Jaimie emerged from the bathroom. She could take the air from his lungs just by her smile. She held out her hand and he wrapped his fingers around hers.

“Come on. I’m tired. I need a bed.” She tugged at him.

He followed her up the stairs, although the last thing he wanted to do was to get back to business.

The men sat in a loose circle talking. They turned their heads as Mack and Jaimie entered the third floor together. Paul lost color and he glanced as if for assurance at Javier, who just shrugged. Silence fell on the softly speaking group. Gideon lay asleep in Kane’s bed and Mack crossed to him first, bending low to smooth back the few stray strands of hair as a father might a child. Gideon was actually asleep and looked peaceful, the lines of strain etched deep in his face somewhat eased.

Jaimie smiled at Mack, her smile a little sad, and slowly released his hand, the pads of her fingers sliding over the skin of his. He could feel that touch burning right through his body and tingling in the crown of his cock, but then it burned deeper, wrapping around and squeezing his heart. He watched her go into the bedroom area before he reluctantly turned to the others.

Mack walked up behind Paul, and smacked him hard on the back of the head.

“That’s for being an idiot.” He cuffed him a second time and went on through to the kitchen. “You and your old man both are idiots. Consider that taking a hit for the old man.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee, added cream just to keep from looking at the kid. Silence stretched, a razor-sharp edge along the nerves. He sipped at the hot brew and turned slowly, fixing a cutting stare on the boy. Paul looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes.

Mack seated himself across from the kid, in the chair Ethan had vacated. “You look like hell. I’ve never seen a psychic surgeon at work. Does it take a lot out of you?”

Paul shrugged. “Depends on how bad the injury. Gideon’s been using himself up.

His energy is a little different and I suspect what boosts others doesn’t always help him. The weave of energy.” He frowned, trying to puzzle out how best to explain it.

“Energy is usually in waves, surrounding every person and object. Some is very low-level, other times it’s a surge of power. All psychics feed on that energy.

Sometimes it’s good, and sometimes not so good.”

“In the way violent energy harms Jaimie,” Mack said.

“Exactly. She’s more sensitive than the rest of you. I can see it in her color patterns.”

“What color patterns?” Mack asked.

Paul waved away the question. “I just see differently. It began at a very early age.”

“Is that when your father decided to change your last name? Did he recognize what you were and tried to protect you that many years ago?”

Paul swallowed and looked away, shaking his head.

“What father wouldn’t?” Mack said, as if the boy had answered him. “Tell me about Gideon. I’ve been worried about him. We’ve all been. What’s wrong with him?”

Paul looked relieved to talk about someone other than himself. “I’ll try to explain it to you, but I have to sort of give you a starting point. It’s more than color I see, it’s all about the patterns. When violent energy rushes toward Jaimie, it invades and damages the actual patterns. Everyone with psychic energy has very distinct threads.

Some merge together. Your energy and Jaimie’s merge, intertwine, and build a stronger base. I’ve not seen other couples, but I suspect that might happen with committed pairs. I have to study it a bit more.”

There was eagerness in Paul’s voice, an enthusiasm Mack had never heard before.

Jaimie got that same exact tone when she was on to something in her work.

“I joined the GhostWalker program with the hope that I could learn more about what I could do and why I saw people the way I do, but”—Paul shrugged—“it seemed best not to admit to anyone that I was that different.”

“So you played down your skills.”

Paul nodded.

“What you really mean is, the old man found out his good friend Whitney was doing a lot more to the psychics than anyone had agreed upon and some of them were dying.”

Paul’s nod was barely perceptible. “Some were in bad shape. And he was taking apart anyone different. I looked at his color pattern and I knew . . .” He shook his head.

“Knew what?” Mack asked softly.

“That he was damaged beyond repair. He’s psychic and his pattern was all over the place. I could see it in his brain, the madness. He believes in what he’s doing. I knew if he found out what I could do—what I could see—he’d take my brain apart to figure out how it worked. I was the one who exposed what he was doing to . . .” He broke off and looked around the room. “To Sergeant Major.”

“And he told you to play down your abilities.”

Paul shook his head. “I was already doing that. Whitney’s a brilliant man. His weakness is thinking no one else is quite as bright as he is. His ego defeats him every time.”

“So he never guessed about you.”

“No.”

“And the old man decided to put you somewhere safe.”

Paul sent Mack a half smile. “You were the safest person he knew.”

“Did it occur to either of you I might blow your brains out, thinking you were betraying us? Your old man needs a lot more than a slap upside the head.” Mack glared at the boy. “I considered just shooting you and getting it over with. I’m not one for mysteries in my own backyard. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Top.”

“That’s boss to you,” Mack corrected.

The kid hid a smile, his eyes lighting up. “Yes, Top . . . boss.”

“You know we’re going to talk about the old man and the things you’ve been keeping from me. I’ll want to meet with him.”

“Not in his office, Top . . . boss.”

Mack’s eyebrow shot up. His eyes met Kane’s. If their commanding officer was compromised, and Paul seemed to be telling them he was, they were all in trouble.

Why hadn’t Griffen found a way to reach out to him? He really hated mysteries. If someone wanted them dead, just come at them and make the try.

He sat back in his chair. “They sweep his office every day.”

Paul kept his eyes fixed on Mack. “Yes, they do.”

“Damn it. Why didn’t the old man tell me?”

“He said you’d figure it out.”

So the old man had expected him to figure it out. How? Without Jaimie experimenting with him they would never have discovered Paul. But maybe they weren’t meant to find out about Paul. Griffen had sent Paul to him as part of the team—not as his son. He hadn’t revealed the asset that Paul was because he didn’t want the boy compromised. Griffen would never have told Mack that Paul was his son. The sergeant major had expected him to figure out that he was compromised.

How?

He did what he always did—he found Jaimie. She sat tailor fashion on her bed, listening. What do you think? he asked.

The suicide missions. You obviously had a bad feeling the moment the orders came down. What tipped you off?

It was the one thing that didn’t make sense, unless Griffen was working with Whitney. But if he wasn’t working with Whitney, then the suicide missions didn’t make sense at all. He would never set up the men in his own command. Mack pressed his fingers into his throbbing eyes. Griffen should have found a better way to get through to him. He must have subtly warned Mack, enough that he picked up on it, but not in a way that tipped anyone else off.

The boy was looking at Mack as if he was going to save the world—save his father. He stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling old and tired. A few minutes earlier, Jaimie’s soft body was wrapped around him, taking him away from reality, but this—blood and death and the planning of it—was his reality. He felt very alone.

Weighed down. Sometimes he thought his back might break under the load.

Look at me.

Her voice shimmered in his mind. Soft. Tender. Like that of an angel. Like sex and sin. Like love and devotion. Everything. There she was. He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting hers.

I’ll be here for you. Every minute, Mack. You can do this thing better than anyone else. It’s a gift.

It’s a burden.

A gift. You are extraordinary. You’ll find a way out for Griffen, for Paul, for Kane and Brian. You aren’t alone. We’re with you. I’m with you.

She sent him her slow, sexy smile. The one that reminded him how her lips felt wrapped around his cock, how it felt to be sliding in and out of that hot, wet world, her gaze locked with his. Just the memory of her soft moans aroused him, made him so hard he could barely move with the aching demand. Other times, like now, just the touch of her mind in his, the feeling that she could be aroused just by the brush of his hand along her br**sts, or thighs, settled his mind right along with his gut.

Paul smiled at him. “Your energy and Jaimie’s merge and the patterns weave together. It’s very strange and really cool.”

Sharing himself with Jaimie was far too intimate to have anyone else “reading”

their energy. He couldn’t explain how he felt to her, let alone to anyone else. And he certainly didn’t want his emotions dissected in some psychic experiment. Jaimie was wrapped up tightly inside him, in his heart and soul. If Paul could see that, it left him stripped and naked, vulnerable to the world. Abruptly he pulled out of her mind, shutting down his raw feelings for her.

She blinked. Frowned. Looked down into her hands.

Mack let out his breath and diverted Paul’s attention from his own energy. “So tell me about Gideon. What’s going on with him? What can I do differently to keep him from overloading? Do you have any ideas to keep all of us from overloading?”

Paul nodded. “I’ve been working on a few things.”

He seemed eager now and Mack realized it must have been hell for a natural healer to keep from doing the very thing he was born to do. He wanted to talk about it with someone who would understand and value his contribution.

“Each pattern of colors is unique to the individual and to their psychic abilities.

Most have more than one talent in varying degrees. Some are stronger than others.

Whitney manipulated the brain’s filters as well as opening up more areas in the brain to be used. Obviously you’re dealing with individuals and because everyone is different, each body and brain reacted differently to his enhancements. Unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough for him. He also added genetic enhancements.”

Mack nodded. “We’ve all learned to live with what he did.” It hadn’t been easy.

His team had been lucky. He knew not all those experimented on lived through it.

And more died during the initial training period.

“Gideon has a different weave to his pattern. It’s almost translucent, as if I can see through it. The colors are lighter, less dense. Jaimie has similar threads. The less density means she absorbs more energy as it swarms toward her. The violent energy punches through her weaves leaving holes, some tiny and others a little larger. Your energy strengthens the weave and prevents the tears.”

Mack pushed a hand through his hair. Paul was talking about how he saw each person’s psychic energy as an indicator of their health. Paul could figure out a lot of the problems with his team members, but they couldn’t share his unique talent with anyone else, no matter the need, because it would endanger his life. He’d given Mack a huge leap of faith by offering to help Gideon and exposing his true talent to them.

Paul’s safety was a huge responsibility. There could never be any accidental reference to his healing of them.

His gaze strayed to Jaimie. She listened but, like the others, said nothing. He knew they were all aware of the enormity of what Paul was handing to them. He sent her a small smile. See, baby, there’s a reason why you’re so soft inside.