difference between themselves and the gods. My question to you is how can you be from the land of the pharaohs and swimming in this pool so very far away from Egypt?”

  “I was taken captive, but escaped.”

  “In that case, you are fortunate to have found this patch of green in this wretched desert.”

  Echidna glides toward the bank where she’s left her clothes. They don’t even approach blending in with the style of the time, but she has nothing else and she can’t exactly run around nude. While climbing out from the water, she makes a halfhearted attempt at modesty with h
er hands, much to the man’s amusement.

  “Not fortunate, given that I must undergo the lewdness of your staring,” she says. “I’m not certain whether it’s worse to be a captive or to endure your gaze.”

  “Endure my gaze or you shall be made to play the role of harlot for the caravan that is coming,” he says.

  Time to take this weak little mind.

  Echidna stares deep into his eyes. That damnable child has more willpower than this letch. Of all the people she’s ever encountered, it figures the only person she can’t simply take control of is the one she needs to control the most. Her anger at the child adds a hefty punch to her mental assault on this brigand, and in seconds, his arrogant grin fades to an expression of bewilderment. “You will protect me from them, then?”

  The man stares at her for a few seconds before he finds enough focus to speak. “I will. I will tell them that you are my wife and none will touch you.”

  “Very well. I will endure your gaze.” She smiles. “You will escort me back to Egypt as well?”

  “I will hate myself if I did not,” he says with a deep bow.

  Echidna allows the man to gaze upon her as she air-dries, perched on a patch of dry grass. Once the wind lifts the last traces of water from her skin, she stands and retrieves her clothes, ignoring his lustful eyes. His gaze doesn’t bother her; in fact, it thrills her. Having such power over a man never fails to amuse her. However, prudence dictates she not look directly into his wanton stare. “Are you any good with that sword?”

  “The very best. You are in capable hands.”

  After putting her clothes back on, she frowns at her shoes. They cost $2,700, and an hours-long walk across the desert has ruined them beyond repair. No matter. That damnable little girl will earn many times that back for her, eventually.

  Echidna approaches the man, grinning at his expression of confusion as he takes in her attire. He needs to believe what she wears isn’t out of the ordinary. “Do you find my modern clothing to your liking?”

  “You’ve forgotten your covering.”

  “I seem to have lost it during my escape.” She frowns. “You will find me another and a cloak?”

  “I have items that you might use until I am able to trade and obtain ones more fitting for a lady.”

  By the time the caravan arrives, Echidna is well covered and hidden away. A large parade of wagons, merchants, and camels gather at the oasis and proceed to establish a camp. She keeps back, acting meek, and lets the man talk to the caravan master. The two appear amicable, and she makes out enough of the conversation to understand they accept his offer of hiring on as a guard in exchange for traveling with the group.

  The caravan merchants set up an array of tents and cook fires in the shade of the trees. She eats a light meal of a vaguely nutty-flavored paste she can’t identify as well as hard bread and dried dates. That night, she shares the man’s tent, deciding to lay with him, which she finds not entirely an unpleasant experience. The man certainly enjoys himself. In the morning, Echidna swallows her pride and prepares his food, pretending to be the dutiful wife so as not appear out of place to the other members of the caravan. As they eat their breakfast, she learns the merchants are headed to Egypt to trade in the markets there.

  Though the man doesn’t seem to be keen on the idea of joining the caravan, her influence over his will is complete. She peers around at the other men sitting around, drinking and talking, smiling to herself at how woefully they misunderstand the relationship between her and this man. To them, she is his lesser, but the reality is far, far different.

  It will have to do for now. At least magical, strikingly advanced Egypt offers her a better chance of finding someone capable of returning her to her own time.

  And if not… well, there could be worse places to live out the rest of her life with the power to control anyone she desires.

  With each of the camel’s slow, methodical steps, the twenty-first century lumbers farther and father away…

  Chapter Thirty-one

  John is holding my face in both hands.

  Energy tingles through my broken jaw. I can feel it… moving. The bone is mending, repairing itself, and it’s got to be the strangest feeling I’ve ever experienced. It literally hurts so good. He keeps holding me, healing me, as the repairs go on beneath the surface. Surely those present—and the whole team is here—see a rippling in my face, my jawbone undulating beneath my skin. Surely it looks strange, but not as strange as it feels. John’s eyes are closed. His face is splattered with blood. He smells of sweat and grease and dirt. It is a messy business, taking over such a compound. I can only imagine how many have died tonight.

  The pain in my face recedes, thank God. A broken jaw is no joke. And as John continues to hold my face, he opens his eyes and smiles at me. I smile back. Then he surprises the hell out of me by leaning in and pressing his lips to mine, healing a whole helluva lot more than my muscle and bone. It’s as though he reaches deep down into a dark pit of sorrow, finds me hiding beneath its murky waters, and pulls me back into the light.

  I guess I hoped and dreamed of the moment John would come back to me, but after I let Simms convince me that John sold out the team and ended up dead, I dismissed all of those dreams from my mind. I never admitted it to myself, at least at a conscious level, but I basically died at that point. Simms did to me exactly what he hoped: killed me inside. When I thought John was dead, I stopped being a person and turned into a machine under Simms’ control.

  Now, I can’t stop the tears streaming from my eyes, tears of utter joy that John is alive and full of goodness. I press into him with all of my strength.

  “So, I guess this means you two have made up?” Noah asks as a way of announcing his arrival.

  When John pulls himself away from me, I glance over at not only Noah and Ayden, but a stream of women and children flowing into the lab. They’re all wearing bright blue jumpsuits like something out of an H.G. Wells movie. I’m concerned about the children seeing Simms’ body and his gruesome crushed skull. I start to push past him, trying to block their view, but he tugs me back.

  “Don’t let them see the body,” I say.

  John covers Simms’ face with his jacket as I begin directing traffic away from the room with the body of the man who literally sought to destroy the world, not to mention the lives of everyone in this compound.

  Once in the side hallway, a face from my past, though aged several years, appears in front of me. “Diana?” I ask, shocked, delighted, tears coming instantly to my eyes.

  “Kylie!” says the woman.

  I pull her close and cling to her. I look to the other women behind her and see six more faces that I recognize. I hug each of them and then look to Diana for some sort of an explanation as to what has happened to them. I can’t even make my mouth work, so I wind up staring at my former “classmates” in stunned silence.

  “We never saw you or Lindsay again after they took you away,” says Diana, with the others nodding. “We were told that you had both been killed and that if we didn’t do exactly what we were told that we would die the same horrible, torturous death. Where’s Lindsay?”

  “Dead,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t notice, until that moment, that more tears are falling from my eyes the entire time that I’ve been staring at my school friends, really, my fellow abductees. Their words and emotions gush forth as the reality of it all comes together; the video of Lindsay and I, the video of John, the whole setup and deception of it all. I think I already know the answer, but I ask the question anyway. And I soon learn the truth. They were forced to have babies and raise them for Simms. As she speaks, Diana is unable to look me in the eye.

  “I suppose it sounds horrible,” says Diana. “But we kept our minds focused on raising the children, our children, so to speak. We survived because of the kids. We worked together to make sure they knew they were loved, even for the short amount of time we had them with us. Julia was one of the childr
en they brought to me to raise.” She beams, pulling Julia in for a tight hug. “I don’t suppose you remember me at all. You were so small when they took you away from me.”

  “They tell me I was an infant.”

  “And so you were.”

  They hug for a few moments more.

  “There is some silver lining in this,” Ayden says, sidling up next to me. “You have a new little brother. Jonah.”

  I turn to him, and I’m surprised to see a child in his arms. The little boy appears to be somewhere between one and two years old. Ayden gives me a glimpse of the birthmark on the back of the child’s neck.

  “Is that the mark of...?” I start to ask.

  “It is,” Ayden says.

  I can’t help but note that Ayden hasn’t keeled over dead from touching the boy. In fact, he’s rubbing noses with little Jonah, who tugs on Ayden’s ears. Julia giggles and comes over to them, tickling one of the boy’s little feet.

  “I guess we got to him in time,” I say.

  “We did,” says Ayden. “To all of them.”

  Julia moves next to me, lowers her voice. “One big happy family, huh?”

  I take in some air. “We will be, someday.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “We’ll get Mom the help she needs. I suspect she might come around when she sees all of us together.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “It’s pretty to think so.”

  “You swipe that line from Hemingway?”

  “Maybe. Will your dad let you visit your mom?” I worry about what the President might do to keep them apart.