Brain Storm, Cat Gilbert [read books for money TXT] 📗

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I WOKE UP disoriented and groggy, desperately in need of coffee. You’d have thought after two months I would have that addiction out of my system, but that certainly wasn’t the case. I sat up to find Lars sitting in a chair next to me, a cup of coffee, still steaming, in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other. I took a deep breath, savoring the aroma that filled the air. No wonder I’d woken up in need of a fix.

“That better be for me,” I said, reaching out to take it as the lights came up. He smiled, handing me the cup. I searched his face for damage as I took a sip, relieved to find he looked the same as always.

“I’m fine, Taylor. You’re the one who took the brunt of it,” he said, reading my thoughts.

“Your voice is better,” I noted, surprised. The raspy growl had changed to a hoarse, deep baritone that was much more human than before, but it still sounded painful.

“You thought I always sounded like that?” I nodded, and he chuckled as he explained. “Job-related injury. Not unlike what you did to Hughes. I’ve had two months of healing since we last talked. Unfortunately, this is about as good as it’s going to get. Not great, but I’ll take it.”

I leaned back and took another sip of coffee. I could have done without his reference to Hughes and what I had done to him. I had badly damaged his vocal chords, and if he had survived, he probably would have sounded much like Lars, if he could even talk that was.

“You up to talking?”

I nodded, realizing Jenny had been right about the sedatives. Between the rest and the hit of caffeine, I felt much better, my thoughts clearer. I was as ready as I was going to be.

“What do you remember?”

“Nothing after the explosion,” I told him. “I remember looking up and seeing you coming toward me. Vivian said something. It sounded off, and I looked down, saw the detonator in her hand. She was looking at the limo, and I knew, but it was too late. I saw the car explode. Saw the flames rushing toward me. Nothing after that.”

“You saw the detonator in her hand?”

I nodded again, knowing that image would be burned in my mind for the rest of my life. I could see it even now, her thumb pressing down on the button, me, helpless to stop it.

“Taylor, you never looked down.” My coffee stopped halfway to my lips. “You were watching me. You couldn’t have seen the detonator.”

“No, I saw it, Lars.”

“You didn’t look down,” he repeated. “I saw the fear in your eyes when you knew. Heard your scream as you whirled around to face the danger. Watched as you threw Connors behind you, trying to protect him. I watched you throw the limo away from us as it exploded. Watched the flames wash over you. I saw the metal hit you, watched you fall as it shattered your face. It happened in seconds, Taylor. Seconds. But I’ve replayed it in my mind a thousand times. I’m not wrong. You never looked down.”

“That’s just not possible,” I whispered to him, disbelief at what he said warring with the pain and conviction I heard in his voice. I was so sure I had seen it, and here he was, just as sure, telling me I hadn’t.

“Of course, you saw it, Taylor.” Mac’s voice surprised me, and I nearly dropped my coffee. He must have come into the room while Lars was talking and I’d never heard him, I’d been so focused on what Lars was saying.

“You just didn’t see it with your eyes. You saw it with your mind.” He smiled as he walked over and hopped up, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “It’s your gut instinct taken up a notch. Instead of sensing the danger, you actually saw it this time. Could come in quite handy.”

“A lot of what you do could come in quite handy, to use Sean’s words. That’s why this all happened in the first place.” He stood up, tossing the newspaper in my lap. It flopped open to the front page, the headlines staring up at me. It was dated the day after the explosion.

I threw Mac a look, my nerves in a jumble. He gave me a reassuring nod, and I gave him a heavy sigh in response. I settled back against the pillow, took a big sip of caffeine and started reading.

According to the paper, the explosion had been the result of a fuel leak in the hangar. There had been several casualties, among which were Vice Presidential Aides James Johnson and Adele Minter, respectively. The Vice President’s plane was destroyed before firefighters could get the fire under control. I let the paper drop as I finished the story, the impact of it hitting me hard.

“How much of this is true?” I asked Lars.

“Most of it.” He’d been moving around the room, poking at things as I’d read the paper. As I asked my question, he ambled back to the chair and took a seat, ready to talk. Mac was still sitting on the bed where he’d watched me the whole time, feeling what was going through me, helping take the edge off. “Keith and Vivian both worked for the Vice President. From what we have been able to confirm, James Johnson and Adele Minter were their real names. Keith and Vivian were aliases for your benefit.”

Stunned, I felt my breath catch. Their names weren’t even real. Everything. Everything had been a lie. “Vice President Armstrong is part of this? It was his plane?” I asked, disbelieving.

“Yes. He’s head of the committee that Connors reported to, but it started long before that. In the late 60’s, early 70’s, the US Government was looking into the paranormal. The CIA, in particular, had an interest in weapon development. Your parents were involved.” He paused as my eyes narrowed at his words. I felt Mac shift on the end of the bed, feeling my anger build. “They tested out college students and offered those that showed promise, the chance to explore their potential. They paid well, and it was exciting work. Your father was a science major. Your mother was studying psychology. It was a perfect match for them. Armstrong was a mover and shaker on the Hill even then. He was part of the