Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

Diana nodded jerkily. “He was deadly serious, believe me. Quentin can tell you; he was there. So was Bishop. I don’t know what Bishop said to my father later, but whatever it was, it at least stopped him threatening me. Now he just… It’s like water dripping on stone. I don’t belong in the FBI. I’m out of my element. I’m going to get myself killed. On and on.”

“I’m sorry,” DeMarco repeated.

She looked at him, then at the other two, and sighed. “No, I’m sorry. That’s … personal junk. Baggage. We all have it. Mine doesn’t alter the possibility that somebody could have been there with me in the gray time, trying to influence me—for whatever reason.”

“Creepy,” Hollis noted.

“I’ll say. Especially when I don’t have a clue who it might be—and have never been aware of another presence there.”

Quentin said, “Maybe because there wasn’t one. Look, this is all speculation.”

“But possible,” DeMarco noted.

Quentin sent the other man a quick frown, then said to Diana, “Never mind that now. Let’s focus on what happened tonight. How did you know it wasn’t me?” His voice was calm and steady, as was his gaze when she finally looked at him. “We both know I could have said those words, most of them at least. So how did you know it wasn’t me?”

“I just… knew. Almost from the first instant. It felt wrong. Like something was off. And all my strength was draining away suddenly, too suddenly. As if…”

“As if you were under attack?” DeMarco asked. “Because when I was pulling Hollis out, that’s what it felt like to me.”

He sat up and swung his feet off the bed, reaching immediately for the bottle on his nightstand.

A strong hand beat him to it, removing the bottle from his reach, and the visitor said, “Not just yet. Tell me.”

“Look, this shit isn’t easy, you know. Takes a lot out of me, I told you that. I’m tired and thirsty. I need—”

“You need to tell me what happened in the gray time. Now.”

He studied the visitor for a moment, then sent a longing glance toward the bottle and shrugged, trying not to look as wary as he felt. Money was great, and he was as willing to use his God-given talents for hire as a gifted artist was to sell his paintings; a man had to make a living, after all. But this particular “buyer” made him nervous.

Ruthless men with scary agendas made him nervous. Especially when they looked dangerous as hell.

“Tell me,” the visitor repeated.

‘Okay, okay. But I’m not so sure you’re going to like what I have to say, Bishop.”

“You let me worry about that.”

DEMARCO WAITED UNTIL Hollis disappeared around the corner of the hallway toward her own room before saying to Quentin, “If someone’s been influencing Diana for years, we need to know about it.” He kept his voice low, since Diana’s closed door was only a few feet away.

“Doctors were influencing her for years. Her father was influencing her for years. The goddamn meds they had her on to treat her because they didn’t understand or refused to accept her abilities influenced her.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“Yeah, well, we don’t need to know more about that tonight.” Quentin kept his voice low as well. “Look, she’s been through a lot. A hell of a lot. She’s made progress in the last year, but she’s a long way from feeling secure in herself and her abilities, especially with Elliot Brisco trying to undermine her confidence just about every step of the way.”

“He sounds like a real prince.”

“He’s a very wealthy man accustomed to getting what he wants. And he wants Diana back under his control. To protect her.” Quentin shook his head. “I try to be sympathetic, because he lost his wife and Diana’s sister, Missy, thirty years ago, and he naturally doesn’t want to let go of his only surviving child. And I’ve tried to stay out of it as much as I can, because it just isn’t smart to interfere between a parent and child—even a grown child. And especially between a father and daughter.”

“True enough.”

“Yeah. Though I’ve wanted to deck the man more than once, I don’t mind telling you.” Quentin shook his head. “But that’s not a situation that’s going to change anytime soon. What’s concerning me now is Diana’s reaction to the idea that someone else, some other medium, might have been hiding in the gray time with her since she was a child, watching her and, yes, maybe even influencing her. It’s bound to spook her. Hell, it spooks me.”

“It should spook all of us, Quentin, and you know it. What happened with Samuel plus all the other little leaks and breaches in security we’ve had to deal with these last few months are clear evidence that someone inside the SCU has been passing on information, to the Director and possibly to others.”

“We don’t know it’s one of us,” Quentin protested, because he had to.

“We don’t know it isn’t. In fact, it more than likely is an SCU team member, considering how little specific information about the unit gets out otherwise. Given that strong possibility, we’ve got two alternatives: Either an SCU member is deliberately and consciously betraying the rest of us, or else a psychic outside the unit has found a way to tap into one of us—maybe more than one of us—and get information without our awareness.”

Quentin didn’t like hearing either possible scenario voiced aloud, mostly because he’d considered both long before now. But all he said was, “It can’t be Diana, and I mean can’t . Not only is she new to the SCU, but up until a couple of months ago, she was in training, completely uninvolved in any of our cases.”

“You didn’t talk to her?”

“Not details, not until we were set to join this investigation and she needed to be brought up to speed. And she didn’t see any of the reports until then.”

“Okay. Still, if her ability makes her vulnerable in any way to outside influences, we need to know about it.”

“Not tonight,” Quentin repeated.

“Personal feelings aside—”

“My personal feelings are aside, at least about this. Reese, so far the only remotely psychic activity we’ve had in this case has involved Hollis, Diana—and the gray time. I haven’t seen anything, and if she’s being straight with us, Miranda hasn’t seen much. Unless—can you read her?”

“Miranda? No. Almost always no, but definitely no here and now. I assumed it was because she and Bishop are apart, both shielding and guarding their connection, because it’s a vulnerability.”

“Which it is, at least when they’re separated by physical distance.”

DeMarco nodded. “And with Bishop worried about a possible traitor, he’d most definitely guard his vulnerabilities.”

“Traitor . That’s… a strong word.”

“It’s a strong thing. A dangerous thing. And you know it.”

“I know every team member,” Quentin said. “And many of the active Haven operatives. And none of them is a traitor.”

“Consciously, at least. Let’s hope not.”

Reluctant, Quentin said, “If it’s unconscious, unknowing—if one of us is being influenced or at least tapped into—then it has to be on a level you telepaths obviously can’t reach, or one of you would have picked up on it by now.”

“Probably,” DeMarco agreed. “And if it’s that deep, chances are it is below the level of conscious thought.”

“So it may be only through our mediums that we find answers in this one. In the gray time, where we’ve seen the first real sign of some kind of deception. And if it is, we can’t risk shaking Diana’s confidence to the point that she’s unable to open that door. Because none of the rest of us can do it.”