a stone gate, massive and immense, one that moved easily at her command. And when it was in place, the presence of others settled into the background.
Carefully, he climbed to his feet, still staring at Jillian.
Before she opened her mouth, he knew she would ask.
And even as the words formed in her mind, he knew the question.
“Can you stop him?” she was asking . . .
Even as he was answering, “I don’t know. But I’ll do it or die trying.”
She nodded.
Dez, unaffected, rose from the table.
There was a heavy, strained silence as she moved to open the door for him. As she turned to give him a sympathetic look, he kept his focus on his feet. On the floor. Just one step, then another. That’s it . . . one step, then another . . .
All the way down the hall, to the elevator.
He kept that right up until he was in his room, right up until he hit the nicely stocked minibar.
There, he hit the alcohol and did it without feeling any shred of guilt at all. With a normal sync, it could take a good twelve to twenty-four hours to adjust, sometimes more. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t even in left field. It shot clear past left field, hurtling into unknown territory. For all he knew, he’d be a wreck for the next week.
No. Not acceptable, he thought dully. Not with all these screams. Not with all this pain. Not with the whispers of the dead dancing across his skin.
But he could damn well take a few hours and get shit-faced drunk as he struggled to deal with this, while he tried to process the horror that the little girl had been living with . . . combined with the cries of the ghosts that haunted Desiree Jones.
If he got through this without losing his mind, or without turning into a bona fide alcoholic, it would be a fucking miracle.
EIGHT
"YOU going to talk to me?”
It was hours later.
Jillian had fallen asleep, and Taige had stayed by her side until she knew the girl was sleeping.
Even now, she was having a hard time not going into the teen’s room to check on her. Should have stayed in there, she thought sourly as Cullen cut her off just outside their daughter’s room.
Chicken. Damn straight.
Sometimes it wasn’t always a bad thing to back away from an ugly fight. Especially when she knew she might say things that would leave bruises. Or when she’d hear things that would bruise her.
But he wouldn’t leave it be, so fine.
They’d have their fight.
Carefully, she closed the door, reaching out once more with her mind to check on Jillian. The girl was asleep, sound asleep, probably for the first time in months. A lash of guilt hit Taige, full across the heart. It wasn’t unusual for Jillian to have problems sleeping. Between her gifts and her nightmares, she’d have spells when the restlessness got bad, when she’d sleep for only a few hours. So they’d take her to her therapist, do whatever they could to help get her through whatever was bothering her.
And they’d done that.
But it hadn’t been enough because Taige hadn’t seen just how much worse it was this time. Over the past few years, Jilly’s gift had grown so much and her shielding . . . hell. She left Taige in the dirt and she’d been hiding so much of this. What Taige didn’t understand was why she’d been hiding. Although considering how Cullen had reacted to today’s events? Yeah. Maybe she did understand why.
Worry about this later, she told herself as she made her way into the sitting room. It was on the far side of the suite, and hopefully they could be quiet enough to keep from waking the girl.
Taige layered her shields down tight, knowing that was the only way to keep from leaking over on the girl. Cullen wasn’t an issue. She could pick up odd and random thoughts, but she almost always had to be touching him and looking for those thoughts. It wasn’t much different with Jillian. He was practically a psychic null.
Made it easier to have it out with him—that was for certain.
Flinging herself into a chair, she crossed her legs and stared up at him. Anger and frustration chewed a hole inside her. Underneath all of that there was hurt. He actually thought she’d do anything that would let Jilly get hurt.