Just One Touch, Page 9

  Slowly she nodded, glancing back at the bed longingly. Not waiting for her to move, he swept her into his arms and placed her on the bed with her head resting on the soft pillows. Then he pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her one last time.

  “Good night, sweet Jenna. Sleep well for me, okay? I need you strong for what comes next, so promise me you’ll rest and let me worry about the details.”

  “I promise,” she said in a somber voice.

  “That’s my girl,” he said affectionately. “Lamp on or off?”

  “On,” she said anxiously. “I don’t like the dark.”

  Unable to resist, he leaned over to give her one last, deep kiss, lingering for several long moments.

  “Good night, love,” he whispered. “Dream of me.”

  THIRTEEN

  ISAAC punched in a series of encrypted codes that would signal every single DSS member that bad shit was going down and that everyone needed to get to one of the few safe houses that hadn’t been breached over the years. As much as Isaac didn’t want to involve DSS, he knew he didn’t have a choice after all that Jenna had confided in him.

  This was much bigger than a one-man operation or even for a small crew of teammates. Isaac needed every single person available in on this mission. It could mean the difference between life and death, and between Jenna being saved and her being kidnapped and subjected to a life in hell for as long as the men pursuing her had use of her.

  Isaac knew that Caleb and Beau’s younger sister, Tori, along with their wives and Zack’s wife would accompany their husbands for two reasons. One, their husbands would never let them out of their sight when there was potential danger to any of them. And two, and Isaac nearly grinned, they would have insisted on coming no matter how fiercely their husbands argued differently, particularly Ari, because that woman could kick some serious ass without even having a weapon other than her devious, vengeful mind when it came to people she loved being hurt or threatened.

  It was obvious that Dane, Beau and Caleb weren’t happy with the fact that Isaac and the four newest recruits were holed up in a safe house provided by Eliza’s husband, Sterling.

  “I appreciate you all coming,” Isaac said solemnly.

  “What’s going on, Isaac? Cut the crap. Does this happen to have anything to do with Jenna?” Dane demanded.

  Isaac held up his hands as Dex, Zeke, Knight and Shadow stood from the couch, their arms folded over their chests, their expressions inscrutable.

  “We’re here because we want to be,” Shadow said quietly, though his every word was heard. “This had nothing to do with DSS or our jobs there and it sure as hell doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do about money, so take your paychecks and shove them up your ass.”

  Dane chuckled, but Beau’s face looked like an angry storm cloud.

  “You’d do well to remember who signs your paychecks,” Beau snapped.

  “Last time I checked, Dane hired us, Dane trained us and Dane signs our checks,” Dex drawled. “As far as I’m concerned if he doesn’t have a problem, and he hasn’t voiced one yet, then my only job is to report to him and take orders from him and Isaac since Isaac is lead on this.”

  Three of the four women Jenna had been looking curiously at rolled their eyes and made faces at the men before turning and hurrying over to where Jenna stood. The other woman remained where she was and Jenna noted that she looked sad—and frightened. Did she resent Jenna for causing so much upheaval to all their lives?

  “We’re so happy to meet you, Jenna,” Ari said warmly, after she’d introduced herself as well as the other two, Ramie and Gracie and explaining who their husbands were. “I think after hearing about the three of us, you’ll find you aren’t as alone as you think and you’re most definitely not a freak.”

  Jenna lifted both eyebrows in question and then Ari launched into what power each of the women possessed, how different they all were and yet how helpful they were when they came together to save their men’s asses.

  Jenna’s mouth fell open, and Ramie and Gracie laughed. “Now, don’t go telling them that even if it’s the God’s honest truth. They like to think they keep us wrapped in bubble wrap and at home where nothing can ever touch us.” She rolled her eyes again. “Never mind that we’ve gotten them out of more than one scrape by combining our talents and using them to bring down the bad guys.”

  Jenna looked beyond the group of women to the lone woman who was still standing alone across the room, her arms wrapped protectively around herself, her head down so that no one could catch her gaze.

  “Who is she?” Jenna asked quietly. “She looks so . . . vulnerable.” Much like Jenna felt, but in this moment, something about the other woman called to her, making her forget the danger to her. She was more concerned about exposing the other woman to the fanatics who were after Jenna.

  Ramie’s eyes darkened and she sighed. “That’s Tori. She’s Caleb and Beau’s baby sister. She’s been through so much. She also has a gift, but it frustrates and hurts her more than it helps her.”

  Jenna’s brow furrowed with confusion.

  “She was abducted a few years ago by a sadistic serial killer who did unspeakable things to her before she was rescued. Just hours before he was going to kill her,” Ari said in a low voice. “She dreams of the future. Of things that will happen, but she often can’t make sense of the dream. Either she won’t know who the people are in her dream which prevents her from warning them, or if she dreams of people she does know, the dreams aren’t clear and succinct. She sees images and situations but not the events leading up to whatever happened. It makes her feel helpless. Between her dreams of the future and her nightmares of the past, she is never at peace, never feels safe, and who can blame her? I can’t imagine having to deal with what she does. Just one of those things is enough to break a person, but the two combined? She thinks she’s weak and unfixable, but what she doesn’t realize is how much strength a person has to have to endure what she did and still does and hold up under the strain. She’s far stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

  Jenna glanced at Tori again, her heart filling with sorrow. She agreed with Ari’s assessment. This was no weak or irrevocably damaged woman. If she was, she wouldn’t still be holding strong and making it through each day.

  Even as she thought it, Isaac’s impassioned words came back to her, so similar to her thoughts about Tori. Him telling her that she wasn’t broken, that she wasn’t weak. That a weaker person would have never endured as long as Jenna had and wouldn’t have been able to escape.

  It was a stunning revelation and it provided a view of herself she’d never imagined before. Could he be right? If it was true about Tori, could it be true about herself? She didn’t like to think of herself as a weak, helpless and broken woman. She wanted to be strong. Wanted to be worthy of the way Isaac and the rest of his team seemed to view her. Perhaps she needed to reevaluate her assessment of herself and stop wallowing in self-pity and acting like a helpless twit. If she wasn’t even capable of helping herself, then how could she expect anyone else to be able to help her?

  “You look like you’re about to collapse,” Gracie said in her quiet, sweet voice. “Why don’t you sit down. This will likely take a while and I promise and cross my heart that if Isaac withholds anything from you, the girls and I will fill you in on everything.”

  Jenna smiled and stifled a yawn. “Now that you mention it, I am pretty tired.”

  But when the women turned away to return to their husbands, Jenna retreated to the far side of the room and sank down the wall with her back against it, grasping her knees and pulling them to her chin.

  She stared in envy and also felt keenly bereft of something she couldn’t even put a name to when she saw how obvious it was that their husbands loved them. They didn’t go a minute without touching them. Pressing little kisses to their heads, noses, necks and even lifting their hands occasionally to nibble on their fingers. There was no discomfort. The unmarried men took
it all good-naturedly and judging by the rosy glows on the women’s cheeks, they enjoyed their husbands’ touches very much. As much as their kisses.

  It was like nothing she’d ever witnessed. None of the men in the cult had kissed their wives, acted affectionate toward them, held them simply for the sake of touching them or teased them with soft laughter. God, the love that blazed in the eyes of these men for their wives was enough to make Jenna run from the room in shame.

  Would anyone ever look at her like that? She was a product of what the cult had created. Conditioned to believe that the things she’d been taught were the same everywhere in the world. Except . . . Isaac had looked at her very much like these men looked at their wives, and when he kissed her, any previous notions about kissing being distasteful vanished and she became immersed, lost in a world she’d never known existed. What did it all mean? Surely Isaac couldn’t profess to feel deeply for her so soon. They barely knew one another. But he was so convincing. Or perhaps she saw and felt what she wanted to and reality was a far cry from the fantasy she’d created.

  How was she supposed to know what to think? To believe? How was she, with her ignorance of life beyond the boundaries of the compound that had been her prison, supposed to know what was real and what wasn’t? Her mind was in absolute chaos and she couldn’t process the bombardment of behavior that was completely alien to her any more than she could possibly believe that any of it was normal. What if they were the freaks and she was the only normal one?

  She nearly choked as a harsh laugh burned her throat and she swallowed it back. If anyone was the freak, it was her. She viewed the obvious love between these husbands and wives with skepticism because deep down it hurt her to know that these women had something she would give anything for.

  And, well, she had to be honest with herself because it was the only thing left to her when everything else in her life was a lie. The truth of the matter was that she was bitterly envious of Ramie, Ari and Gracie. Her envy sliced deeper than any shame or any wound ever bestowed upon her by her captors ever had. The cut wasn’t smooth or shallow. It was ripped open, scarring her and bleeding all the way to her soul.

  Was it a sin to covet what most other young girls who grew into women wished for? All she’d ever fantasized about was the outside world being nothing like the relationships of the people within the cult. She dreamed of a normal life with a man, a husband who loved her, who would give her children and who didn’t care about her powers nor was threatened by them. But she’d never known if the rest of the world was any different. Now that she knew the truth, it only made her yearning that much more pronounced. What if it was too late for her? She was too marked, the scars too deep and pronounced by her time with the cult to ever have anyone look at her with anything but pity or disgust. Or downright disbelief.

  After what seemed an eternity, the women and even Isaac along with some of his men finally stopped glancing over at her in concern, and they began to make plans and discuss necessary precautions.

  Jenna buried her face in her knees, rocking back and forth, making herself the smallest ball she could manage and as unnoticeable as she could so no attention was drawn to her. She simply couldn’t bear the pity or even anger in their eyes, their expressions. She knew that they’d been dragged into a problem that wasn’t theirs to solve, much less become involved in.

  She needed to get away as fast as possible. She needed to run so that these people who represented everything good in the world weren’t tainted by her and never had to suffer because they interfered on her behalf.

  As much as she wanted to believe that Isaac cared for her and as much as she wanted to be to him what the other women were to their husbands, she knew it wasn’t a realistic dream. She’d get him killed. Maybe even the husbands of the other women and then, God, how could she face any of them? How could she face herself or ever look in the mirror again knowing she was the reason for so much pain and death? She had to let go of her ridiculous dreams and embrace what was real. And what was real was the fact that she and anyone close to her would never be safe. No man could be expected to live his life having to look over his shoulder constantly and dodge death at every turn. And it would kill her to see Isaac walk away after having experienced, even for a little while, what life would be like with a man like him. It hurt her deeply to leave him now, but it would completely break her if he left after he’d been hers for even a short period of time.

  It had to be this way. Not just for her own self-preservation but also for Isaac’s safety and the safety of everyone in this room. She closed her eyes and took a moment to harden her resolve, knowing in her heart that this was her only option. She had no other choice.

  The second she lifted her head just enough to peek at the others from underneath her eyelashes she froze. She was a complete idiot, because if Gracie truly did have the ability to read minds, Jenna’s plan was likely already in shreds.

  The more her gaze followed the women in the group, the more bitter envy swelled deep in her gut. She didn’t hate them or bear them ill will, but she was so jealous of what they had and all that she didn’t.

  Jenna dropped her head back to her knees in case anyone caught her staring, and especially if Gracie had a mental pathway into her mind. She huddled as far from the others as possible, trying to make herself invisible, all the while slowly scanning the room with eyes that were hidden from the people standing several feet away. She took in every detail, trying desperately to find some way of escaping. A hysterical laugh nearly spilled from her lips before she slammed them shut and sucked in deep, steadying breaths through her nose, willing herself to be calm.

  How exactly did she think she’d ever manage to escape these men? Anger at herself surged hotly through her body. She’d already escaped the impossible and if she’d done it once, then she could do it again. She just had to believe in herself. But first she had to find a way out and secondly, she had to make her move when everyone’s attention was drawn away from her and focused on charting their course of action.

  She softly blew out her breath over her knees in a nearly silent gesture of frustration. Who was she kidding? Only a few seconds ago she’d been all about being honest with herself and here she was contemplating that her odds of slipping away unnoticed were actually good. But she couldn’t decide which was worse. Being dishonest with herself or being a pessimist. Neither was going to help her out in her current situation.

  Refusing to give in to defeat, no matter how inevitable it seemed, she resolved to stop sulking, wallowing in self-pity and acting like a pathetic, useless twit. There was always a way. She just had to find it.

  Being extremely careful not to be obvious, she resumed the search she’d so quickly abandoned only moments after beginning. She’d learned infinite patience while imprisoned in the cult, knowing that if she ever grew impatient and tried to escape before she had a flawless plan in place, she’d never get another chance. Luck certainly never hurt, though, and she’d take all the luck available to her.

  Remaining completely silent, not even the puffy exchange of air from her lungs able to be heard, she lifted her head so gradually it would be undetectable and peeked from beneath her arms to survey the room, looking for a way out that wasn’t barred by one or more of the DSS men. Ugh, the size that these men were, it would only take one to create an insurmountable obstacle to her.

  Her breath caught when her gaze finally lighted on what looked to be an opening to a cellar in the floor. It was small, scarcely big enough for the large, muscled men to ever fit through. It would certainly be a tight squeeze for any one of them. But her slim figure could easily slip through the opening. The cellar door didn’t look as if it had been used in years. Since she knew this to be one of the DSS strongholds and the most secure of their safe houses, the cellar door was likely an escape route in case the house came under siege.

  It wasn’t far from where she sat against the wall and if she could slowly, but most of all quietly, move the few feet be
tween her and the cellar opening, she could quickly slip downward before she would even be detected.

  There had to be a way out once she reached the sublevel of the safe house. These men would have planned for every eventuality, and in all likelihood had multiple escape routes in case the safe house was breached and any of the other exits had been compromised or blocked off by the enemy.

  She mentally gave herself a pep talk even as panic threatened to overwhelm her to the point of breaking down into hysteria. Get it together, Jenna! All she had to do was drop down the cellar opening, slide the door back shut, hopefully not making the slightest sound, and then find the exit that led to the outside of the building and run as if her life depended on it.

  Not her life. Isaac’s life. The lives of the men and women of DSS. People’s blood she refused to have on her hands when she was the sole reason they were all in danger.

  She’d found her way around the city the first time, even if she hadn’t gone far before running into Isaac—and trouble. But that wasn’t the point. She’d done it once and she could do it again. She just couldn’t let terror paralyze her and she needed to realize that this wasn’t a game of hide-and-seek. Failure meant her capture, and it could also mean death for every single person in this room. Success meant she would continue to breathe and could disappear to where she’d never be a danger to anyone again.

  That thought immediately sobered her and she vowed to take extreme care this time and not to trust anyone. She’d gotten lucky that Isaac had been someone she could trust, but what if she’d attempted to steal someone else’s vehicle? If not for Isaac she’d now be in the hands of brutal monsters. Not everyone was good like Isaac and his men, and from now on, she’d take no chances, thus not giving herself any opportunity to trust only to then be betrayed.

  Fear had lent her strength before when she’d fled. It had given her the adrenaline necessary to go through with her plan. But this time she couldn’t count on those things to save her again. She had to be smart and use her head if she had any hope of getting out of this place and staying alive.

  It little mattered where in the city she went, only that she kept away from darkened alleys and dimly lit streets. Neighborhoods that were suspect. Anything that fired the sixth sense for danger she’d always possessed. This time she’d damn well listen instead of plunging recklessly through the streets looking frantically for something, anything, to aid her in her escape.

  She needed to make it a point to keep to crowded areas where she could blend in. Stick to busy parts of town. Shopping meccas. Places where there were plenty of stores, maybe a large mall. It would be so easy to blend in with the thousands of people who scurried along like ants in and out of an anthill.

  But before she got too carried away with her plan, she had to make some very important changes or nothing she’d planned up to now would make a darn bit of difference. Her looks were simply too distinctive, too memorable. So she needed to change her appearance, and not by just a little bit.

  Her hair and features weren’t forgettable. Isaac had called her an angel—his angel—in a tone of awe that made her think he truly did see her as an angel with her long, pale, almost white hair, her startlingly blue eyes and her nearly translucent skin.

  She needed to dye her hair. She knew it made her sound not only vain but incredibly stupid, but she couldn’t bring herself to cut the long tresses. It was her one rebellion. The elders had threatened her time and time again with shearing every bit of her hair off as a way to humiliate her and bend her to their will, but each time she vowed that she’d kill herself before ever agreeing to heal another person in the cult if they carried out their promise.

  The fear in their eyes told her they knew she wasn’t bluffing, and she wasn’t. She’d lost so much already. Why was she even hanging on anyway? It was a question she’d asked herself dozens of times over the years, only to cry herself to sleep because she didn’t have an answer.

  Perhaps it was the sheer desperation etched into her features that convinced them, or the fact that she looked dully at them, like death was the ultimate freedom for her, one she wanted very badly. Though they hadn’t followed through on their hollow threat, security on her had been doubled, and she was forced to eat whether she wanted to or not.

  Often they forced a feeding tube down her and held her down while they inserted an IV so they could administer fluids intravenously in addition to the nutrients administered via the feeding tube. It was as though they feared she would make good on her threat to go through with it and end all her pain, humiliation and misery.

  It should shame her that she allowed them to think that of her. That she was so weak that she would end her own life rather than fight with every breath for her freedom no matter how long it took. But it bought her precious time, time she needed if she was ever going to make good on the vow she’d made herself when she was but a young girl trapped in an environment where she could smell the stench of evil, so much so that it sickened her and many a night, she threw up every single bite of food or liquids forced on her during the day.

  So while she refused to cut so much as an inch off her hair, and it could very well end up the worst mistake of her life, she could alter her appearance in other ways. She could dye her hair a color so different from her own that no one would ever recognize her. Red was out. She simply couldn’t see herself as a redhead. But she could do dark brown or even black.

  After consideration, she decided that coloring her hair black, like the sky at midnight when no moon or stars were visible through the inky darkness, was her best shot at being able to move through the shadows undetected. If luck and God were on her side, the sky would remain overcast so the moon and the stars couldn’t cast their light to penetrate even the best disguise. Then the odds of her remaining undetected would greatly increase. But even better was the fact that visibility would be limited to feet instead of much greater distances.

  She’d need new clothing, and nothing like the ragtag clothes she’d fled the compound in but at the same time, nothing that would draw unnecessary attention to herself. No, she wanted to be . . . normal. Blue jeans. Nice ones without rips or holes in the denim. Ones that fit her and weren’t several sizes too big, making her look like she’d dug them out of a Dumpster and had to settle for whatever she was lucky enough to find.

  Her tops needed to be oversized, at least two sizes too large so they showed nothing of her curves. She’d long cursed her ample breasts, curved hips and plump ass that men seemed to like staring after with a look in their eyes that scared her almost as much as the elders did.

  Sweaters would be perfect and it was wintertime, though the temperature never got that cold stretching from southeast Texas to well on the other side of Houston. And sweaters were bulky enough that she wouldn’t have to worry with a bra.

  She winced because she’d forgotten all about shoes, and shoes were expensive. But maybe she could find some for a decent price at the Goodwill store or the Salvation Army when she went to look for the other items needed to complete her disguise.

  And then another thought caused her to cringe. As Isaac had so patiently explained to her, it wasn’t realistic for her to simply disregard ideas that had been part of her life since before she could remember. Only in time would she be able to see how the real world worked and allow herself to play by society’s rules and not the twisted, disgusting teachings the elders impressed upon young, impressionable people. In time, and by time he didn’t mean an immediate turnaround. He’d said it could take weeks, months or even longer to recondition herself and be able to admit not only to herself but to others that the people who’d imprisoned her had shoved lie after lie down her throat.

  Shaking off that worry and the guilt over the next part of her plan, she knew she needed to either buy makeup and experiment with it or go to a professional and learn how to use it to alter her facial features.

  She’d always worn her hair down, not by choice, but by dictate of the elders, and now she wa
s dying to put it up in the number of ways she’d seen other women wear their hair. She thought it looked pretty. Carefree even. As if they didn’t give a single care as to what others thought of them and wore their hair however they were most comfortable. What Jenna wouldn’t do to have that kind of confidence and assertiveness.

  As she went over the list in her head again to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything, her chest fell and foolish tears burned the edges of her eyes for even allowing herself the dream of being normal, of not having dangerous, maniacal people after her who would stop at nothing, even killing anyone who tried to help her. It was an impossible dream and she wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, furious that she was sitting here feeling sorry for herself when she should be working on a way to get out of here now.