Page 57 of Ace
“Man, your powers are growing stronger,” Isaiah told his boss.
‘Hell, I wish, but no. This one’s all Kell. Damn, he’s one helluva operator. Smart man. He facetimed before he passed out, showed me near to a thousand crates of illegally imported birds and what not. We weretracking his GPS, but we lost him. Thought maybe you could do your magic thing and locate him.’
‘What magic thing?’Savannah asked.
“Boss, before we go any further, you need to know that Miss Church is listening into our conversation from somewhere near New Orleans, right?” Isaiah asked out loud since he was on the phone with his boss.
‘I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but yes,’she told him mentally.‘I’m at the New Orleans Ritz Carlton hotel at the moment. Keller got us a room last night. It was a long day and I… I was exhausted and… and…’And there was no way she’d reveal that she and Keller had slept together, though a psychic as strong as Isaiah probably already knew. Darn, this conversation was growing more complicated by the minute.‘Is Keller okay?’
‘Can she hear me?’Isaiah’s boss asked.
“Yes, Tuck, she can hear you, but you probably can’t link into a three-way mental conference call yet, can you?”
‘Damn it, no,’came the man’s surly reply.
“Listen, Roxy’s still asleep and so’s my son. Let me call you right back.” Isaiah disconnected before his boss could say another word.‘Savannah, are you still with me?’
‘Yes,’she whispered mentally.‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Hang tight for a minute. Let me get more details from Tuck, and I’ll be right back with you.’
‘Your boss is Tuck, as in Friar Tuck?’
Isaiah chuckled quietly.‘Ha, that’s a new one, but no. Tuck as in Tucker Chase, Supervisory Special Agent and Director of the FBI’s one and only Psychic Team. We’re headquartered in Washington, DC, but because of the psychic business we’re in, we’re pretty much able to work all over the world. What level are you?’
Savannah had no idea what he was asking.‘I, umm… What?’
‘You’ve never been tested,’he said, a note of awe in his voice.‘Incredible. You’re a strong psychic. I’ll bet you’re another Level Ten or close to it. Once this is over, I’d love to sit with you. We need to talk.’
‘Please tell Mr. Chase I’m sorry I eavesdropped. That was rude of me. I don’t usually intrude on other’s thoughts. I was just worried.’
‘Don’t sweat it. Tucker’s used to us. Sit tight. I’ll be right back.’And with that, her psychic connection stopped. Isaiah had hung up on her. Like Keller, she couldn’t get a sense of him in the universe, not even the glowing trace of an aura trail. That was enlightening. No one had done that to Savannah before, not even Gran Mere. She needed to learn that skill.
“Keller’s in trouble,” she told Red who still sat at her knee, his big brown eyes soulful. “And Isaiah says I’m a Level Ten. Sounds mighty uppity, doesn’t it? Imagine me, someone important.” She stretched a hand in front of her, admiring her work-worn fingernails as if she’d had one of those fancy French manicures.
With a growly whine, Red put a fluffy paw on her knee.
Cupping his floppy ears, Savannah leaned into his forehead and kissed the top of his long snout. “I don’t know what a Level Ten is, either, but Isaiah thinks it’s good. We’ve got to trust Isaiah and his boss. They’re FBI. They know things.” She hoped.
Red whined again, his way of telling her he knew things, too. The longer she sat there, the more Savannah knew she had to do something. Keller being in a convoy meant he was on the road. Well, she had a Buick, and she knew how to use it.
“Talk to me, Keller,” she whispered across the unknown miles. “If you talk to me, I will find you.”
Chapter Thirty
Keller woke to the harsh dig of splinters in his cheek, one helluva cramp in his lower back, and a mouth full of cotton. Groggy and unsure where he was, he stayed upright, apparently caught between two roughhewn slabs of lumber that hummed. He scrunched his eyes, then blinked to clear the fog in his head, not sure where he was or how he’d gotten here—whereverherewas. It most certainly wasn’t the Ritz.
The Ritz. Savannah!Clarity slammed him. Shit. He’d left her sleeping at the Ritz this morning. He’d gone after RJ and… Fumbling for his shirt pocket, he located Junior’s tiny warm body, still protected. Not flat. Keller’s cheeks ballooned as he blew out an honest to heaven sigh of relief. He still couldn’t tell if the bird was going to make it or not, but knowing he hadn’t squished the tiny body while he’d been passed out, and that Junior was still warm, was relief enough. Savannah would never forgive him if he’d accidentally killed this little guy.
Carefully, Keller tucked Junior back into his pocket as more of what happened came back to him. RJ. Fontenette. Being gassed.Damn, he was still in the trailer. He’d been drugged along with every animal and bird in this illegal cargo, which told him plenty. Whatever cocktail RJ used could take down an adult male as well as a bird the size of a teaspoon. Interesting.
Disengaging his sore as shit body from between the crates, Keller stretched to get his blood flowing again. Man, people who reduced living, breathing creatures into commodities were greedy sons of bitches. Yet that was what all mankind did to survive. If he couldn’t tame it, he hunted, ate, or hounded it into extinction. Survival of the fittest at its most intelligent and its most lethal. It all came back to Mother Nature’s brutal yet ingenious circle of life. But fifty percent? What a waste.
Feeling for his flashlight, Keller backtracked to locate his cell. He found it face up between the crates. And still turned on. Damn. All this time his cell had transmitted nothing but noise and darkness.
He turned it off, then on again and… it was mid-afternoon! He’d been passed out for five hours. What the hell was in that gas? And his cell was down to one measly bar. Unsure when he’d need that bar, Keller flicked his cell and flashlight off as he sank to the floor, his back against the container wall. He wasn’t so sure he was traveling by truck anymore. The drone inside this container felt different, as if he were airborne. Fontenette wouldn’t have airmailed this container, would he?
Not like it mattered. Without a way to reach Tucker, Keller was trapped like Junior and his friends. But Keller wasn’t worried. He’d be plenty capable by the time this trip ended. Besides, all FBI cells were ruggedized and contained tracking chips—GPS locators with internal lithium batteries. Whether lost in shallow water or buried six feet under, his phone would track him, and the Deuces Wild team would eventually locate him. They might be on their way now. He wouldn’t have to fight Fontenette and his greedy goons alone. There was comfort in that.
