Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Gideon wasn’t entirely mobile. He couldn’t surge to his feet and wrap the kid up in a hug, not that Javier would have gone for it. More than likely, he’d shove a knife in Gideon’s ribs. They really were a fucked-up lot, the entire urban team. Poor Mack. He was stuck with them.
Gideon had excellent hearing, and he caught the whisper of emotion in Javier’s voice—sentiment his brother didn’t often let slip. That got to him whether he wanted it to or not.
“I hear you, Javier.” Gideon gave his brother what he needed to hear, and he was sincere. He watched Javier nod, although he didn’t turn around. He just disappeared into the abyss that was the dark hole where the opening to the stairs led into his home. The trapdoor closed.
Gideon stared at it for a long minute before he allowed his body to begin to relax again. He hurt like a mother—everywhere. They’d given him pain pills, but he wasn’t taking them. Now he was going to have to start putting himself in a meditative state once more. To do that, he was going to have to clear his mind. To do that, he was going to have to face those images all over again. He pressed the heel of his hand to his pounding forehead. He didn’t want to go there again.
Javier thought he was the only one who wanted to rip those sick bastards into little pieces? What did he think happened to the men who murdered Javier’s family? Did he ever wonder how Gideon had gotten to him before those butchers had finished hacking into him when he’d been just a little boy? Probably not. That was a nightmare Javier relived in his dreams but couldn’t examine in the light of day.
A groan escaped. Not one of regret. How could he ever regret saving Javier’s life? Despite the kid believing Whitney’s armchair assessment of him, Javier was invaluable and had saved countless lives. That wasn’t even counting the times he’d saved team members’ lives. The groan was for the images of their recent mission along with those of the past, pouring into his mind when he’d fought so hard to get rid of them. It wasn’t easy to force himself to breathe in and out and allow his mind to accept the horrors it had lived through, but he did it.
He built his lake in his mind, the deep, fathomless water a turquoise, the shores wide. Overhead, the skies were blue, and the clouds were light and drifted on a cool breeze. The images, when they came, tumbled into the lake and were carried away from him. He let them go, giving them up to the deep water.
A sound penetrated his concentrated breathing, that steady rhythm that brought images into the pool in his mind and allowed the ripples to carry them away. Laughter, sounding like beautifully tuned chimes skipping over water, didn’t belong in his carefully built setting. Those chimes were faint and far away, but they invaded and sent the images away faster than any meditation he’d ever done. Each individual note blew up an effigy of one of his memories. The explosion over the lake appeared as multicolored fireworks.
As far as Gideon was concerned, there was only one thing for him to do, and he did it. The psychic talent he used he’d been born with. Since Whitney had enhanced all psychic talents whether he’d known what they were or not, Gideon had discovered it was stronger than ever. He closed his eyes, blocking out everything but the sound of that far-off laughter. Even after the notes had faded away, he still had the direction, and he had the exact pitch and rhythm he was looking for. He was ready for the sound to repeat itself, and it would. He was already casting his lure, sending it out into the night like a fishing line in the direction of that enticing laugh.
Minutes crept by. Gideon would have much preferred to be on the hunt in person, but his body wasn’t in any kind of shape. He would have to rely on his considerable skills with his talent—using an invisible line with an anchor to find his prey, much like a spider might. He’d been honing this one since he was a child. It didn’t always work. Sometimes, whoever he sought was too far away, but this was worth the try. Minutes turned to a quarter of an hour. He was patient. He’d learned patience a long, long time ago. On the half-hour mark, it occurred to him he hadn’t been visited once by his past.
He opened a bag of the contraband spinach chips Javier had brought him, popped the top off a can of beer and allowed himself to indulge. Beer and chips. Not everyday fare for him. He ate the chips slowly, savored the salty seasoning on them and then washed them down with beer.