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  Thing was, she couldn’t imagine she actually drank that much. She certainly couldn’t remember anything beyond a glass of wine with dinner. And even that she’d only sipped because she never knew how alcohol might interact with the drugs that bolstered her empathy.

  She knew now, for a fact, that Flinn had drugged her that night.

  The thought had crossed her mind then, but she’d shaken it off. It briefly occurred to her again later, when Zoe had insisted he’d impregnated her against her will. But why would he drug them? They both already did everything he told them to, with a few tiny exceptions in Sam’s case.

  Over the years, he’d made it clear in multiple subtle ways that he owned her, that he could use her for whatever purpose he wanted. To prove it, he and his scientist partner in crime, Dr. Toby Ames, had devised all sorts of tests to learn how to enhance and expand and take full advantage of her gift. Because of her, N3 knew how to get the most from its psychic operatives. Because of her, N3 knew that an agent pumped full of this drug and that drug could precisely mine the memories of anyone he or she touched.

  On top of all of that, Flinn had roofied her.

  And now she was pregnant.

  She wondered how he managed that part. He hadn’t raped her. She would have noticed the signs afterward. And that would have been an inexact science timing-wise.

  Instead, after he drugged her, he must have called Dr. Ames, and that equally sick bastard, the one who’d pumped just about every drug imaginable into her veins—just to see what would happen to her empathy—had shown up with doctor bag in hand and pumped her full of something else.

  She wondered whose sperm they used. Had to be that of another psychic operative if they were indeed trying to create empathic spies. She couldn’t imagine any of her fellow spies being a willing donor, though, so they’d probably drugged the donor, too.

  After all that, though, the thing she had the most trouble believing was that Flinn would have the patience to wait for a child to grow into the super spy he wanted. He’d have to wait at least two decades. By then, Flinn would be pushing seventy.

  That didn’t make sense.

  She curled her fingers against her belly, closing her eyes. The answer lay beneath her palm. A tiny life created inside her against her will.

  And somehow, some way, the thought of that tiny life flushed warmth into her veins.

  She’d never considered being a mother. She’d thought life had forced her down a road that precluded having a family. She’d pushed thoughts of never loving a child who needed, wanted only her far from her mind, refusing to let herself even think about it.

  Now, against all odds, she was going to be a mother.

  And whatever Flinn Ford’s plans, she wouldn’t let him take that away from her.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  After pulling on a royal blue cotton top and jeans, she liberated one of the prepaid cell phones from its bag, gathered up the notebook computer that Mac had already used to check, but not send, e-mail and returned to the bathroom.

  Sloan Decker’s cell phone number came to her as if she used it every day. Before she’d lost her memory, she practically had.

  His deep voice answered after the first ring. “Decker.”

  “It’s Sam.”

  “Holy Christ. Where the hell are you? You just vanished. And after what happened with Zoe—”

  “I need to see you. Just us.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Your line isn’t secure. I’ll get you the information in the usual way.”

  “Got it.”

  She cut off the call, then opened the notebook computer where it sat on the vanity. Opening a Web browser, she went to the Google home page and accessed the Gmail account she and Sloan used for secure communication. They changed the account name and password every six months, and neither of them ever accessed it from their home or work computers or cell phones. She typed in the password then started a new e-mail message. When she was done giving him the information he’d need to find her, she saved the e-mail as a draft then signed off.

  In Washington, DC, Sloan would be on his way to the library to check the drafts folder for the message she’d left him. No one could trace it because it had never been sent over the network. Now all she had to do was find a place to hide for the next several hours, until it was time to meet Sloan.

  She savored one last look at Mac, who lay on his back, snoring, one hand flung over his eyes. She memorized every handsome detail, her throat closing and her eyes burning, before she slipped out the door and into the hall. As she shut the door gently behind her, she closed her eyes and took a moment to breathe, to calm her frantic heart.

  She didn’t want to do this.

  She had to.

  And not just for herself. She had to do it for Zoe. Zoe had a sister out there who had no idea what had happened to her. And there might be other N3 operatives who were pregnant with a Flinn Ford science project. She couldn’t just walk away and let—

  “Sam ?”

  A flinch tensed already tense muscles, and she opened her eyes to see her sister striding toward her. Her lungs seized, preventing her from taking a breath.

  Charlie.

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them away. She needed Soldier Sam now, not Sister Sam. But, God, it was Charlie.

  Charlie paused before her, her intriguing eyes—light brown irises encircled in dark brown—bright with excitement and something else. A growing wariness.

  “Going somewhere?” Charlie asked, cocking her head.

  She looked slim and healthy in a pink tank top and navy shorts that had white stripes running up the outer thighs. Her long, reddish-brown hair was captured in a loose ponytail, as though she’d rolled out of bed only minutes ago and headed right to Sam and Mac’s suite.

  Sam swallowed hard. Charlie had a right to that wariness. Sam was about to fulfill her worst expectations.

  “I have to go.”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed, the excitement dimming to disappointment. She made no move, just stood there, watching Sam with a guarded expression and that knowing tilt of her head. “Didn’t you just get here?”

  “I’m sorry, Charlie. I truly am.”

  “Go where?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “I shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe for you.”

  “Then why did you come? Why did Mac ask Alex and me to meet you?”

  Sam’s heart thudded in her chest, and she let her gaze dart past Charlie’s shoulder. Was Alex here, too? Just down the hall, still sleeping or perhaps brushing her teeth in preparation for their reunion? Just a glimpse of her sweet kid sister would mean the world.

  “Alex isn’t here,” Charlie said.

  Sam didn’t have to be empathic to hear the tension in her sister’s voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “She’s—” Charlie broke off and swallowed. “She’s having some trouble.”

  Alarm stiffened Sam’s shoulders. “What kind of trouble?”

  Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you had to get going.”

  “If Alex needs help—”

  Charlie’s incredulous laugh cut her off. “You’re ready to run to her rescue now? After fourteen years of being the absent big sister?”

  Sam took a step back, which brought her up against the hotel room door. This wasn’t how she’d pictured this. But how foolish had she been to think a reunion would be all hugs and exclamations of “I’ve missed you so much”?

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I am. I wish I could explain—”

  The door at her back opened so fast, she stumbled back a step before she caught herself. She turned to face Mac, expecting recriminations and disappointment, but he just broke into a broad smile when he spotted her sister. “Hey, Chuck.”

  Charlie rolled her eyes. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

  His grin grew as he enfolded her in his arms for a heartfelt h
ug. “Why do you think I do it?” He met Sam’s eyes as he rubbed a hand over Charlie’s back. “How you doing, Charlie? You okay?”

  She nodded as she pulled back from him. “I’m great. You?” She studied him, approval growing with each second. “You look good, Mac. Really good.”

  He nodded. “Got my mojo back.” He cast a glance at Sam, his eyes dark and guarded. Hurt. “Had some help.”

  Sam had no doubt he knew she’d snuck out on him, intending to leave without a word. She considered piping up with an “I was heading out to get coffee,” but Mac deserved better from her. He deserved better than her. He and Charlie both did.

  “So,” Mac said. “Why don’t we get out of the hall?”

  Charlie shot Sam a questioning look, as if daring her to take off now.

  Sam stepped back into the hotel room ahead of them, conscious of the glances Mac and Charlie exchanged, carrying on a conversation with nothing but their eyes. She suppressed the surge of jealousy. She had no right to feel so possessive of a man she planned to leave.

  In the small sitting room, which contained the red sofa and two club chairs that formed three sides of a square, Mac gestured vaguely. “You two can get comfortable, and I’ll make us some coffee.”

  Sam hesitated. She needed to go. Yet, it would take hours for Sloan to catch a flight to Florida. She’d planned to hole up somewhere and wait. Did it make a difference where she hunkered down for the next several hours?

  She met Charlie’s cool gaze, and her heart sank. She’d blown this on so many levels.

  “Actually, Mac,” Charlie drawled, “Sam was just on her way out.”

  He paused in the door to the kitchenette and sighed. “Look, I know this is weird, but—”

  “You know what’s weird?” Charlie cut in. “The cell phone I get in the mail every few years with speed dial to her voice mail. Every once in a blue moon—meaning hardly ever—she returns my messages or calls to check in, like she’s some kind of . . . I don’t know . . . mob witness or something. That’s what’s weird.”

  Sam’s knees began to do their impression of Silly Putty. Sitting down would have helped, but she didn’t dare risk moving. She should have left when she had the chance, should have taken the easy way and been done with it.

  “You sounded happy on the phone,” Mac said to Charlie. “When I told you I was with Sam, you said you’d been looking for her.”

  “I was happy,” Charlie said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing her again for days now, barely able to contain myself. And then I get here and catch her trying to slink away all over again, and it made me mad. I mean, what the hell, Sam?”

  Sam couldn’t control her wince. And she had no idea what to say. Charlie was right about everything. She had no defense.

  “Tell her, Sam.”

  She flinched as much at the rasp in Mac’s voice as at his words.

  Before she could gather her nerves enough to speak, though, a knock sounded at the door.

  “That’s probably Noah,” Charlie said. “He was still sleeping when I slipped out.” She flashed a narrow-eyed glance at Sam. “I left him a note after I charmed the guy at the front desk out of your room number.”

  Charlie went to the door and opened it to a large, muscular man with dirty-blond hair and an impressive five o’clock shadow. He wore khaki cargo shorts, a white T-shirt and an expression that looked like thunder.

  As soon as Charlie kissed him, though, his facial muscles relaxed. She murmured something that only he could hear, something that sounded like “Good morning,” before she turned back toward Sam and gestured. “Noah, this is my sister Sam.” To Sam, she said, “Noah Lassiter.”

  Sam hesitated to take the hand he held out, and just as she decided to suck it up and go with it, his dark eyes flickered with something—recognition, understanding, compassion—and he lowered his hand with a small smile and a never-mind nod.

  “It’s good to meet you, Sam,” he said.

  She tried to smile but failed. She should have run earlier. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

  Mac said, “I was going to make some coffee, Noah. Give Sam and Charlie some time to talk.”

  Noah took the hint and ambled after Mac into the kitchenette. “I hope you’ve got the good stuff. The crap in our room is for wimps.”

  Then Sam and Charlie were alone. Charlie went to the sofa and sat down, gesturing for Sam to take a club chair. Sam did as requested even while her head screamed at her to lunge for the door and flee. No good could come of a conversation filled with the lies she had no choice but to tell.

  “So,” Charlie said. “Tell me what?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Mac stood at the railing with his coffee, looking out at the glittery morning and letting the sound of the waves and the cool, salty breeze eat away at his anxiety. The tension that knotted his shoulders had yet to let up, apparently settled in for the long haul. Not surprising, considering he’d awakened to an empty hotel room and the realization that Sam had left him. If she hadn’t encountered Charlie in the hall, she would have been long gone by now. God knew where. He never would have seen her again. Never would have known what happened to her, whether she lived happily ever after or whether Flinn Ford had her throat slit in a dark alley.

  The door behind him slid open then closed, and Noah settled onto a low-slung deck chair made of weathered teak. “Now, this is good coffee.”

  Mac glanced over his shoulder to see the other man enjoying a healthy gulp. “Simon Walker has good taste.”

  Noah nodded. “Indeed.”

  Mac faced the water again, wishing he could have the balcony to himself to wallow in how absolutely crappy he felt. That’s what happens when the woman you declare your love to walks out without a proper, or even improper, good-bye.

  “Is Sam CIA?”

  Mac turned back toward Noah, surprised. “You think she’s a spy?”

  “She’s got a vibe.”

  “There’s a spy vibe?”

  “I know law enforcement. She’s not that. She doesn’t stand stiff and straight like a soldier, so she’s not military. I don’t get a mercenary vibe off her. So what’s left? Black ops? Spooks?”

  “FBI,” Mac said with an impressed nod. “A secret division called N3.”

  “National . . .”

  “National Neural Network.” Mac expected Noah to snort in disbelief, but when he didn’t, Mac braced back against the railing and watched the other man carefully. “It’s a unit of psychic spies.”

  Noah whistled through his teeth, yet arched no eyebrow and released no you’re-fucking-kidding-me bark of laughter.

  Mac cocked his head. “Sam thinks her handler, or boss, is trying to create super spies by combining the DNA of empaths already working for the feds.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. She just got her memory back, and we haven’t had a chance to get back to that conversation.”

  “Wait. Her memory?”

  “These N3 people have access to some high-tech tools that the private sector has no clue about. James Bond–type stuff. When we first met, she had me dig a transponder out of her back. Messing with the tracker triggered a chemical reaction of some kind that wiped out her memory.”

  “Christ.”

  “Yeah, it’s been fun.”

  Mac settled onto a deck chair that matched Noah’s and sighed, exhausted and . . . hurt. Jesus, he was a putz to think a woman like Sam would ever stay with a guy like him.

  “I’ve got some connections I can tap into,” Noah said, “to see what’s what.”

  “Sam’s leery of the feds. She doesn’t know who to trust.”

  “I know how to keep it under wraps. It might take awhile to work through the channels, but we’ll figure it out.”

  Mac let his shoulders relax some, wincing as tight muscles complained. He’d been so tense for so long, he couldn’t remember how it felt to relax. Funny how that was the whole plan behind his vacation to the Shenandoahs.

&nbs
p; “Charlie’s empathic, too,” Noah said into the silence.

  Mac was as unsurprised as Noah had been about the revelation of a secret, psychic division of the FBI. “I kind of figured when you didn’t laugh me off the balcony.”

  “It hasn’t been an easy road for her.”

  “I wish she’d told me. I mean, I’m her friend. Maybe I could have helped . . . somehow.”

  “It wasn’t something she purposely hid. It . . . developed after she witnessed that hit-and-run outside the newspaper.”

  “Ah.” Mac had broken up with her by then, focused on making more money so he could give Jenn the college education he wanted her to have. And Noah had swooped in like the hero Mac could only dream of being. “What about Alex? Also empathic?”

  “Yep. It’s been worse for her, though,” Noah said. “A lot worse.”

  “I didn’t know.” Mac thought of how hard Alex and Charlie had pushed him to escape to the mountains of Virginia to get his stress under control. At the same time, Alex had had her own monkey on her back, one she couldn’t shake free as easily as Mac had.

  Noah finished his coffee. “Alex and Logan are staying with a friend in Lake Avalon. We thought it best to keep her out of sight until we knew exactly what we’re dealing with with Sam. What with the cell phone and GPS issues and the request that we borrow someone else’s car to avoid a locator device being on both of ours . . . going into hiding seemed a bit of a no-brainer.”

  “Yeah, it’s all very secret agent man, isn’t it?”

  Noah chuckled, and a minute of silence went by, broken only by the rhythm of the waves. Then he set his empty coffee cup on the table between them. “Sam won’t stick around. You know that, right?”

  Mac nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’m surprised you got her this far.”

  “She got her memory back overnight and tried to take off this morning. Charlie intercepted her in the hall.”

  “I imagine she was trying to protect her sisters.”

  “I know.”

  “She wants to protect you, too.”

  Mac raised his head. Really? “Me?”

  Noah smirked at him. “You’re still an idiot, Hunter. Think you’ll ever overcome that handicap?”