Page 6 of Ace
Once again, Keller pulled back and stopped being the hero. Kindness wasn’t getting him anywhere, not today. He had to get out of there. It might already be too late. He mentally tallied the pain meds this migraine would demand. The ice packs. A pitch-black cave to hide in until his retinas could tolerate light again would be a blessing, but he doubted he could find one before the suffocating pain took over. If big, brash Tucker Chase only knew what a pansy he’d hired...
“I’m sorry I bothered you,” Keller said sincerely as the first lightning strikes of what would soon be pure agony lanced from left to right across his frontal lobe. The aura now dominated most of his line of sight, all but blinding him. He was operating on empathy alone. Vomiting would soon follow. “And I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure your great grandmother meant everything to you.”
Reaching inside his jacket, he fingered a business card up from an inner pocket and handed it over, fighting to control the tremor at his fingertips. “I’ll be in town until tonight if you change your mind. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. That’s my cell number. As I said, I’m FBI Agent Boniface. Call me anytime.”
Mental note to self:Sleep with your damned cell under your pillow in case she does call.
Savannah Church took the card. But when it crumpled in her fist like so much garbage, Keller’s last hope for sweet relief died. He turned to leave before he was too blind to walk or before he threw up. Empathy migraines struck hard, and they were brutal. He forced his feet not to run even as he knew he was out of time. Retreat, especially on his hands and knees, was not his style. His heels had barely hit the end of the gangplank when he heard a whispered, “Thank you for your service.”
How did she know? Unlike the rest of his team, Keller couldn’t read minds, only feelings, and this woman was a cast of thousands. Even an ungifted man would’ve felt the boundless sorrow washing off her and spilling into him. She was that overflowing pitcher of sorrow, and it was cold and black, and it was killing her. He truly was an overflowing cup. Only his cup overflowed with other people’s darkness, pains, and sins.
The grief he could understand, but the fear quivering inside this woman like a hiccup she couldn’t expel, was something else again. Might be the unknown future all survivors faced. Losing a loved one pushed vulnerable people into uncharted waters where they didn’t want to go. Women who’d never worked were forced into a dog-eat-dog workforce to take minimum wage jobs, to learn how to handle home finances and auto repairs. Men who’d never learned to cook, well, they usually starved until they acquired numbers or apps for every pizza parlor in delivery distance. Children too young to care for themselves went tofamily that often didn’t want them or worse, handed them over to state institutions for any number of sniveling ‘good’ reasons.
His migraine roiled like a living beast inside the cramped confines of his skull, beating him for what he’d lived through when his wife had died at the tender age of twenty-two. Life was incredibly unfair. Why should it be any different for this young woman?
But why did it have to be as tough?
He couldn’t just leave. “You have psychic skills,” he said as he turned around.
“W-what?” she asked as her big brown eyes widened with disbelief and her ever-ready dose of hostility hit an all-time high. “I’ve got skills? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
Interesting. She hadn’t denied her psychic talents, just didn’t like him mentioning them.
“I also said I was sorry for your loss,” Keller reminded her gently. He ached to rush back up that gangplank and hold this woman, but not for his gratification. The migraine he could live with. He’d survived enough of them before. Only most times there’d been no way to complete that demanding cosmic circle of give and take. Evil men and women simply did not want to be touched, but if he’d had to kill someone in the line of duty, well. He could kiss that much needed psychic connection goodbye, and‘Hello Excedrin headache number one million forty-five.’
But this was different. This was Mariposa’s great granddaughter. More than anything, she needed to know she wasn’t alone, that someone who’d shown upon the worst day of her life, even a hard-nosed, pain-in-the-ass Ranger, could genuinely care for the stranger he’d just met.
Keller played it cool and stayed put, not wanting to frighten her more than he already had. “Is there someone I can call for you, ma’am? At least let me do that before I leave.”
Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
“I doubt that, but okay,” he said, summoning the strength to maintain a professional FBI vibe. It was early morning, but the day was already so hot and humid, he could barely breathe. A steady trickle of sweat ran down the center of his back, and his pounding head felt heavy, ready to implode. “Well, you’ve got my number.”
“Thanks. Yes. I’ll call if—”
‘If and when hell freezes over,’Keller thought as he shook off the oddest sensation of sparks beneath his skin. Once again, he began the trek to his car and its air conditioner. The cool air might stall the migraine until he made it to a hotel. It could work. If he hurried.
“Bacon.”
Keller froze at that softly spoken word. Was it a lure or a threat? Did she plan to feed him or turn him into dinner for some nearby alligator? Allowing the smallest smile to breach his dry lips, he cranked his stiff neck and turned one last time to face Miss Church. “Excuse me?”
Still at her front door, she lifted her chin and declared, “I said bacon. Listen, Mr. Secret Agent Man, if you help me get through the next couple hours, I’ll...I’ll...” The cords in her throat worked extra-hard. “I’ll fix breakfast, and, umm, well, all my dogs come when I say bacon, so I figured…”
That I could be lured with bacon, too.Keller let the insult hang. Being called a dog by anyone else would’ve offended him, but dogswerebetter than most people he knew, and maybe soon this stubborn woman would let him at least shake her hand.
“I accept,” he replied as the first of what would soon become many opaque spinning vortexes completely obscured the rest of his twenty/twenty vision. This migraine promised suffering. But if the reprieve the younger Mizz Church had just offered allowed the smallest chance to get her through this day, he’d suck up the pain and endure.
Chapter Four
The second she invited him inside, Savannah knew she’d made a mistake. This black-suited FBI agent took up all the air in the place even as he filled it. It seemed to hiss around his frame in its hurry to escape when he ducked through the narrow front door and into Gran Mere’s home. Tall and lean, he was as tawny as a lion. Probably as deadly, too.
Her hackles lifted.
“I am sorry for your loss,” he repeated, his voice an odd blend of control, concern, and something she couldn’t yet define. “When did she pass?”
“Just before you, umm, knocked,” Savannah admitted as she took a moment to size him up.
The mental push she’d flared a few minutes ago should’ve knocked his ass off her porch, but it hadn’t. That by itself was concerning. Her mental pushes worked on everyone else ’round these parts. Why notthis guy? Maybe FBI agents had special training for that kind of thing? Were they psychic too? Because Agent Boniface wasn’t just smart. He was—something else.
