Chapter One
The relentless rain came down, accompanied by ground-
rattling thunder and great flashes of lightning. Jamie
liked storms ... but not this one. This time he felt more
than the turbulence of the weather. The air crackled with
electricity-and good intentions. Determination. Resolve.
They hunted him. Well-meaning, but destructive all the
same. He had only himself to blame. He'd allowed them to
become friendly. He hadn't been aloof enough, had
interfered too many times. But God, what other choices did
he have? Watch them suffer? Feel their pain?
No, he couldn't. He had enough of his own pain to deal
with.
Sitting on the plank floor, his back to a wall, his knees
drawn up, he stared out at the darkness. Not a single lamp
glowed in his home. The fireplace remained cool and empty;
a chill skated up his spine.
He laid his forehead to his knees, trying to block them
out, wanting to pray that they wouldn't find him but
unable to summon the right words in the midst of so many
feelings bombarding him.
Then it dawned on him. His head shot up, his black eyes
seeing beyond his immediate surroundings. Not just the
townsfolk. No, someone else crept up his mountain. Someone
else wanted him.
Without conscious decision, Jamie pushed to his feet and
padded barefoot across the icy floor. No locks protected
his doors; he didn't need them. At all times, even in
sleep, he kept himself open to data from the outside
world. As a remote viewer, he could shut down or accept
information at will.
But remaining open made him feel more secure. He used his
focus on the townsfolk, on the throbbing life around him,
as a psychotherapeutic tool, allowing it to tune out other
influences. As long as he kept his brain busy accepting
information from locals, no one, not even the profs at
Farmington Research Institute, could control his
intentions with automatic transmissions.
Shoving his raw wooden door open, Jamie moved out to the
covered porch. The scent of wet foliage and earth hung
heavy in the air. Rain immediately blew in against him,
soaking his shirt and jeans, collecting in his beard and
long hair until he looked, felt, like a drowned rat.
Something vaguely close to excitement stirred within him,
accelerating his heartbeat, making his blood sing. He
lifted his nose to the wind, let his heavy eyelids drift
shut. He found a target through space and time ... and he
knew.
The first visitor stood alone, a stranger. A woman.
Seeking him out. Needing him.
Yes, this he could do.
Half-furious and half-thrilled for the distraction, he
stepped inside the house and shoved his feet into rubber
boots. Forgoing a jacket, sensing the limitations of his
time frame, Jamie stepped off the porch and into the
pouring rain.
Storms were different deep in the woods, with leaves
acting as a canopy, muffling the patter of the rain,
absorbing the moisture. Once, long ago, he had hoped they
might absorb some of the emotions that assaulted him. But
they hadn't. Even from such a distance, high up the
mountain in the thick of the trees where no one ever
ventured, he had still gotten to know the townsfolk: first
the children, then the others.
And they'd gotten to know him.
Despite his efforts to the contrary, they were starting to
care. They didn't know about the institute, about the time
he'd spent as a guinea pig, learning more about himself
than the profs could ever discover with their intrusive
mind experiments and illegal testing.
The townsfolk didn't know that their caring could destroy
him, could strip away the last piece of self-respect he
had.
And he couldn't tell them.
Twice as dark as it'd be in the open, the day looked like
night. Jamie made his way cautiously away from his home,
down an invisible trail known only to him. He walked and
walked, mud caked up to his knees, his clothes so wet they
proved useless against the weather.
Pausing beside a large tree that disappeared into the sky,
he looked down the hillside.
Clint Evans, the new sheriff who'd listened to Jamie's
dire warnings without much disbelief, picked his way
tirelessly up the hillside. Jamie narrowed his eyes,
knowing this was Julie's doing, that she wanted Clint to
get his agreement to attend their wedding.
He would have gone. To make sure everything stayed safe.
To keep watch. Julie didn't need to send her hulking new
lover after him. He should be pleased it wasn't Joe,
because Joe wouldn't give up, no matter what. Worse, it
could have been Alyx, Joe's sister, who'd surprised him
once when she'd gotten too close for Jamie to send her
away. After that she'd come back again. And once more.
She'd actually been in his home, and damn her, she wanted
in his heart. She wanted his friendship.
They all did.
Jamie closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing, on
blocking destructive sentiment so he could feel the other
intruder. His eyes snapped open and he lifted a hand to
shield his vision from the downpour. There, farther up the
hill from Clint, she shivered and shook, miserable clear
to her bones, tears mixing with the rain and mud on her
face.
Jamie felt ... something. He didn't know what. Odd,
because normally only those he cared about muddled his
perception. His powerful acclaim to telepathy,
clairvoyance, and precognition left most people and events
as clear to him as an open book.
But when he cared, emotional reactions mixed with his
truer senses, leaving him as confused as everyone else.
Maybe she didn't know what she felt, so how could he know?
Dismissing Clint from his mind, already knowing what Clint
would see and what he'd do, Jamie pushed away from the
tree. The woman wore no hat, and her hair was plastered to
her skull. A redhead, Jamie thought, although with her
hair soaked it looked dark enough to be brown. He didn't
have to survey her to know of her pale skin barely touched
by freckles, or her blue eyes, now bloodshot.
Her face, more plain than otherwise, served as adequate
deception to her body, which bordered on sinfully
luscious.
With an absorption wrought from years of isolation, Jamie
studied her incredible breasts, her small waist, her long,
shapely legs. Those legs ...
Trying to gain better footing on the slick hillside, she
turned, showing him her profile. She had a behind that
would excite many men. That is, if they noticed. More
likely, her quiet demeanor, choice of clothes, and
ordinary face put them off. As she intended. She hid, just
as Jamie did.
They had that in common.
Holding tight to a skinny tree, she tried and failed to
take a few more steps up the mountain. Her feet gained no
purchase on the rain-slick ground and she fell forward
with a gasp that got her a mouthful of mud. Moaning, she
rolled to her back and just lay there, more tears coming,
her chest heaving as she coughed and spewed out mud.
Jamie picked his way toward her, and with each step he
took, a sense of alarm expanded until her fear and worry
and pain became his own. One of the pitfalls of remote
viewing was the level of sensory absorption. Sometimes it
could be a serious setback.
For most people, time filtered their emotions,
unconsciously burying pain, fading loss, and overlooking
illness. Only the strongest emotions remained on the
surface, powerful enough for others to perceive. For a
remote viewer, the more hidden emotions were also clear.
At the moment, the woman's emotional pain and physical
discomfort were strong enough that they became Jamie's
too.
Exhaustion and a lingering fever robbed her of strength,
leaving him weakened as well. Her lungs labored and her
eyes burned.... Jamie cut her off, breaking contact so he
could concentrate on reaching her.
But before he could get to her, before he could warn her
not to move, her determination surfaced and she again
tried to stand. She got upright, then one foot slipped out
from under her and her arms flailed the air-and she fell
back. Hard.
She didn't roll down the hill.
The rock kept her from doing so.
In seconds, Jamie reached her. She was so incredibly
still. Squatting down, he touched her cheek and knew that
her fever wasn't cause for alarm. Sick, yes, but not so
feverish as to be life threatening. The bump on her
head ... that worried him. He coasted his fingers through
her tangled, wet hair, gently prodding, searching, and
encountered a considerable swelling behind her right ear,
but no blood.
Jamie patted her cheeks, unwilling to speak because Clint
drew nearer and he simply couldn't deal with them both
right now.
Tipping a leaf to gather the moisture off it, Jamie wiped
some of the mud from her face. Her hair spiked up in front
when he pushed it away from her eyes, giving her an
appearance that might have been comical in other
circumstances. He tapped her cheeks again, smoothed his
thumb along her soft, fever-warm cheekbone, and her eyes
opened.
As he already knew, they were blue, but unlike any blue
he'd ever seen.
Her eyes weren't intense, like Alyx and Joe Winston's.
They weren't a gentle blue like Deputy Scott Royal's. They
were deep, dark cobalt blue, reminding Jamie of a stormy
sky. At first vague, her gaze sharpened the moment it met
his.
Jamie half expected hysterics. Absurd, given he should
have known exactly what she'd do. But still, her reaction
surprised him. Her eyes widened. Then her lashes sank down
in relief and she sighed, "Jamie Creed. Thank God I found
you."
And just like that she drifted off, as if exhaustion had
been hot on her heels and only sheer grit had kept her
going until she found him.
Left eye twitching, muscles tensed, Jamie ran through his
options before deciding what to do. He wouldn't take
chances. He didn't know her, had no idea what she wanted
with him. He had to protect himself, because God knew no
one else would do it for him.
Mind made up, Jamie stripped her useless jacket from her
shoulders and laid it flat on the ground. She wore a thick
shirt, and he gripped the front of it in both hands.
Drawing a breath, he jerked hard, rending the material
from neck to hem. She didn't move. Her body remained
boneless. With methodical intent, he stripped her of every
shred of clothing, placing each garment atop the jacket so
he could easily gather them into one bundle.
When she lay naked in front of him, the proof of her
perfect body there for him to see, Jamie took only a
moment to absorb the sight of her before hefting her into
his arms. She wasn't a petite woman, but then, he wasn't a
slouch. He could, would, carry her-as far as necessary.
With his right hand, he snatched up her torn pile of
clothing. It had been so long since he'd held anyone,
since he'd allowed himself the comfort of physical
contact, that his heart felt full to bursting, pounding
hard and fast. Never mind the mud and rain and whatever
ailed her, she still smelled like a woman: soft and
feminine and ripe with sex appeal.
He'd missed that smell so much.
First things first. Rather than climb back up to his
cabin, Jamie made his way to the west, toward the plunging
edge of a cliff. He looked over to a deep ravine cut
through the mountain by a fast-moving stream, now swollen
from the heavy rains. Tightening his hold on the woman, he
reared back and slung her clothes over the side. The
ruined garments soared, sank, and hit the creek with a
dull splash, separating, dragged along by the current to
get dumped a good distance away from him.
Just getting rid of the clothes made Jamie feel better.
She could still have a surveillance device on her body
somewhere, and he'd check for that as soon as he got her
out of the foul weather. She might not like his thorough
inspection-what woman would? But then, he didn't like
being hunted, either. Given the howling wind and stinging
rain, it looked like they both had to tolerate a few
things.
Even burdened with the woman's weight, the climb to his
cabin didn't tax him. Whenever he went anywhere, he
walked, so his legs were strong and he had an abundance of
stamina.
The woman didn't make a peep, didn't open her eyes again,
but she must not have been entirely out of it, because her
arms went around his neck and she tucked her face in near
his chest to avoid the rain. Prodded by a strange
yearning, Jamie curled her closer still, even bent over
her a bit to afford her more protection. He could feel the
rapping of her heartbeat on his chest, her gentle breath
on his throat.
Cravings he hadn't suffered in far too long awoke within
him. He didn't like it. Or maybe he liked it too much.
He knew the moment Clint spotted them. He felt the
sheriff's shock and curiosity slapping against his already
heightened senses. Eyes narrowed against the rain, Jamie
forged onward, refusing to look back.
Clint called to him, but his words blew away on the storm.
Knowing the woods better than even the bears, Jamie easily
lost Clint by moving between trees and boulders and across
narrow streams.
By the time he reached his cabin, he knew Clint had turned
back. What tales he'd tell to the others, Jamie could only
guess. But when the rain stopped and the mud dried-
tomorrow or the next day-they'd come for him.
He knew it as sure as he knew the woman in his arms would
be trouble.
And still, he carried her over the threshold and into his
cabin.
When he nudged the door shut with his shoulder, she
shifted, making a small, purely feminine sound of
discomfort. Charmed, Jamie watched and waited for her to
become fully aware.
She lifted her head slightly. Her gaze shied away from
his, and she took in her surroundings, then, blinked
twice. No smile. No fear. But she had nervousness in
spades, almost equal to her tenacity. While Jamie
continued to hold her, she licked her lips, hesitated, and
finally turned her face up to his.
His awareness on a razor's edge, Jamie assessed her. Mud
streaked her pale cheeks. Her long, wet hair tangled
around his shoulder. Her lips shivered with the cold.
Taking him off guard, she lifted one small, woman-soft
hand to touch the side of his face. "Thank you."
Very slowly, Jamie set her on her feet. Faith tried not to
waver, but a hollow weakness invaded her every muscle. At
the moment, staying upright seemed pretty impossible.
Showing all the external emotion of a manikin, Jamie
caught her upper arms to steady her.
"I'm sorry," she told him in a voice that sounded raspy
and thin. She clutched at his shoulders. "I've been sick.
I ... I need to sit down."
"Not until I know you're safe."
A lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat. He didn't mean
safe from danger; he meant safe to have her in his home.
Carefully keeping her thoughts blank, a practice she'd
perfected through necessity, Faith nodded her agreement.
© 2003-2026