

### Designed To Love

Elle Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Elle Davis

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Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

# CHAPTER ONE

Ronan's amber eyes with copper flecks remind me of the Kilauea lava flows in Hawaii. They are like liquid gold, and are now brimming with tears as he waits for my answer. Two weeks before my seventeenth birthday, I am standing here with a 2 carat marquise diamond on my left ring finger and the man presenting it to me is down on one knee, waiting for my acceptance. I start to cry, in some ways giving him permission to do the same. To an outsider looking in, we might appear like two silly teenage fools, rushing into a situation that we aren't fully able to comprehend. But we're far from being typical teens and the love between us feels as real as the love between Claire and me. We were never destined to follow a normal teenage trajectory and accepting his hand in marriage seems as natural to me as breathing.

"Yes, of course," I finally manage, in a hoarse whisper. He stands up and embraces me so tightly that all airflow in and out of my lungs is temporarily halted. "Can't breathe," I croak and he releases me letting my body slowly slide down the length of his torso, making it difficult to catch my breath for entirely different reasons.

"Cataryn, Cataryn, Cataryn," he softly chants my full name, properly rolling the "r" (which few people know to do), in a way that makes it sound aristocratic and elegant. My body starts to melt, molding itself to his and he reactively applies counter pressure, igniting a familiar flame that's becoming more and more difficult to control.

"Ronan...?"

"Yes, Cataryn?" he murmurs contentedly, as his lips gently coax mine apart, sending shock waves throughout my body.

"Um, I think I'm ready to make that appointment now," I whisper.

He pulls away, his expression serious as he searches my eyes for confirmation.

"Are you sure?" He asks, but I can tell by the grin now spreading across his face, that he already knows that I am. I smile lovingly, and he tosses his head back laughing. "Thank God!" he murmurs softly, the relief evident in his voice.

We decided a while ago that when we were ready to advance our physical relationship, we would do it responsibly. I'm always impressed by Ronan's self-control, but it's clear now that he's had a harder time abstaining then he's been letting on. Suddenly, I can't wait to schedule an appointment at a local clinic.

***

Everyone is already seated in the dining room, passing around platters of food when we make our way downstairs. Between the ongoing debate on which football team will make it to the Super Bowl, and Alisha and Jason's attempt to get Claire to eat her chicken, no one pays much attention to us when we quietly take our seats at the table. I have butterflies in my stomach when Ronan clears his throat to get everyone's attention.

"Hey everyone, we have something to tell you," he says in such a way that immediately the room falls silent, and all eyes settle on us. Elizabeth already has a knowing grin on her face, and Michael winks at me, causing my face to unexpectedly grow warm. "I asked Cat to marry me, and she accepted," he announces, eliciting cheers from only half of the group. Elizabeth, Michael, and Brandon waste no time in offering their congratulations; their sincerity reflected in the smiles on their faces. Alisha, Jason, and Burke trade weary glances, and Claire stares wide-eyed at the two of us, not saying a word. The minute the news is out, I regret not telling her in private and I sign the words, "I'm sorry," as I watch her eyes fill up with tears. It wasn't at all the reaction I was expecting from the kid who thinks Ronan walks on water.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Alisha balks holding a hand up to interrupt Elizabeth who's enthusiastically beginning to plan a trip to the city to shop for wedding gowns.

"Marriage? Are you kidding? Don't you think it's a little impulsive to jump into marriage when you've known each other less than six months?" she scowls, pursing her lips together in disapproval.

"Not to mention you're not even eighteen," Burke mumbles.

"Marriage is a huge commitment. You don't want to treat it lightly," Jason adds diplomatically, in what seems like an attempt to pacify Alisha. Even he must know that the statement is weightless given the fact that he married his late wife three months after they met.

Ronan grabs my hand under the table and leans back in his chair. If he's bothered at all by their skepticism, it doesn't show. In fact, when he looks down at me and smiles, there is a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"I think you two are perfect for each other and you shouldn't listen to what anyone says," Elizabeth whispers in my ear, causing Alisha to shoot her a dirty look.

"Maybe it's nobody's business what they do," Brandon adds, his trademark lopsided grin even more pronounced than usual. He never takes anything too seriously, in part I suppose because of his near-death experience in the airplane crash. To him, life is like an ice cream cone, better to eat it fast, than wait until it melts in your lap.

Their reaction shouldn't come as much of a surprise to me. After all, if I were the one looking in from the outside I might echo similar concerns. I wasn't sure if I could make them understand that the love between us is as certain as their ability to fly a helicopter with just their minds. The two of us sit silently listening to the divided group voice their opinions on the matter until Ronan finally snaps, "All right. That's enough" ending the mini debate that our engagement has triggered between them.

"There's only one person in this room that we need approval from, and that's Claire," he says looking across the table at the only person who hasn't said a peep since our announcement.

"Claire, I love your sister more than anything else in this world. I promise to take care of not only her, but you too. You're not losing a sister; you're gaining a brother. Do you think you can accept me as part of your family?" he asks softly.

I have to hand it to him, for someone who's never been around small kids he has an uncanny ability to say just the right thing to Claire to ease her tension.

She looks up from her plate of untouched food, her eyes dancing back and forth between the two of us. "You mean you're not going to take her away?" she asks innocently, the look of fear, giving way to relief when we both chuckle.

"Only for a few weeks after the wedding, and then only when you are old enough to get tired of having us around," he responds smartly, grinning at her when she sends her fork twirling above her plate, plunging it into a piece of chicken.

Sitting back, Burke folds his hands across his chest and it's only when Ronan meets his gaze and his jaw tightens that I'm aware that they are communicating telepathically. When Burke looks at the two of us in disbelief, I immediately know what the conversation is about. For him, it's always about the sex. He shakes his head and mumbles, "Big mistake," and Ronan starts to get up from his chair.

"Ronan don't. He's entitled to his own opinion," I comment, holding tightly to his hand, until he sits back down. I knew the news would come as a surprise to everyone, but I wasn't prepared for the amount of friction our decision would cause. My earlier elation was slowly dwindling, and I wanted nothing more than to be finished with dinner and the conversation. Besides Ronan had a good point; Claire was the only one who deserved our consideration in the matter, and once she had been reassured that he wasn't going to steal me away from her, she was completely on board with the idea of him officially becoming her big brother.

***

"Ronan, do you think we're making a mistake?" I ask hesitantly when we are finally alone in our bedroom. It's one of those questions that you ask only when you feel the need to be reassured, and when he doesn't answer immediately, I brace myself for the possibility that he might be having second thoughts.

"It's not in my nature to make big decisions that I'm not a hundred percent confident about, nor am I ever influenced by the opinions of others," he says quietly, locking his eyes on mine.

"Did you hear my conversation with Alisha?" I ask, already reading the answer in his eyes.

"Of course," he says, smiling as he slips his shirt over his head.

I glance at his bare chest and quickly look away, clasping my hands behind my back, resisting the urge to jump him.

"She may have a point. You have all of these incredible Designer abilities and well, I'm sort of just average. What if you get bored or find another Designer who is better matched with similar talents?" Alisha of course didn't put it in those exact words when she cornered me alone in the kitchen after dinner, but she effectively planted the seed that Ronan may meet a Designer in the future who is equally and suitably enhanced for him. I wonder why she would string poor Jason along if she truly has such a Designer superiority complex, but I never got the chance to ask because the conversation ended when Ronan walked in the room.

"Cat," he sighs, reaching up to brush his hand across my cheek. "You are meant for me. There will never be another woman more suited for me than you. If our age is a problem for you, then just say so, and we'll wait for as many birthday's as you need. But please, don't let your decision about me or us be influenced by others. Do what you feel is right in here," he whispers, letting his hand slide down over my heart and linger over the left side of my chest. He smiles when I tremble under the steady caress of his hand.

"My heart says that there is something much deeper drawing us together, and I am meant to be with you and only you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. He pulls me closer and kisses me tenderly.

"I was hoping that's what your heart would say," he says, reaching over and flipping off the bedroom light.

***

Flying is in my blood. My dad was a general aviation pilot, and so were both his parents. I was the only girl in elementary school that traded a roomful of stuffed animals and dolls, for toy airplanes and helicopters. Long before I was allowed to enroll in flying lessons, I was proficient in co-piloting my dad's Beechcraft Bonanza at a cruising altitude. With the blessing and support of both my parents, I enrolled in ground school on my fifteenth birthday, and then a year later I buried my dream of becoming a pilot along with them. Now, on a clear, crisp fall morning, I'm sitting in a small Cessna 172, next to Marti Campbell, a well-known Canadian flight instructor, recommended by Brandon.

Only Ronan would think to give me such a generous birthday gift. I look across the tarmac and catch him staring at us now and my breath lodges in my throat, causing me to gasp. I asked him not to stay and watch today's lesson, but he insisted. His stunning Designer features are always an attention grabber, but today, he looks like some Greek god, standing alone on the tarmac. His golden amber eyes mesmerize me, and, like an idiot, I hold his gaze a fraction of a second too long. "Stay focused, Cat. Most aircraft accidents happen, because the pilot is distracted," she says, glancing over at him disapprovingly. She has been flying for over twenty years and has trained hundreds of student pilots. No detail escapes her attention, and she is quick to point out that none of her previous students has ended up in a deadly airplane crash either. I complete the pre-flight checklist and, after I flawlessly radio the tower my flight plan, she nods for me to proceed to the active runway. I feel a moment of panic and glance over at Marti.

"Wait, I told you that I've only practiced takeoffs and landings a few times, and that was over a year ago, right?" I ask, giving her another opportunity to delay today's lesson.

"Yes, Cat. You've already told me. Listen, I've been doing this for a long time, if I didn't think you were ready, I wouldn't be sitting in the right seat. Trust me, you're ready," she says self-assuredly.

Her confidence gives me the needed surge of courage and when the air traffic controller clears me for take-off, I give the aircraft full throttle, easily reaching a climbing speed by mid runway. She's right. Everything comes back to me, like riding a bike and within minutes we are 3000 feet above the ground and I am circling the airport, preparing to do my first touch-n-go landing. An hour later, I've completed five and Marti says if I continue at this pace, I will be ready for a solo flight before the beginning of next year. The elation that I feel, when I pull off the active runway is second only to seeing Ronan standing there, his face brimming with pride.

Running to him, I launch into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I did it!" I squeal. He easily supports my weight with one arm as he simulates my near perfect landings with the other hand, making realistic airplane noises as he recaps the event from his perspective.

***

After I finish an hour long rambling narrative, detailing my flying lesson, the drive back to the Freeman property becomes quiet. Ronan listens patiently, his amused expression fading only when I'm finished.

"Ronan, is something wrong?" I ask tentatively, only now noticing his troubled expression.

He steals a sideway glance and clears his throat. "Bernie Stoddard called and wants to start training—tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Why tomorrow? I thought she was going to wait at least until after Thanksgiving," I say trying to hide my disappointment.

"She wants to do some preliminary testing on us, over the next few days. We are flying to Nevada tomorrow morning," he says trying to make it sound like it's no big deal.

"Can I go too?" I ask hopefully, already dreading being separated from Claire and him.

"Top Secret facility, even some top military officials have never been there. She won't let any outsiders accompany us, even Jason," he answers quietly, grabbing my hand and locking his fingers around mine.

"But I'm Claire's sister," I start to protest, in vain. I hated the thought of being considered an "outsider." I was already feeling excluded by the group's ability to connect telepathically, and now being left out of Top Secret military missions, that my not quite, six-year-old sister was heavily involved in, seemed unfair.

We drive in silence and my heart catches in my throat when I look up at him.

"There's more isn't there?"

He takes a deep breath. "Alisha told her we were planning on getting married and she contacted me privately. She didn't want to say anything to the others until she had more evidence, but felt that you and I should know...

"Know what?"

"She believes that there is a connection between the deaths of all of our family members and was concerned that our marriage might put you in some sort of danger too."

I stare at him waiting for the punch line.

"You're joking right?"

His jaw tightens and the knuckles on his hand turn white from gripping the steering wheel.

"Okay, that has to be the most absurd thing I have ever heard. Please tell me you don't buy it," I say, becoming more annoyed by the second.

"Well, I don't know Bernie all that well, but... she doesn't seem like the type that would make such a statement without a whole lot of proof to back it up."

"Ronan, did you stop to think that maybe Alisha put her up to it? Or maybe she has her own selfish reasons for not wanting her golden Designer boy distracted with a wedding and a wife. Maybe she wants to make sure you are available for carrying out her undercover secret missions. Or I don't know, maybe she just doesn't think seventeen-year-olds should be getting married," I say accusingly.

"Cat, she's one of the most powerful women in America. Do you really think she has the time to trifle with our personal lives?" he responds evenly.

"Okay, so what do you want to do?" I ask, looking out the window so he won't see me blinking back the tears that I couldn't even justify shedding.

"I want to keep you safe at all cost. I want a guarantee that you'll go to sleep and wake-up by my side every day," he says, squeezing my hand.

_Romancing DNA,_ I think as an unwarranted tear slowly trickles down my cheek. I let out a big sigh and watch the mile markers on the freeway whiz by trying to make sense of Bernie's warnings. It seemed like such a preposterous theory that I wondered why Ronan would even bother bringing it up to me.

"Look Ronan, my parents and brother are dead. Claire and I attended their funerals. I just can't buy the conspiracy theory," I finally reply. "And besides, if my relationship with you is a threat to me then so is my relationship to Claire. Would you have me disown her as well?"

He shakes his head no. I choose my next words carefully.

"I refuse to live my life in fear Ronan. It was my parent's decree to live life to the fullest. My dad used to say, 'You're not truly living if you're riding a train that's standing still. If you want to ride the train of life, then you have to be willing to jump on and off while it's moving; even if it means getting hurt.' So, are you willing to let me jump?"

His brows furrow and his whole body seems to tense up as he concentrates on the road ahead. I can tell he's struggling with the question.

"Say it. Say you're willing to let me jump," I cheer him on, trying to lighten the mood.

Finally, without saying a word he rolls his eyes in defeat, and raises his right hand. Imitating a train engineer, he pulls a make belief cord, and to my delight lets out the perfect imitation of a locomotive steam whistle.

***

"Please make sure they don't push Claire too hard," I whisper in Ronan's ear as the others load their suitcases in Brandon's plane, preparing for their trip to Nevada.

"Cat, she has five pairs of eyes watching out for her, she'll be fine. I promise," he says with confidence.

The logical side of me knows he's absolutely right, but the emotional side of me wants to insist she stay home with me. I haven't seen Claire this happy since before the death of our parents. She's no longer solely my responsibility, and now she is thriving under the care of the six other adults in the house; six adults who all have adopted her in some way or another. Jason and Alisha treat her like a daughter. Elizabeth and Michael are like a favorite aunt and uncle. Brandon and Burke are her adventurous older brothers, and Ronan will officially be her brother-in-law in a matter of a few months. I think she's fondest of him, maybe because she sees how happy he makes me, or maybe it's because she knows he loves her like I do.

"She wants me to remind you that she wants a horse for her birthday," Ronan says, laughing softly. Claire had made her birthday wishes known to all of us, making sure she had all her bases covered. It really was pointless for her to continue reminding me, as if I were the final decision maker in the matter. The others were already searching the western United States for the perfect breed, then arguing when they couldn't agree on one. Still, it made me feel good that she still considered me as a person of authority.

Jason, Michael and I wait on the back deck watching Brandon take off from his private airstrip. He makes a few circles around the house, than flies east disappearing over the horizon. Michael puts his arm around my shoulder, giving me a comforting squeeze. He hated giving Elizabeth up for the next three days, too. Ronan's kiss lingers on my lips and my body still feels warm inside, like after drinking hot cocoa while standing in a snow storm.

"I'll be with you every night," he had whispered, insinuating that he would remotely travel to the Freeman house.

"Humph, a lot of good that does me," I reminded him with a less than enthusiastic attitude.

# CHAPTER TWO

RONAN

The flight to Nevada takes us a little over four hours, accounting for the one hour time difference. There is a military helicopter waiting for us, just as Bernie said there would be and the flight to the training facility was precisely thirty-three minutes, also just like Bernie said it would be. Eighty-three miles northwest of Las Vegas sits Area 51, Nevada's test and training military base and our home for the next three days. Bernie warned us that we would be blindfolded before being escorted by guards to our quarters, which was an eighteen-minute walk from the main inspection station. Of course, Claire and I witness the whole journey, remotely hovering just above the others. We join them in a mental conference room and describe our surroundings detail by detail. The descent by elevator, six subterranean levels below has Elizabeth a little spooked but her face remains neutral as she lets the guard guide her down a long corridor and through several sets of gray metal doors. Claire and I veer off course to explore every room along the way. We find two large computer rooms, a cafeteria, lab, hospital infirmary, exercise room, and several conference rooms, all full of military personnel.

Claire gives us a disappointing color reading on the majority of people we pass in the hallway— nothing but oranges and blues.

We finally reach a dead end hallway with a single elevator that takes us to the seventh subterranean floor. Our blindfolds are removed and we are standing in a large foyer that, if I didn't know any better, could be that of a five-star hotel. The sitting area to the right is furnished with plush fine leather furniture surrounding a mock rock fireplace, and the front desk ahead is made of expensive mahogany wood. The guard tells us to check in at the desk, and promptly turns around to leave. Alisha kicks into take-charge mode and marches over to the front desk, with the rest of us following.

The attractive desk attendant greets us professionally and asks for Alisha's name. "Ah, the Designers," she mutters after a few key strokes on the computer. "Okay, how would you like your room accommodations," she asks, eyeing us with modest curiosity.

Alisha naturally speaks on our behalf, requesting one room for the ladies, and one for the gents.

I correct her and tell the clerk that I would prefer a room to myself, and ignore Alisha's dirty look.

The desk clerk hands us our room keys and says, "By the way, Ms. Stoddard will meet you in the restaurant area at 6:00 p.m. sharp. The dining area is just around the corner on your left, and your rooms are down the hall on the right. Have a good night," she says, smiling, while looking directly at Burke.

***

Bernie Stoddard is seated in the far corner of the restaurant with a stack of papers in front of her. She is smartly dressed in a pair of designer jeans, with a silk blouse, that has been coordinated by a bright red and yellow scarf tied around her neck. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth, along with the short gray hair, contradicts the age depicted by her toned, athletic build. She greets us with a smile and briefly looks each of us over in such a manner that you feel like you've just been interrogated, then resumes thumbing through a file of paperwork.

"Still yellow," Claire mentally announces as we approach the table, instantly making everyone feel at ease.

We quietly take a seat at the large round table, in an almost empty restaurant. Burke and Brandon immediately reach for the menus and Alisha subtly angles her head in what I know is an attempt to get a glimpse at the papers being reviewed by Bernie.

"Alisha, there is no need for you to sneak, I am about to give you a copy," Bernie says without looking up.

Alisha looks slightly embarrassed for being caught, but doesn't say anything. Brandon chuckles.

"All right, here is the agenda for the next three days," Bernie finally says, passing us each a copy, including Claire. "The purpose of the next three days is to test your physical as well as psychic abilities. We will be running you through a series of tests which will include pulmonary, cardiac, neurological and musculoskeletal testing. Um, and I have a surprise for you," she says looking at us with a sort of twinkle in her eye. "What would you say if I was to tell you that I can provide you with a genome sequencing map before you leave?"

I choke on my sip of water. "All 20,000 genes?" Alisha asks skeptically.

"Well, we perform a shortcut method that just isolates a variant DNA unit, and we can have the results in about 48 hours. A full map, will take two to three months. I'm guessing that you are most interested in the non-human DNA anyway, right?"

We all nod, including Claire. I feel as if I just hit the lottery jackpot, I can't wait to tell Cat, pleased that there will be no more searching for my elusive medical records, and no more wondering what animal species were introduced into my genetic makeup. I glance at Burke and am surprised to see the look of disinterest on his face. Out of habit, we jump into our mental chat room. "What's wrong Burke?"

He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. "I guess, for me, I accepted who I was a long time ago. I don't really care what DNA was used to make me stronger or faster. Besides, what if you learn things that are better left undiscovered?"

"Like what?" I respond a little defensively.

Elizabeth joins us, before he has a chance to answer. "Ronan, I'm not so sure it's a good idea to give the government access to this kind of information about us," she says cautiously, glancing over at Bernie who is preparing to hand out more paperwork.

"What is with you guys? Why the sudden paranoia? Look, you can do what you want, but I've been trying to get this information for three years and there is no way I'm leaving here without it!" I say in a seemingly louder mental voice than intended, because Elizabeth winces and Burke says, "A little lower please."

Bernie waits for the server to finish taking our order, and then proceeds to hand another packet to each of us. "This is a confidentiality agreement. You are under the highest security contract, and because three of you are under the age of eighteen, we had to make some exceptions to these documents. Ronan, Burke, and Claire, if you look below your signature line, you will see my name as a co-signer. What this means, is that I am willing to gamble, not only my reputation, but my life as well. The government takes a breach in security very seriously and has a way of dealing with any traitors. While your abilities may be able to protect you, I would venture to say that you won't be able to extend that same protection to those you love, at least not one hundred percent of the time," she says gravely, giving pause to let the weight of her words sink in.

I hear Claire's frightened voice mentally, "Cat?"

Bernie must sense Claire's apprehension, because she smiles tenderly at her. "You have nothing to fear Claire, as long as you follow the rules. They are very simple. Do not talk to anybody about anything you see or hear while on assignment. Got it?" Claire nods her head vigorously. "Now, on a brighter note, the pendulum swings both ways. Your safety is of paramount importance to the government. We will protect your identity in every way possible and we will have you work remotely as much as possible, although there will be times when you will need to be on location for assignments." The waiter sets down our food, and she waits until he leaves before continuing. She passes us a map of the 7th subterranean floor, which is much larger than the desk clerk let on. "You are free to go anywhere on this floor, including the pool, which is down the west hallway. You may not leave this floor unescorted for any reason. There are elevators at the end of each hallway, but only those with authorized fingerprints can use them. Instructions on what to do in the event of an emergency are posted on the inside of each room. Make sure you familiarize yourself with them. Now, if there are no further questions, I am going to my room," she says pushing back from the table, leaving half a plate of untouched food. "We will meet back here at six a.m. Wear comfortable workout clothes and be prepared to sweat."

***

"Fifteen, sixteen.....seventeen. Keep going Claire" Bernie murmurs, looking down at her stopwatch, as the rest of us hold our breath. Claire is the last of us to complete the running test on a specialized treadmill designed to reach speeds up to 75 mph. Brandon, the fastest out of all of us, reached a max speed of 56 mph, and I was just under at 52 mph. Elizabeth, although well above average for a woman, was the only one so far, who didn't meet the criteria for supernatural abilities in speed, even though she exceeded our ability to maintain her top speed by about fifty percent.

Claire's stride is long and graceful, like a gazelle. She reminds me a lot of Cat when she runs. There is a mixture of determination and joy on her face as she climbs to a speed of 19 mph. Brandon and Burke cheer her on like proud older brothers, and Elizabeth nervously stands by, ready to catch her should she happen to trip. Alisha and I are fixated on the heart monitor. Her heart rate hasn't changed at all from her baseline. It continues to beat steadily at 88 beats per minute, in spite of her exertion. Even I know this can't be right. The rest of us doubled our heart rates in the first ten minutes.

"Are you feeling okay?" Bernie asks for the third time, and Claire cheerfully responds, "Yep!" Her speed peaks at 22 mph, and she assures everyone that she is running as fast as she can, yet other than a slight flush to her cheeks, you would never know she was sprinting on a treadmill. She is allowed to run for almost forty minutes at this speed, before the test is halted and when she jumps off the treadmill, she looks disappointed that it's over with. Bernie dismisses us to our rooms for a break while the eleven members of the evaluation team congregate to discuss the results.

***

Incoming calls to Area 51 are restricted, and outgoing calls are discouraged. A call can only be placed using a facility issued phone which can only be obtained from the front desk clerk. The clerk must program a code for each use and the code is only good for one attempt whether the call is connected or not. I have been a little on edge ever since Bernie brought up conspiracy suspicions, so when my third call to Cat goes unanswered, I panic. Unbeknownst to Cat and the others, Bernie and I arranged secret service protection while I'm away. Now I vacillate between calling the lead agent or trying Cat one more time. In the end, I decide to take a quick trip to the Freeman house, rather than risk permanently getting on Gail Grover's bad side. Gail is the front desk clerk for the day and unlike yesterday's cheerful receptionist, she sees any interruption to her daytime TV program, as a huge imposition.

Michael and Jason are nowhere to be found at the Freeman house, but a soft melody drifting from the upstairs bedroom beckons me, and I drift down the hallway toward Cat's voice, pausing outside the bathroom door, just as she turns off the bath water. Up until now, I haven't even considered using my gift of remote travel, to violate someone's privacy, even though it's been suggested by Burke, that I should. Hearing Cat's voice now leaves me with an intense ache to see her. In a split-second decision I pass to the other side of the wall, justifying my actions with a reminder that she is, after all, my fiancée.

The lights in the bathroom are dim, and there is a candle burning on the corner of the tub. Cat is reclined in the tub, hair piled high on her head and there are beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Her skin is creamy and flawless. All guilt of behaving like a peeping Tom vanishes when I see her dreamily looking at her engagement ring, twisting it around on her finger, smiling as if recalling a favorite memory. I may be biased, but I am certain that her beauty surpasses anything I have ever laid eyes on, including the models who pose in Burke's adult magazines.

The images of Cat stay with me long after we resume training and I'm distracted when Bernie warns us that the next testing station would be the most difficult. It was the combat station and we would be tested in hand-to-hand combat, using our speed, agility, strength, and any of our other special gifts against a team of soldiers who had advanced skills in hand-to-hand combat. Basically, it was us against them, all eleven of them. The rules were simple, no firearms or other weapons, only hands on. Other than that, anything goes. Once an opponent was pinned to the ground, they were considered out, and would be escorted from the arena. "Expect some injuries, they're almost impossible to prevent in this type of a training scenario," Bernie says seriously. The rest of us strongly oppose Claire's participation in the event, but Claire stubbornly disagrees and Bernie says she's a necessary part of the assessment.

We are led to an outdoor arena that, from my remote aerial view, looks to be about the size of two football fields. It is like a movie set, complete with trees, giant boulders, and a few small buildings. Our first objective was to get Claire to safety, and the team agrees that a giant redwood tree, located on the north side of the arena, would be the perfect place to keep her out of harm's way. Elizabeth would accompany her, while the rest of us managed the military combat team. Unlike, Alisha, Elizabeth would never fare well in a fighting situation. Her strength and speed are not as enhanced as the rest of us, and her soft, gentle personality would make her an easy target for any opponent. It was better for her to engage in battle using mental forces to disable the enemy. She readily agrees.

Marquis, the team leader for the military combat team, is a formidable six foot, three and 300 pounds. He examines us with a failed attempt at hiding his humor, and turns to his teammates and announces, "It'll be over in five minutes." Apparently, no one shared with him the results of our previous tests, and I have a sudden surge of excitement over the pending fight. Alisha tells Bernie that she wants a five minute team meeting with us and when it's granted, she signals us to a corner of the arena.

"All right guys, listen up. We have never had to perform mentally and physically at the same time, so this is going to be a challenge. It's imperative that you stay connected with Claire so that she can fight using our mental power source, too. Let your body move instinctively, you don't need to be consciously connected; your body will automatically know what to do. Do you understand?" We all nod in agreement, but I'm not so sure we really do understand. "Ok, Brandon, you are the fastest, so you head with Elizabeth and Claire to the north. Get them into the tree, then come around from the east. The three women are mine. That leaves eight between Ronan and Burke, until Brandon gets back. Do you think you guys can handle them?"

"I call the leader," I respond with complete confidence, certain I can have him removed within the first five minutes.

Claire warns, "He's gray, Ronan."

We are separated on opposite sides of the arena and I lock eyes with Marquis. He smiles wickedly and an unintentional hiss escapes my lips. I hear Alisha in my head commanding me to stay connected mentally. A loud trumpet sounds and I remain motionless, fully aware that Marquis is running full speed toward me. My mind divides, and I am aware of being in three separate places at once, like having three separate brains. One is the spectator, watching the whole scene from above, hovering like a spirit over the arena. A second stays connected to my physical body, becoming hypersensitive to the changes in my tissue and organs, as my body prepares to fight. The third is connected to the other Designers, in our personal mental cloud, where we exchange and send thoughts to Claire.

When Marquis reaches me, my body springs into action, engaging in hand-to-hand combat as if it were a pre-choreographed dance. It feels instinctive, like I was designed with advanced fighting technology. I remote view the scene from above and send the information back to the others, so that they can anticipate the every move of our opponents.

Elizabeth and Claire make it to the redwood un-touched; thanks to some strategically uprooted trees falling in the path of their attackers and Brandon's excellent fighting skills incapacitating the remaining soldiers. Elizabeth may not have a Designer's supernatural speed, but when she launches herself fifteen feet in the air to catch the lowest branch on the redwood, there is no question that she has some sort of feline DNA.

The number of participants on the combat team quickly diminishes, especially with Claire and Elizabeth using telekinetic power to throw up invisible shields to block a punch or kick here and there. Not that it was really necessary though. From the aerial view, all of us are fighting using the same advanced techniques as the combat team. I couldn't be sure about Alisha and Brandon, but Burke and I had never taken any type of martial arts or combat training in our lives, yet you would never know it by today's performance. I now have Marquis in a choke hold, and I can feel his body weaken under my grip. I shove him to the ground but don't readily pin him. I'm not really ready for the competition with him to end so soon, so I give him a chance to recover.

"Are you crazy Ronan?" Alisha screams out loud.

He uses the distraction to pitch a handful of dirt in my face, immediately blinding me, and then tackles me with such force that the wind is knocked out of me. From my birdlike view, I see him reach down and pull an automatic switch blade from his boot and he has it pinned against my neck before I have time to alert the others.

"What now, pretty boy?" he sneers.

His bad breath makes me gag. The output of telekinetic energy from Claire and the others may have been slight overkill. Marquise is catapulted through the air with such force, that he ends up nearly thirty feet away, landing in such a way that his lower leg is perpendicular to the rest of his leg. His screams can be heard throughout the arena, and instantly there are attendants at his side with a stretcher. The event, witnessed by the three remaining combat soldiers, leaves them shaken, and one by one, they follow the stretcher out of the arena.

Bernie doesn't request our presence at dinner tonight and we all have our own theories as to why. Claire obtains a rock solid promise from Alisha and Elizabeth to take her to the pool after dinner and Burke and Brandon agree to join them. On the way back to our rooms, Claire launches herself on my back and climbs up to my shoulders, showing off her newly discovered gift for jumping. Bernie pulled us in for additional testing, after seeing Elizabeth's fifteen foot jump to the tree branch and, as it turns out, Claire is gifted with a similar ability. She reached a twelve foot platform from a three stride running start. Now she considers us her own personal jungle gym and like a monkey, she swings from one human body to another as we walk down the hallway.

***

A box of chocolates, and a few compliments goes a long way. I wish I would have thought of it sooner. Gail Grover swoons over me, when I ask her to make an outgoing call for the fourth time today. It's 9:00 in the evening, and I can't imagine Cat not being available for answering the phone this time. Finally, on the fourth ring, a breathless Cat answers my call and the sound of her voice makes my heart speed up.

"What could you possibly be doing that you would be out of breath right now?" I ask in a low, sexy voice that I know she loves.

"I just got back from flying," she says, giggling.

"This late...?" I look at the clock again to make sure I had the time right.

"Yeah, Marti checked me off on a bunch of stuff, and I almost have enough hours to do my solo flight."

"So soon...? It's only been a week." The doubt in my voice is obvious to even me, and judging by her silence, it doesn't escape her sensitive ears either. I brace for her backlash. She hates it when I question her abilities and isn't afraid to call me out. To my surprise, her voice is tender and her response is sweet.

"Ronan, I am the luckiest girl in the world to have you. Our life together is going to be great, but you can't worry about every little thing I do. Remember the train ride we agreed to take together. I would never hold you back from the things that you want to accomplish."

Cat doesn't beat around the bush and she has a way of expressing herself that leaves very little room for argument. "Tell me about your day now," she coaxes and I launch into a thirty minute tale of the different testing stations, always keeping in mind my confidentiality agreement with Bernie Stoddard.

# CHAPTER THREE

RONAN

Bernie Stoddard didn't obtain her high profile title by being a pushover and naively accepting a response that doesn't correspond with the evidence presented to her. She rewinds the videotape of yesterday's competition in the arena for the third time, then plays it in slow motion, capturing each of us, excluding Elizabeth and Claire, actively engaging in hand-to-hand combat. We watch the video again, with the same level of perplexity that we had the first time. Bernie doesn't believe us when we tell her that we've never been formally trained in martial arts, or hand-to-hand combat. And watching the video of us, I can't say that I blame her.

It is even more revealing than my remote view was during the fight. Based on the skill level we demonstrated, we may have kicked ass even without the use of telekinetic energy. We looked like Ninja's out there, effortlessly nailing every punch, block and kick. Burke grins proudly, when the video shows him jumping four feet off the ground, performing a 360 degree turn, before plowing his leg into the side of his opponent. We shrug our shoulders again and Bernie stares at us long and hard.

"Look Bernie, why would we lie about something like this? We can't provide you with the explanation that you're looking for, because we don't know how or why we do the things that we do," Alisha says in what I consider a very believable voice.

Bernie concedes, sighing and shaking her head.

Today's results of our psychic and psychokinetic talents impress the government as much as yesterday's test of our physical abilities. For Bernie, our demonstrations are a repeat of what was shown to her in her office, only on a much larger caliber, and the power behind our telekinetic abilities seems to increase the more we use it.

Earlier today, we flew a military helicopter around the complex, without a pilot. We also blew up a retired military cargo truck that had already been stripped of usable parts. When the entire complex lost its computer power for fifteen minutes, Bernie got a call from the Commander In Chief. We crossed the line once again, when we recited a paragraph from the confidential document sitting in front of him on his desk.

There is a mixture of admiration, fear and excitement in the evaluation team's eyes as we perform one feat after another. The worst part of the day is succumbing to another EEG test. Bernie convinces me that the exam will take a fraction of the amount of time, and will provide three times the data of that done during my captivity. For me, it evokes memories of the night I learned of my parents' death and I am overcome with sadness. I escape to the one place, I know I'll find comfort, and I spend the next twenty minutes hovering next to Cat at the airport, watching as she silently studies the thick student pilot's manual, preparing for her exam.

***

Alisha demands to see the results of all of our EEG tests and Bernie consents, observing her as she discusses the findings with the two neurologists on staff, matching their level of expertise on the subject. She later informs us that the levels of electrical brainwave activity, far exceeds that measured in a normal human brain.

"In someone who is awake and involved in busy tasks, a normal brain produces anywhere from 12-30 Hz of electrical activity. A relaxed state would produce anywhere from 8-12 Hz. Our brains generated 74-92 Hz," she says somberly.

Brandon lets out a low whistle. "It's like comparing the lights of Las Vegas, to the lights in Great Falls, Montana," he says grinning.

"Exactly!" Alisha exclaims.

***

Bernie is trustworthy, this I am almost certain of. But we had already decided that there were three things that would never be disclosed to anyone, other than the people living at the Brandon estates, and this included Bernie. First, she would never know that Claire was the source behind our telekinetic energy. As far as Bernie and the evaluation team go, we all possess equal power in this area. Second, under no circumstances would we reveal Claire's ability to heal injuries, and she promised never to do so in front of an audience. And last, Alisha and I are the only Designers with the ability to remotely view, Claire is excluded. All of these gifts make Claire a prime target for any enemy as well as those interested in exploiting her for their own personal achievements. Our mission is to provide Claire with a cloak of protection that supersedes anything else, including our own safety. So, aside from that, all of our other talents and gifts have been revealed and fully investigated by the team of scientists working with Bernie. They are satisfied that they have been given everything and now debate on how we can best be used in our first undercover mission.

***

If it weren't for my desire to see the results of my DNA mapping sequence, I would have insisted on leaving for home tonight. I've had about all I can stand of being cooped up on the seventh subterranean floor in the Area 51 complex, even though technically I had mentally traveled through most of the complex. It was well after midnight when a hysterical Claire connects with me long after she should have been sound asleep.

"Ronan, they have them caged up and they're hurting them," she sobs and even mentally, I can hear the despair in her voice. I bolt upright in bed, every muscle in my body twitching. "Claire, who is caged up? Where are Alisha and Elizabeth?" I ask, already out of bed and putting on a pair of jeans.

"They are sleeping. The animals are on the floor below us and they are doing horrible things to them, Ronan," she says sniffling. "We need to help them, pleeeeease Ronan," she begs.

Instantly I have a pretty good idea of what she's talking about, even before she convinces me to remote travel back to the floor below us. There was a reason they had the type of long treadmills that reach speeds of 75 mph, and the first row of cages confirms that we aren't the only fast species being tested on them. The feline section alone has over a dozen cats ranging from domestic size to a large male lion, all confined in cages so small that they can't even stand up. Some of the larger predatory cats are connected to IV's, while others are obviously being restricted of food and water, slowly succumbing to their death. Most of them are covered in urine and feces and I swear I can smell the stench, even though I am there in mind only. My stomach lurches and I can taste bile creeping up my throat. Row after row we see various animal species both wild and domestic, all in the same condition as the cats, and when I look into the eyes of a large gray wolf and see a reflection of my own golden amber eyes, something inside me snaps. "Claire, wake up Alisha and Elizabeth. Tell them I will be at your door in a few minutes."

Claire answers the door and Brandon, Burke, and I quickly fill up the small hotel room. A scantily clad Alisha comes out of the bathroom, and to the delight of Burke and Brandon, doesn't even bother donning a bathrobe. She may consider them to be younger brothers, but they certainly didn't view her in a big sisterly way, especially seeing her half clothed.

"This better be good, Ronan," Alisha warns, perching herself on the window ledge, crossing one leg over the other.

The small space isn't conducive to pacing, so I release my pent up energy by clenching and unclenching my hands, as I try to find the words to describe the scene below us. Finally, I shake my head. "I have to take you there; you need to see for yourself. Get dressed!" Something in my tone, keeps Alisha from arguing, even though she doesn't do well with being told what to do. Obediently she and Elizabeth get dressed, while the rest of us work on scrambling the computerized video cameras in the hallway, and disarming the alarms that are connected to the only stairwell that will take us down to the eighth level.

There are two night shift employees sitting in an office in the front of the lab. Claire murmurs "blue" when she spots them.

"Burke and I'll take care of them," Alisha whispers, pulling two syringes from her sweatshirt pocket.

With both guards snoring loudly, the six of us silently make our way down the first row of cages. Claire starts to cry and the rest of us tear up. Instinctively I open my arms and am ready to catch Claire when she jumps into them. When we get to a large male lion lying on its side, with its dry tongue hanging limply out of its mouth, Burke cusses, snapping the lock off the cage door. He reaches in and gingerly runs his hand over the lion's muzzle, as the animal slowly opens its eyes.

"He wants to die," Claire says, wiggling out of my arms to get to the cage. When she crawls inside with the massive animal, no one tries to stop her. She locks eyes with the lion as her small hands gently caress the top of its head. After about five minutes, the lion gives a feeble roar and lays its head back down. "It's too late, he just wants to die," Claire says crawling out of the cage, once again fighting back tears.

Alisha marches over to a row of cabinets and starts opening each one, frantically searching until she finds a box labeled "Potassium Chloride." She pulls out two large vials and looks at Claire. "Are you sure?" Claire nods her head. There's not a dry eye in the room, as we watch the beautiful creature take its final breath, shortly after Alisha pushes the last of the medication through the IV.

***

Bernie Stoddard pulls her robe snuggly around her tiny body, as if the action alone will shield her from the onslaught of demands and threats. Six, Designer kids crowded in her hotel room at 1:00 in the morning is a definite first, and she is uncertain as to how to proceed. She admits to having knowledge of the animal lab on the eighth floor, but it's clear by her shocked expression and the way she shakes her head sadly, that she had no idea of the terrible things being done down there. She had no children. Her dogs, cats, horses and goats were her family and like us, she feels a tremendous injustice over the treatment of the innocent animals below us.

"I want it shut down, tonight," Alisha seethes.

When Bernie tries to placate us with an "I'll see what I can do in the morning," Alisha threatens to drag her down to the lab right now and show her firsthand what's going on. Bernie sighs and plops down on the bed, rubbing her temples in a circular motion. Claire approaches her and gently places a hand on her forehead and almost immediately Bernie stops massaging her forehead.

"Please," Claire says softly, looking deep into Bernie's eyes in such a way that it would have been impossible for Bernie to look away. "They are part of our family. They live in us," Claire sums the whole thing up in a few words.

Bernie crumbles and says, "Tell me what you want me to do."

***

The next morning is complete pandemonium. Out of just under two hundred animals, only twenty nine were well enough to have even a remote chance at survival outside of the lab. The rest were compassionately destroyed, and according to Claire, "Were grateful for being released from a life of misery." The high ranking military officials are not happy about the speech delivered by Alisha, threatening them with "Designer revenge," should they engage in this type of abhorrent behavior in the future. The spontaneous combustion of a nearby trashcan augments the threat. I can't be sure if Bernie is grateful for being on our side or regretful, but I hoped the former. I was beginning to have a soft spot for the woman and wanted her to stick around for awhile.

***

The six of us are silent as Bernie hands us each a packet with our name on it. I accept mine, along with Claire's and get up to leave. One of the lead scientists clears his throat, "Um, you may want to review it here, so we can be available for answering or clarify any questions you may have." I shake my head, looking around the table at the scientists who were part of the evaluation team. I can't be sure, but judging by the level of concern they are exhibiting at releasing the confidential documents, I would venture that they have already reviewed the results.

"Cat should definitely be present to review Claire's profile, after all she is her legal guardian," I say, a claim that nobody verbally disputes. The lead scientist nervously taps his pencil on the table while he exchanges looks with Bernie.

"Bernie, is there something you need to tell us?" Elizabeth asks on our behalf, also noticing the subtle uneasiness of the team.

"Yes, we looked at each of your profiles and there is something you should know," she says pausing.

"See, I told you," Burke interrupts, not bothering to keep the accusation private.

"What is it Bernie?" Alisha prompts, ignoring Burke altogether.

"Well, most of the genes in the genome are self-explanatory. For example, a copy of the gene CR2H was found in almost all of you. It's a gene that's found in large cats and is responsible for speed. A copy of the gene AG2K comes from eagles and is responsible for enhanced eye sight. The list is extensive, with an average of fifty to seventy identifiable animal genes that correspond with enhanced physical traits. Almost all of the variant genes come from some animal species; however, each of you has variant genes that we were unable to identify as either human or animal.

"What do you mean?" Alisha demands.

"Genes that are not found in nature," the lead scientist blurts out. It's not the answer any of us was expecting.

"We'll keep testing it against anything already in our database, but right now we suspect it to be a synthetic strand of DNA," Bernie explains.

Elizabeth gasps. "You mean my dad built an entirely new strand of DNA from scratch?"

"It appears that is precisely what he did," Bernie answers somberly.

The four-hour plane ride back to Canada is uneventful, even with the storm brewing over the Rocky Mountains. I don't bother connecting mentally to assist with navigating the aircraft through it; the five others manage just fine. Even landing on Brandon's icy airstrip is effortless. I spot Cat standing on the deck from almost a mile away, and my chest tightens. I clutch the two packets even closer as I contemplate her reaction to the outcome of our DNA mapping sequence. All of us decided to wait until we were home to review the results, however now I almost regret not having previewed the packet. I had no way to prepare her, other than with what we were told by Bernie.

# CHAPTER FOUR

RONAN

My hands are shaking as I open my packet and begin the tedious job of decoding the map that will unravel the mystery of who I am. The others are sitting around the large dining room table with their packets in front of them as well, and the room is silent with the exception of the crackling sounds of burning wood from the fireplace. Claire is the only one absent from the event. Tired from the trip back, she was ushered to bed early by Cat. It was just as well. As brilliant as she is, no one expects her to grasp the significance of the documents and Jason recommends giving her a reprieve from adult themed activities anyway. He has already volunteered himself to help Cat review Claire's packet, and the two quickly become engrossed in the forty-page document.

The first page is an index with every gene linked to the corresponding species. God bless Bernie and the scientists for including it. It takes me only a few seconds to photograph it to memory. I am enhanced with a total of sixty-five identifiable animal genes and nine synthetic DNA strands or unknowns, the most enhancements in our group except Claire. Jason determines that Claire has seventy-three animal genes and eleven synthetic DNA strands. Elizabeth has the least, followed by Burke. Naturally, Alisha is the first to make the connection that all of us have identical strands of the synthetic DNA located in precisely the same location within the mapping sequence, and mostly linked to brain tissue. It is an "ah-ha," moment for all of us and we accept this finding as the most likely explanation for our telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Furthermore, Alisha, Claire, and I share three additional synthetic DNA strands that the others don't, a point that will need to be investigated further. I look around the table and catch Burke shaking his head in dismay.

"This shit can't be right. It says I have sloth DNA."

Brandon looks over Burke's shoulder and confirms the finding, roaring with laughter.

"Let's see what kind of unflattering insects you're made of," Burke says, snatching Brandon's report from his hand.

"Hey give it back man. You volunteered the information-no one asked for it," Brandon hollers in a rare display of anger.

"Look, it says here you have a little hyena," Burke says, releasing a loud, obnoxious cackling sound of a laughing hyena.

A struggle over the document ensues until Alisha finally loses her patience with the two.

"You two either grow up or get out of here," she says sharply.

"Sorry," Elizabeth says quietly, biting her lower lip and fighting back tears.

Sometimes we forget that it was Elizabeth's dad that created us.

"Remember, some genes don't have a primary purpose. They function to support or enhance other genes," Alisha says in an attempt to appease all of us. "To be honest, I would be more interested in getting my hands on the records that reveal how the synthetic DNA strands were assembled. Liz, do you think there is any chance that those records still exist anywhere?" Alisha asks, searching Elizabeth's face for any hint that there is a remote possibility.

"I've looked everywhere. My dad had a photographic memory and filed most important data in his brain. I think he felt that it was safer for us," she pauses and Michael finishes the sentence for her. "To destroy all evidence, rather than risk having it fall into the wrong hands," he says, pulling Liz closer to him in a protective gesture.

The room falls silent as we consider Michael's statement.

"Ahem, well I don't know about anyone else, but I'm going to hit the sack," Brandon says, excusing himself from the table, stretching and yawning as he gathers up his documents. Burke follows shortly after and when I feel Cat's hand on my leg, I momentarily lose interest in my documents, giving her just enough time to push them aside indicating that she is ready to call it a night as well.

***

I barely have the bedroom door closed behind us, before Cat is in my arms kissing me in such a way that I can only assume that she missed me as much as I missed her. It almost makes the separation worthwhile, when I feel her impatiently struggling to remove my shirt, then run her hands over my chest with the delicacy of a blind person trying to read a message in Braille. When my hands automatically start to travel down her body, she gasps, but doesn't immediately pull away like she's done in the past. Instead, she presses even closer, and I am overwhelmed with desire.

"Cat, are we even close to being safe?" I groan.

"Technically no, we have a little less than three weeks to go," she whispers, as she runs her lips down the hollow of my throat. It was a huge disappointment when the clinic doctor told us to give the pills a full month before relying on them to prevent pregnancy, and now here we are, once again trying to control the urge to ignore his advice. This time, I am the one to pull away.

"We promised each other that we wouldn't," I remind her, trying to ignore her hands undoing the button on my jeans.

"I've changed my mind. I have no self-control. I am at the mercy of my hormones and cannot take full responsibility for my actions right now," she murmurs, making me laugh out loud.

"Well then, I guess it's up to me to be the strong one," I say as I grasp both her hands and pin them behind her back. She tosses her head back and looks deep into my eyes.

"There are other methods of contraceptives besides the pill you know. Can't you borrow a condom from Burke?"

"Cat, the doctor said it has one of the higher failure rates. I don't want to take any chances on getting you pregnant, especially now that I know what type of human animal child we could potentially be creating."

She looks at me quizzically. "Well you can't just rinse the non-human DNA out of you Ronan, and eventually, down the road, we will want to consider starting a family. Right...?"

Her question stuns me. I drop her hands and unintentionally take a step back, "You're kidding," I say, not even posing it as a question because a question would indicate that there was more than one answer to consider. "Cat, please tell me you're kidding," I say again, my voice sounding like it might have risen another octave.

She slowly shakes her head no, and my heart plummets to my feet. We had never talked about our future past colleges and career goals, but I just assumed that she understood that children were out of the question, given my screwed up genetic makeup.

"Seriously Cat, did you not get anything from reviewing those documents down there?" I say, unsuccessfully trying to keep my voice down.

She starts to speak, but I interrupt her before she has a chance to reply.

"Here, in case you missed it, let me run through my list of animal DNA for you. How about I start with the large animals first," I say sarcastically. I can tell by the way she's folding her arms across her body that I've offended her, but I continue anyway. "Let's see, there's elephant, cheetah, wolf, dolphin, gorilla, eagle, owl..." She quietly watches as I pace around the room, reciting all sixty-five genes and finishing with a reminder about the synthetic, "crapshoot" of man-made DNA. When I finish, I plop down on the edge of the bed, burying my head in my hands, waiting for what I was sure would be a reasonable response indicating that she had come to her senses.

Instead she says, "Are you finished throwing your little temper tantrum yet?" stunning me once again.

My temper flares and I jump to my feet, closing the distance between the two of us in two easy strides.

"Cat, this is serious shit! Do you not understand anything that I've just said?" I seethe, grabbing her by the shoulders.

Her dark eyes flash with anger and she recoils from my grip. We stubbornly lock eyes and for a moment, the only audible sound is that of our heavy breathing.

"No, Ronan, I guess I would need a twenty point IQ boost to follow along on something so complicated," she says through clenched teeth, rolling her eyes, as she shoves me out of her way to snatch a pillow from the bed. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight," she calls over her shoulder as she walks through the bedroom door.

I spend the first hour fuming over her comments, and the next hour mentally defending my position, before the pain fully settles in. When it hits me, I double over in agony. Of course, she would want kids. How could I have not predicted this? I've seen how she takes care of Claire; she's naturally maternal. How could I be so selfish to ask her to marry me, knowing that I could never give her something so basic? The irony of it is I would travel to the end of the earth to make her happy, and give her anything her heart desired. Anything that is, except a child carrying my DNA. Now what? Do I break off our engagement and free her so she can find someone that's one hundred percent human? It would be the right thing to do; I argue with myself.

The thought of a life without her terrifies me, and I break out in a cold sweat, just considering it. I last all of three hours lying alone in bed, before I swallow my pride and wander out to the living room to get her. Even in the pitch dark, I can see the moisture of tears on her cheek, and I am engulfed with guilt. She appears to be asleep and for a moment, I consider letting her be, but the thought of spending another night without her by my side weighs in on my decision. I sit down on the edge of the sofa and gently brush my hand across her cheek, causing her to stir.

"Cataryn," I softly whisper, letting my finger trace her lower lip, fighting the urge to kiss her. She opens her eyes and catches my finger in her hand, watching me apprehensively. "Please come to bed with me, I don't want to spend another night away from you. Please."

She swallows hard, and a fresh set of tears threaten to pave another path down her cheek. "I'm really mad at you right now," she says quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry. Please come to bed, and we'll work it out in the morning," I plead.

She holds up her left hand, flashing her engagement ring in front of me. "This ring represents a partnership Ronan. You don't get to make decisions about our future without me and don't ever treat me like I'm an idiot again. Do _you_ understand?"

Of course, I understood perfectly and I marvel at her ability to put me in my place, something neither of my parents could ever figure out how to do. I chuckle and nod, and she allows me to scoop her up in my arms, to carry her back to our room.

***

The next morning, I wake to find Cat lying next to me, with her head propped up by her elbow, studying me intensely. Her hair is damp and she is already dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, signifying that she has been up for some time. "What time is it?" I murmur, disappointed that she isn't sound asleep in my arms.

"Past noon," she says.

"Really...? Why did you let me sleep so late?" I halfheartedly question her, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, like I've seen her do so many times.

"You needed the sleep," she replies nonchalantly.

We silently hold each other's gaze and when I smile at her, she smiles back.

"Cat, I love you more than anything else in this world. You know that right?" I say, breaking the ice.

"Yeah, I know," she says, slightly blushing and fluttering her eyelids in such a way that I almost accuse her of doing it on purpose.

"You can back out from marrying me you know. It's not too late. I know you deserve more than what I can give to you," I manage to choke out. She takes a deep breath and sits up, crossing her legs in front of her.

"Do you really think that I'm so shallow, as to let something like this be a deal breaker?" she says with a hurt expression.

In response, I reach for her hand and give it a light squeeze, letting her know that's not what I meant.

"Look Ronan, I knew when I accepted this ring that our life together was never going to be normal. I mean, having a fiancé with telekinetic and telepathic abilities, not to mention the ability to hang out and watch me take a bath from two thousand miles away, is pretty freaky."

"Wait, how did you know I was here while you were taking a bath?" I interrupt, than quickly add, "I swear I was going to tell you anyway."

She shrugs her shoulders and simply says, "I can feel or sense when you are near."

"No joke? I guess that's the end of spying for me," I say laughing.

"Yeah, I must be tuning in to your frequency," she giggles. We lapse into silence again, and I can see her struggle to continue. "Ronan, I just assumed that along with all the inevitable bizarre crazy stuff, that we would also have some normalcy. And for me, that means giving Claire a home, going to college, having a career, and yes, eventually having a family of our own."

Her portrayal of our future is appealing to me, too, until the image of grotesque, flying monkey kids flashes across my mind. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, trying to erase the images. "Cat, the thought of creating babies with my genetic makeup scares the hell out of me. I'm constantly worried about what other freaky traits I might pop up with, and to subject another human being to the same fate seems almost cruel. Every time my genetic material gets passed down, there is an opportunity for something to go very wrong. Could you live with that? Could you live with yourself, if we created some monster baby?" I challenge. She studies me thoughtfully before replying.

"Dr. Kappel was probably one of the most brilliant men to walk on this planet. He spent most of his life studying DNA, and the intricate way he designed you, Claire, and the others," she pauses and swallows hard. "I just think he would have planned for future generations of Designers, and if he were concerned at all, he would have designed the ability to procreate out of you," she says with confidence. I hadn't even considered that as a possibility, but now that she's said it....hmm.

"If that were the case, would my love for you be enough?" I ask, searching her eyes for any contradictions. She smiles mischievously and leans over to kiss me.

"Not even close," she whispers.

"Really...? What more could a girl want: a man with devastating good looks, clothes, jewelry? How about an airplane?" I offer jokingly.

"Hmm, how about...trust and respect?" she says with a smile.

"That's a given. What else?"

"Well, I want to laugh and have fun every day," she says enthusiastically, as she straddles my hips.

"I want that too," I reply, pulling her down on top of me. "What else, Cat?"

"A promise that we will discuss things respectfully when we disagree," she says maturely.

"I know. I'm sorry for the way I talked to you last night," I say hoarsely. "Is that it?"

"No, there's one last thing. I want a solid promise that once we're married; I can make love to you anytime I want," she teasingly whispers in my ear.

"Cataryn McCullough, you did not just say that!" I moan, rolling out from underneath her, as she smugly chuckles to herself.

# CHAPTER FIVE

RONAN

The aroma of homemade apple pie permeates the large gourmet kitchen and Cat is complimented over and over again on the perfectly baked pies that sit cooling on the kitchen counter. Had I not seen her carefully craft each one from scratch, I may have accused her of purchasing them from a high-end bakery. Everything from the crust, to the cinnamon spiced apple mixture inside, to the unique leaf appliqués on the top, was created from a recipe that's been passed down in the McCullough household for several generations. Cat tells me that she began helping her mother in the kitchen when she was about Claire's age, and now has most of the special holiday recipes memorized by heart. I've never met a girl who has the ability to cast herself in any role and do it well, until I met her. Whether it's standing up to bullies, kicking the ass of a street thug, raising a little sister, or throwing together a gourmet meal for a large crowd, Cataryn is able to pull it off.

I study her now as she concentrates heavily on adding the final touches to the oven ready turkey that according to her, should have gone in the stove a half hour ago. She always looks beautiful to me, but today she is breathtaking, even with half her hair falling out of a sloppy ponytail and flour smudged on her cheek. I had been delegated to the sidelines after I failed to roll the pie dough out to the precise thickness that she had instructed, so I am left with nothing better to do than watch her as she gracefully maneuvers around the kitchen, preparing one dish after another. The two of us have been up since 5:00 a.m., three hours ahead of everyone else, in order to prepare for today's Thanksgiving feast. Cat was so excited that she could barely get to sleep last night, repeatedly planning today's event, out loud, step by step. Her enthusiasm is spreading to everyone in the house and even Alisha contributes to the celebration, helping Elizabeth with the dining room decorations.

Cat closes the oven door and turns around to face me, letting out a deep sigh.

"Well, I think that's it for now. All that is left is the green bean casserole, and that can wait until this afternoon," she says, smiling at me, a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Ok, then how about we go back to bed?" I suggest feebly, knowing her response even before she shakes her head "No".

I find it interesting that I know her so well, that I can predict her reactions and read her emotions with almost 100% accuracy. Yet, I couldn't tell for sure, if her unusually long, black eyelashes are natural or enhanced with mascara, although I suspect the former. She pulls the oversized apron over her head, dislodging the remainder of her loosely held hair and it tumbles down her back in a silky wave.

"There are still a few things left to do, and then I promise I'll relax for a little while before dinner," she says, taking me by the hand and leading me into the dining room to check on the decorating progress.

This would be one of the first home cooked Thanksgiving dinners for me since long before my grandmother died. My parents weren't fond of cooking, so we adopted the tradition of dining out every Thanksgiving Day. Some years we would be joined by the Harolds, but most of the time it was just the three of us, sitting in some fancy restaurant straining to make small talk, and trying not to look relieved when the waiter finally showed up with a check. The memories are bitter sweet. What I wouldn't give to have just one more holiday dinner with the two of them. It would be so different now-I would make certain of it. After years of anger, resentment, and blaming, I was finally ready to apologize. Only now, it was too late. They died believing I hated them. I suppose it's only fair that I spend the rest of my life living with the pain and regret of that.

With virtually an unlimited budget; Cat has been busily shopping for food and decorations, and the effort has paid off. No detail appears to have been forgotten; from the jewel toned table linens, to the fresh flower arrangements, faux berries, pumpkins and gourds, candles and even gold etched name placement cards indicating our pre-arranged seating. Even a five-star restaurant couldn't compete with the ambiance of this dining room though. Brandon and Michael seem as impressed as I am, indicating that they didn't grow up doing Thanksgiving like this either. Today is rapidly becoming one of the best holidays that I've ever had. Even though it's the first without my parents, being here with Cat and the others feels like being part of one very large family, and I have to admit that I like it.

***

"When is Bernie coming?" Claire asks me again for the third time in the last hour, and I give her the same answer I did the previous two times.

"Her flight gets in at two," I remind her once again.

It was Jason's idea to invite Bernie Stoddard to celebrate Thanksgiving Day with us, and we were all a little surprised when she accepted. Now Claire is anxiously waiting for her arrival. It's the first time since moving into the Freeman house, that she hasn't had the attention of at least one of the adults at her disposal and she seems less than pleased about the situation.

The sounds of intermittent cheers and cussing coming from the great room causes Claire to roll her eyes, and mutter, "Stupid football game."

Even her normally reliable playmate, Elizabeth, is engrossed in the game, and with Cat and I busy in the kitchen, Claire is left with no one to entertain her. Cat warned us that we were spoiling her by accommodating her every little whim, but I didn't really see it until now.

"No forest animals around for you to play with?" I ask, watching as she uses telekinetic energy to float a carrot stick across the kitchen, behind Cat's back.

"Nope, it's too cold out," she replies grabbing the carrot out of the air and shoving it in her mouth.

"Maybe I can squeeze in a game of chess before dinner," I make the mistake of saying out loud.

"Ronan, you promised me, you would help in here," Cat says disapprovingly, then turns to Claire and says, "Sorry, he's already spoken for."

Claire grunts, and slides down from the barstool, heading to the great room for what I supposed would be another round of pleading with the adults in there. Ten minutes later, there is a moment of dead silence, followed by loud groans, coming from the direction of the great room.

"What the hell just happened?" we hear Brandon say.

Cat and I exchange glances then hurry to the great room to investigate. The large big screen T.V. is completely blank, and everyone is crowded around, pushing dials and checking plugs to get it working again. Cat and I simultaneously look at Claire, who is sitting near the picture window with a smug smile on her face.

"Claire, turn it back on now!" Cat hollers and the room goes quiet as everyone turns to look at Claire.

"Claire, did you do this?" Alisha demands.

"Maybe," Claire says, avoiding eye contact.

"Claire, I mean it, turn it back on or else you'll go to your room for a time-out," Cat hisses.

"No! This is supposed to be a family day and everyone is ignoring me," she says, sticking her chin out defiantly.

I'm not sure if it's because I'm not much of a football fan, or what, but suddenly the scene in front of me couldn't be any more comical and my poor attempt at hiding a smile doesn't go unnoticed by Claire.

"It's just a stupid football game anyway," she boldly announces to the roomful of fanatical fans.

The room explodes with chatter as everyone begins talking at once.

"Claire, please turn it back on," Brandon pleads, falling to his knees in front of her, with his hands folded under his chin.

"Come on Claire, I'll take you swimming later. I promise," Burke bribes.

"Claire, turn on the damn TV or you can forget about getting a horse!" Alisha threatens.

Even Elizabeth does her best to coax Claire into restoring the screen on the TV. No one immediately notices when I collapse in the nearest chair laughing. It isn't until Burke throws the TV remote at me a little harder than intended, leaving a small gash on my cheek, that I am even aware that I have become the center of attention. Claire is the only one not glaring at me, and her wide toothless grin, makes me double over laughing even harder, rendering me completely helpless to the criticism and disapproval of the others. The sound of the doorbell saves us from an all-out brawl, when Alisha and Brandon tackle me to the floor.

***

Bernie Stoddard's arrival couldn't have been better timed. After she is introduced to Cat and Michael, she is whisked away by a possessive Claire for a tour of the estates, starting naturally with Claire's favorite, the indoor pool room. The football game is back on in the other room and the previous level of excitement is restored when the favored team makes a touchdown.

"You deserved this you know," Cat says, as she applies an ice pack to the side of my face.

"I know, but I haven't laughed that hard in years," I admit as if that alone is justification for encouraging Claire's poor behavior.

"I need to start her in school, she needs friends her own age," Cat says, with a troubled expression.

"She'll never fit in, Cat. Trust me, I know," I say gently. I know it's not what she wants to hear, but I'm convinced it's the truth. Putting Claire in school would have disastrous consequences, I was sure of it. I circle my hands around her tiny waist and pull her down on my lap.

"But she needs kids her own age to play with," she argues, struggling internally, much the way I'm sure my mom did when making these decisions with me.

"Cat, she reads and performs math equations, at the high school level. And what do you think is going to happen when a friend takes a toy that she wants, or someone excludes her from a game of hopscotch? " I lightly challenge. I knew she considered her childhood extraordinary and felt an obligation to try and give Claire the same experiences that her parents gave her, but from a Designer standpoint, school sucks for the genetically enhanced.

Cat sighs and lifts the ice pack off my cheek, gingerly running her finger over the now healing laceration, thanks to Claire's touch.

"All better," she says, changing the subject. I can see the look of determination on her face and I know better than to push the issue any further. I was sure the topic would resurface over and over again in the future, and although it wouldn't be easy, eventually Cat would make the right decision for Claire.

***

Cat's Thanksgiving feast is recognized by all of us, as one of the best we've ever had. Even Bernie, an avid cook, compliments Cat and the two engage in a long discussion about cooking techniques, favorite recipes and the perils of cooking with stainless steel. Burke is the only one absent from today's festivities. He caught a late flight back to Montana to spend Thanksgiving with his parents. I felt guilty declining his parents' offer for Cat and me to join them, but with the loss of my parents still fresh on everyone's mind, I considered it best to give it more time. Now, I'm glad I did. The atmosphere at the Freeman house is jovial, and there is a sense of camaraderie between us, Bernie included. She tells us that she didn't get married, has no kids, and most Thanksgiving holidays were spent alone or working. All of us can relate to her loneliness on some level or another.

Even Brandon, whose parents are still alive, has spent the past few holidays separated from them. He says that after the airplane crash had left him disfigured, his parents stopped including him in their elaborate vacations with their wealthy, aristocratic friends.

"Everything is about appearances with my folks," Brandon says, his face crinkling in a lopsided grin. "After the accident, I think they were too embarrassed to be seen with me in public." Only Brandon could make such a claim, without any hint of resentment. In fact, his laughter following the comment is genuine and we are left with the impression that he really does find his parents' behavior amusing.

"At least they aren't crazy scientists, putting you on display like some circus animal," Liz mutters with much more animosity. It's only when speaking of her father, that I ever hear Elizabeth express a negative thought or emotion. She is careful to guard that part of her past, so it's unexpected when she openly shares a memory of accompanying her dad to a Genetic Symposium in France. "The event ended with us being escorted from the building by undercover agents, after threats of violence by some radical religious group," she tells us, smiling wryly.

"My parents had a lot of respect for your dad," Alisha says quietly, gazing steadily at Elizabeth.

"Your parents had no idea the length my dad was willing to go to create a genetically superior class of kids," Elizabeth says coldly.

"Your dad had good intentions. He was horrified when he found out about the virus and worked day and night to resolve the issue in humans."

We all hold our breath as the two appear to continue the conversation silently, their facial expressions the only indicator that the conversation is riddled with conflict. Finally, Alisha abandons the conversation with Elizabeth and surprises the rest of us with an unexpected announcement.

"I had a sister who was three years older than me. Her name was Alexandra. She was born with a blood disorder called Sickle Cell Disease. By the time she was two years old, she had been hospitalized over a hundred and seventy days with complications from the disease. Doctors didn't expect her to live past her sixth birthday and advised my parents of such. I was bioengineered for the sole purpose of gene therapy, something only Dr. Kappel was willing to do. When Alexandra was five, she had a bone marrow transplant using my bone marrow, which contained an anti-sickling, human beta-hemoglobin gene. She lived completely disease free and died as the result of a car accident on her twenty-fifth birthday. She was my best friend and I miss her every single day. Had it not been for Dr. Kappel, I never would have had the chance to know her," she finishes quietly, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her napkin.

It's a pivotal moment for the Designer family. No one utters a sound as we consider Alisha's confession. As far as I know, she's the only one of us created for a purpose other than to satisfy the whims of our wealthy parents. It brings a whole new dimension to the realm of genetic engineering that most of us hadn't considered.

"Elizabeth, what do you know about your father's death?" Bernie asks out of the blue, changing the subject and surprising everyone except Cat and me with the question. I half expected Bernie to bring the topic up to the others today if she did indeed have a concern. Now I hold my breath as I listen to their reaction.

"How do you know my father's dead?" Liz challenges, her body immediately tensing up.

"It's my job to know everything I can about the agents working for me," Bernie replies unapologetically.

"Then you should already know how he died," Liz says in an unusually confrontational way. Just like with Jason, she maintains a certain level of caution when interacting with any government official.

"See that's the problem. I really don't know how your dad died. I know how and when your mom died, but your dad's death certificate just listed natural causes. Sixty-year old men with no prior health problems don't typically die of natural causes, Liz. And, when my investigators tried to locate his hospital records, there were none. When they tried to locate the physician who signed the death certificate, they found out that he didn't exist," Bernie says, carefully studying Elizabeth's reaction. Elizabeth's puzzled expression matches the other Designers. The only one besides Cat and me who seems unsurprised by Bernie's inquiry is Michael.

"Bernie, what are you trying to say," Alisha says softly.

Bernie leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. "I did an extensive background search on everyone sitting at this table. Of the six Designers, four of you have lost your parents. Ronan, your parents were supposedly murdered, but when we pulled the file from the homicide division, all we could find regarding their case, was a suspicious house fire, some blood stains on the bedroom and bathroom floor, and their abandoned car off Highway87. Alisha, your parents both died while on a diving expedition down in Mexico. Their death was listed as an accidental drowning due to a malfunction of their scuba gear. Their bodies were never recovered. Claire's parents, the same thing, mysterious boating accident and bodies never recovered," she says, taking a deep breath, then opening her eyes to glance at each of us.

"Do you think there's a connection between all of their parents' deaths?" Jason asks, tilting his head curiously. I see Cat suck in a deep breath out of the corner of my eye and I place my hand over hers, feeling it tremble beneath mine.

"I don't know what to think, Jason," she warily replies holding her hands up in the air. "In undercover work, we would say where there's smoke there's fire. There are a lot of similarities between the events to chalk it up to coincidence. I guess you could say I have a hunch about it and if I were you, I would just be careful." She looks directly at Cat when she says this and I instinctively put my arm protectively around her shoulder.

"Bernie, there were years between our parents deaths. Do you know what kind of an elaborate scheme someone would have to come up with to pull off this type of conspiracy?" Alisha questions.

"I know, but for someone who has knowledge of your powers, what better to bargain with then beloved family member," she replies.

I feel sick to my stomach at the thought. Brandon cracks up laughing.

"It's no wonder they didn't feel the need to snatch my parents," he says sarcastically.

Bernie ignores him. "I think if my hypothesis is correct, it puts anyone close to you at risk," she says, once again looking at Cat and me.

"Bernie, I'm already at risk because of Claire. Don't you think if someone really wanted me, that they would have gotten me by now," Cat says impatiently.

At the mention of Cat disappearing, Claire slips out of her seat, walks around the table, and wordlessly crawls up in her lap. Cat automatically wraps her arms around her and the two exchange a brief conversation using sign language, Claire's back-up mode for communicating when she's feeling anxious. The worry on her face is enough to end the conversation.

"So Cat and Ronan have set a wedding date for December 8th," Elizabeth announces, enthusiastically changing the subject. She's been our single biggest supporter consulting with Cat almost daily on something wedding related.

"So soon...?" Bernie asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Why not, the quicker they get married, the quicker they can head to divorce court," Alisha mumbles.

"Alisha!" Elizabeth gasps.

Even Jason appears stunned by her comment.

"Relax everyone. I was just kidding. I'm sorry," Alisha says defensively.

Nothing Alisha says really bothers me anymore. I've conceded to the fact that she is going to blurt out whatever comes to mind, regardless of whom it might hurt. There was still part of me that trusted and admired her. I suspect she's just one of those people with a good heart, just a hardened and rough exterior hiding it.

"I asked Cat to move our date up prior to my being deployed on undercover missions. I wanted her and Claire to be financially taken care of in the event..."

"Don't say it," Cat warns me through gritted teeth. We had a whopper of an argument when I tried to show her how to gain access to my banking accounts. She wouldn't even consider the idea that I might not come home from a dangerous assignment, and argued when I insisted that she should have dual control over my assets. It was my attorney who suggested moving the date of our wedding up, citing that it would offer the simplest means of transferring my wealth to her in the event of an accidental death.

"I wanted the peace of mind," I simply explain, not going in to further detail.

"Smart move," Bernie murmurs softly, studying the two of us with interest.

# CHAPTER SIX

CAT

Sometimes the nightmares seem so real that I can feel myself drowning, right along with my parents and twin brother Chord. The worst ones are when I helplessly stand by and watch them all go overboard. My mom's screams and Chord's pleas for help can be heard long after I awaken. It has been weeks since I've experienced one this bad, and I was sure it was triggered by our conversation with Bernie at Thanksgiving dinner.

From past experience, I know the odds of going back to sleep after a dream like this, are not in my favor. So, I carefully lift Ronan's arm off my waist, and slide my body toward the edge of the bed. His faint rhythmic snoring reassures me that he is sound asleep, but it wouldn't surprise me if he woke up anyway. I sometimes wonder if he has a built in sensor that can detect when I leave his side as sometimes he wakes up for no other reason.

The bedroom is lit with just enough moonlight that after my eyes adjust, I can see Ronan's features with perfect clarity, and I stand over him enjoying the opportunity to watch him undetected. There's no doubt that he is the most exquisite man I have ever laid eyes on, but who would have believed that someone like him would have an inner beauty to match the outer. _My dad would have approved,_ _and my mom would have loved you,_ I silently admit to him.

Stirring, he reaches to the empty space next to him, brushing his hand across the sheets where I had been sleeping just moments before. His previously relaxed face becomes tense and his brow furrows in a troubled expression. I gently run my fingertips over his arm, waiting for him to return to a tranquil state, before I turn to leave.

"Where do you think you're going young lady?" he suddenly growls, playfully gripping my arm, and scaring the shit out of me, as he pulls me back onto the bed.

"Ronan, you scared me," I gasp, falling into his arms. "How do you know every single time?" I demand, once I catch my breath.

He chuckles and rolls up on his side, possessively draping a leg over my body so I can't easily move. "I don't know," he says, becoming more serious. "I guess it's because you are so much a part of me now. Sometimes I don't know where you end and I begin. I mean, how do you know when I am with you remotely?"

He has a good point. I can't really explain it either, how I sense his presence when he's nowhere near me physically.

"What are you doing up at this time of the night anyway?" he asks, looking at the clock.

"Bad dream," I respond, without going into details.

"Parents?" he says, guessing anyway.

"Yeah, the conversation with Bernie and the upcoming wedding...I just miss them so much," I say, suddenly choking up. He doesn't try to comfort me with words. Instead, he pulls me even closer, his arms engulfing me, and the love radiating from him, permeates my body, warming me from the inside out. In spite of everything, I fall sound asleep, not waking up again until I feel his body unexpectedly tense up.

"What's wrong?" I ask groggily.

"Something's going on with Alisha and Elizabeth," he murmurs. He closes his eyes and wrinkles his brow, a familiar indication that he is remote traveling and I silently wait for him to finish.

"We better go see what's going on," he says, reluctantly getting out of bed.

***

"You still need to ask me!" Elizabeth shouts, glaring at Alisha.

"Liz, I'm sorry, I just didn't think it would be a big deal. It's just a book," Alisha responds, looking hurt and confused.

"It's not just any book. It was my dad's," Liz replies, raising the book and shaking it in front of Alisha's face. Elizabeth doesn't bother acknowledging Ronan and me when we walk in the room. She stares coldly at Alisha, her face still red with anger, and before Alisha can respond, she abruptly turns and stomps out of the room, leaving the three of us standing there in stunned silence.

"Wow, what was that all about?" Ronan asks.

Alisha shakes her head in disbelief. "I'm not sure I really know."

This is the second time since Thanksgiving that Elizabeth has lost her temper for a seemingly minor offense and the behavior is so out of character for her that we all express the same concern. The first time, she jumped down Burke's throat for leaving his dirty dishes in the sink, and now two days later, Alisha is getting it.

***

"Tell me again what's going to happen in three days," Ronan whispers in my ear, as I sit on his lap watching Claire out the window with Midnight Star, the black gelding, quarter horse, given to her as a birthday gift.

"I'm not saying it again. I've already told you ten times now," I say, trying to sound stern.

"Come on, just one more time and I'll leave you alone," he softly pleads.

"All right," I sigh, "Three days from now, I am going to teach you how to do laundry correctly," I say and I feel his chest shake as he silently laughs and then says, "Nope."

"Okay, now I remember. We are going shopping for a Christmas tree."

"You better say it, or I'll tickle you," he threatens, applying pressure just under my rib cage," making me giggle already.

"Um, we are going to take Claire to see the Saturday matinee?" I manage to get out, before he has me on the ground, tickling me to the point that I almost wet my pants from laughing so hard.

"Say it out loud, Cataryn," he orders, laughing along with me.

"Okay! Okay!" I beg him. "Three days from now, I am going to become Mrs. Callahan. There, are you satisfied?" I shout.

"For now," he says, standing up and reaching down to give me a hand up. He's grinning ear to ear and it's hard to pretend that I'm annoyed, but I give it my full effort, lightly pushing him aside to resume watching Claire with Midnight.

It seems surreal that in just a few days, I will officially be, Mrs. Ronan Callahan. Remarkably, I have no anxiety or second thoughts. In fact, Elizabeth and Alisha keep commenting on how calm I am. My biggest concern right now is waiting to hear back from Tucker. I asked him to walk me down the aisle at our wedding and he got all sentimental. He said he needed to make arrangements for his parents' music store, as December was one of the busiest times of the year, but would be calling sometime today to confirm. He is the only outside friend that I have invited, as the Harolds are for Ronan. With my parents' missionary work, we traveled all over, and the handful of friends that they made along the way, had slowly disappeared after my parents' death. Not one of them offered their assistance when we were thrown into the foster care system, and as much as I hated admitting it, I still harbored some resentment. _A small, intimate wedding is perfect,_ I think to myself, smiling happily.

***

Any other six-year-old, trying to climb on a horse's back, without a bridle or saddle, would have been cause for concern, especially given the previous owner's disclosure about Midnight's behavior issues. The 360 Horse Ranch had the best selection of quarter horses in Montana; each one profiled in detail on their website. With the help of horse expert, Jeanne Funston, the choice had been narrowed down to two kid appropriate horses, both of which she agreed to bring to Canada for Claire to choose one. But three days before the departure, Claire made an unannounced visit to the facility, using her gift for remote travel, and handpicked Midnight Star, one of the few horses not even offered for sale. Just to appease Claire, the Funstons agreed to bring Midnight along with the other two. I'm sure they had every intention of bringing him home with them once we saw how inappropriate he was for a six-year-old. Of course, the rest of us knew it would end differently, and now as we watch Claire take her sixth running leap for Midnight's back, we all agree he is well worth the money spent.

Having feline DNA helps Claire easily scale Midnight's back, but the ski outfit she's wearing, makes staying on his back nearly impossible. If Midnight is bothered at all by her futile attempts, it doesn't show. He looks back at her with mere curiosity, occasionally shifting his weight and swishing his tail. Brandon is on standby, ready to catch her if she overshoots her target, but each time she slips, he doubles over in a fit of laughter. The rest of us are inside, crowded around a large picture window, watching the scene below with a similar level of amusement.

"Maybe we should just have her take her ski pants off," Elizabeth says, and the rest of us shake our head "no".

"This is too much fun to watch," Burke says, chuckling.

Claire glances up at the window and her face sours when she sees the rest of us laughing as well. She makes two more failed attempts to mount Midnight's back, and then stands back with her arms folded across her chest, glaring at a hysterical Brandon. We're still watching when she gives a slight wave of her hand and Brandon's feet fly out from under him, like an invisible carpet had been plucked from beneath his feet. Everyone inside says, "Ouch," at the same time, and when she looks up at us again, there is an expression of triumph and satisfaction, as if daring any one of us to laugh at her now.

***

All flights into Calgary International Airport are delayed by at least forty-five minutes, and as eager as I am to see Tucker, I can't help but appreciate the extra time out of the house. Elizabeth has been unusually irritable with just about everyone, including Michael and I can't help but feel that my wedding has something to do with it.

"Let it go. If she's uptight about our wedding, then that's her problem, not yours," Ronan says in his ever so practical way. "But, you know...if you really want to, we could get a hotel and stay in town tonight," he hints, making me suddenly blush.

"It's the only chance I'll have to see Tucker though," I say already feeling torn. We hadn't made a decision to be virgins on our wedding night, but now that we were officially "safe", we had no time to ourselves. Burke's parents came into town two days ago, and both nights we stayed up past midnight talking to them.

"What's one more night?" I say kissing him lightly. When he pulls me in close and wraps his arms around my waist, it makes one more night seem like an eternity.

***

I had a hunch that Tucker would be one of the first passengers to exit the plane, since Ronan had purchased his ticket. The thought of anything other than a first class seat, probably never even crossed his mind. When Tucker sees us, he grins broadly and holds his arms open to receive first me, then Ronan, in a hug. Tucker and I formed a bond almost instantly on the first day of school and having him walk me down the aisle was the next best thing to having my own brother Chord give me away.

"All right, let's hear it," Tucker says once we're in the car.

"Hear what, Tuck?" I ask innocently.

"Let's hear all about the wedding details," he says impatiently. "The dress, the hair, the food, the cake, you know...all the wedding stuff," he says, rubbing his hands together.

"Tucker, I told you, I was going to wear sweats on my wedding day," I say convincingly, and Ronan instantly catches on.

"Yeah, we decided to have a sports themed wedding day, keep it casual you know. You can wear either shorts or sweats, although personally I think it's going to be a little chilly for shorts."

Tucker's face falls. "You're kidding right?" he says, glancing at the garment bag holding his suit.

Ronan plays the part well. Keeping a straight face, he looks in his review mirror at the two of us in the back seat and with a concerned expression says, "It's okay if you didn't bring shorts Tucker, I have an extra pair that you can borrow."

I take a deep breath, bite my lower lip and glance out the window to keep from laughing.

Tucker looks perplexed and shaking his head, mutters "I guess I could wear my swim trunks."

Ronan and I bust up laughing at the same time and Tucker, looking first embarrassed, then relieved, throws one of his complimentary airline peanuts at me, threatening future paybacks.

After regaining Tucker's trust, we do fill him in on the details of the wedding, with the exception of my dress and hair. "For that you both will just have to wait and see," I say teasingly, and catch Ronan looking in the review mirror with one brow raised.

***

Brandon made reservations at one of the fanciest restaurants in Calgary for our pre-wedding dinner and with Tucker's flight being delayed, we have just enough time to make it there without being late. Of course, we are completely underdressed for the place, but nonetheless we were treated like celebrities and ushered into a private back room where the others are waiting. Tucker is introduced to the rest of the group and Claire comes up and greets him with a hug. I catch him glancing around the table at the Designers and although I know he would never say anything, I can tell he's made the correlation that they all carry the same unusual exotic eye characteristics. Someday, I would fill him in on the truth, but not tonight.

By the time we complete the five course dinner and make it back to the house, everyone is yawning and Claire is sound asleep on Elizabeth's shoulder. I'm exhausted as well, but when Tucker pulls out his guitar, I can't resist bringing mine out too. We entertain the others singing one song after another and even coax them into singing along on a few. It is well after midnight, by the time we go to bed.

***

I've been told that most brides don't sleep very well on the night before their wedding, so I am shocked when I sleep soundly and don't wake up once until after nine o'clock the next morning. Even before I open my eyes, I sense that Ronan is gone. In his place is a red rose with a note attached to his pillow.

My beautiful Cataryn,

No man has ever loved a woman, more than I love you,

And I'll spend the rest of my life proving it!

Forever,

Ronan

"Oh, no you don't, Mr. Romance DNA," I mutter. He made a bet with me that he could get me to cry before I walked down the aisle today and it seems he was starting early in his efforts. Before I even have a chance to get out of bed, there is a faint knock on the bedroom door then Claire enters, carrying a tray which she places down on the bed next to me.

"Ronan wanted you to have breakfast in bed," she says smiling and pulling the cover off the plate with a bagel and a hardboiled egg. Next to the plate, is another long stemmed red rose and a folded note that reads:

My dearest Cataryn,

Your happiness is my happiness. Your sorrow is my sorrow

And, your dreams are my dreams. You own a part of my heart

And, will live inside me...always!

Eternally yours,

Ronan

"I'll get you for this, Mr. Callahan," I whisper, blinking back tears as I take a bite of bagel. Claire smiles knowingly, but when I start to question her, she quickly gets up and skips to the door, saying she has to help Alisha with the flowers.

"Yeah right, you little traitor," I accuse, as she closes the door behind her.

***

Elizabeth squeezes her eyes shut and inhales slow, deep breaths, making an obvious effort to calm herself down. I hold my breath and look to Alisha to intervene before Elizabeth has a complete melt down.

"It's no big deal, Liz," Alisha quickly exclaims, as she blots the mess up then holds the towel up confirming that the spill is easily being absorbed.

Elizabeth had accidently dropped a bottle of red fingernail polish on the bathroom floor and her reaction to the mishap is extreme.

"It is a big deal, Alisha. It's going to leave a stain on the floor," she says through clenched teeth, plopping down on the floor and grabbing a towel from Alisha to scrub the area. She looks like she is about to cry and Alisha quickly reassures her that the rest will come off with polish remover. Claire watches her with curiosity, then slowly walks up and sits down next to her, placing her hand on her arm. Within seconds, Elizabeth starts to relax and Claire reaches up and throws her arms around her neck. "I love you Aunt Liz," she says with a child-like sincerity. Elizabeth hugs her back and says, "You too, pumpkin." Alisha and I let out a sigh of relief.

***

I couldn't be in better hands with Elizabeth, Alisha, and Tucker fussing over me, so I close my eyes and picture Ronan waiting for me at the altar, while they apply the finishing touches to my hair and make-up.

"My God, you're gorgeous," Tucker whispers as Alisha goes to get my wedding dress.

"Thanks Tuck," I say, looking deep in his eyes that are now moist with tears. "Don't do it," I warn him, and he quickly looks away. Alisha comes in carrying my wedding dress and hands it to Tucker while she hurries away to finish applying her own make-up. He lets out a low whistle and says, "All right, let's see this thing on."

I slip out of my bathrobe and he holds the dress up for me to step into.

"Cat!" Elizabeth gasps, startling both of us.

"What?" I ask hesitantly, dreading another one of her meltdowns.

"You're standing half-naked in front of another man?" she says accusingly, glancing sideways at Tucker.

"Oh," I say, relief washing over me. "I forgot to tell you, he's gay. He doesn't care that I'm not wearing clothes."

She looks at him and he shrugs his shoulders. "It's true, I would be more turned on seeing Ronan standing here in his underwear," he admits, turning me around to zip up the back of the dress, which becomes difficult when we both crack up laughing.

***

When I am finally allowed to turn around and look in the mirror, I gasp. I look so much like my mother did on her wedding day, that I am speechless.

"I look just like my mother," I whisper and Alisha drapes an arm around my shoulders.

"Your mom must have been hot," she says smiling.

"Wow," Tucker says and Elizabeth dabs the corner of her eyes. About the same time, Claire comes bounding in and stops dead in her tracks.

"You look like a princess," she finally whispers breathlessly, her eyes wide with wonder. She absently hands me a package, and plops down on the bed, still staring at me.

I open the small package and find inside a beautiful diamond pendant with a note from Ronan.

Cataryn Avalon Cascadia McCullough,

The next time I see you, I will be watching you walk down the aisle.

You could wear sweats and a T-shirt and go for a month without shaving your legs.

It wouldn't matter to me. All I care about is that by this time tomorrow, you will wake up in my arms as my wife. And then I will consider myself the luckiest man on this planet.

Forever yours,

Ronan

I don't even realize that the tears are rolling down my cheeks, until I feel Elizabeth dabbing them with a tissue, and cussing under her breath, Alisha heads off to get more make-up. Tucker just shakes his head and chuckles.

"Ronan Callahan, I'm going to kill you," I whisper as I fight to keep from losing it completely.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

RONAN

Dressed in a black tuxedo with a crisp white dress shirt and bow tie, I only slightly resemble the man that I was yesterday, wearing my typical Levi's and a T-shirt. I've always looked and felt much older than my true age, but now if I tried to pass for a seventeen year old, I would likely be asked to produce official records to prove it. Burke accuses me of aging ten years in the past few months and Jason and Michael treat me like a colleague instead of a kid brother.

"You look great, man," Burke says, slapping me on the shoulder, and Jason nods his head in approval.

"Do you have the rings?" I ask Burke again. He smiles and taps his pants pocket, obviously enjoying my abnormal display of nervousness. I resist the urge to peek in on Cat, even though remote travel is the easiest and sneakiest gift to abuse. There was an overnight snow storm that dumped two feet of fresh powder on the ground and the mile long dirt road, leading to the church was slick when we drove over it. Brandon reminds me that my worries are completely ridiculous given the fact that the occupants in their car could navigate it using only their minds, if they wanted to.

Cat was set on getting married in a church, honoring what she felt her parents would have desired. When she found this small country chapel, she said it was perfect and I couldn't have agreed more. Set along the Bow River, it's the only building within a two mile radius. It was built in the early 1900's and has only enough room to accommodate around thirty people—the perfect size for the ten people on our guest list. The pastor performing our ceremony is young, not much older than Michael if I had to guess. Claire screened him as "yellow", and he seemed to accept the fact that we were getting married by choice and not by necessity. I personally don't know anyone in his line of work, but he seems much different than the pastors preaching their views on TV.

Michael sticks his head through the door of the small room at the back of the church and tells Burke and me that Cat and the others have arrived. Shortly after, Pastor Nelson gives me a fifteen minute notice until the start of the ceremony, and Burke turns and gives me a fist bump, wishing me good luck before joining the others.

With both her and my parents deceased, Cat had nobody else's expectations to consider when planning our wedding. I would have agreed to whatever she wanted, but wasn't surprised when she chose to keep it intimate and authentic. Even Alisha and Liz couldn't persuade her into a more extravagant venue.

The small room behind the altar is sparsely furnished with two shabby club chairs against one wall and a large mirror on the opposite. There is one small window near the ceiling that provides the only source for natural lighting. I wonder how many grooms have sat in the very chair that I'm in now, waiting for their turn, and then I wonder how many were as certain of their choice as I am of mine.

At almost the exact time, the harpist begins playing the prelude music, summoning me to the altar, the clouds part and a brilliant beam of sunlight streams through the window, lighting the previously dingy room. In that brief moment, I have what I believe to be a spiritual moment where I am overcome with awe and gratitude. In any other circumstance, I may have fallen to my knees and wept, but instead I fight back the tears and quietly whisper, "Thank you," while exiting the room to wait for my bride at the altar.

***

The moment the processional music begins; Claire and Burke enter the church and slowly make their way down the aisle as everyone else stands and turns in their direction. The others honor my wishes and avoid communicating with me telepathically, with the exception of Claire. The minute she sees me, she grins, _"Wow Ronan, you're actually glowing like an angel,"_ she says, looking astonished as she screens the energy field surrounding me.

_"You look beautiful too,"_ I reply, winking at her. As far as I was concerned, there would only be a few instances where I would truly block her from speaking to me mentally.

Claire always has a certain angelic quality about her, but today she seems to be "floating" next to Burke, as they walk down the aisle. She is dressed in a long pale, pink gown with tiny embroidered rose petals and her normally long wavy hair is curled into soft ringlets. She has a flower crown on her head with miniature pink and white roses that match the bouquet she's carrying in her hand. As soon as they take their assigned places at the altar with me, the harpist is joined by a person playing the flute in a non-traditional version of the Wedding March.

When I look up and see Cataryn entering the church with Tucker at her side, time stands still. It could have taken her a year to walk down the aisle and I wouldn't have budged from where I stood. Seeing her for the first time in her wedding attire, I'm glad I resisted the urge to peek. The white silk gown is form fitting to the floor and perfectly accentuates every flawless curve of her body. The tastefully low cut bodice is a departure from her normal, cleavage sparing tops and she is wearing the diamond pendant that I gifted to her earlier. Of course the thing that stands out to me the most is her smile— big, beautiful and genuine. Her dark eyes are brimming with tears and seem to sparkle like the diamond on her neck. When Tucker places her hand in mine, I immediately bring it to my lips. All of my senses are tuned into Cat; the feel of her skin, the faint sound of her breathing, the movement of her chest as it rises and falls, even her scent. I barely perceive the words of Pastor Nelson, but when she speaks, I detect each syllable and even the slightest fluctuation in her voice. I memorize everything about her today and safely store the details in my brain where it will remain for the rest of my life.

Pastor Nelson finally says, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," and I am more than ready. Apparently, she is too, as she unabashedly wraps her arms around my neck and presses her body close to mine as we take our time experiencing our first kiss as husband and wife. Afterwards, I contemplate trying to talk her out of going to our reception and heading straight for the hotel room.

***

The Kensington Riverside Inn, is located just a short drive from the church and we are transported there by a horse drawn sleigh, naturally Claire's idea. The owner of the 19-room boutique inn readily obliged to rent us the entire building, including the restaurant when he found out how much I was willing to pay. Cat just about choked when she discovered the price tag for the night and commented that she and Claire lived off less than that for almost an entire year. I certainly didn't want to give her the impression that I was careless with my money, but I also didn't want her to worry about money either. From a young age, I knew that I would always have the ability to attract and retain as much wealth as I desired. So, I've never fretted over how I would make or keep my money. And I certainly have never feared losing it. She made a funny face, when I whispered in her ear, "Get used to me spending it on you."

We are met by half a dozen hotel staff members, the minute we walk into the hotel lobby and our luggage is whisked away to our pre-assigned rooms by the eager concierges. Our wedding photographer requested that we stay in our formal wear for additional photos at the reception, so we allow ourselves to be escorted directly to the banquet room where we will share our first dinner, dance, and bite of cake, as husband and wife.

Midway through dinner, I stand and raise my glass, and a hush falls upon the room. I look down at Cat and smile, then turn to address our guests. "If someone would had told me six months ago, I would soon meet the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on, I might have believed them. And if they told me she was: fearless, intelligent, caring, talented and funny, I might have expressed interest in meeting her. But, if they went on to say that I would fall so deeply in love with her that it would hurt to be apart from her, I would have laughed them out of the room." I pause and Elizabeth dabs her eyes. "And if that same person told me that I would follow this woman to the end of the earth and forfeit my own life for hers without a moment's hesitation, I would have told them they were crazy, such a woman doesn't exist." I reach down and take Cat's hand to pull her up beside me, and looking directly in her eyes, finish with, "I am here to tell you that she does exist, because today I married her."

She starts crying and the lights dim as I lead her to the dance floor.

Tucker plays the guitar while Claire sings "Butterfly Fly Away," dedicating it to Cat, for our first dance.

The evening transpires perfectly. Even Elizabeth seems to be in better spirits, and I suspect that the stress of helping with our wedding really did have an impact on her. To conclude the evening, we make our final rounds. Cat has one last talk with Claire about behaving for Alisha and Elizabeth for the next two weeks and I receive a warning from Bernie, to be prepared to go to work when I return from my honeymoon. The Harolds hug us both and make us promise to visit in the spring and Tucker reinforces the invitation.

***

Cat doesn't object when I prematurely scoop her in my arms on the elevator ride up to our floor, than carry her down the hall to the penthouse suite at the end. I set her down, only after we are on the other side of the threshold and I've hung the "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door.

To some, waiting until your wedding night to experience a first sexual encounter might seem somewhat risky. Burke said, "Don't you think you should give it a test run? You would never buy a car without test driving it first would you?" Comparing Cat to a car, almost cost him another broken nose, but his swift apology and my preoccupation with the upcoming wedding averted the altercation. Now, as I stand across the room from my beautiful new bride, watching her slowly undress in a sensual, playful fashion, teasing me with each piece of clothing flung on the floor, I am at complete ease with our decision. She deliberately pivots in a slow 360 degree turn, smiling provocatively, allowing me views from every angle, and any lingering uncertainty about our compatibility vanishes completely. I slowly walk over and help her out of the last remaining clothes items, before carrying her over to the oversized king bed. Neither of us is bashful or inhibited. We are in complete harmony as we take and give without fear. Minutes turn into hours and when we're finished, I conclude that it really is possible to love her even more than I did when I woke up this morning. The only time I question the experience, is when I feel her tears on my chest and only then do I suffer from a moment of panic.

"Cat, are you okay? Did I hurt you?" I ask anxiously. As if on cue, she responds to the next question on my mind.

"It was perfect. From start to finish, it was absolutely perfect," she whispers dreamily, and I feel the side of her face turn up in a smile.

"Perfect, really?" I ask, relief flooding over me.

"Yes, you exceeded every expectation I had, and um,... even some expectations that I didn't know I could have," she giggles.

It's only then, that I realize the meaning behind her tears and I fight to keep from shedding a few of my own.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

CAT

"Mrs. Callahan, what are you going to order for breakfast?" Ronan asks, grinning as he sits across from me in the restaurant. Ever since our wedding, almost a week ago he frequently refers to me in this way. He says he'll never get tired of hearing me addressed with his last name, and when I jokingly tell him I'm thinking about keeping my maiden name, he just about chokes on his orange juice. When it comes to me, he has definite traditional values and ideas.

"I think I'll have pancakes today, Mr. Callahan," I reply playfully, setting my menu aside. "So, are you ready for today?" I ask, feeling the excitement build up as I glance out the window at the diehard skiers and snowboarders braving the cold, just to be the first ones out on the slopes. I used to be one of them.

"Yep," he replies confidently. He has never skied before in his life, and even though I've tried to tell him that it takes a while to get the hang of it, he assures me that he will be able to keep up.

"Ronan, I qualified for the Junior Olympic ski team. I don't expect you to be able to keep up with me. It's not something that you become instantly good at on the first day," I say, trying not to sound impatient with him.

He simply replies, "We'll see," and continues looking over the menu.

_Hmm, we'll see indeed, Mr. Callahan,_ I think to myself, already making up my mind that I wasn't going to go easy on him at all now.

When planning our honeymoon, we couldn't decide between sun and surf, or snow and ice, so we split the vacation up, spending the first week in Hawaii and the second week now in Tahoe, California. I was glad Ronan was the type of guy willing to try anything and admittedly he did pick up surfing very quickly, but snow skiing was different. There were a lot of competing elements that required a certain learning curve to master. It wasn't as simple as climbing on a board barefoot and letting a wave carry you to shore. However, no matter how many times I've tried to explain this to him, he still has it in his mind that somehow he's immune to the effects of such things as...gravity.

***

"Following you," Ronan says good-naturedly, as we dismount the chair lift and I push off ahead of him to traverse across the ridgeline. I stop at Silverado, the black diamond run that I nearly killed myself on three years ago, while competing in a ski race. There are butterflies in my stomach as I point my skis over the ridge and look down the near vertical mountainside. I look over at Ronan and feel a twinge of guilt when he smiles at me lovingly. He reacted offensively when I offered to start out on one of the easier runs, so I irresponsibly decided to take him straight to the top to teach him a lesson. Now, an image of him careening down the mountain out of control has me regretting my decision.

In my moment of contemplation, he says, "Cataryn, if you're afraid, I can go first."

_That was the wrong thing to say to me buddy,_ I think, instantly abandoning all feelings of guilt. Without a word, I lunge myself over the edge and effortlessly glide down the mountain, making short radius, parallel turns at a moderate to fast speed. Only when I am midway down the mountain do I stop to wait for him, half expecting to have to hike back up the mountain to help him down.

Had I not caught a glimpse of the uncommon orange stripe on his ski helmet, I might have missed him go by me altogether. He whizzes past me, mimicking my technique, in a controlled descent down the mountain and it takes my full effort and focus to catch him. When we reach the bottom, he pulls his helmet off and breathlessly exclaims, "This is awesome!"

"Why did you lie to me?" I demand, stunning him with my outburst.

"Cat, what are you talking about? I've never lied to you," he responds innocently, making me even angrier.

"Ronan, it took me eight years of lessons and skiing twenty hours a week to get to that skill level. Do you really expect me to believe that you have never been skiing in your entire life?" I say, feeling hurt that he would deceive me.

"Yes, I do expect you to believe me," he says quietly. "Always..."

He releases his boots from the bindings, walks over and plops down in a snow bank, motioning me to join him.

"Look Cat, ever since I can remember, my body has responded like this. Once I have a clear image of the action I am supposed to perform, my body just does it. There really isn't a learning curve with me. When I was four, I got on a bike and just started riding it. I've never fallen once. My body can easily duplicate any action, once it's imprinted in my mind. I don't even have to think about it, it just happens. I'm sorry. I just wanted to have fun with you today. If I would have known that it was going to bother you, I would have copied one of the beginner skiers and stayed on the green runs today," he says sadly.

I shake my head in disbelief, considering the implications of having such an extraordinary ability. "You could be an Olympic skier with less than a year of training under your belt," I say in awe.

"Cat, having things come so easy, isn't necessarily a good thing," he says slowly, while he aimlessly forms a snowball and throws it, hitting the helmet of an unsuspecting skier who is racing down the mountain, over 200 feet from where we sit. The skier barely notices and Ronan makes his point. Not even a professional football quarterback could hit a target like that.

"I've been cheated out of every important challenge in life. I have no idea what it feels like to dream, plan, and work hard to achieve something. Everything has always come too easy for me. I could never become an Olympic champion because it would be unfair taking a title away from a top athlete who has spent a lifetime trying to achieve what would take me only a matter of days." He pauses and rests his head in his hands staring down at the snow, and before I have a chance to reply he says, "I admire the fact that you worked hard for eight years to become a terrific skier. That's a good thing Cat. You should be proud of yourself."

"Wow Ronan, I'm sorry. I had no idea," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed that I didn't know something so important about my own husband. I study him in silence for a moment yearning to erase the troubled look off his face.

"If I would have known that you needed a challenge, I would have refused that first motorcycle ride," I finally offer.

"The hell you would have," he replies, laughing as he tosses a snowball at my head.

"I'm still faster than you," I say, jumping up suddenly to get my skies on before him. Then, just to be sure he doesn't pass me, I grab one of his skis and drag it thirty yards behind me before dropping it in the snow bank.

We spend the remainder of the day skiing every black diamond run on the mountain, before we call it quits, and Ronan says he's officially hooked on snow skiing. I even got him to sing on the chairlift with me. I have to admit, his extraordinary learning ability is making the whole ski vacation a complete blast and by the end of the second day, we are already making plans to come back with Claire.

***

"Mrs. Callahan, are you done in there?" Ronan asks impatiently.

"Almost," I reply, as I quickly apply the finishing touches of make-up, and then take a step back to survey myself in the mirror. Normally, I wear very little make-up, so the added eyeliner and red lipstick is shocking to me. The hot rollers that I used to curl my normally straight hair make it look three times fuller, and the soft waves frame my face, accentuating the eyes and lips even more. Ronan had sent me shopping for a nice formal dress, so we could dine at the Ritz Carlton restaurant at Northstar tonight. I went completely out of my comfort zone, purchasing a bright red dress that the owner of the small boutique said would make me look sexy and mature. He even talked me into purchasing the make-up and a pair of two-inch high heels.

Now, as I look at my reflection in the mirror, for the first time in my life, I am plagued with doubt and insecurity over my appearance.

"Sexy and mature my ass. I look like a prostitute," I mutter, as I frantically try to blot the lip stick without smearing it.

"Cat, we have dinner reservations in twenty. Are you almost finished?" he asks again, sounding more anxious.

"Ronan, I can't go."

"What do you mean you can't go?" he asks, in such a way that I can tell he thinks I'm joking.

"I don't have anything to wear," I say, pulling a bathrobe on over the red dress, and plopping down on the edge of the tub.

"Um, I thought you went shopping and bought a dress today?" he says, as he opens the door and peeks his head around the corner. Of course, he looks striking, dressed in a black Gucci suit with a red, black, and golden tie that he purchased to coordinate with my red dress.

"I did, but it looks silly. I can't wear it," I reply, hating that I sound pouty and childish.

"So you thought a bathrobe would be a better choice?" he questions, trying not to smile.

When I don't react, he says, "Can I see it?" and holds out his hand to help me up.

Reluctantly, I stand up and face the mirror and he comes up behind me, slowly removing the bathrobe from my shoulders. I watch his expression in the mirror and my heart sinks when he raises one eyebrow, confirming to me how ridiculous I must look.

"Hmm," he says, as his eyes slowly migrate from my head down to my feet. "Well, your hair looks beautiful. I like the way it's curled and parted on the side. The make-up isn't bad, but you're beautiful without it. And the dress..." His eyes linger on the plunging neckline that shows almost as much cleavage as some of the sexy lingerie I brought with me. "Yeah, I think the dress is a problem," he says and my heart sinks.

"I don't have anything else..." I start to protest before he interrupts me.

"The dress is a problem, because I will spend the whole evening fighting off every male in the restaurant," he finishes, laughing softly.

"Cataryn, you look stunning," he says, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Now go get your coat and let's go eat, before my desire for you becomes stronger than my desire for food right now."

He waits until we are alone in the elevator before he pulls me close and starts softly singing, "Lady in red."

***

The first sex talk my mom had with me was when I turned ten years old, and she did a pretty good job of making sure I knew how my body worked and how babies were made. The second sex talk was right before my fifteenth birthday, when I came to her with questions of my own. The kids in school were talking, and some of what they were saying seemed pretty farfetched to me, so I figured there was no one better than a doctor to give it to me straight. Lucky for me, she was as comfortable with sexuality as she was spirituality and didn't shy away from answering my questions thoroughly. The information that she shared with me that day, gave me the confidence to express myself fully. Each time we're together, we discover something new and there is equality in what we take and give back to each other. Ronan says, he was designed to love me and that I am his soul mate for life. Neither of us have regrets that we didn't come to our marriage with previous sexual experiences and I couldn't fathom being this physically connected to a person I didn't love as much as I love him.

***

"Do I make you happy Mrs. Callahan?" Ronan asks after we are settled into our seats on the flight back to Canada.

"Nope, not at all. I'm miserable and I am going to file for a divorce as soon as we get home," I respond, yawning as I lay my head against his chest.

His arm tightens around my shoulder and he murmurs, "Not funny. Don't even joke about such a thing."

Before I have a chance to reply, the flight attendant pushing a beverage cart stops near our seats and offers us a cocktail for the second time. Ronan claims that they are always more attentive in first class seating, but when I came out of the restroom to find her tucking a pillow behind his head with her breasts right at his eye level, I surmised she was offering him more than just comfort measures. I don't bother opening my eyes now. I've already seen that she's gorgeous and perfectly put together, making me feel even grungier in my coffee stained sweatshirt, so instead, I slip my hand out from under the blanket and strategically place it on his chest, making sure the large diamond wedding band on my third finger is blatantly visible. Ronan politely declines for both of us and I feel his chest shake beneath my cheek as he silently chuckles, when she walks away. Somewhere over Washington, we both fall asleep and don't wake up again until the pilot announces our descent into Calgary Canada. With the honeymoon over, we both have obligations to face and my pulse quickens when the reality of returning home as husband and wife fully sinks in.

# CHAPTER NINE

CAT

Taking advantage of the last clear day before the anticipated snow storm hits tomorrow, I wake up early to get in some additional flying hours with Marti Campbell. Ronan and the other Designers have training of a different kind planned for today. Bernie Stoddard left them with an intense workout regime that included a combination of running, swimming, jumping, climbing and telekinetic exercises. The whole downstairs indoor pool room was expanded to accommodate the new specialized equipment that Bernie installed. If they did exactly as she ordered, it would take them most of the day to complete the routines.

"But I was hoping you would train with me today," Ronan says, taking the brush from my hands to finish brushing the back of my hair.

"I'm not a Designer and I could never keep up," I say with mild cynicism. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind doing physical training with him and the others but I figured it would only serve to emphasize their superior abilities, something I've been prone to being sensitive about lately.

"Besides, it's supposed to snow all week and today might be the last day to get some flying in for a while," I say, watching him in the mirror. He pauses with the brush midway down the back of my hair and his face takes on the characteristic expression that I've come to recognize as a mental interruption from one of the other Designers. "Who wants what?" I sigh when he resumes brushing my hair.

"It was Alisha. They want me downstairs so they can begin training."

"Duty calls," I say grabbing the brush from his hand and hastily throwing my hair in a ponytail, trying hard not to show my annoyance. I knew he had a job to do, but I was beginning to resent the constant interruptions from Alisha. It seems we have less privacy as a married couple than we did when we were just dating, and although she didn't seem the type, I couldn't help but wonder if she was jealous.

"You could come down and be my cheerleader," he says, already grinning at my anticipated response to such an insulting offer. His hand flies up, automatically intersecting the hairbrush pitched at him, while his eyes never leave my face. I am about to scold him for being such a tease when he winces and touches his forehead.

"Did she just yell at you?" I ask, already knowing the answer. "I thought you had the ability to mentally block her?"

"Most of the time I can, but sometimes she slips through, mostly when she's annoyed or mad at me. It must have something to do with the change in level of energy. Of course, this is our little secret," he says winking at me.

He knows I get easily annoyed with Alisha's demands, so he keeps the peace by just keeping his mouth shut. He's become quite skilled at diverting my attention away from unpleasant topics and when he smiles broadly, advancing slowly towards me, I feel my heart flutter in my chest.

"Should I tell her we both have a case of the flu and we need to stay in bed," he teases, kissing me tenderly.

"It's tempting," I reply, pulling him even closer.

"Mrs. Callahan?" he murmurs.

"Yes, Mr. Callahan?"

"How about I treat you to a fancy homemade dinner tonight to make up for leaving you now?"

"Really? You mean I married a man that can cook and he's just now revealing this hidden talent?" I say pretending to be angry.

"If you want a man that can cook, then I will become your own personal chef," he says softly. Slowly he begins humming "Love Somebody" by Maroon 5 and my body automatically matches his in rhythm when he begins twirling me in a two-step around the room.

"Come on Cataryn, sing with me," he softly coaxes.

" I really, really love somebody. I really want to take her far away" he sings, substituting the lyrics with his own, and in a voice that sounds almost as good as the lead singer's. It makes me wonder if the talent is a result of DNA manipulation or natural giftedness. When I don't readily join in, he looks down at me with liquid gold eyes and a million dollar smile.

"Please, for me. You know how I love it when you sing for me. Just one chorus," he begs. Of course, I cave, and accompany him through the rest of the song in perfect harmony. Like everything else about us, our voices blend together flawlessly.

Our serenade is short-lived when his body stiffens indicating Alisha is running out of patience. I know we are risking a face-to-face encounter with her, so I reluctantly nudge him away. "Better go."

"I know. I'll see you when you get home. I love you. Be safe," he says kissing me goodbye as he hastily heads down stairs.

"I love you too," I say knowing he can hear me, even though he's already reached the bottom of the stairs.

***

I feel guilty when I see Marti, already at the airport inspecting the airplane even though technically we agreed on a nine a.m. meeting time and I am fifteen minutes early. She likes to pre-inspect the airplane, even though I will repeat the whole process under her supervision anyway.

"Good morning, Cat," she says cheerfully, after looking around. I am certain her good spirits are partly due to the fact that Ronan didn't accompany me to today's lesson. It's not as if she has anything personal against him, she just made it clear, that she thinks he creates too much of a distraction. I refrained from asking if it was me or her he was distracting.

"How do you feel today?" she asks looking at me peculiarly. "Great," I say shrugging my shoulders as I run my hand over the wing of the plane.

"Good, because today you're going to do a short solo flight into Montana," she says matter-of-factly, and my heart just about jumps out of my chest.

"Really? You think I'm ready?" I ask breathlessly. Last week I had performed two solo flights within the flight pattern of the airport, all within her view and she said afterwards that I executed everything perfectly.

"Yes, I think you're more than ready," she says laughing. "Grab your flight bag and let's go inside to go over your flight plan."

The small airport that caters to general aviation pilots has a café where Marti and I typically sit to go over our flight plan. Today, there are only a few other patrons sitting in the restaurant, and we easily find a seat next to the window facing the runway. It takes us only twenty minutes to come up with a flight plan that includes a stop in Great Falls, Montana, then back. It's less than two hours there and two hours back. _Perfect, I'll be back in time for Ronan's dinner,_ I think to myself, already picturing the look on Ronan's face, when I surprise him with my achievement.

As Marti quizzes me on emergency procedures, I glance around the small airport at the sea of faces and wonder which ones have been assigned by my husband to follow me around. Ronan finally admitted to arranging undercover secret service protection, something he knew would irritate the hell out of me. He was taking this whole conspiracy thing of Bernie's way to serious. Even Alisha and the others expressed as much. I decide that I will talk to him about it again tonight even though I didn't think it would do much good. I want to be able to surprise him with the news of my solo flight, and I resent that fact that some agent would be giving him a report before I had the chance. I lower my voice when discussing my flight plan with Marti and when she gets up to use the restroom I mention to our waitress that I'll be practicing touch-n-goes for the morning. _Humph, let's see how the little hound dogs are going to trail me in an airplane,_ I think smugly.

# CHAPTER TEN

RONAN

Claire, Burke, and Brandon are already in the water when I arrive downstairs and Claire is squealing with delight as they take turns launching her off their shoulders, ten feet in the air, while she performs twists and summersaults. It's her favorite water game and she can almost always talk them in to playing along. All of us have cetacean DNA, but Claire has the most and it shows. Swimming is as natural to her as running and she propels like a torpedo under water, holding her breath for close to ten minutes at a time. As soon as I arrive, she begs me to join them and Jason has to remind her that the pool is for training purposes today, not recreation. Michael and Jason agreed to act as coaches and the teams have already been predetermined. Jason will work with Alisha, Claire. and me, while Michael takes the other three.

Naturally, our group starts with water training first, because Claire insists. We all agree with Cat, that a six year old shouldn't have the kind of power that she does, but nonetheless, she is rarely ever denied. Jason begins by having us swim laps, using different strokes. It's simple enough, and for the first hour, the three of us silently glide through the water building speed and flexibility as we go. Once we are sufficiently warmed up, we work together to connect various sized hollow tubes which are then lowered into the water and anchored to the bottom of the pool. It's one giant underwater maze with one way in and one way out, and for this exercise, we are the rats that are expected to make it through. Alisha says "Piece of cake," and Jason warns her that it is easy to get disoriented while underwater, holding your breath. Claire begs to go first and pouts when she is firmly refused this time. The only built-in safety mechanism for this exercise is the use of each other, and underwater sound devices that simulate an audible dolphin noise that all of us are capable of hearing. I volunteer to go first and Jason sets the timer for seven minutes, the maximum amount of time that I have been able to hold my breath.

I am confident that I have adequately memorized the layout from the surface, and enter the tube with a false sense of assurance that I will make it out the other end with plenty of time to spare. But Jason is right, the minute I enter the tunnel, and am surrounded by pitch blackness, I have to fight the urge not to panic. The first few turns are right where I expect them to be, but after that, I take several wrong turns and end up repeatedly swimming into the side of the tube. Instead of eliciting help from Claire and Alisha right away, I attempt to use my remote viewing gift to gain perspective from above and am stunned to find that I am unable to leave the confines of my own body. Even my mental connection to Claire and Alisha is garbled and unreliable.

Jason thumps four times on the top of the tube, letting me know that I have three minutes left and that's when the panic really starts to set in. I pound my fist on the side of the tube, signaling that I am in trouble and immediately, hear the low whine of the whistle that sounds eerily haunting, now that I am in the middle of the tubes. _How could four minutes have passed already?_ I think as I try hard to detect the direction of the whistle. My lungs start to burn and I pound on the side now more persistently, each time eliciting an equal response from the whistle blower. It's like a game of Marco Polo—I pound, they whistle. It's effective in getting me turned around in the right direction, and I swim hard through the pitch blackness, using my right arm to guide me along the tube. But one wrong turn and the whistle begins to fade again. My heart begins to beat wildly and my lungs feel like they are on fire. The one minute warning given by Jason isn't really necessary. I am fully aware that I am only seconds away from drowning in the hollow watery grave, and in a last desperate attempt, I slam my fist hard enough into the plastic tube that it cracks, letting just enough light in that I see Claire's hand reach for me just before everything goes black.

***

"Come on Ronan, breathe!" I hear Alisha hiss, the stress in her voice obvious. The person pushing on my chest isn't going easy and without warning I vomit all over the swim deck and the person leaning over me, which happens to be Alisha. My chest feels like it's on fire and it isn't until Claire places her hands on me, that it subsides enough for me to be able to take a full deep breath. Alisha and Jason continue to work over me, even after I tell them I'm okay. It takes me a good forty-five minutes to feel well enough to get back in the water.

"You were this close to drowning," Alisha says holding up two fingers with a thread like space between them. "You're not going back in," she says determinedly, shaking her head back and forth and blocking my entrance to the pool.

"Alisha, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. Now let's get back to work," I say, fixed on succeeding with the training. I am more disturbed by failing the exercise, than I am at the near drowning episode.

"Nope, I'm not going to lose a little brother today, because you are being pigheaded," she says stubbornly. "And besides, even Claire could have ended up dead down there."

"Could not," Claire interrupts, making a face behind Alisha's back. She isn't happy about being reprimanded for diving in after me and thinks Alisha is being unfair to both of us.

"Ah, see Dr. Ali, you really do love me," I say quickly planting a kiss on her cheek, then immediately dodging out of her reach as she takes a swing at me. "Did you hear that everyone? She considers me like a little brother," I say mockingly, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides before she has a chance to swing again. She struggles just enough that the two of us lose our balance and end up in the water, much to the delight of Claire who jumps in after us.

***

Claire is the only Designer to make it through the underwater maze on the first attempt. The rest of us, including Brandon, Burke, and Liz, each make three to four attempts before successfully making it through the tubes and we use most of our air supply in doing so. To date, it's one of the most challenging drills we have ever faced. Underwater, we lose our ability to mentally connect, remote travel and even our ability to use Claire for a telekinetic energy source. Claire however, swims through the obstacle course like a dolphin, making it to the exit in less than a minute. She insists we have the ability to do the same, but fear blocks our natural cetacean instincts. None of us really want to own up to the fear factor thing, so we quickly dismiss discussing the issue any further and congregate upstairs for a much needed lunch break.

***

"Well, there are now two weaknesses that we're going to have to bring up to Bernie before our first assignment," Alisha says with a hint of disappointment.

Previously we just assumed that there were no limitations or conditions that might inhibit our telepathy, telekinesis and remote travel. However, we found during the sniper incident that Claire's and my gift for remote travel in wide open spaces is diluted and blurry compared to confined areas, as is our ability to find moving objects, such as cars and planes. Now, with the water event today, we all agree that maybe we aren't quite as invincible as we once thought. Jason and Michael are already working on a formula to determine how speed, distance, and the resistance of air and water, affect our gifts.

***

"Okay, there's Marti, so where's Cat?" I mutter as I remotely scan the airport in search of my wife. Marti is in the airport café, but both the plane and Cat are missing and I quickly determine by the way Marti is watching the runway with a check-off sheet in front of her, that Cat is probably in flight, practicing solo touch-n-goes. Brandon says that she is well on her way to receiving her pilot's license at the accelerated rate she is progressing. I am thrilled for her, even though I always have the urge to have the Designer team on stand-by just in case something goes wrong.

"She is statistically more apt to die in a car accident," Brandon says, reciting the most often quoted response to airplane crashes. Anticipating my next question, he holds up his hand in defense, and says, "Hey, I took chances that I shouldn't have been taking and besides, I'm still alive, and I said she was more apt to die in a car crash."

I didn't admit that I sometimes want to be on stand-by in case she runs off the road too. Brandon and Burke already give me a hard time when it comes to Cat. They say I am bewitched by her, and every once in a while, Burke will point out an attractive girl, just to remind me of what I might be missing out on. He can't fathom the concept of one girl for a lifetime. In fact, he and Brandon are meeting up with two new girls—his fourth since moving in-tonight after our training and he already warned us that he may stay at a hotel in town if things go well.

***

It's easy to lose track of time when you are downstairs in the pool room, engaged in the type of intense training that we are. We should have proceeded to the other exercise stations after lunch, but all of us voted to continue with the underwater circuitry, changing the connections to create different patterns for us to try and navigate. We continue to use the whistle as instructed by Bernie, but no one, including Claire, is allowed in the tunnels without a safety rope attached to their foot. And all of us, with the exception of Claire, have to be fished out of the tunnels at some point during the exercise. Claire was right about one thing, the more comfort we develop maneuvering in the murky grave, the more instinctual our sense of direction and response to the whistle become. Four hours later, everyone masters the ability to swim through a new configuration in half the time it was taking us this morning. By the time we call it quits, we are all feeling somewhat elated by the progress.

***

It's not unusual for Cat and Marti to spend all day flying when the weather's good, so when she's not home by dinner, I don't think too much about it. When I express concern over them flying after dark, Brandon eases my mind by telling me Marti does nighttime flight training with all of her students. Rarely do Cat and I get the whole house to ourselves, but tonight everyone else has plans. Michael and Liz, take Claire into town to do some Christmas shopping, Alisha and Jason go to see a movie, and Burke and Brandon leave the house a short time later to meet their dates. I'm anxious to spend a quiet evening alone with Cat, but when my calls still go unanswered and I can't locate her and Marti at the airport, I take the opportunity to catch up on my finances, which then prompts a lengthy phone call to my investment broker to discuss future transactions.

A smile spreads across my face, when I finally hear the sound of her car coming down the long driveway.

"It's about time, Mrs. Callahan," I mutter as I head downstairs to heat up her dinner. She rarely eats at the airport and typically comes home starving when she's out this late. I wasn't sure if my chicken cordon bleu would live up to her standards, but knowing her, she wouldn't confess if it didn't. After lighting a candle, dimming the lights and turning on some soft classical music, I chuckle as I do one last maneuver to ensure an evening filled with romance. She made it clear to me on more than one occasion that she was a fan of my bare chest and abs, so I think I have nothing to lose by letting it be the first thing she sees when she walks through the door. As the door handle slowly turns, I slip my T-shirt over my head tossing it on the floor, and stand in the kitchen anticipating the moment I'll feel the warmth of her body next to mine.

***

A hundred thoughts go through my mind when I see Brandon and Burke walk through the door, but not one of them has to do with Cat. A forgotten item, a change in plans, possibly stood up by their dates, (unlikely but not impossible). It isn't until I hear the others' cars pull up and the rest of the family joins them in the doorway, with the same look of horror on their face that a wave of dread washes over me. Claire pushes past everyone and runs straight for me, launching herself in my arms, and burying her head in my neck as she sobs uncontrollably.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

RONAN

"Cat...possible plane crash...solo flight to Montana...dispatching a search team," are the only words I hear in a stream of news delivered by Brandon and the rest of the crew. I am paralyzed, unable to speak or move, and Claire is the one to utter the few words that are needed to snap me into action, "Let's go find her," she whispers through her sobs.

Right now, Claire is my lifeline, the one person who is able to remote travel better than me, keep an airplane airborne, and possibly raise a body from the dead. I loosen her arms from around my neck, and gaze deep into her tear-filled eyes and repeat the words, slowly and calmly, "Yes, let's go find her, Claire."

Not even Alisha attempts to argue or stop me when I order Brandon to get his plane ready. He has been on and off the phone with his cousin Sam, the air traffic controller, and Marti Campbell. He tells me that Cataryn was last seen at the airport in Great Falls, Montana. After landing, she fueled, used the restroom, and purchased a grilled cheese sandwich at the café. She radioed the tower 30 minutes later and requested permission for takeoff, and then filed a VFR flight plan with Salt Lake Center to head north in a direct flight to Calgary Canada. Salt Lake's air traffic controller became concerned when she almost immediately veered off course and headed southwest towards Idaho, in the complete opposite direction of her flight plan. She didn't respond to his repeated attempts to make radio contact and her plane disappeared from radar about an hour later somewhere over the Boise National Forest.

"Marti says there is no reasonable explanation as to why Cat changed course. Weather wasn't a factor," Brandon says quietly, as the five of us board his plane, leaving Elizabeth, Michael and Jason home, should Cat miraculously show up at the Freeman estate.

***

The flight time into Idaho takes almost three hours, during which time Claire and I attempt to remote travel over the vast forest below us, to widen the breadth of our search. It's an exercise that would normally leave me irritable and frustrated, but now I welcome the challenge, using every bit of mental focus just to avoid thoughts involving anything other than a successful reunion with my wife. Each time I drift from my physical body, I only get so far, before the forest below me becomes fuzzy and I am sucked back into the confines of the airplane. Claire reports a similar response and mutters to the rest of us, "If only the airplane would hold still for a minute, I could reach further." Michael and Jason were right about the speed and distance factor affecting our gifts. Unless we could slow the aircraft down to a crawl, our gift for remote travel was of very little use to us. The word "helicopter," is mentally called out by all of us at the same time and Alisha looks anxiously at Brandon to get feedback on his skill level in flying one.

"I have less than forty hours in helicopter training, it's completely different than flying a fixed wing," he says shaking his head.

"Well now, that would be a problem for any other pilot, wouldn't it?" Alisha says slowly, and from the back seat, I see Brandon's face light up.

"I know a guy who runs a helicopter chartering service out of Boise," he says, as he banks a gentle roll to the right, heading straight for Boise.

***

"Why don't we just ask the owner to charter the damn thing for us?" Burke says, glancing around nervously at the vacant airport that's already being coated in a light powder of snow.

"He's not going to take us up in this thing with a storm brewing. Do you really think he'd believe me if I told him the five of us could keep this apparatus airborne with frozen rotor blades?" Brandon replies sarcastically.

His face is serious as he scans the cockpit controls, trying to recall how to get the thing in flight, and finally he gives up, throwing his hands in the air, surrendering power to Claire. Within seconds, the engine fires up and the rotors start to spin, slowly at first then faster and faster. The four of us aim all energy of our thoughts to the little girl sitting beside me and the helicopter rises above the ground and launches forward, heading towards Boise National Forest, the last place a signal was detected from Cat's airplane. After just a few short months of practice, we have established the most efficient use of our psychokinetic energy, and now work silently in unity to keep the helicopter in flight amidst the growing blizzard-like conditions.

***

Brandon was able to get the exact coordinates of where Cat's plane suddenly dropped from radar, and we aim straight for the area. The ache in my heart intensifies with each passing second that I think about Cat being alone in the icy dark forest, knowing that nobody could survive these conditions over night. One thing I was almost certain of now, is that wherever she was, she wasn't dead. I would know the second she took her final breath, because I was sure it would automatically be my final breath as well.

_"Go to the right,"_ Claire instructs, multitasking as she remote travels at the same time she keeps mentally connected with the rest of us to keep the chopper in flight, as I do the same. There is just enough of a lull in the storm that with our superior nighttime vision, we can make out a break in the trees and Burke tells us he detects a faint smell of smoke. We are on the north side of the mountain and are somewhat shielded from the south bound winds, but are unable to find a clear, flat surface to land on.

"We might have to land on the other side and hike down," Brandon says, swinging the helicopter around. Flying against the headwind takes a considerate amount of mental energy to keep the helicopter stable and moving forward, so when Alisha points to a potential flat area on a rocky ridge to land on, we all breathe a sigh of relief. It seems that Brandon has to shout even mental orders over the howling wind and we obediently scramble to get the helicopter strapped down to some nearby trees. All of us came prepared for the inclement weather, but even the best rated snow attire, couldn't keep the chill of the wind from penetrating every inch of our body.

"We have to find her. She can't survive in this weather!" I scream, running in the direction of the clearing we just flew over, the others trailing behind me. Claire may not have our speed, but her feline jumping capabilities gives her an advantage in scaling some of the large boulders and she keeps up just fine. Burke's superior sense of smell leads us right to an area of recent burning timber and Alisha is the first to stumble on a piece of the aircraft, which Brandon immediately identifies as a part of the fuselage.

"CATARYN!" I scream, frantically looking around for any sign of her.

Several minutes later, Claire says, "I found something," and holds up a bright orange box, that doesn't require Brandon's aviation expertise, to identify as the flight data recorder. She sets it next to the other objects found in the area and we spread out to continue our search. Claire and I remotely search the area and find aircraft items over a half a mile away, which are called in and retrieved by the others.

We search for over an hour before Alisha mentally connects a call with me and quietly says, "Ronan, we have to go now."

"NO!" I cry in desperation. "Ali, please. I can't leave until I find her. You guys go. I have to stay. She can't be dead. I need to keep looking. Please just go and leave me here," I ramble, dropping to my knees in the snow, the tears already starting to freeze on my cheeks. Rocking back and forth, I repeat the same thing over and over again, "Please God no. Please not her."

"Ronan, I found a body part. Whoever was in this plane did not survive," Alisha says quietly, and I can tell from the sound of her voice that she is crying too.

Brandon and Burke each grab one of my arms to lift me to my feet, ignoring my feeble attempts to resist as they drag me to the waiting helicopter that, in spite of being tied down, looks like it's ready to topple over in the wind. They have already loaded the recovered items in the back and Alisha is inside holding Claire as she cries convulsively in her arms.

"Ronan and Claire listen to me," Alisha commands, grabbing Claire's chin and forcing her to look up. "We don't know if this is even the airplane that Cat was flying or if she was the one piloting it, but I can tell you this much, we are not going to die on this mountainside with whoever it was. So pull it together Claire, we need you to get us out of here!" she demands, her bright blue eyes darting between the two of us.

"Okay," Claire whimpers stoically, squeezing her eyes shut as she continues to hiccup and sniffle. The energy directed to her from the rest of us, is barely enough to get the engine started and the now frozen rotor blades fail to produce lift. Brandon's thoughts consist of melting the ice off the blades and as soon as the rest of us join him in thinking the same, the helicopter begins to ascend off the ground. The thought energy offered by me is minimal and every once in a while, Alisha barks out orders for more. I hold on to the faintest hope that the person who perished on that mountain side was someone other than my Cataryn. My thoughts alternate between helping the others fly the helicopter into Boise, and finding my wife safe at home.

***

Miraculously, we make it to the Boise airport without crashing, in spite of our reduced psychokinetic output of energy and the increased blizzard-like conditions. Alisha and Burke transfer the objects from the crash into Brandon's airplane, using a blanket to hide the gruesome remains found at the site. One glance at the body part in the back would give me the answer I needed. I knew every inch of Cat's body better than I did my own. I could identify any part of her by touch, sight, or smell. As if reading my mind, Alisha mentally says, _"If it is her, you don't want to remember her in that way."_ The sorrow in her eyes when she says this chokes me up again and I close my eyes in a futile attempt to contain the tears that are once again running down my face. I don't react when Alisha reaches over and places her hand inside of mine.

The fixed wing airplane takes much less effort to keep in the air and Brandon assures us that all we're needed for is to keep the airplane wings defrosted. Alisha allows Claire to fall asleep in her lap, only waking her when Brandon alerts us of ice buildup, which then takes less than ten minutes of concentrated effort to defrost. By the time we land in Great Falls to refuel, the storm is well behind us and it has been over an hour since he's needed our help. Now stationary, we have the ability to connect with Elizabeth, and Burke squeezes my shoulder as he says, "I'll check and see if she's shown up." A few seconds later, he shakes his head no, avoiding eye contact with me.

At six in the morning, there's not much activity at the small county airport, catering to the general aviation crowd. Less than sixteen hours ago, Cat walked through the same doors. It was the last place she was seen alive, and I can visualize her so vividly in my mind, that I half expect her to be sitting in the café waiting for me. We all make a beeline for the restroom, and when I come out, Brandon is around the corner talking with the airport operations manager and I freeze when I realize they are talking about Cat.

"Yeah, I heard about the possibility of a single engine going down over Boise. Rumor has it as one of Marti Campbell's student pilots, he says.

"Do you recall a young girl taking off in a Cessna 172?" Brandon persists, and I hold my breath pleading for him to say no. Feeling shaky and weak, I take a seat in a nearby chair, and remote travel, hovering over the two of them to listen to the rest of their conversation.

"Son, I'm an airport manager. I don't sit around monitoring every aircraft coming and going from this airport," he replies irritably. Brandon smiles sadly, and thanks him for his time, turning to walk away. The manager studies him for a moment, rubbing his chin.

"Wait! You know, now that I think about it, I do recall someone fitting your description out on the tarmac. I remember now, because she was talking to Mr. Harrington, a wealthy entrepreneur from Great Britain who flies in and out of here all the time. It struck me as odd because he's not the friendliest guy around. As a matter of fact, I think he even assisted her in getting the plane tied down," he says, furrowing his brows as if he finds something about this detail troubling. "Well anyway, I don't see the Cessna out there now, so she must have taken off in it. I'll keep my fingers crossed that they find her safe," he adds, looking a little awkward when Alisha, Burke, and Claire walk up.

***

The nausea comes without warning and I collapse down on all fours, heaving violently, spilling gastric contents on the pavement next to the airplane, while the others gingerly step over me to climb inside. When I'm done, I sit back on my heels gasping to catch my breath. The realization that she's not coming home hits me like a bulldozer, and I feel as if my insides are going to explode. During the plane ride home, I start to plan when, and how I will join her in the afterlife.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

RONAN

I don't object when Jason plunges the needle into the muscle in my arm. He says it is one of the quickest delivery methods for getting the medication into my system and in twenty minutes, I'll be asleep. What I really want is to be dead in twenty minutes, but I refrain from saying so in front of Claire. All of us are gathered in the great room, including Bernie Stoddard, who chartered a flight to Canada and arrived at the Freeman house an hour after us.

You wouldn't expect a room to be this quiet with so many people gathered in it, but aside from an occasional sniffle, the only sound heard is the ticking sound made by the large clock hanging above the fireplace. Claire comes and lies beside me on the floor and we stare at each other without saying a word. She looks so much like Cat that it hurts to look at her, and yet, as hard as I try, I can't look away. A single tear rolls down her cheek and I see my pain mirrored in her eyes. She reaches for my hand and draws it up under her chin, holding it there like she would a stuffed toy. I have no words of comfort, so I silently watch as a single tear turns into a stream of tears and the moisture coats my hand beneath her chin. Eventually she yawns and closes her eyes, successfully crying herself to sleep. Only then do I succumb to the effects of the medication, letting myself drift out of the nightmare my life's become.

Jason promised at least eight hours of sleep from the medication injected in my arm, but I wake up after five. The house is eerily quiet with the exception of Claire's faint rhythmic wheeze as she exhales each breath. She still has her arm wrapped around my wrist and my hand remains tucked under her chin. The effects of the medication given to her seem to have a more lasting effect, as she barely stirs when I pry my hand free.

Alisha is curled up on the couch next to Jason, his arm draped loosely over her shoulder and I have to bite my knuckles to keep from sobbing out loud for Cat. It's clear by the way Burke and Brandon are sprawled out on the floor next to us, that they have stationed themselves there just in case. I allow them the luxury of sleeping in and wait until I reach Cat's and my bedroom before breaking down. It's the first time I've entered it since leaving for Idaho and Cat's presence is everywhere I look. The first picture of her and I, that was taken in the photo booth at the mall is neatly matted and framed, sitting on her nightstand. The diamond necklace given to her on our wedding day is lying next to it. Our wedding pictures sit in a large unopened, padded envelope on the dresser, where we planned on looking over them together, the evening she failed to return.

It only takes one attempt to shatter the glass door leading to our balcony and the drop from our bedroom is over twenty feet, a distance that should kill an average man. Unfortunately, my animal DNA instincts overpower any self-destructive human planning, and I land on my feet, in spite diving off head first. I am oblivious to the fact that my hand and arm are embedded with shards of glass and bleeding profusely. My only thought when I hit the ground is to get as far away from her memory as possible. I hear the voices of all five of my Designer family explode in my mind at once, begging and ordering me to stop. It isn't until I am almost at the river bank, that Claire blocks me with an invisible shield, preventing my entry into the water. Even my cetacean DNA wouldn't be enough to protect me from the freezing river that's flowing at 1000 cubic feet per second. I curse at all of them and plead from the depth of my soul to let me go.

***

"Nice job, bone head," Alisha says pitilessly, looking down at me, her sky blue eyes, flashing with anger, as she applies a tourniquet to my arm that seems excessively tight.

"We should probably numb his arm up before we take those out," Jason murmurs, offering her a syringe with Lidocaine, which she promptly rejects.

"Nope, no need. He can handle the pain. Can't you Ronan?" she sneers, as she uses the forceps to pluck the first piece of glass out of my arm, causing me to clench my teeth to keep from moaning.

"For God sakes leave him alone!" Elizabeth defends me, attempting to push Alisha's hand away from my arm.

"Elizabeth, stay out of this!" Alisha warns, barely glancing up from her mini surgical procedure, as she pulls several more fragments of glass from my arm.

"Give him a break Alisha. You have no idea what he's going through," Brandon says quietly.

I am lying on the couch with my arm extended over the coffee table and the makeshift sheets draping my arm are saturated with blood. Everyone is gathered around watching Alisha, like a bunch of pre-med students observing in the operating room. Alisha's face softens slightly at Brandon's remark, and her eyes unexpectedly swell with tears, catching everyone off guard.

"Well Brandon, that's where you're wrong. I do know what he's going through. That's the problem." She pauses for a moment, before sighing deeply. "You guys don't get it do you?" she says quietly, shaking her head. Setting down the instruments, she releases the tourniquet, causing the blood to ooze from my arm once again. She closes her eyes and rests her head in her hands for a moment before glancing around the room at the others.

"Our brains are not only coordinated to communicate together but also to function together. We are starting to take on each other's habits, thoughts, and emotions. Even I can't resist the changes" she says, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

_What the hell is she talking about now?_ I think, wondering if it's just the effects of the medication given to me, or if the others are as befuddled as me.

Sensing the need to explain, she continues without prompting. Looking directly at me, she says,

"Ronan, if you would have jumped in the water, I would have jumped in after you. And the others would have followed. Not because we are all suicidal like you, but because we were experiencing the same level of emotional pain as you. We are converging emotionally with each other. Am I right, guys?" she asks, looking around the room.

"Yep, pretty much" Burke admits, without hesitation, and the others echo the affirmation.

"I hate to say this, but I think we are coalescing and becoming of a single mind. The one with the strongest emotion, whether it's love, hate, grief or whatever, will evoke a similar response from the rest of us and sucks us in like a magnet," she finishes softly, picking up her instruments to resume the tedious task of removing the glass from my arm.

"Please don't say that," I moan in agony, forgetting about my arm altogether. The thought of them, especially Claire, plunging in the river after me adds a new dimension to my grief. It seems I wouldn't get the easy out I was hoping for after all.

***

The minute I open my eyes, Elizabeth slips her hand in mine and anxiously leans toward me. "How are you doing, Ronan?" she whispers. Her bright blue eyes are puffy and red and the balled up wet Kleenex in her hand is confirmation that she has been crying.

"I wish I could ease your pain Ronan," she gushes, fighting back fresh tears.

"Liz, I don't know if I can go through life without her. I wish I could reassure all of you that I will be okay someday, but I don't think I will be," I reply, choking up too.

"We'll help you Ronan. We will help you get through this. I promise. Please don't ever try to kill yourself again. It would kill all of us, but especially Claire. Promise me Ronan. Promise me you won't do anything to hurt yourself," she says with urgency.

With effort, I will myself to say the words she wants to hear, not certain at all that I can keep such a promise. After all, the river incident wasn't planned. It just sort of happened as a means to end the pain.

"What time is it, Liz?"

"You've been asleep for about ten hours. Jason gave you extra medication this time."

"Where is everyone?" I ask looking around at the now empty great room.

"Claire is outside with Midnight Star. Brandon and Burke went to the cottage to get some rest and I think the others are in the kitchen getting dinner put together.

"They trusted you to watch me alone?" I ask wryly.

"Yeah, we have this mental thing going for us, you know," she says tapping her head with her fingers and smiling sadly. "I know you probably don't feel up to eating, but you should, she says, getting up and motioning me to join her in the kitchen.

When I don't readily follow her, she turns and says, "I am under strict orders to not leave you alone. Please try not to get me fired on my first shift."

"Yeah, well unless you plan on following me in to the bathroom, you're going to have to give me some privacy," I respond, leaving her standing there looking slightly embarrassed and uncertain.

***

I take my time in the shower letting the hot water loosen my stiff muscles and joints. I really couldn't say how long it has been since I last showered, but judging by the smell and beginnings of a mustache and beard, it had to be at least three days. With the exception of a few scattered red marks on my inner arm, the wounds are all but healed, compliments of Claire. I wasn't looking forward to facing a day without the help of the sedative drugs being administered by Jason, but he'd cautioned me that I would have to wean off of them and face the pain sooner or later. I liked the way they dulled my senses, just enough so that I didn't see, hear and smell Cat everywhere I went. If anyone could come close to understanding my pain, I suppose it would be Jason. It had just been a little over three years since he lost his wife and son in an automobile accident and he says that he is only now beginning to consider the possibility of a future without them. He says that given enough time, I too may learn to love again and doesn't deny it when I ask him if he has feelings for Alisha. It would serve no purpose telling him that my love for Cat exceeds the boundaries of normal human love, and I would never expect a love like that to come around a second time.

Staring hard at my reflection, I struggle with the stupid, meaningless decision of whether or not I should shave my beard and mustache. Such a ridiculous thing to waste time pondering over and yet here I am fifteen minutes later, trying to decide. Cat loved it when I was clean shaven, so I was in the habit of doing it just for her. Now that she wasn't here to brush her hand across my cheek, like she so often did in the morning, it seemed like a pointless thing to maintain. Nonetheless, I slowly bring the electric shaver to my face and in a circular motion, deliberately run it over the right side of my face, watching as the hair disappears. When I'm done with the right side, I take a step back and compare it to the left. I never saw it before, but Cat used to say that a beard and mustache made me look mean. She was right. The contrast between the two sides of my face reminds me of my life now. The right side is a reflection of my life with Cat, bright, free and full of joy. The left represents the dark, forbidding shadow that looms over me now. I consider leaving my face this way, as an outward reminder of whom I was and who I am now, and wonder how the others would react to such bizarre behavior. _It could buy me another dose of sedatives if they thought I was on the verge of losing it again_ , I think, but reconsider when I picture having someone follow me around twenty-four hours a day.

***

Had I known that Marti Campbell was sitting in the kitchen with the others, I would have avoided going downstairs all together. Never once, have I considered hurting a woman, even Alisha, until now, and as I stand across the room, face-to-face with the woman who sent Cat flying alone, across country borders, I react unexpectedly and without forewarning.

"Why in the hell did you send her up there alone? She wasn't ready," I hiss through clenched teeth, closing the distance between us before she or anyone else has time to react. I could snap her neck with one hand and take her life as quickly as Cat's was taken from me. Instead, I grab her by the shoulders and lift her small frame off the ground, shaking her like a rag doll. "Why did you let her go without telling me? I am her husband!" I shout.

I can feel her tremble with fear beneath my grip and when her eyes fill with tears, I release her suddenly, watching her scramble to get away from me. Elizabeth quickly comes to my side and instead of being criticized by her and the others for my inexcusable behavior; she gently leads me into the other room, while the others console Marti. It only dawns on me later, that my strong emotional outburst was once again experienced by the others, explaining why they didn't readily intervene with Marti, and I bow my head in remorse.

***

Claire deals with her sadness and pain by focusing her attention on Midnight Star, the horse given to her on her sixth birthday. Michael says Midnight is a godsend and the others agree. It's the diversion that she needs to effectively cope with the loss of Cat and she spends every minute she can outside, riding and caring for him. Once in a while, other forest animals will join them in the meadow, but for the most part, she rejects our offers to keep her company. She eventually figured out how to mount and stay on Midnight wearing the slick ski pants and can tolerate being outside most of the day, in spite of the near freezing temperatures. She hasn't used a bridle or saddle once since bringing Midnight home, yet she safely rides him all over the place, using just her telepathy to communicate instructions to him. No one knows for sure what she is saying to him, or what he understands, but every once in a while, she'll break down crying and lie down on his back burying her head in his mane, calling out Cat's name. During these events, he stops whatever it is that he's doing and stands patiently still, waiting for her to finish and give him the signal that she's ready to move on.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RONAN

Claire sits on the kitchen counter, with her stuffed dog Hannah tucked under one arm and her arms folded across her chest. She refuses to make eye contact with me and her lower lip quivers as she bites it in an attempt to keep from crying.

"It's just for a little while, Claire. Please try to understand," I plead, desperately needing her approval.

"You promised Cat you would always take care of me," she says, as her eyes swell with tears.

"Claire, I have to learn to take care of myself before I can take care of you," I respond softly. "I'm a mess right now. I have to figure out how to live in a world without Cat, so that I can be a better brother and friend. You have the others here to take care of you. They love you just as much as I do. I'll be back before the snow melts, I promise."

In spite of her valiant efforts, she breaks down crying, softly at first, then more hysterically when I turn to leave.

"Please don't go, Ronan. Please don't leave us," she sobs, wrapping her arms tightly around my neck.

"Claire, please don't do this. Alisha, Liz, come take her," I say, pleading to them for help, as I try prying her arms from around my neck, prompting her to cling even tighter.

Neither of them budges, and Alisha just shakes her head sadly. Even Burke and Brandon, are connected to Claire's strong emotional response, and are helpless to come to my aid. Claire has the power to mentally block me from leaving the house and I almost expect the others to join her in a conspiracy to stop me now. Jason eventually walks over and provides assistance with Claire. He's had years of practice extracting terrified kids from their parents' arms and he skillfully comforts and reassures her, while gently separating her arms from around my neck. Eventually she lets go, and clings to him still whimpering as I walk out the door. It tears me up abandoning her when she needs me the most. I feel like a coward. A big, selfish, spineless coward.

It isn't until I've loaded my suitcase in the trunk and am about to get in the car, that the others stop me. Elizabeth is the first to hug me, and I can feel her shoulders shake as she softly cries. Michael gently pulls her away, shakes my hand and says, "We'll see you in a few days," mostly words to comfort Liz. Brandon pats me on the shoulder and Burke says, "Bro, are you sure you don't want some company?"

"I need some time alone," I reply and he nods his head knowingly.

Alisha stands off to the side with her arms folded across her chest. I know how much she hates displays of emotion, so I don't expect much more from her than a sermon on what, and what not to do. She catches me off guard when she unexpectedly wraps her arms around my neck and kisses my cheek. "I really do love you like a brother. Don't do anything stupid and if you're not back in two weeks, I'm coming to get you," she whispers, in my ear, before planting her fist in my arm in a display of affection. We stare at each other for a long time, before she abruptly turns and orders everyone into the house.

***

"The only way to be a hundred percent sure of who was flying the airplane is to wait for the DNA results," Bernie said before I left. She used her clout to dispatch military helicopters to the crash site, and told the others that almost everything of importance was recovered. Now she was working directly with the National Transportation Safety Board investigators to determine the cause of the accident. I want more than anything to cling to the faintest ray of hope that the victim of the airplane crash is someone other than Cat, even though the evidence overwhelmingly points to her. It's been three days now and there has been no sign of her anywhere. Brandon took it upon himself to do his own investigation and tells me the air traffic controller was ninety-nine percent sure that the person who radioed the tower from her airplane was a female. The NTSB confirms the aircraft N number was the one piloted by Cat. Yet, even as my brain accepts, that she is dead, in the stillness of my heart, something seems amiss and I can't quite figure out why.

The two undercover agents assigned to protect her that day claimed that by the time they figured out she was doing a solo flight and hired a pilot to fly them to Great Falls, she was already gone.

***

Surprisingly, Bernie Stoddard was the one who suggested that I get some time away, and then strongly defended my decision against the protests of my housemates.

"Time and distance speeds the healing process," she says and of course, her support of me leaving immediately makes Elizabeth suspicious.

"And what happens if you need to deploy us for a mission while he's gone?" she challenges Bernie.

Bernie had been warning us for some time that our services would be needed in the very near future. Of course, she couldn't give us details to the highly classified operation, but did inform us that the CIA was monitoring suspicious foreign activity.

"Elizabeth, I would never send any of you out on a dangerous mission in the state of mind that he's in right now," Bernie calmly replies, making Elizabeth blush with embarrassment for even suggesting it.

Bernie has been hanging out at the Freeman Estates ever since being notified of Cat's death and didn't seem to be in any hurry to fly back home. She readily accepted the offer to use my bedroom in my absence and checked out of her hotel on the same day. To everyone except Elizabeth, she is considered as much a part of our Designer family as Michael and Jason.

***

I didn't set out with a plan to travel back to Montana; I just sort of ended up here. In fact, after leaving the Freemans' I had every intention of traveling overseas, but one of the pages in my passport had a tear in it, rendering it temporarily invalid. It was only because Bernie made a few phone calls that I was even allowed entry back in to the United States. Bernie reassured me that the replacement passport would be expedited and forwarded to anywhere I needed, so I could get back to Canada if needed.

I arrive in Great Falls by evening and aimlessly drive around, looking for a hotel. I'm not particularly tired yet, but I couldn't pass through the city without stopping. For me, it's the place where life began, the day I met Cataryn, and for that reason, it would be held as a place of nostalgia. Without any forethought, I end up in front of Tucker's house. It was only fair that I tell him in person, but I have to force myself to get out of the car. His mom answers the door and initially hesitates to allow me entrance into their house. It isn't until I mention that I'm Cat's husband that her eyes show signs of recognition and she calls for Tucker.

Their small house is heavily decorated with Christmas ornaments, giving it the look and feel of a little gift shop. I am instantly reminded of the unopened boxes of decorations stored at the Freeman estate. They were some of the few items Cat had shipped from the Hurley house. She said they were family heirlooms passed down from her mom and giggled when she admitted to inheriting the Christmas bug from her mom's side of the family. She already had huge plans to transform the Freeman house into a Christmas wonderland, and even purchased several ornaments while we were on our honeymoon. A wave of anxiety washes over me, as I have a sudden urge to connect with Alisha to make sure that Cat's wishes are honored and the house is properly decorated-for Claire's sake. But the thought is temporarily interrupted when Tucker enters the room.

"Hey Ronan, how are you buddy? What brings you guys to town?" he asks enthusiastically, looking around for Cat as he extends his hand out to shake mine.

When I don't respond, he takes a step back, searching my face for an explanation. "Are you sick Ronan? Man, you look terrible," he says, motioning for me to have a seat. When I still don't respond he figures out something isn't right, and glances around nervously.

"Ronan, where's Cat?"

I swallow hard, forcing the golf ball size lump down my throat and silently shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

He staggers backwards, and plops down in a chair, burying his head in his hands, moaning loudly.

"Oh God no! God no! Please tell me she's okay?"

I would give up my own life if I could truthfully say those words. "She's gone, Tucker."

"What happened?" he asks, shaking his head in disbelief as he starts to hyperventilate.

"Airplane crash."

"When?"

"A few days ago. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner," I reply numbly.

"God, why her?" he cries angrily, biting his knuckle as he rocks back and forth.

It's the same question, I've asked a thousand times in the past four days. Yes, why her? Why not one of the Brazier twins, or Officer Jones, a blue or gray as Claire would say?

"Such a tragedy. Such a nice, beautiful girl," Tucker's mom says, shaking her head sadly, as she attempts to console her son.

I watch the two of them for a few awkward minutes, then clear my throat, and politely excuse myself to leave. I have nothing to offer to ease his grief and there is nothing that can be said or done to ease mine. Tucker stops me at the door, his face now contorted with pain, replacing the smile that was there just minutes earlier. His eyes are moist with tears when he says, "I've never seen two people more in love than you. You made her really happy, Ronan."

"Thanks. As she did me," I reply and walk out the door. _I made her happy but failed to protect her. I should have been there to catch her when she jumped off the train of life. She would have hated it, but she'd be here now,_ I think to myself.

***

It takes effort to pull into the Holiday Inn Express on the edge of town and rent a room for the night. Part of me wants to keep moving or keep running which is what I'm really doing. The minute I am checked in to my hotel room, Claire connects a call with me and scolds me like an adult, for blocking her previous attempts. I can hear the hurt in her voice, and the reluctance to believe me, when I assure her I never got the connection. It's only when I change the subject and ask her about Midnight Star that her demeanor changes and she proceeds to give me a thirty minute report on how Brandon agreed to have a heated barn built for Midnight. _"And it will have a loft so I can have sleepovers with him once in awhile,"_ she says trying to sound excited. _Cat would never allow such a thing,_ I think to myself but refrain from telling her. She yawns but seems wary of letting me go and it's only after I promise to connect with her first thing in the morning that she agrees to go to sleep. Her last words to me are, _"I miss you Ronan."_

The first night in a hotel by myself, is one of the longest and loneliest nights of my entire life and I question whether or not my decision to leave was a good one. At least at the Freeman estate, there were distractions everywhere and someone was usually around to fill in the void when I couldn't stand the quiet any longer. Now, every time I close my eyes, Cat is there. Every sweet memory tucked away in my brain is seared into my consciousness, and my mind is flooded with images of her and me, starting with the motorcycle ride in Great Falls. The pain is so real, that I double over and moan in misery, burying my head in the pillow to stifle the sound. The empty hollow space in the center of my chest feels like it's slowly filling with a thick black sludge that makes it difficult to fully expand my lungs. Finally, in the early hours of dawn, I fall asleep and don't wake up, until housekeeping services knocks on the door, requesting permission to come in and clean.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RONAN

It's been one week to the day since Cat's death, and my despair is beyond comprehension. It's as if the sun in my world has been completely obliterated and every living cell in my body is slowly dying. Most days, I drive aimlessly along the deserted highways of Montana with no particular destiny in mind, stopping at roadside diners to eat and catch a few hours of sleep amongst the truckers. Other days, I rent a hotel room and sleep up to ten hours, sporadically dreaming of Cat. My dreams of her are bittersweet. Sometimes they are so vivid, I feel as if she is lying right next to me and the warmth of her breath on my neck seems as real as the pounding of my heart. It's only when I wake up to find the cold empty space next to me that I curse at myself for falling asleep in the first place.

***

I figured out that moving vehicles not only pose a problem for remote traveling to other locations, but they also affect telepathic communication. Incoming mental calls from the others are limited but not entirely impossible. Claire seems to have the most success getting through, especially if I am traveling at speeds less than 50 mph. Her level of distress when she can't connect with me though is so pronounced that I've made it a habit to call her anytime I stop for a break. When the others find out they insist that I check in with them as well. Alisha's conversations are always about business and keeping me abreast of the current training progress. She makes it clear that she expects me home soon and informs me that I will need to complete a special training program to catch me up with the others. Elizabeth, Burke, and Brandon mostly complain about Alisha and her demands for eight to ten hour work days. None of them are very good at hiding the sadness in their voice, not even Alisha, and there are times when I feel so guilty for leaving, that I purposefully keep my conversations to less than five minutes.

***

There's a whole lot of nothing between Bozeman and Billings, Montana, so for lack of anything better to do, I practice mental multitasking exercises; remote traveling out of body, while concentrating on keeping the car from sliding off the icy road. It could be just my imagination but it seems that the more I practice, the further and longer I can remote travel from the vehicle. The small amount of progress is enough of an encouragement that I keep practicing for hours giving my mind and heart a reprieve from thinking about Cat. I pull behind or along side of unsuspecting travelers and remote travel in and out of their vehicles, listening to their conversations like a sick, spying, peeping tom.

A couple in the car in front of me amuses me with an argument over what is considered a safe driving speed for the current weather conditions, and in the car behind me a young mother tries to comfort a toddler who is throwing a temper tantrum in his car seat. It was only by chance that the speeding red Chevy pickup piqued my interest enough to entice me in a game of peek-a-boo into his vehicle. The driver, a male appearing to be in his thirties, at first appears to be traveling alone, but once inside the car, I quickly notice a small human form lying motionless on the back seat with a quilt covering it. My heart pounds in my chest as I consider the possibility that whoever the person is might be dead. I'm so intently focused on the occupants in the truck, that I fail to adequately balance my attention with driving my own car, and it isn't until it is halfway in the ditch that I return fully to body, using all of my enhanced reflexes to get it back on the road, and keep it from slamming into the 4-door sedan in front of me. I catch the driver of the red pickup smiling wickedly as he passes by, and my temper flares. This time when I remote travel to his vehicle, I take extra caution to keep most of my attention on driving.

"Stupid foreigners don't know how to drive worth shit," he mutters out loud, as he looks in his review mirror at my car. To my relief, the form beneath the blanket moves slightly in response, and I catch a glimpse of the pink sneaker of a child sticking out the end of the blanket. It's clear that this is more than a sleeping child in the back seat and my fears are confirmed when he threatens her to keep still, reaching for an object on the seat next to him, that I immediately recognize as a Taser gun. The anger within me explodes, causing me to swerve my car once again. I vividly recall the crippling pain caused when Officer Jones used one on me and to think that someone would use it on a small child, makes me sick to my stomach. If it weren't for the unrestrained child on his backseat, I would run him off the road and end his life right this second.

He turns on the radio and sings out of tune to the country song playing, then cusses when it is interrupted by three loud tones. When the tones are followed by an announcement for an Amber Alert, he smiles smugly and turns the volume up.

"You hear that honey, they already have the pigs out looking for you. The problem is they're looking for a blue Honda, not a red Chevy," he says, laughing cruelly. "They're never gonna find you little pet. You can count on that. They are never gonna find you. You're mine now."

My mind reels as I consider my next move. With less than a half of a tank of gas left, I would definitely have to make a stop in Billings. As luck would have it, he takes the exit to a small town just west of Billings and I follow, letting the 4-door sedan cut in front of me to avoid making him suspicious. When he pulls into a gas station right off the freeway, I drive past, parking my car three blocks away. It takes me less than two minutes to sprint back to the gas station and while he busies himself with putting gas in his truck I walk directly up to the clerk behind the counter of the mini store.

"I need you to call the police. The man in the red pickup abducted a child and she is in the back seat," I say calmly. The clerk looks at me like I'm crazy and doesn't budge, so I repeat the instructions, and command in a loud voice, "Do it now!" as I walk out the door towards the red pickup.

He is so overly confident in his ability to outsmart everyone else, that he doesn't display any signs of paranoia when I approach him.

It isn't until I bluntly say, "Sir, I was wondering if you have ever had the pleasure of having someone use a stun gun on you?" that the blood drains from his face and his lip turns up in a snarl as he sizes me up. I may not have Claire's color screening abilities, but standing next to this guy, I feel a certain vibration quality that intuitively I understand as gray.

"You freaking little punk, you better get your ass out of here or you're gonna be sorry," he sneers, showing off a row of missing top teeth.

My pulse quickens at his response and I feel a jolt of excitement course through my body, awakening my senses and prepping my body for action. When he reaches in his coat and pulls out the Taser gun, I am ready for him. In one swift motion, I knock it out of his hand before he even has a chance to point it at me. Grabbing his arm between my two hands, I snap his forearm like a twig, breaking both bones simultaneously. I'm sure his cries can be heard a mile away, as he crumples to the ground, and it isn't until I discharge the Taser in his chest that he is silenced, making barely audible gurgling sounds as he thrashes on the ground, frothing at the mouth. I wipe my fingerprints off the gun and toss it near his feet, then quickly walk away, easily scaling the eight foot wall behind the store. Sitting in my car, chewing on a stick of beef jerky I mentally hover over the scene, watching as first one cop car, then two, shows up, followed by a local camera crew. The little girl under the blanket had been bound and gagged. She was quickly identified as the girl that had been abducted from Bozeman, Montana and the man lying in the back of the cop car, positively identified as a known sex offender. It isn't until I hear the store clerk giving the officer my description that I start the car and quickly head for the freeway.

"What are you some highway crusader now?" Alisha asks, giving me a hard time in a nicer way than typical for her. She said my explosion of anger could be felt by all of them in Canada and she was glad it only lasted for a few minutes.

"You know the police are going to want to talk to you, Ronan," she warns. "How are you going to explain the injuries to that guy's arm?"

"Don't know Ali, why don't you think of something brilliant and get back to me. I have to go now," I say, and mentally block her just as she starts to raise her lecturing voice.

***

It wasn't my first choice to head south through Montana, but the recent snow storm dumped over four feet of snow, closing some of the smaller northern mountain passes. Having spent the last two nights sleeping in my car in below freezing temperatures, I was looking forward to having a warm hotel room to crash in tonight. With Christmas just around the corner, hotels are filling up quickly with holiday travelers, and I know my chances of booking a room are better if I do it now, so I pull into the parking lot of the first hotel I see, not giving myself a chance to be undecided in the matter.

After taking a long hot shower, I order room service and collapse on the bed fighting to keep my eyes open until the hotel staff arrives with my meal. It's not even four o'clock yet and the news stations are already carrying the story about Tom Porter, the child molester who abducted nine year old Kayla Munson. The bulk of the story is centered on Kayla's reunion with her family, and that Tom Porter is a suspected serial killer. Had my room service order been delivered a few minutes later, I might have missed the fifteen second segment involving me altogether. Unbeknownst to me, there were cameras out at the gas pump that recorded me with Tom Porter. Alisha was right, I would have a hard time explaining the video capturing me snapping Tom Porter's arm in half with just my bare hands, tasering him, then wiping my fingerprints off the weapon, not to mention my knowledge of Kayla in the backseat of his car.

After watching several more news clips showing the event from a few different angles, I am wide awake, restless, and can't resist the urge to get outside to stretch my legs. I do the best I can to modify my appearance: shaving the mustache and beard, and styling my hair to give me a tamer look. Thankfully, I had enough sense to wear sunglasses so at least my custom yellow eyes were camouflaged. All I can do is hope that people were more focused on the critical aspects of the story, and not on the part that involved me.

***

With nowhere to go or nothing else to do in downtown Billings, I enter a bar for the first time in my life. I am shocked by the dinginess of the place and wonder how people with normal eyesight see anything. There are less than a dozen patrons and most of them are sitting on barstools at the bar. Only a few seem to be engaged in any type of conversation. The rest are hunched over their drinks, staring absently at nothing in particular. I take a seat on a barstool near an older gentleman that I suspect is a lot younger than he looks. He doesn't even glance up when I sit down. The woman behind the bar appears to be in her early forties and she immediately perks up when she sees me.

"Hi, my name's Stella. Watcha gonna have?" she says, smacking on a piece of gum, as she slides a square napkin in front of me. She glances at the ring on my left hand and asks if I am waiting for someone else, then looks pleased when I reply, "Nope, just passing through." I couldn't be any less in the mood to engage in idle chatter or have a forty-year old woman hit on me, so I avoid looking at her and instead pretend to study the hundred or so bottles of liquor that line the wall behind her. As expected, she doesn't question my age or ask for ID, likely assuming like everyone else that I am well in my twenties.

I could count on one hand the number of times I observed my parents drinking alcohol, and having skipped out on the high school partying scene, I have no idea what someone my age would want, so I turn to the gentleman sitting next to me and say, "I've never had a drink in my life, what do you recommend?"

"I recommend you don't start," he says bluntly, without looking up.

"That's probably pretty good advice. I'll have whatever he's having and get one for him, too," I say, slapping a hundred dollar bill on the counter. I discovered a long time ago the effects money has on other people, so it doesn't surprise me at all when they both look at the bill on the counter with envy. "You better be careful flashing money around here, a kid like you makes an easy target, if you know what I mean," Stella cautions, glancing sideways at a group of rowdy looking biker dudes walking through the door. I smirk at her suggestion and make no effort to conceal the money lying on the counter. Being a victim of crime is the least of my concerns.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RONAN

I'm well aware of the effects alcohol can have on a person the morning after consuming it, so I only have myself to blame for not making different choices last night. I have a splitting headache and fight wave after wave of nausea until eventually I hang my head over the toilet and reacquaint myself with last night's dinner. I take solace in the fact that I received immunity from the tormenting grief that's been keeping me awake at night. It was more effective at dulling my senses than the sedatives given to me by Jason, and I now understand the meaning behind the detached behavior of most of the customers in the bar last night.

Instead of checking out of the hotel and heading north like originally planned, I pay for the next three nights and spend the rest of the morning lying in bed, intermittently watching the developing story of Tom Porter and Kayla Munson, giving my body a chance to recover from the poisonous effects of the alcohol. Every time they show the clip of me, I become more irritated. Now they even have experts analyzing my actions to determine if it is possible for someone to exert enough force to snap the bones of a grown man in half, using just bare hands. "It is if you have gorilla DNA in you," I growl at the reporter, before flipping off the TV in a gesture that's meant to somehow offend her. Less than a minute later Alisha calls me on our mental radio.

"Ronan, I need to talk to you. Answer me please," she begs after her more demanding, threatening calls go unanswered.

"All right Ali, what is it?" I sigh.

"How are you?" she says gingerly, taking me by complete surprise.

"In what way?" I ask cautiously, not quite certain how to interpret her concern.

Ignoring my question she says, "Bernie is working on getting the media to pull the segment of you from the Munson story. She isn't too happy about your face being exposed on every major network, especially with the focus being on supernatural abilities. Maybe you should think about coming home and lying low for a while."

There is a long pause of silence as I consider how to tell her that I wasn't sure I could ever go back to the Freeman house.

"Claire says that all she wants for Christmas is to have you back home," Ali quickly adds, as if anticipating such a response.

I didn't think I could endure the pain of spending Christmas there without Cat, and secretly felt Claire would be better off if I just stayed away. But saying so would likely lead to an argument, so I simply reply, "We'll see."

Alisha doesn't pursue it any further, and instead proceeds to tell me about how they found the perfect Christmas tree and decorated it with the McCullough's family ornaments as I had requested.

***

Hovering over a deserted unplowed street, I search for any sign of human life. There are rows and rows of dilapidated houses, condos and apartment buildings lining the dozen or so streets that make up the small town. I have no idea where I am or why I felt compelled to remote travel to such an eerie place, but nonetheless, here I am in what appears to be an abandoned ghost town, drifting up and down the streets like a ghost myself. It's difficult to remote travel to a place I've never been before and view it with much clarity, but everything from the chipped paint on the siding of the houses to the letters painted above a boarded up business, is visible to me. Even the deer tracks in the snow capture my attention. There is something about this place that makes me feel uneasy, and I try to redirect my attention to travel somewhere less depressing, but for some reason, I can't leave. I am eventually rewarded for sticking around when I find an unexpected light on in a house at the very end of one of the abandoned streets. It's not as if I have a specific need to find a person, but I feel relieved to think that I might.

The house is small and every window is covered with drawn shades or blinds. It backs up to a twelve foot chain-link fence that has signs strictly warning against trespassing and threatens surveillance security. I want desperately to go inside the house to see what type of person would homestead in such a desolate place, but my mind can't pass through the walls and I am left lurking outside going from window to window to try and get a glimpse of the inside. Although the driveway had been recently plowed, there are no shoe prints in the snow around the property.

Beyond the chain-link fence are large buildings that are similar to the ones I saw while hanging out at the airport with Cat—airport hangars. It is while suspended over this abandoned airport that I first hear her voice.

"Ronan, I need you."

Although it's faint, barely even a whisper in my mind. I can tell right away that it's Cat, and the hole in my heart expands.

"I'm here Cat. I will always be here," I say hoarsely. I know she's just in my imagination, but I am helpless not to answer.

"Keep looking for me, I'm not gone," her voice fades so that even I have to strain to catch the last words.

"Tell me where, Cat. Tell me where to look." I cry, floating around the buildings, searching as if there's a possibility that she might be here. "TELL ME WHERE!" I scream at the cold, empty night. The gentle _hoo hoo_ , of an owl is the only response I get.

My heart is beating so fast, that I struggle to catch my breath. I want so badly to be with her that I welcome the onset of chest pain, encouraging God to cease the beating of my heart once and for all.

***

Initially I don't recognize the plain furnishings of the hotel room, and the blackout curtains leave me guessing the time of day. I wake up drenched in sweat from head to foot, shivering even though the temperature in the room is set at a comfortable 68 degrees. I am still gasping for air, but much to my dismay the pain in my chest has subsided to a mere ache. The dream seems as real to me as any other remote travel experience, and yet I knew I had been asleep, because four hours had past, since I last connected with Alisha.

"Keep looking, I'm not gone...I'm not gone...I'm not gone." The echo of Cat's voice torments me repeatedly, and I first turn the shower water to scalding hot, then ice cold in an attempt to distract myself into thinking about something else. It's not quite dusk when I walk out of my hotel room, and I have to control the speed of my sprint as I dodge people and traffic, running towards the outskirts of town. I don't have a particular destination in mind. I just need to keep moving. The near freezing temperatures and icy roads don't keep me from running faster than most of the moving vehicles, and when I walk into the seedy Rainbow bar on the edge of town, there is frost clinging to my hair. Unlike the patrons of last night's establishment, these people seem interested and suspicious of me right away, as I walk up to the bar. Ignoring Stella's warning for a second time, I toss another hundred dollar bill on the counter and, like an experienced alcoholic, order the top line of tequila on the rocks and down it before the bartender returns with my change. Three drinks later, Cat's soft haunting voice, starts to fade and a feeling of warmth washes over me as the effects of the alcohol kick in.

***

Billiards expert Bobby Hickman didn't really know what he was getting himself into when he challenged me to a game of pool. Three drinks ago, I might have been able to recall which of the fifty-six strands of animal DNA were possibly responsible for my precise ability to execute a perfect shot each time. Even slight intoxication didn't dull the reflexes that governed these abilities. Apparently, Bobby hasn't lost a game of pool in five years, and it's a title that he has nothing better to do than to defend. Al, the bartender says Bobby and his brothers spend five nights a week practicing and warns me, "Losing a game of pool to you could have dangerous consequences. The Hickman boys are a rough crowd and you don't want to give them a reason to dislike you. Do you understand?"

I smile politely in response, and slap another hundred dollar bill down, ordering a round of drinks for the two dozen customers in the bar, which include my rivals.

The only similarities that the Hickman brothers share are beady eyes and a big gut. Other than that, they look nothing alike. Bobby is the tallest of the three and I still tower over him by a good six inches. What he lacks in height though, he makes up in musculature. His arms look like tree trunks—tree trunks with tattoos of naked women, references to white supremacy, and other unflattering things covering them. The fact that he is capable of using a cue stick with such a gentle, delicate touch is unexpected. When he bends over the pool table, the veins bulge on the top of his bald scalp and he has a habit of poking his tongue into the side of his cheek as he concentrates on a play. His brothers stand off to the side analyzing his every move and after every play, they huddle together discussing speed, angles, and spin of the ball. They are ignorant to the fact that I can hear their whispers in spite of the noise in the bar, and I benefit from their analysis as much as my opponent.

I can feel the Hickmans' mood darken with each play I make. When I call a complex combination shot, "13 into the 6, into the 11, and into the corner," then make it, Bobby hisses and cusses under his breath. The fact that I am the only real competition Bobby has had in years draws an audience and when they start making bets on the outcome, the owner, Al, becomes increasingly nervous.

Unlike Bobby, whose life is completely wrapped up in the outcome of this billiards game, for me it's merely an effective distraction and for this reason alone, I consider letting him win. Cat would consider it a noble act even though she had a competitive side to her. Aside from the enjoyment I was getting out of provoking the temper in the three of them, there was no real benefit to me in winning. I was starting to get a buzz from the effects of the alcohol anyway, and figured I had enough in me to ward off the loneliness and pain long enough to give me a few hours of sleep. My decision to let him win is finalized when the three women glued to my side start making bets of a different kind—a bet that involved me.

"10 into the 8, and into the left corner pocket," Bobby mutters while he positions himself for the shot.

Just as he pulls back on the cue stick, the loud crash of breaking glass shatters the silence and Bobby jerks just enough that the tip of his stick bumps the 10 ball moving it several inches, causing him to lose the game. The crowded room parts and all eyes are on the young waitress whose face turns several shades of red, for different reasons than Bobby's. She mumbles an apology and quickly kneels down to pick up the pieces of glass.

"You stupid bitch! How could you be such a klutz? Bobby shouts angrily, throwing the cue stick at her. Had she not leaned to the left, it would have struck her in the head.

Before I have a chance to warn him to keep his mouth shut, he turns on me. "What's wrong with your eyes, Wolf Boy?" he sneers, tilting his head back, howling. "Or maybe you've just been pissing out of..."

The words barely leave his lips before I have him in a headlock dragging him towards the door, his brothers trailing close behind, armed with cue sticks. I refrain from snapping his neck right on the spot, even though it would save me the trouble of dealing with all three of them. "Call an ambulance," I holler over my shoulder to Al, as he shakes his head and mutters, "Stupid kid," anticipating that it's me who will be carried away in it.

Bobby gets the first punch in, swinging around and catching me in the gut. I won't say it didn't get my attention, but when I bring his head down hard against my leg and hear his jaw crack, I'm almost certain he regrets it. He staggers into the arms of one of his brothers whose face turns red with anger, and comes at me swinging the cue stick like a fly swatter. I dive for his legs, launching him high in the air, and everyone's eyes turn skyward. He somersaults and lands with a loud thump almost twenty feet away. The uttered word knife catches my attention and I instinctively whip around catching the blade across my forearm. I deliver such a powerful kick to this attacker that he wipes out a crowd of bystanders when he hits them. I'm sort of disappointed when it's all over in a matter of minutes.

I wondered if Bernie would be interested to know that I could still win a fighting match under the influence of alcohol. Granted, I'm sure my moves weren't quite as smooth and precise as during our fight at Area 51, but nonetheless, I feel good about my performance and three of my four assailants would likely be taken away by ambulance. I half expected to take on the whole bar, the way locals stick together, but there was only one other dumb enough to challenge me after the Hickman brothers went down, and that was only because he was armed with a knife, which he managed to use on me, inflicting a nice stab wound to my arm.

There is a hush over the room, when I walk back in to the bar and I distinctly hear a woman on the other side of the room, whisper to her companion, "He's the one they're looking for in the Porter case." I am already silently cussing myself out for being here tonight when Alisha screams, "Damn it Ronan, can't you stay out of trouble for one night!" causing me to wince.

With a little coaxing, I am able to convince Al to trade me a bar towel for a hundred dollar bill and I allow one of the sympathetic customers to secure it around my arm to stop the bleeding. Half drunk, with a stab wound to my arm, and already being dubbed, "Superman," by the three women clamoring even harder for my attention, I abort the idea of calling a cab and hightail it out the back door, just as the sound of sirens can be heard in the distance.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

RONAN

Most of the kids at Montgomery High School eased into their experimentation with drugs and alcohol over the course of a school year or more. I jumped right in head first, fully immersing myself into a seedy lifestyle that includes daily visits to the local bar, where not only Stella knows me by first name, but now so do most of the regulars. My drinking binge is the only effective means I have of sealing the vacuum in my heart that threatens to swallow me whole. Nothing else subdues the deep, crippling pain that overwhelms me every time a thought, image, or memory of Cat slips into my consciousness. I know that something deep inside me is slowly changing but I can't say for sure what it is. My telepathic communication with the others is becoming erratic, with static interruptions, like a bad cell phone connection. I have lost my ability to make any outgoing mental connections, and rely solely on the others' united energy to connect with me if we want to talk in our nonconventional way.

At just past noon on Christmas Eve, I am sitting in my familiar seat at the far end of the Best Western Bar. Stella doesn't bother asking for my order. She just brings a shot glass with a bottle of tequila and sets it down on the counter in front of me, picking up the $100 bill with an appreciative smile. She'll bring me my change, but already knows that it will be left as a tip for her when I leave. In exchange, she keeps other patrons from pestering me, expertly intervening when I am approached by interested females looking for a hook-up and squelching any gossip about my superhuman strength that has made its way around the bar circuit. Stella has no idea that from where I sit, I can hear her conversations at the other end of the bar, and know about her struggles to support her three young children on a single mother's salary. She tells the people at the bar that my tips have allowed her to give her kids the "first real Christmas they've ever had." I wonder if God would find this deed redeeming enough to forgive me for some of my recent actions. I hoped so, there wasn't much else I could feel good about right now. The Best Western bar was the type of establishment that drew the same people day after day. Stella says, "Some people have been coming here for years." It's not a crowd of high energy partying twenty-one year olds, out to have a good time. The middle-aged and older occupants in here are like me, escaping some aspect of their lives that seem impossible to face.

My stomach tightens at the thought of tomorrow morning. One of my last conversations with Claire, two days ago, was over me being home for Christmas. She begged me to come back and when I told her no, she cried and called me some well-deserved names. I am profoundly ashamed at my cowardly, spineless behavior, but feel helpless to change my course right now. So I slowly sip the smooth liquor, waiting for the stupor to settle over me, so that when I return to my hotel room, it won't seem so cold and lonely, the empty, meaninglessness of my life, not so obvious.

***

I am a third of the way into the bottle of tequila and half asleep, not fully paying attention to the activities in the now somewhat crowded bar, when the ever so faint sound of Cat's voice pushes through the murky barriers of my brain. There's a protective part of me that wants to immediately block her and another part of me that desperately fights to hear more of her.

"Ronan, I'm here. You have to find me."

Her voice sounds pleading and urgent and an unintentional sob escapes my throat, drawing curious looks from the people a few stools down from me. I close my eyes and try to coordinate my thoughts enough to respond. Ever since the dream, her voice has been finding its way to me regardless of whether or not I am asleep or awake. The message is always the same, "I'm not gone. Come find me," and I always answer with, "Tell me where." Logically, I know it's my mind playing cruel, punishing, tricks on me, but even now I whisper out loud, over and over again, "Tell me where. Tell me where. Tell me where."

***

I can't see the front door from where I am sitting, but I can tell by the pause in the noise level at the Best Western bar, that whoever just walked in is unrecognizable to Stella or the rest of the regulars sitting at the bar. I am able to determine about how many are in their group and an approximate age level based on the sound of their footsteps alone. Older people walk slower and shuffle their feet. The three newcomers making their way to the back of the bar walk briskly and purposefully. They are likely making a beeline for the restroom in the back, which will annoy the hell out of Stella if they don't stay for a drink. Of course, if I really wanted to know without looking up, I could just remote view, but I rarely bother doing this anymore. It takes too much mental effort when I am under the influence of alcohol.

"Ahem," the female behind me clears her throat in an attempt to get my attention. I just continue to stare down at my glass and wait for Stella to intervene.

"The party's over cowboy. Get your things we're taking you home," Alisha says in her no nonsense way.

I whip around to find Alisha, Burke, Brandon, and Claire standing there with their arms stubbornly folded across their chest. I stare at them speechless, a mixture of emotions stirring inside of me.

Alisha doesn't waste any time getting right to the point. "Ronan, you can cooperate and come with us, or we will carry your ass out of here—the choice is yours." Nobody's smiling when she says this. She rakes me over with her intense blue eyes, before crinkling her nose in disgust. "Ew, you smell as bad as you look. When's the last time you showered and shaved?" Before I have a chance to reply, she says impatiently, "Never mind, let's just get out of here," no doubt expecting me to jump right up.

Claire is studying me with such intensity that I squirm in my seat. In the few short weeks that I've been gone, she looks like she's grown a foot taller and her face has lost some of the childlike innocence. There is a mixture of wisdom and sadness in her eyes as she silently stares at me. Of course, the first thing I think is just how much she looks just like Cataryn, and my heart twists in a tight knot, making it difficult to breathe or talk.

I reach for the shot glass in front of me and Alisha places her hand on my arm. "You're done Ronan. Get your coat and let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere Ali. You wasted your time by coming here," I reply, hating that my speech is slurred.

This time it's Claire who responds. "That stuff is changing your color Ronan. You are barely even orange now."

Her words send a chill down my spine, but it doesn't stop me for reaching for the glass again. She mentally slides it to the left, out of my reach, and when I try to retrieve it, she tips it over, spilling tequila all over the counter.

"Claire, knock it off," I say quietly, unable to look her in the eye. Stella hurries over to wipe up the mess, glancing first at me, then at them. Being a bartender for almost twenty years, I'm sure she's gotten pretty good at reading people and situations, but I can see it in her eyes that she has no idea what to make of us.

"It's killing your energy," Claire half sobs after Stella walks away. When I don't acknowledge her, she boldly climbs up in my lap and twists my head around, demanding that I look in her eyes.

"Ronan, you can't do this. It's turning you dark," she says more urgently, her eyes filling with tears. She looks around the bar and continues, "All of these people are dark. You're turning into one of them. This stuff is poisonous and it steals energy from people."

"She's right, Ronan. We've been trying to connect with you the past few days and we can't get through. You are no longer vibrating on our frequency," Burke says, patting my shoulder sympathetically.

Ignoring all of their warnings, I reach for the bottle of tequila to pour myself another shot.

This time the bottle of tequila is launched through the air like a torpedo, directed at the counter behind the bar, hitting the bottles lined up and knocking three or four over like bowling pins. Stella immediately bustles towards us, her face flashing with anger, assuming it was intentional. "Not in my bar. You guys take it outside now," she hollers. She no sooner reaches us, when the loud crash at the other end of the bar distracts her and one bottle after another starts toppling over in a domino effect. An elderly lady at the other end of the bar yells, "Earthquake," and some people start to run for the door, while others try to climb under the tables. Brandon chuckles at an elderly lady who has the upper half of her body lodged under the table while the lower half is sticking high in the air, obstructing the path of customers trying to get to the door. Alisha gives him a warning look.

"Damn it Claire, stop!" I hiss, grabbing her by the shoulders, in a more aggressive way than intended. The action causes Burke to protectively move to her side and place his hand on my arm, giving me a non-verbal warning. More bottles crash from behind the counter as a frantic Stella desperately tries to secure them. There is a state of panic and chaos in the bar, as people's drinks spill in their laps and finally I give up. Cussing, I grab my coat, and stagger my way through the crowd towards the front door, the others trailing close behind. No sooner are we out the front door when the sound of shattering glass subsides.

***

No one says a word when I fill one barf bag after another with vomit, on the plane ride home to Canada. I argued to stay one more night in Billings, giving time for the alcohol to wear off, but they refused and more a less loaded me into Brandon's airplane against my will. The combination of being drunk, not eating, and getting tossed around in Brandon's airplane, has my insides protesting violently. Normally someone would take the co-pilot seat next to Brandon, but tonight the three of them sit in the back with me, Claire by my side, and Burke and Alisha sitting across from us. They watch me silently, and I can tell by the way their eyes flash between each other that they are engaged in their own mental conversation, which no matter how hard I try, I'm unable to join in.

"Are you purposefully blocking me from the conversation?" I challenge.

Alisha and Burke shake their head "no" and deep down inside, I know that they are telling the truth. The reality that I may have done permanent damage with the alcohol hits me hard, and for the first time since taking the initial sip, I regret my actions.

***

Two hours into the plane ride, I can't decide if Claire has forgiven me, or if she's just tired of watching me puke, but finally, after what seems like an eternity of miserable retching, she slips her hand in mine and closes her eyes shut, inhaling deeply. Immediately I feel a surge of warmth throughout my body and the queasiness begins to subside. A few minutes later, the vice like pain around my head starts to ease and I am able to open my eyes for the first time since taking off. I squeeze her hand as a way of saying thank you, and see a faint smile play at the corner of her mouth. Instead of releasing my hand, she cups both her hands around mine, resting it in her lap, and closes her eyes. A couple of seconds go by before I close mine too, and fall sound asleep.

***

This time I know directly where to go and float right over the abandoned row of dark houses, heading directly for the one at the end, near the airport. The scene is virtually unchanged since the last time I remote traveled to the small ghost town, with the exception of the small Toyota pickup in the driveway of the only house with a potential occupant. There are no tire tracks in the snow indicating the coming and going of the vehicle and there doesn't appear to be fresh snow on the ground explaining the reason for this. Just like before, the inside to the house is concealed with heavy window coverings and all attempts to remote travel inside the house are in vain. A faint glow of light is barely noticeable and it is the only indicator that someone might be occupying the residence. Something inside of me longs to get inside, but I can't be sure if it's just a nosey curiosity, or if there is some significance to the desire.

After what seems like a very long time, I give up my stakeout post of the house, and drift past the chain-link fence, floating over and around the airport hangars. Once again, everything is the same as when I was here last: three foot snow drifts against the hangar doors, deer tracks in the snow, and the hoot of a night owl declaring dominance over the area. It isn't until I am hovering right over the runway that I notice the exposed asphalt on one of the three runways, indicating that a snowplow had recently been used at the facility. Even in my dreamlike state, I am aware that something is amiss with the scene below me and I feel compelled to find out why. Like a detective, I skim the surface, looking for clues of recent use, and find not so much as tire tracks or exhaust stains in the snow bank flanking either side of the airstrip.

_"Ronan, if you can hear me, know that I love you. Keep looking."_ Her voice is as clear to me as if she was sitting on my lap, whispering in my ear, and the agony is bittersweet.

"Cat, are you here at the airport?"

Nothing but silence

_"Cat, are you near an abandoned town with an airport? Please tell me,"_ I beg her.

Once again, my pleas are met with silence and I silently curse at the cruel universe for using my pain to play tricks on me.

When I open my eyes, everyone but Brandon is staring at me. Claire still has my hand, neatly folded in her lap, and is gripping two of my fingers tightly. The expression on Alisha and Burke's face mirrors hers: a look of apprehension and anticipation.

"Ronan, were you remote traveling just now?" Alisha asks anxiously.

Her question catches me off guard and it takes a minute to formulate an answer. My mind is already jumping ahead wondering what they know that I don't.

"Um, I can't say for sure. It feels like I am remote traveling within a dream, if that makes sense."

"Can you describe the place?" Burke probes, leaning towards me as if my answer is of some extreme importance and he doesn't want to miss any part of it.

"Well, it's an abandoned town with an airport," I simply say, unsure of how much detail he's really looking for and not wanting Cat's name to come up in the discussion. They immediately look at Claire, and she gives a slight nod of her head. This time they try not to be so obvious when they jump into their mental chat room and I close my eyes, choosing to ignore them rather than being annoyed.

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CAT

My first cross country solo flight couldn't have started out more perfect. Blue skies were predicted all the way to Montana at least for the next 24 hours. I would be home long before the storm from the southeast moved its way across the Rockies. Marti Campbell believed I was ready for this moment, and I believed it too. By the time I was flying over the Canadian border, I was at complete ease behind the controls of the Cessna 172, in spite of the slight headwind that would set me behind schedule by about forty minutes. I was looking forward to landing in Great Falls, Montana, the little town where my life changed dramatically the day I met my husband. I contemplated making a surprise call to Tucker knowing he would kill me if he found out I was here and didn't. But an image of Marti's disapproving face causes me to reconsider asking him to meet me for lunch. She discouraged any sort of distraction while flying as a student pilot, and somehow I knew she would find out if Tucker were to show up at the airport. It seemed like she knew just about everyone that worked the small airports in the Western United States.

My experience with people in the general aviation circuit is that they are exceptionally nice and helpful, especially to female pilots flying alone. So I don't think much about it when the pilot of the Citation CJ4 jet comes to my aid to help me get my airplane tied down, in the 20 mph winds. He landed right after me, and I couldn't help but admire his near perfect steady landing, in spite of the crosswind which picked my plane up three different times, causing me to bounce down the runway before keeping it steadily on the ground. Airport staff waits on stand-by to secure his airplane, a common perk for the wealthy.

"That wasn't a half bad landing," he says with a pleasant British accent, and a broad, friendly smile.

"You saw my landing?" I cringe, wondering if he knows Marti Campbell.

"Yeah, I thought you did great. It's not easy keeping these little guys on the ground when you have a crosswind like this."

He looks to be less than ten years older than me, maybe late twenties and I can't help but wonder if he is the owner of the multimillion dollar jet, or just a commercial pilot flying it for someone. He answers my unspoken question as if reading my mind.

"I started out flying a little Cessna 172 just like this when I was about your age. It's a great little plane. I rarely fly it anymore, now that I own that thing. You get used to flying across the United States in a few hours and you find it hard to get anywhere in a little Cessna."

"No doubt," I mumble, glancing enviously over at the jet.

"By the way, my name is Zane Harrington. I would be happy to show you the cockpit after lunch if you are interested," he says casually. He looks like a British model: tall, muscular, strong angled jaw and a perfect smile. There is nothing about him that concerns me, but I feel compelled to remove the glove on my left hand, just to let him know upfront that I am a married woman. _An extremely happily married woman_ , I think to myself as I shake his hand and introduce myself as Cat Callahan, eagerly accepting his invitation to tour his private jet.

***

The grilled cheese sandwich from the airport café isn't half bad for airport food. I wasn't extremely hungry and wanted to save my appetite for my husband's gourmet dinner tonight. I heard Alisha and Elizabeth talk about taking Claire in to town to do some Christmas shopping and, being a Friday night, Burke and Brandon were sure to have their own plans. The odds were looking pretty good that I might have a quiet romantic evening with Ronan, and just the thought makes me in a hurry to get back.

It's while sitting in the cafeteria that I catch sight of Zane interacting with airport staff, and I am stunned by the difference in his demeanor. His jaw is set and he is glowering at one of the workers who seems to cower under Zane's chagrin. The boyish grin that made him seem harmless to me earlier is swapped with a look of scorn, and now he looks menacing. I quickly look down when he glances in my direction, and for whatever reason my heart rate quickens. I am relieved when the airport manager leads him away to a private lounge in the back. I quickly finish my sandwich, and pack up my flight bag, suddenly anxious to get home.

***

_So much for touring the big, bad ass jet,_ I think to myself as I pre-flight my own airplane, running my hand over the wing of the Cessna. I was sure the multimillionaire had all but forgotten the offer and I wasn't too disappointed. A check of the weather revealed that the storm to the east was moving in faster than anticipated, and although I still had plenty of time I wanted to be well ahead of it, just in case. Besides, by the look of his mood in the café I was sure he wasn't going to be up for a show-n-tell tour, especially if somehow his plane got damaged by the airport staff.

"I'll be offended if you leave without giving me the chance to show off Nellie," a softly spoken voice says behind me, making me jump.

"Show off who?" I ask, turning to find Zane leaning against my plane, arms folded across his chest, watching me curiously. He breaks out in a wide grin that leaves me questioning if I had somehow misunderstood the whole situation in the airport.

"Her name is Nellie," he says, nodding in the direction of his airplane.

"You named your airplane?"

"You didn't?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in a judgmental fashion.

"No. Well actually, it's not mine and it would be presumptuous to name someone else's," I say.

His hearty laughter makes me giggle.

"Come on. It will only take a minute," he says, taking the clipboard out of my hand and tossing it through the open window on the passenger's seat.

As I walk with him to the jet, I have dismissed the whole incident with the worker, and feel completely at ease climbing up the steps leading to the interior cabin. After all, how dangerous could a guy be who names his airplane "Nellie"? The older gentleman with the British accent waiting in the aircraft doesn't cause me alarm either. He is dressed in a three-piece suit and is holding a tea cup in one hand. _Probably his dad,_ I think to myself, waiting for Zane to introduce us. The first wave of panic comes only when he speaks.

"Hello, Miss McCullough, we've been waiting for you," he says, nodding to Zane who is standing directly behind me, blocking the entrance to the stairs that are already retracting up. The pungent smell of the cloth being held over my nose is the last thing I remember about Nellie.

***

The first thought I have when I open my eyes is whether or not I missed the gourmet meal promised by my husband. After one look around the room, I have a gut wrenching moment of sheer terror, when I realize I missed a whole lot more than that. The room is dimly lit with a single lamp on a nightstand next to the bed. I recognize nothing about my surroundings, except for my neatly folded jeans and shirt lying on the arm of a shabby club chair. I slowly peel away the covers and look down at the long white cotton gown, and know immediately it's not something Ronan would give me to wear. My head feels heavy and foggy and when I swing my legs over the side of the bed, they feel like lead. I recognize the residual effects of strong sedatives from when I was hospitalized after my ski accident. I know enough not to make sudden position changes, so I sit on the edge of the bed trying to figure out where I am and how I got here. I remember leaving Canada and the flight to Great Falls. I remember eating a grilled cheese sandwich and French fries, but after that, my mind is completely blank. _Maybe I crashed and am in a hospital,_ I think, feeling somewhat hopeful. I take a chance and try to stand up, immediately sitting back down when the room starts to spin. A few attempts later, I have successfully and triumphantly made it to the door without falling. My relief is short lived when I turn the handle and find that it's locked. I begin banging on the door, screaming at the top of my lungs, unable to control the rising panic.

By the time someone opens the door to the room, I am collapsed on the floor, crying uncontrollably in a complete fit of hysteria. Coming immediately to my aid is a girl who can't be much older than me.

"I am so sorry, I just went to get fresh linens, I thought you would be sleeping much longer," she apologizes profusely. Her eyes are full of concern and possibly even fear as she attempts to help me back to the bed.

"Who are you, and where am I?" I demand between hiccups.

"My name is Sophia and I am your attendant while you are here," she says lowering her eyes in a subservient gesture.

"Where's here?" I ask more boldly, using the cotton gown to wipe my nose and eyes on.

"I am not allowed to say," she replies softly.

I shove her aside. "Fine, I'll find out myself," I say heading for the door. She doesn't try to stop me and I wander into a hallway with a door directly across from me and two more a few feet to the right. One of the doors has an illuminated exit sign above it and I immediately head straight for it.

"Locked," she confirms as I wiggle the door knob.

Without saying a word, I try the door next to it and it easily swings open to another bedroom. Unlike my room, which is sparse and tidy, this room is clearly occupied.

"My room. I know it's a mess," she says apologetically.

I ignore her, and precede to the last door, which opens to a small bathroom. She allows me to freely explore the rest of the space which ends up being nothing more than a small living room/kitchen combo at the end of the hallway. When I pull back the heavy drapes in the living room, and discover an outdoor mural scene behind it, I hear her chuckle. I run my hand along the painted walls which even the dingy lit lighting doesn't hide the fact that they are made of concrete, as are the ceiling and floor.

"Give me the key," I order, holding out my hand.

Her brown eyes meet mine and she slowly shakes her head.

"Cataryn, you can make this easy or hard. There is nowhere to escape and there are monitors everywhere. The last person that attacked an attendant, spent almost two weeks alone in the apartment and trust me, it gets very lonely down here."

"Are we underground?"

She nods and I feel sick to my stomach. There was no doubt in my mind that this was about the Designers. _Could Bernie be right? What if our parents were still..._

I stare at her long and hard, contemplating my next move. I was almost certain I could easily overpower her with my years of training in martial arts, but then what? For all I knew, I could be in a foreign country as far from civilization as possible. The urge to fight slowly dissipates as I consider the consequences of an unsuccessful escape. Something like a whimper escapes my throat as I turn and walk back into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.

***

The fact that I'm being held in a shielded underground bunker with restricted outdoor time leads me to believe that someone has knowledge of the Designers' ability to remote travel. I doubt that Claire and Ronan had the kind of skill to travel around the world to find me, but the fact that my captors thought they might, was sort of comforting. It offered me the slightest ray of hope that they might be able to track me down.

"I made you pancakes this morning," Sophia says timidly when I come out of the bedroom on the third day in captivity.

"Not hungry," I reply pushing the plate away as I plop down in the kitchen chair.

"You've barely eaten anything since you arrived," she says impatiently, pushing the plate back in front of me.

The truth is I am hungry, but my stomach is so twisted in knots that I'm convinced anything I put in it will come right back up.

"If you don't eat, Mr. Z is going to take away your outdoor time, Sophia threatens when I don't reply. The threat is enough to make me cave. My allotted twenty to thirty minutes of outdoor time was the only thing I looked forward to and she knew it. Reluctantly I take a first bite and when I don't immediately regurgitate it, I proceed to take another and another until eventually I've devoured everything on my plate.

***

The hardest part about being held hostage for me isn't the confinement itself, but rather the effect I know it's having on the people I love. For the most part, Mr. Z has provided me with the basic necessities to make the situation bearable, but I had no idea what was being said to Ronan and the other's about my disappearance. I could only imagine the pain he and Claire must be going through. Sometimes I miss them so much it makes my heart ache, and the closer we get to Christmas, the worse it gets.

"Sophia, please ask Mr. Z if I can at least talk to Ronan and Claire, just one phone call," I plead. She opens her mouth to say something, then changes her mind and shakes her head no, casting an uncertain look around the room. I draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around them, looking past her at the mock window with the outdoor landscaped mural.

"How long have you been married?" she finally asks glancing at the ring on my finger. Her question takes me by surprise. I have been here for over a week and she has avoided asking me anything personal.

"Since December 8th. How about you, are you married?" I ask.

"No, never been."

She sits on the floor in front of me and leans back against the chair. "So, why did you get married so young?"

I take a deep breath and smile. "Because I was one hundred percent, positively sure, that I belonged at his side forever. I love him from the depth of my soul and I know he feels the same way about me. Our ages seemed completely irrelevant to our circumstances."

It's the breakthrough that I'd been waiting for. I figure if I share some personal information about myself, she will do the same, but it doesn't quite work out that way. The only thing I learn about Sophia is that she is twenty-three years old, and has never been married. But she continues to ask plenty of questions about me. We spend the next two hours talking and I tell her about my family and the accident. She seems to be especially interested in Claire and I carefully craft my stories to purposefully leave out anything that might allude to her special abilities.

"Sophia, Claire is only six and she has already lost a brother and her parents. Can you imagine how scared she must be?" I whisper hoarsely.

"There is nothing that I have to offer you in the way of information or influence pertaining to your particular situation. I'm really sorry," she says with sincerity.

***

I want nothing more than to despise Sophia for participating in holding me hostage but it's nearly impossible. She's genuinely nice and at times seems truly sympathetic to my situation. I can't fathom what she would be doing mixed up with a person like Mr. Z. Either the money was really good or she was being forced into the situation. I liked to think it was the latter of the two, and that maybe she was as much a victim as me. Reading between the lines of the little bit of information she gives to me, I've started to put some of the pieces of the puzzle together. Although I have no recollection of anything after eating the grilled cheese sandwich and preparing for my flight home, I know I was taken from the Great Falls airport. I am being held in an underground bunker apartment that has an outdoor entrance and exits into a fenced yard behind what appears to be a vacant house. Where I am is cold and desolate. There are no sounds of cars, people, or even dogs barking—just complete silence.

***

The episodes of feeling "pins and needles" in my head began a day or two after being brought to this place and have gradually intensified. Even though it isn't particularly painful, it's almost impossible to carry on a conversation or task when it's happening, so I'm glad Sophia is content to relax in the sun. She is sitting on the outdoor bench resting her head against the back with her face turned up to the sky, her eyes closed, and earphones on. Occasionally her mouth moves, although I can't hear any sound coming from her. She's eased up on guarding me during our outdoor time. She seems satisfied that I've been adequately discouraged from trying to escape from an area under heavy surveillance. Today is the worst episode yet. It's the same sensation I get when my hand or foot has fallen asleep, only in this case, it's my head.

A thousand nerves fire erratically inside my skull and the result is a salad mixture of jumbled thoughts that I would never be able to string together to form a coherent sentence. The sensation makes me feel weak and dizzy, and I prop myself against the fence waiting for the episode to pass. I glance down at my watch and it flashes a predictable 11:11. _It's just a coincidence,_ I silently console myself _,_ even though the frequency of seeing the number eleven every time I happen to glance at the clock goes beyond the realm of coincidence. It doesn't matter if I awaken in the middle of the night, or glance at the clock during the day it always seems to be eleven after the hour or eleven o'clock on the nose, especially with these episodes.

Even with the reassurance of the fence behind me, I still have the sensation that I am falling and I lower my body slowly to the ground. Within a few minutes, the sensation subsides and I inhale deeply, sighing with relief. The respite is short lived. It is while crouched against the fence, across the yard from Sophia, that I first hear the sound of a voice that belongs to that of a man.

"Cat, do not be afraid. If you can hear me, listen carefully. I am here to help you."

"Who's there?" I whisper out loud, looking over at Sophia who hasn't budged. The softly spoken words are that of an older gentleman, and for a split second, I think of my grandfather on my mother's side.

"Who's there?" I say again, only a little louder, glancing around the barren yard for signs of other human life.

"You must not be afraid, Cataryn. My name is Lawrence and I am here to help you. Your DNA has been activated and you will be experiencing tremendous changes in the next few days."

_This place is haunted with a ghost or spirit,_ is my first thought and my second thought is even more terrifying. _I'm going crazy. I'm losing my mind by being locked up. God, I've got to get out of here._

"Sophia. Sophia help me," I manage to croak, my mouth suddenly sticky and dry. I attempt to stand up and my knees buckle from underneath me.

"Sophia!" I cry louder trying to get her attention.

She remains oblivious to me and the hysteria begins to rise in my chest as I break out in a cold sweat. I crawl on my hands and knees through the slushy snow, inching my way towards her.

_"Cataryn, you are not going crazy. I am as real as Sophia,"_ the voice tries to calm me.

I scream and cover my ears.

"Get me out of here! Get me out of here!" The sobs come in waves, making my body convulse violently. I barely register Sophia helping me up and leading me down the stairs to the apartment.

***

"I'm okay, you can leave now," I say to Sophia for the third time. I can tell by the way she keeps making excuses to delay her departure that she is still hesitant to leave me alone. It's been two days since I had my complete psychiatric melt down which I've convinced her was just a terrible, debilitating migraine caused from being cooped up underground. I would never voluntarily admit that I was hearing voices in my head. She petitions Mr. Z to allow me extra outdoor time and he agrees. Today is the first day she's considered leaving me alone for her daily outing and I couldn't be sure if it was by choice or if it was by Mr. Z's orders. Either way, I didn't want to be alone. I was terrified of hearing the voice again and I fight the urge to run after her, like a toddler for a parent. When I hear the lock turn on the other side, I swallow hard and blink back tears.

***

The relief I feel when I hear the sound of the key turning in the lock is profound, but I paint a picture of indifference to Sophia's arrival and continue humming a melody, as I casually frost the carrot cake sitting on the counter. She walks in to the kitchen and sets two bags of groceries on the counter. When I don't immediately turn around, she clears her throat.

"What?" I ask, instantly becoming suspicious of her mischievous grin.

She walks over and grabs my hand, leading me to the kitchen chair. "Sit down and close your eyes," she orders.

I obey for about a second, then open them to watch her disappear down the hallway, her long dark braid swinging across her back as she practically dances to her bedroom. She peeks her head out of her doorway, and scolds me when she sees me looking.

"Cat, close your eyes and keep them closed," she says impatiently.

This time I wait until she gives me the okay and when I open them, she is standing in the living room with a large Christmas package, wrapped in bright colored cloth.

"Sophia, you didn't," I manage to choke out, feeling suddenly emotional.

"No, Cat. It's not from me. It's from Mr. Z," she says raising an eyebrow.

I suck in a deep breath. _God that guy gives me the creeps_.

"I don't want it. Take it back to him," I say coolly.

"I was the one who suggested the gift. Please just open it for me," she begs.

"If you wanted to petition for a gift on my behalf, why didn't you request a phone call for me?" I reply curtly.

She tilts her head to one side and begs me with her large brown eyes. "Pretend like it's from me if you have to," she whispers.

_Sigh._ "Fine, give it to me," I say grudgingly.

I have a pretty good idea of what it is, before I release the bow, letting the cloth fall away, but when I see it; I gasp. Right away, I recognize it as a Paul Reed Smith guitar, one of the most expensive guitars on the market and I am stunned speechless. It is gorgeous and I am almost afraid to touch it.

"But I hate him. Wh- Why would he give this to me?" I stammer.

"Because you said that you played and we've heard how you sing. I just thought it would make the holidays a little easier," she says shrugging her shoulders and plopping down on the floor with her legs crisscrossed in front of her.

"Well, let's hear how it sounds. Sing for me," she says.

I've never suffered from stage fright when it comes to performing music, but with the room being monitored by god only knows who, I suddenly feel self conscious. Picking up the guitar, I let my fingers slide gently over the strings, listening to the exquisite sound of the chords.

"What do you want to hear?"

"Artist picks," she says enthusiastically, settling back against the chair.

It takes me but a second to come up with my choice.

"This is a song I wrote for Ronan. It was going to be his Christmas gift," I say sadly.

I make it three quarters of the way through the song, before the tears begin rolling down my cheeks.

***

Sophia is as enthusiastic as me when it comes to music and we practice every Christmas song we can think of so that by the time Christmas Day rolls around, we are prepared to give a live concert. I don't admit it out loud, but the guitar was a god send in keeping my mind occupied.

We are sitting in the living room, sipping hot cocoa on Christmas Day, singing carols together when the vision comes to me. It is as clear in my mind as the objects in the room and it leaves me gasping for air. There is a sniper in the trees; outside of the Freeman estate. Bernie and the others are sitting in the great room. I see Ronan clear as day. He looks anxious, his jaw tense as he is talking to Bernie. The sniper raises the gun and aims for a target inside the house.

I stand up abruptly, dropping the guitar. "Sophia, I don't feel good. I need fresh air now! Please!" I sob, running for the exit door at the end of the hall.

"Cat, what's wrong?" she says anxiously, jumping to her feet as well.

"I need fresh air now!" I shout, banging on the door.

She pushes me aside to unlock the door and I scramble up the stairs, bursting through the outside door, and falling to my knees in the ice packed snow. _"GET DOWN NOW"_ I silently scream over and over again. When I hear the sound of gunshot, my entire lunch erupts from my stomach like a volcano.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

RONAN

With the help of the other Designers, Brandon makes a near perfect landing on the airstrip adjacent to his house. It would have been nearly impossible to stay on the icy runway without the outside influence of an unseen energy force. The Christmas lights on the exterior of the house, frame the entire roof line as well as the twenty some odd windows and the airport hangar is decorated to match. It's a beautiful sight from two thousand feet in the air, and even more spectacular from the ground. I glance at Alisha and she gives me a knowing smile. I had requested that the house be decorated in tribute to Cat, but the gang went above and beyond what I expected they would. I only hoped that Cat could see it from her place in heaven.

Elizabeth launches herself in my arms as soon as I enter the house. Only she would ignore the fact that I reek of alcohol and body odor, to make sure I feel genuinely welcomed home. Jason and Michael aren't so tolerant. After shaking my hand and murmuring something about being glad to have me home for Christmas, Michael points me in the direction of my newly assigned bedroom suite and suggests I take a shower before touching any of the furnishings.

***

The 8x10 wedding photo of Cat and me is the first thing I notice after tossing my bag on the bed and turning to the dresser for clean clothes. It's the one of us standing at the altar, facing each other. She is looking up at me, smiling; her face radiant and beautiful. I am instantly transported back in time as my mind releases the memory, allowing me to experience the moment just as I did that day. It seems like a lifetime ago since I experienced that kind of joy.

"I'm sorry Ronan. The others said it wasn't a good idea, but it just seems wrong to erase her memory completely," Elizabeth says softly, interrupting my flashback.

Sighing, I replace the frame on the dresser, angling the photo so that I can see it from the bed. "It's okay, Liz. I love it and I'm glad you took the initiative," I reply quietly, turning to face her. She is standing in the doorway regarding me in such a way that I can tell she has something more to say, but after a few awkward moments she mumbles, "I'm glad you're home Ronan," and walks away.

***

The absence of my beard and mustache accentuates the hollowness under my eyes and cheekbones, and even I concede that I look more like a prisoner of war, than a Designer.

Brandon says, "Well at least you don't look like a bum anymore."

Alisha laughs when she sees me and quips, "You're a rail, and I'm pretty sure I could kick your ass in any competition." She looks pleased when I promise to take her up on the challenge by the end of the week. Claire begs me to go swimming with her, and pouts when Jason tells her, "Not until I do a complete physical on him." She's not easily discouraged from monopolizing my attention though and grabs my hand, pulling me in to the great room to show off the mound of presents under the gigantic Christmas tree, the majority of which are addressed to her. Furniture had to be rearranged to accommodate the enormous Christmas tree, but the result is stunning. "Even with all of the McCullough's ornaments, more needed to be purchased to fill all of the branches," Alisha announces. Out of the hundreds of ornaments on the tree, my eyes pick out the one with a picture of Cat and me in a frame that says, _Our First Christmas._ Alisha murmurs, "Liz's idea," and walks away, while the rest of us stare at the tree with the pretense of admiring all of the other ornaments.

It is Jason, who spares me from further awkwardness when he announces to the group that he's stealing me for a few minutes to do a health assessment. I follow him to the recreational room on the fourth floor where part of it has been remodeled into a medical office exam room. It is furnished with all of the same type of equipment that was in the hospital exam room: cot, blood pressure cuff, IV pole and even a cardiac monitor. He motions for me to take a seat on the cot and begins his exam by looking in my eyes, ears and throat, before grabbing his stethoscope to listen to my heart and lungs. His brow furrows, and his face conveys concern when he palpates my liver.

"Your liver is enlarged Ronan. I better draw some labs today. How much and what kind of alcohol were you drinking?" he asks outright.

"Tequila, and enough to drown out her memory," is all I admit to. Is the damage permanent?"

"I'm not sure; in a human with normal DNA—probably not. But with your genetic makeup, there's no way to tell. Cheetahs, elephants and gorillas don't go on drinking binges," he adds smiling.

There is a soft knock on the door and Alisha enters before either of us has a chance to invite her in.

"How's he doing?" she asks, not waiting for an answer before reaching for the stethoscope around Jason's neck. "Take some deep breaths," she instructs, bending her dark head over me, as she listens intently. I am amazed at how easily she manages to morph, from being an annoying, bossy, big sister type, to a brilliant, professional physician whose clinical skills I trust completely.

"Will I recover my remote viewing and telepathic skills?" I ask the question weighing most heavily on my mind.

It's a question that no doubt, plagues her as well. After all, other than Claire, I am the only one to possess remote traveling capabilities, a key factor for any undercover mission.

"There are two different components that I believe those abilities come from Ronan; the synthetic DNA strands that were custom built by Dr. Kappel, and our vibrational energy which I believe is linked to those synthetic strands. According to Claire, your vibrational state decreased dramatically, so if I'm correct about it being linked to the DNA, then you may very well have caused permanent damage. Only time will tell."

"You still have alcohol in your blood stream, so let's wait until tomorrow before worrying too much. Why don't you try and get some sleep," Jason adds softly.

Alisha stops me as I turn around to leave. "Bernie is flying in tomorrow you know," she says, almost in a challenging tone. When I don't react, she looks disappointed and once again, I get the impression that she is holding back. If it weren't for the fact that I can barely keep my eyes open, I would drag it out of her, ending her dilemma once and for all.

***

All eyes are on me, when I enter the kitchen on Christmas morning. There is Christmas music playing on the stereo and Claire is seated at the kitchen counter, softly singing along, as she puts the final sprinkles on some homemade cupcakes. She immediately looks up and studies the energy field surrounding me. To everyone's relief, a faint smile plays at the corners of her mouth and she murmurs, "Almost yellow." She must see what I'm not quite feeling yet—the shroud of darkness threatening to engulf me is finally lifting.

In spite of the fact that Jason and Alisha refused to provide me with any sleeping tablets, I slept decent enough. They said it was time to purge my body of all impurities and Alisha made a point of declaring that I would be scheduled some training time today, regardless of the planned festivities. I don't say out loud that I would rather train all day, than participate in today's celebration, even though it's what I'm thinking.

"Don't even think of skipping out on opening presents—you've hurt Claire enough," Alisha warns, making me wonder if she's developed a gift for reading minds since I've been gone.

***

Much to my surprise, watching Claire open her Christmas presents has more of a therapeutic effect then I could ever have imagined. She displays the perfect balance of excitement and gratitude, rewarding each giver with a huge smile and spending just the right amount of time admiring the gift before moving on to open the next present. Just like Cat, she displays a natural etiquette in social situations that make her a magnet for further attention, and today all eyes are on her. With the help of Elizabeth, I was able to slip a last minute present under the tree which was nothing more than a handwritten note tucked in a colorfully wrapped box, promising her two hours of play time in the pool. I should have anticipated that she would choose it first, over all the other games and toys given to her, and when she comes skipping down the hall with her bathing suit on, the others bust up laughing.

***

Alisha, Brandon, and Burke join us in the pool, and Claire shows off some new tricks she's learned on the newly installed trapeze bar hanging from the ceiling beams over the pool. Having Brandon and Burke around, is like having personal Imagineers from Disney World, and the downstairs pool room is beginning to look like a theme park.

After being launched eight feet in the air by Burke, Claire grabs the swinging bar with precise timing and easily pulls herself up to a sitting position. Swinging high over the pool, she says, "Hey Ronan, watch this," and falls backwards, catching the bar under her knees, swinging like a monkey, before releasing her legs to perform a double somersault, ending with a head first dive into the pool. Like any one of us, she could qualify for an Olympic sport of her choosing, and with minimal effort or training, walk away with a gold medal every single time. It's a double-edge sword for the genetically enhanced: a mind and body designed to perform in unimaginable ways, living within the confines of a world not ready to accept them.

We are in the pool for almost three hours playing games, swimming laps, racing, and of course finding new challenges for Claire on the trapeze; when Michael comes down to announce Bernie's arrival. It's the diversion needed to get Claire out of the pool, without a confrontation.

_"Thanks Ronan, I had a great time,"_ Claire says, unintentionally communicating telepathically. Then realizing I might not be able to hear her, she starts to repeat it out loud and I interrupt her with my own mental reply, _"You're welcome."_ Her eyes widen with pleasure, then grinning sheepishly she says, _"Welcome back,"_ of course not referring to my physical presence.

***

I am in no big hurry to face Bernie Stoddard, given the fact that she's probably not too pleased with my national exposure in the Porter event, so I don't complain when Alisha grabs my arm, holding me back after the others head upstairs.

"I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, I know," I say drawing a surprised look from her.

"Ronan, you know how you've had the feeling of remote traveling to an abandoned town with an airport?" she asks hesitantly, making me stiffen with anxiety.

"Yeah, what about it?

"Well, Claire has had similar experiences and I can't help but wonder if somehow your experiences are linked."

I stare silently into her bright blue eyes, trying to comprehend what she's implying. Alisha isn't one to be optimistic and if she thinks the events are linked then there's a good chance they are. Closing my eyes, I swallow hard, and try regulating my out of control heart beat. I hear Cat's voice calling me and feel helpless all over again.

My survival instinct kicks in and, I start to discount the idea, refusing to allow myself to consider the possibility that this is anything other than a mere coincidence, when Alisha blurts, "She hears Cat calling her from wherever this place is."

I stare mutely at her, completely dumbfounded, and Alisha sits down on the edge of the pool, motioning for me to do the same.

"There's something else that you need to know," she says carefully, studying me intently. "All of us have..." She pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing. "All of us have received telepathic messages from Cat."

"That's impossible," I breathe, frantically trying to come up with some explanation to prevent my heart from latching on to even the faintest hope, that....

"How...When...What do you mean by telepathic messages?" I demand, controlling my urge to shake the information out of her.

She places her hand over mine before continuing. "It started around the same time for all of us, but we thought we were going crazy, so no one said anything. It wasn't until Claire admitted her remote traveling experiences that the rest of us confessed to our own experiences. We hear her voice, just like we hear each other's. The problem is, she can't hear us when we respond."

Suddenly my mouth feels as dry as the Sahara and when I attempt to speak, it sounds more like a frog croaking.

"Ali, I hear her too. She tells me to keep looking, she's not gone. Is that what you and the others hear?" I ask, my voice strained.

Alisha slowly nods her head. "Ronan, I don't want you to get your hopes up. Bernie is upstairs with the DNA report from the body parts recovered from the crash site. She insisted on giving us the results personally and wanted you to be here."

My heart once again skips a beat, and Alisha glances at the left side of my chest as if detecting the interruption.

"Hearing Cat's voice could just mean that we have some sort of spiritual connection to dead people," she says quietly.

***

Bernie and the others are gathered in the great room quietly watching Claire open Bernie's Christmas present, when Alisha and I enter. Chairs have been brought in from the kitchen and everyone is seated in a semicircle, with the exception of Claire, who is sitting on the floor next to the Christmas tree. The mood is solemn, even Claire shows considerably less enthusiasm than she did this morning, slowly taking her time to untie the ribbon on the package first, then removing the paper without tearing it. It's clear by the way she nervously looks at Bernie, that someone has clued her in to the purpose of the meeting, and a part of me wants to usher her out of the room, protecting her from further hurt. Bernie acknowledges me with a warm smile, but doesn't make a big deal of my absence or the mischief I managed to get myself into while traveling. She examines me with the same scrutiny as always, only now I don't take it personally. I know it's habit for her, part of being in the FBI for so many years. I study her face as well, looking for any clue as to the outcome of the DNA test. As expected, her face gives away nothing.

After what seems like an eternity, Claire finally pulls the item out of the box and studies it curiously before holding it up for the rest of us to see.

"A children's bible?" Alisha questions Bernie, one brow raised as she bites her lower lip. Brandon says, "Cool," and chuckles. Claire accepts the unexpected gift as gracefully as she did all the others, giving Bernie a hug, and lightly kissing her on the cheek.

"I know your parents had certain religious beliefs Claire, and I wanted to make sure you had an opportunity to explore the theories they believed in as well," Bernie says smiling, as Claire climbs on her lap and they flip through some of the pages together.

When they're done, Bernie clears her throat and motions for Claire to put the book under the tree.

"I am assuming that Alisha shared with you that I am here to share some news with you," she says pausing to look at Claire.

"She knows," Jason says quietly, and Claire nods.

"All right, well then I'll get straight to the point. For some time I've had suspicions as to the manner in which everyone close to you seems to disappear," she says, deliberately pausing to give each of us time to prepare for her big reveal.

The word disappears versus dies, flashes in my mind like a beacon beckoning me to an unexpected destination.

I catch Michael fidgeting nervously out of the corner of my eye, and am surprised when Elizabeth gives him an annoyed look. Brandon is seated next to them on the couch absently twisting a toy Rubik's cube puzzle, in no way attempting to solve it.

With each passing second, my mind flips between hope and despair, and when she stalls a fraction of a second too long, I spring to my feet, unable to stand the suspense any longer.

"Damn it Bernie, just say it! Was it her or not!" I enunciate each word slowly, clenching my teeth together to avoid screaming.

She starts to speak, but her words are drowned out by the loud cry of a voice as familiar to me as my own, _"GET DOWN NOW!"_

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

RONAN

My body obeys instantly without questioning the command or the person behind it. My mind subconsciously separates giving me an immediate aerial view of the scene below which seems to unfold in slow motion. Alisha knocks Jason to the ground. She then launches herself on top of Claire, shielding her body with her own. Brandon reaches out and swipes Elizabeth and Michael off the couch. They all land in a crumpled heap on the floor. Burke and I simultaneously dive towards Bernie. I reach her first, yanking her by her arm out of the chair, just as the sliding glass door behind her head explodes into hundreds of shards of glass.

"Sniper! Get away from the windows," Alisha screams. A command not easily obeyed with an entire wall of windows facing the river and forest beyond.

She is already crawling on all fours behind Claire. The two of them look like chimpanzees as they scamper around the furniture towards the kitchen.

A bleeding, semiconscious Bernie moans beside me and I ponder as to whether or not I should drag her over the glass covered floor staying low to the ground or pick her up and carry her to safety. Burke takes the decision out of my hands, quickly scooping her in his arms and standing to carry her out. As he turns towards the kitchen, a second shot is fired and he stumbles forward, dropping Bernie, before falling on top of her. I'm not sure how, but I know he's dead almost immediately and a cry of anguish escapes my lips.

_"Turn off the lights! Close the shades! Stay down! Find the sniper!"_ A list of orders by Alisha is being telepathically broadcasted to the rest of us. The room goes pitch black and as my eyes adjust, I can see the draperies already moving across the sliding door, while the blinds snap shut one by one. For a six-year-old, Claire has an uncanny ability to stay focused during a crisis situation and she uses her telekinetic gifts to promptly carry out Alisha's orders.

_"Ronan, find that sniper!"_ Alisha hollers so loudly that my mind scrambles chaotically, rendering me temporarily disabled to activate a remote traveling event. It isn't until I feel Claire's energy sweep across my brain that I am able to organize my thoughts enough to release the part of my brain that disconnects to travel from my body.

_"Claire, you go right and I'll go left,"_ I declare, once we are outside, headed for the forest. Like invisible spirits, we comb the tops of the trees looking for any signs of human life. The further I reach with my mind the hazier the objects below me become. Eventually, I am forced to pull back, leaving the rest of the search up to Claire, cursing myself for causing my own weakened state of mind.

***

I return to the Freeman estate and hover over what is now a bloody crime scene. Burke's body has been rolled off of Bernie and crimson red blood is pooling above his shoulders. His skin is pasty white, and his emerald green eyes are wide open, reminding me of aisle five in the build-a-baby store of past dreams. Elizabeth is kneeling beside him, sobbing, while Michael stands over them seemingly more interested in Jason's and Ali's attempt to save Bernie, than in comforting Liz. Brandon picks up a kitchen chair and throws it against the fireplace, adding to the debris of glass scattered on the floor. Nobody in the room even acknowledges his outburst. After fully settling into my physical body, I slowly pick myself up, grab a throw blanket from the couch and kneeling beside Liz, spread it over Burke's body, brushing my hands over his cold eyelids before draping the blanket over his face. She sobs even harder, throwing her arms around my neck and I gently lift her up and lead her away, followed by an awkward Michael who must've just realized that he should be the one providing solace to her.

Claire is like a hound dog on the hunt, relentlessly scouring the forest for any signs of the killer. Her physical body in the kitchen is completely motionless, indicating that she is fully concentrating on the effort.

Bernie's injuries are not life threatening, the worst being where the first bullet grazed the side of her head, and a concussion. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that the bullets were meant for her. Jason says it will be a few hours before she is awake and until then we are left wondering who, why, and when the attacker will return to finish the job.

After a brief discussion, Brandon and I transport Burke's body to the basement, carefully placing it on the cold slab of concrete.

"Brandon, could you give me a minute," I ask not taking my eyes off Burke's motionless body.

"Sure," he murmurs, patting me on the shoulder as he walks away.

"God why?" I groan, burying my head in my hands. I've known Burke longer then anyone. He's like a brother to me and I can't imagine not having him around. First it was my parents, then Cat, and now him. I just can't make sense of any of it. My grief is incomprehensible and I hang my head and sob.

Leaving Burke's body behind in the cold dark basement is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I have no choice. There's nowhere to take him without the entire police department showing up at the estate. An assassination attempt of a high ranking government official needed to be handled at the federal level anyway. We would wait for Bernie to wake up before contacting anyone. When I finally return upstairs, Jason and Alisha are trying to comfort a distraught Claire.

"There was nothing you could do Claire. He was dead the minute the bullet hit his head," Alisha says, rocking her gently in her arms.

***

Michael and Jason are having trouble navigating around the pitch dark house, but with feline DNA, the rest of us have no problem. Even with the shades drawn, a sniper can see shadows in a lit room, so we congregate in the only room without windows, the fourth floor theatre room. Bernie weakly protests when I scoop her in my arms and carry her up the three flights of stairs. She can't weight much more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She's still groggy from the medication, but with each passing minute, her face begins to change as the realization of the recent events comes back to her. I lay her down on the couch, but she quickly sits up, her eyes darting anxiously around the room.

"Where's Burke?" she demands.

I'm too numb to answer but Elizabeth begins crying softly, and Brandon cusses under his breath. Finally, Bernie's face contorts and she moans loudly, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Is Burke...?" she asks, tears already pooling in her gray-blue eyes.

"The bullet hit him in the head, there was nothing we could do," Jason replies softly.

Seeing Bernie cry is like seeing your father cry for the first time. It's unexpected and it makes me uncomfortable. She's someone that you just presume will remain poised and controlled regardless of the circumstance. She clearly thinks the same thing, because she quickly regains her composure, brushing the tears away with the back of her hand and struggling to sit up straight.

We all silently wait for her to speak, to finish what she was about to tell us before the shooting.

"The crash of that aircraft was not accidental—we found residue of an explosive device. The DNA result on the body found at the crash site was not that of Cat," she finally discloses, answering the number one question on my mind.

My heart takes off like a jackhammer, thumping in my chest so powerfully, that my whole body quivers. The anguish of losing Burke slowly gives way to the hope of finding Cat. It's one of the most bittersweet moments of my life and I struggle with the opposing emotions until Elizabeth kisses me on the cheek and says, "We're happy too, Ronan," giving me permission to bury my sadness for the moment.

"She's not dead," I murmur breathlessly. No one reacts.

"She's not dead," I say even louder, looking around the room, for confirmation. When I still don't get a reaction, I jump to my feet, grabbing Alisha, the closest to me, by the shoulders. "Ali, do you hear me? She's not dead!" I yell, shaking her shoulders and gazing deep into her eyes, daring her to dispute me.

She fights back a smile, and murmurs "Maybe not, but don't get your hopes up Ronan, we don't..."

I ignore her warnings. It doesn't matter what she thinks, I know in my heart that she's alive and I proceed to go around the room declaring my belief.

"Brandon, she's alive."

He smiles sadly, pats me on the back saying, "Burke would be happy for you, too."

Claire just giggles and I look up to find her crouched on the top shelf of the entertainment center. Her tear stained face, now with a wide grin, says it all.

"I think she's alive too, Ronan. Let's find her and bring her home," she says launching herself across the room and landing in my arms. "By the way, just so you know, you're turning white again," she whispers in my ear.

Laughing and crying at the same time, I pull her close. "You're damn right we're going to find her, Squirt," I say, flinging her high in the air, then watching her do a twist and somersault before landing gracefully on her feet, in the center of the room.

I barely register Michael exiting the room, until the door closes quietly behind him. I catch Alisha and Jason exchanging uneasy glances, but don't dwell on it. There's nothing anyone could say or do to steal my joy in this moment.

"Ahem," Bernie clears her throat, ordering me to sit down.

"Ronan, I'm not saying that she's alive or dead. All I know is that the person piloting the aircraft that she was supposed to be in was not her. If she is alive, she's likely in a lot of danger."

Proving me wrong, her words temporarily steal my joy, and in defense, I blurt out, "Cat was the one who warned us of the shooter."

It feels good to say it out loud. I know the others heard her too, so I get irritated when they don't immediately agree with me.

"Ali, Liz, Brandon, was that not Cat's voice warning you to get down?" I challenge.

When they don't readily answer, Claire shouts, "Yes!" and begins twirling around the room chanting, "Cat is alive and we're going to find her."

"What do you mean by Cat warned you? She's communicating with you telepathically? When did this start and why hasn't anyone told me?" Bernie drills us sternly.

Alisha gives me a steely look and mentally criticizes me for leaking this news to Bernie. Judging by Claire's suddenly sullen look, she must have scolded her as well.

"Look Bernie, all of this has come about in the last week and we didn't know what to think. We were just trying to get Ronan home before he got into more trouble. Really, we were planning on telling you," Ali says smoothly.

Bernie sighs, suddenly looking very wary. "I'm almost certain that someone tried to kill me today because they didn't want me passing this information to you."

"They didn't want you to tell us that Cat wasn't in the plane that crashed?" Alisha asks, puzzled.

"It's like I suspected all along. They wanted you to think she was dead, just like they wanted you to believe other family members were dead. Maybe they know about your gifts and didn't want you searching or maybe they didn't want the FBI involved. It's hard to say."

"But even we didn't know the extent of our gifts until a few months ago, and my parents disappeared almost two years ago. If your theory is correct, then whoever took them had to have worked very closely with Dr. Kappel. They, must have known what we would eventually be capable of," Alisha points out.

"Yes, Alisha, I think whoever is behind this must have very specific information and foreknowledge about Dr. Kappel's work. I suspect they have been watching you for years, just waiting for the right timing, waiting for you guys to find each other. Maybe even facilitating your chance meeting," she says in an ominous tone.

If it were anyone other than Bernie making such a ridiculous claim, we all might have got up and walked out. But Bernie doesn't make allegations without having an arsenal of proof to back it up.

"But, but...what about Burke's and Brandon's parents? They are still alive," Alisha persists, desperately trying to disprove Bernie's theory.

"The fact that Brandon is somewhat estranged from his parents makes them low risk, and I've had 24-hour surveillance on Burke's parents for the past two months. There were some suspicious circumstances that required intervention," she says frankly.

Jason walks over and slips his arm around Alisha. "Bernie, do you think the agency that I worked for is involved in some way?" he asks, already sounding remorseful.

"Duh, you think?" Elizabeth mutters rolling her eyes, once again letting it be known that she is despises government employees, or former ones as it may be in Jason's case. Bernie seems amused by her insinuation.

"For a number of reasons, I am inclined to say no, at least not directly," she says thoughtfully.

Elizabeth opens her mouth as if to protest, but Claire's loud snores divert our attention just enough for Bernie to change the course of the conversation. She brings up making arrangements for Burke's funeral, and almost immediately, a black, depressing energy settles upon the room.

Like Claire, the rest of the group manages to find a sliver of floor space to wrap up in a blanket and crash for a few hours of sleep before the sun comes up. I lie awake long after everyone else is asleep, and repeatedly attempt to remote travel to the eerily elusive place where both Claire and I have been called to visit in our dreams and where Cat seems to call us from. I'm convinced that it's the place that holds the key to finding her, and possibly our other loved ones as well.

***

The large military helicopter sitting on Brandon's runway isn't as shocking as the three men standing outside armed with M16's. There are two more inside preparing to escort Bernie the short distance to the chopper. Burke's body has already been loaded and will be taken to Great Falls and handed over to his parents. I was grateful that Bernie was the one to break the news to them. She spent over an hour consoling them over the phone, providing them with a somewhat fabricated version of what really happened. "Telling them the whole truth wouldn't make it any easier for them and it would just open the door to a bunch of questions that I'm not prepared to answer right now," she says grimly.

Bernie practically insisted that we vacate the Freeman residence just as a precaution, but all of us voted her down when she suggested Area 51 as the temporary lodging. A few phone calls later, she's made arrangements to have all the windows and sliding glass door replaced with bulletproof glass by the end of the week.

"Bernie, if there are people out there who want us for our special abilities, it would serve no purpose to kill us," Alisha says for the sake of arguing. Bernie ignores her and proceeds around the house with Brandon, counting and measuring windows. Jason and I use pieces of plywood to temporarily board up the broken slider and windows in the great room, as well as the kitchen, allowing us to use the two rooms safely again.

It isn't until Bernie is finally gone, that I pull Alisha aside and bring up the subject of finding Cat. It tears me up when I see a look of hesitation and doubt in her eyes. "Ali, please help me. I need your support. I know you don't want to see me hurt, but I feel that she's still alive, and I have to find her," I plead.

"I know," she says finally, sighing deeply. She squeezes her eyes shut and furrows her brow in a demonstration of deep concentration before continuing. "All right, let's gather everyone together for a meeting. We need an organized plan."

# CHAPTER TWENTY

RONAN

When Alisha calls a group meeting, opting out really isn't an option. So when Elizabeth and Michael don't show up after being given what she considers plenty of notice, she sends Elizabeth a telepathic warning that judging by the way she's clenching her teeth together, is more like a tempered scream. Five minutes later Elizabeth comes storming down the hall, her face red with anger. She heads straight for Alisha, muttering some unflattering words under her breath. Her long blonde hair is tousled and her large blue eyes are sunken with dark shadows underneath. She looks like an actress playing a role in a horror film, rather than the perfectly manicured, reserved, woman we've come to expect. Michael is silently trailing behind her, not doing much to interfere with the altercation.

Alisha sees her coming and grabs a kitchen chair, holding it up as a barrier. Her face darkens with anger as well and she makes a sound that is a cross between a hiss and a growl.

"Elizabeth if you want to continue to be a part of this group, you can't just participate when it's convenient for you!"

"Well you can't expect everyone to drop what they're doing every time you decide to call a meeting!" Liz screams, circling her in a crouched position, half of her face twisted in a snarl. The two lock eyes and continue their verbal assault mentally, inadvertently slipping parts of the conversation to the rest of us. Claire angrily shouts "Stop it! You're turning blue!"

I don't need Claire's color screening to recognize the changes in energy levels swarming around this room—it can be felt. The low frequency being emitted by the two is automatically transmitted to the rest of us, and I can feel my mind synchronizing with their emotional expression. I am helpless to stop the wave of anger that sweeps over me and without consciously thinking, I slam my fist down on the table, causing two of the legs to buckle and bend. The sound is loud enough to halt the heated argument between Elizabeth and Alisha, but when Brandon sees the damage to the table, he hollers a slew of profanities which annoys me even more.

The room erupts in fireworks with the four of us brawling over what began as a meaningless misunderstanding, and now Claire is in the corner crying. Instead of the smooth flow of electricity that normally runs between us, there is now short circuited sparks of electricity, firing chaotically around the room. Michael stands by watching the whole thing unfold with interest, but makes no attempt to intervene. The commotion is heard by Jason from all the way upstairs, and he enters the room with the expression of a concerned parent.

"Everyone, let's just calm down," he says, first swinging Claire up into his arms to comfort her, and then turning to Alisha with an outstretched arm. "Honey, give me the chair. We can sit down and talk this out rationally."

His calm interface is just enough to interrupt the energy flow between the four of us and when he embraces Alisha, she immediately relaxes in his arms.

We all plop down on the nearest piece of furniture, and there is a moment of silence before we all mumble an awkward apology to each other. Alisha wastes no time in addressing the issue head-on.

"Okay, we seriously need to figure out a way to contain our emotions or we are going to destroy each other."

"Not going to dispute that one," Brandon says, shaking his head with an amused grin on his face.

"It happens so fast. All it takes is for one of us to fly off the handle, and we all lose control," she says, looking helplessly to Jason for answers.

He is thoughtful for a moment, seemingly preoccupied in watching Claire as she slips down from his lap and forces her way onto Elizabeth's, resting her head on her chest. Elizabeth responds by circling her arms tightly around her body, gently stroking her hair, and murmuring words of comfort. Something about the gesture must trigger some sort of revelation because his face lights up and he smiles warmly.

"Alisha, it took only a few seconds for me to disrupt the energy flow between the five of you. Perhaps all it would take is for one or more of you to concentrate briefly on an opposite thought, or happy memory, for you to override the slower frequency rate and counteract the negative emotion instead of synchronizing to it."

"Trying to think of a happy memory or thought takes time and concentration. How do we manage to do that when we have only seconds before our emotions converge?" Alisha points out.

"Well instead of trying to think of a happy memory in the heat of things, you pre-train the brain to respond to words that will automatically trigger a certain memory. For example, Ronan, if I say the words: wedding, Cataryn, snow skiing, what kind of emotion or memories do you feel?"

"The happiest days of my life," I respond without having to think about it.

"Exactly...! So all we need to do is train your brain subconsciously to automatically associate that level of happiness when you say those three words out loud. It is a simple, but effective technique that can be done under a light hypnosis."

"It could work," Alisha murmurs, smiling at him appreciatively.

***

The most pressing issue on my mind is finding Cat, not learning how to control my distemper, so the next four hours go by excruciatingly slow for me, as I wait for Jason to complete hypnotic sessions on each of us. My session took less than half hour to imprint a set of trigger words, but with the exception of Claire, the others take a considerable amount of time longer. Brandon comes out of the room looking exhausted after his session, and for the first time since meeting him, I am curious about his past.

"So, what's your happiest memory Brandon?" I ask as we sit across from each other waiting for the others. His face twists in a lopsided grin, and he shakes his head sadly.

"Believe it or not, it was the day I met you guys after the earthquake. It's the first time I really felt sure of where I belonged. I guess I didn't really understand just how lonely I was until I was forced to search my past for a happy memory. It's sort of sobering you know, trying to sift through a trough of memories to find one that is so pleasant, it changes the way you feel inside. Don't get me wrong, I've had some good experiences, too; getting my pilot's license and traveling the world. But none of them filled that void inside. Do you know what I mean?" he asks, suddenly looking uncertain.

I smile and nod my head. "Yes, Brandon, I know exactly what you mean."

His grin broadens, stretching the frozen, scarred side of his face until it is somewhat symmetrical with the other side.

***

Elizabeth is the last to complete her session. I suspected she might have difficulty being induced, mostly because of her distrust of Jason. She insisted that a witness be present during her hypnotic induction, but politely turned down Michael when he volunteered. There was definitely a shift in their relationship, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine why. Finally, she comes out of the back room, accompanied by Alisha and Jason and it's obvious she's been crying.

"Okay everyone, we have a lot to talk about. Let's get started, shall we?" Alisha commences, motioning for everyone to take a seat at the large dining room table.

She begins with a sobering statement. "Jason and Michael, if Bernie's theory is correct, the two of you could be in just as much danger as Cat. Perhaps the two of you should leave the group before someone figures out what your relationship is to us."

Jason looks at her in disbelief. "I think I'll take my chances and stick around if that's okay." She smiles at him appreciatively and blushes slightly. We all turn our attention to Michael ,who is staring at the floor.

Elizabeth has Claire in her lap, and her arms automatically tighten around her body, making her sink deeper against her chest. She is already blinking back tears.

"Yeah...Well, I've been thinking for a while now that I should probably get back to work. I'm really not much use to the group at this point anyway."

His words shock the hell out of me, but by the look on the rest of their faces, his announcement seems somewhat expected. " _Hey Ali, have I missed something here_?" I ask in our private mental chat room.

_"I'll tell you later,"_ she answers, not taking her eyes off of Michael.

"Michael, we've worked together a long time, I can't imagine not having you around, but I understand completely. Do you have another job lined up?"

He shifts uneasily in his seat, and briefly glances at Elizabeth, who has her face buried into the back of Claire's head.

"Um, yeah, I have a few things lined up. Speaking of which, I should go check my email," he says, getting up and hurriedly leaving the room. Before anyone has a chance to ask, Elizabeth sighs and murmurs, "I'm okay." Suddenly, her earlier actions don't seem quite so unnatural given the circumstances.

"Let's continue. We have a killer on the loose to deal with, missing family members to find, another Designer to recruit. Where do you suggest we start?"

"Whoa, what exactly do you mean by recruit another Designer?" Brandon asks already sounding perturbed.

"Brandon, we need to find someone to replace Burke. We have no idea what we are going up against and we need the energy."

"Jesus Ali, he hasn't even been dead for twenty-four hours and you already have a warm body lined up to take his place!" Brandon shouts angrily.

"Hey, do you think this is any easier for me? I cared about Burke too," Alisha snaps back, her eyes filling with tears. Jason places his hand on her arm and whispers something in her ear. Closing her eyes, she moves her lips silently, instituting her newly learned technique, which apparently is quite effective because both she and Brandon immediately relax.

"Brandon, I was considering another person before this. Burke's death just made me realize that we need to be as powerful as possible from now on. I have already contacted Natalie Nesbeth and her brother Austin, and they are interested in joining the group. Does anyone object?" she asks out of courtesy, looking pleased when we all mumble, "No."

"Right, so now that we know for sure that Cat wasn't in the airplane, it's easier to accept that somehow she is behind the telepathic messages. The question is where is she and how do we find her?"

"We start by finding the place that both Claire and I have remotely visited. I think it holds a clue to where we can find her," I say decisively.

"How about we just try to connect with her?" Elizabeth asks.

"I've tried already and I get no response," I reply impatiently, thinking she should know this already.

"Yeah, but you haven't tried with the combined energy of the group. Maybe wherever she is requires a stronger mental force. She could be on the other side of the world for all we know."

I feel my chest tightens at the thought. "You may be right Liz. Let's give it a shot."

***

It's probably easiest for me to hold an image of Cat in my mind. I can recall even the most miniscule details: the flutter of her eyelids right before she falls asleep, her scent, the scar on her left shin from falling off a pogo stick when she was eight. I send these thought impulses directly to Claire, using my full concentrated effort. I can't see energy fields like she can, but more and more I am able to feel them, and right now it's as if Claire is super charged, her frequency revved up by our input. She sits motionlessly with the four of us surrounding her in a semicircle. The moments pass by painfully for me, but I know better than to pressure her. Finally, she sends a telepathic message out to Cat that sounds like a lost child, looking for a parent. We all hold our breath waiting for a response and when we get none, the acid in my stomach starts to creep up my throat.

_"Cat, please answer us. I need you so much,"_ I plead silently.

We spend almost two hours sending out telepathic messages to Cat, over and over again, and the most response we get is a surge in our own electrical charge that is felt like a wave of heat passing through our brain. The fact that it's felt by all of us is significant enough, that I don't leave the session feeling completely defeated.

***

It's been three days since the shooting and in spite of being the week of a major holiday, Bernie was able to pull enough strings to get a contractor out to replace the carpet in the great room. He didn't say much about the large blood stains to our face, but commented to his laborers when he thought we couldn't hear. I didn't blame him. I would be suspicious if I walked into a house with boarded up windows and blood stains all over the carpet too.

Alisha filled me in with what she knew about the situation between Michael and Liz. It was hard to see him walk out the door, and even harder to hear Elizabeth crying at night.

"Something has changed with him, and I'm not sure what, but Claire says his color is changing—at times he's barely orange," Alisha says sadly.

I wondered if he had started drinking, or doing drugs, but keep the thought to myself.

"I've worked with him for a long time, and I hate to distrust him, but Claire has caught him a few times out in the barn talking on the phone."

"To who? What was he saying?"

"Claire wouldn't volunteer any information and I didn't think it was right to ask her to spy on him," she says.

"What about Elizabeth?"

Alisha shakes her head. "Not a word about it."

Something about the whole thing makes me feel funny inside, like I am being poked by an invisible finger to dig a little deeper into the situation. However, like most things these days, I push it to a growing pile on the back burner of my brain and focus on my number one priority—finding Cat.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CAT

Sophia is none the wiser when I claim a sudden onset of the stomach flu, and she doesn't bother me when I stay in bed for the rest of the day. I am mentally and physically drained and lie curled up in a ball with the covers over my head. In an attempt to console myself, I try my best to rationalize the vision of the sniper as some sort of psychosis, but in my heart, I know the event occurred. I have no idea who the sniper's target was, and can only pray that somehow the others heard my warning in time. A sniper's aim is precise and could easily find a target through the large bank of windows facing the forest. _Maybe the intent was to kill all of them, eliminating the Designer group all at once_ , I think, sending chills down my spine. My stomach twists in response to the thought and I draw my knees closer to my chest, stifling my moan with a mouth full of blankets.

***

"Maybe some fresh air will do you good," Sophia says, coaxing me out of my catatonic state. She leads me outside and sits beside me on the bench, eventually pulling out her iPod and earpiece when I refuse to engage in small talk. I am too despondent to react when the pins and needle sensation ignites around my entire head. Instead of fighting or fearing the experience, I take a deep breath and allow it to consume my attention. This time, I am more prepared when I hear the voice of Lawrence.

"Cat, I am here to help. There is no time to explain everything, so listen carefully."

_"Are you a ghost or a spirit?"_ I ask hesitantly.

"No, I am not a ghost. I am a scientist; a physicist and geneticist to be precise. I was a colleague of Dr. Kappel's. I know about the Designers and I know about you. Are you ready to hear what I have to say?"

Sophia stirs next to me and my connection with him is momentarily interrupted.

"How are you able to communicate with me telepathically?"

"I've studied the law of energy and brainwaves for years and got lucky in figuring out your frequency. There's no time to go into detail right now. I am only able to connect with you when you are out of the bunker, and I have a lot to teach you. Dr. Kappel designed you with a purpose in mind. He..."

_"Whoa. Dr. Kappel didn't design me. I'm not the Designer; my sister is,"_ I correct him.

He is silent for a moment, and when he finally replies, I sense he's choosing his words carefully.

"Dr. Kappel genetically modified you in a very special way, Cat. He used a method of artificial gene synthesis to create synthetic DNA strands in your neurons. He had a specific purpose for you."

_"A specific purpose for what...?"_ I ask cautiously.

"Dr. Kappel theorized that the cells that contain the artificial DNA, once activated, would have a network-wide influence on your brain and a direct link between the subconscious and conscious brain."

"Why?"

_"The subconscious mind holds the key to unlimited powers. Through the subconscious mind, the energy of thought can be harnessed and used in a virtually unlimited capacity,"_ he says in a serious tone.

I couldn't readily discount such a claim, at least not after watching Claire, and the other Designers change the aerodynamics of a helicopter, and move large objects around. We knew it was related to powers of the mind; we just didn't know how.

_"You still didn't answer my question. What is my purpose in all of this?"_ I press.

"When I show you how to use this energy, you will have the power needed to not only influence objects, but people as well. You will be the catalyst for worldwide change."

I snicker out loud and Sophia glances at me suspiciously.

_"Worldwide change huh...? Um, please don't think I'm being disrespectful, but a comment like that, leads me to believe that one of us is a lunatic. Besides, if you know so much about it, why aren't you going around changing the world?"_ I challenge him.

"Scientists question everything and you should too. To answer your question, even after twenty years of research and practice, I have only scratched the surface in my ability to manage energy fields. Without that DNA strand, I have to take the long way around. You, on the other hand, get to take a shortcut, shaving off about a hundred years of evolution in the process."

_"Do the other Designers have the same DNA strand, and can I communicate telepathically with them?"_ I probe, suddenly aware that he might be able to tell me how to mentally connect with Ronan and Claire.

Before he has a chance to answer, Sophia nudges me, interrupting our dialogue and his voice fades immediately, leaving me feeling empty inside. She points to her watch indicating that our time outside is up.

"Just a little longer...?" I plead. She firmly shakes her head no, not bothering to remove her ear buds. It was pointless to argue anyway. She obeys Mr. Z's rules to the letter. Reluctantly, I follow her down into the bunker, temporarily insulating me from the outside world and further communication with Lawrence.

***

Morning couldn't come soon enough after my restless, Ronan ridden, sleepless night. I had made up my mind that if Lawrence could communicate with me telepathically then so could Ronan and the others. I would demand that Lawrence tell me how and couldn't get outside quick enough to contact him.

"Sophia, I really need some fresh air. Can we please go out a little early this morning? I think I might be getting another migraine," I ask trying not to raise any suspicion. She doesn't look at me when she responds.

"No Cat. Mr. Z has ordered you to stay inside," she says quietly.

"He what...?" I gasp, looking for some indication that she is joking. I can see it in her eyes that she's not.

"Sophia, he can't do this. I'll go crazy. Please talk to him," I start to beg.

"I already tried. He is adamant that you remain inside this morning."

"But why...? Did he say?"

She shakes her head no.

Suddenly I am filled with rage, and I march out to the living room with a distressed Sophia following close behind.

"Get him on the phone," I order, picking up the phone receiver (that with the right set of numbers will connect directly to only him), and holding it out to her.

"Cat, I can't. I am under strict orders to call only in case of an emergency," she says pleadingly.

"This is an emergency. Get him on the phone!" I say through clenched teeth.

When she doesn't budge, I set the receiver down and calmly walk over to the stove, grabbing a kitchen towel and holding it over the open flame.

"Call him now, or I will burn us alive in this place."

Her eyes widen in horror as I light the towel on fire.

"Sophia, call him now!" I scream, moving towards her with the burning rag, which leaves a trail of smoke floating towards the ceiling.

"Cat, are you crazy? Put it down," she breathes, glancing around the apartment nervously.

I can feel the heat from the flame beginning to warm my hand, and when it gets too hot, I toss it on the fabric covered chair.

"Cat no!" Sophia yells, lunging for the chair, which I easily block her from. She is no match against my martial art skills, and I have her immobilized in one easy maneuver, locking her hand behind her back, pinning her against the counter. I consider giving up when she starts to choke on the smoke coming off the chair, but just then the phone rings, stopping both of us in our tracks. I race for the phone, and she rushes to extinguish the smoldering fire in the seat of the chair.

_Holy shit, what did I just do?_ I think to myself, panicking as I pick up the phone.

"Hello," I answer in a quavering voice.

"Miss McCullough, now this kind of behavior is very unbecoming for a lady. Wouldn't you agree?" the refined British voice says with a hint of mockery and amusement. I had pictured him being much older, so I am caught a little off guard by the youthful sound of his voice.

"It's Mrs. Callahan," I correct him. "I presume I am speaking to Mr. V?" I purposefully mispronounce his initial in retaliation.

"Yes, this is Mr. Z," he says chuckling. "I am sorry to hear that you are so upset with me. What can I do to ease your distress Mrs. Call-a-han?" he says, emphasizing each syllable in my last name.

"Let me go," I say coolly.

He laughs out loud. "All in good time, Cataryn. You must remain patient. These sorts of things take time to come together."

"What is it that you want from me?"

"It's not really what I want from you, Cat. You're just an innocent but powerful pawn in this whole thing. Now, your little sister and husband...this is an entirely different story. They will do anything to prevent me from hurting you, won't they?" he says almost matter-of-factly. My knees feel weak, and I lean on the counter for support.

"In fact, it couldn't have worked out any more perfect, having Ronan fall so hard for you. We have him exactly where we want him," he says proudly.

"Only a true monster would exploit a six-year-old," I reply, and see Sophia glance quickly in my direction.

He is silent for a long moment, before he quietly says, "You have only your parents to blame for that."

I couldn't really think of a valid comeback to this remark, so I change the subject. "Please let me go outside. I think this place is making me sick, and I really need the fresh air," I say, doing my best to plaster a look of sincerity on my face before turning towards the room of hidden cameras.

He sighs and says, "Put Sophia on the phone."

***

"He never changes his mind you know," Sophia whispers as we walk around the perimeter of the yard.

"Uh-huh," I reply, too preoccupied with other things to care about whether or not Mr. Z is showing me some sort of favoritism. It is completely out of character for Sophia to divulge any information about him to me, and I should take advantage of it, but I don't. I have only one thing on my mind and that is to enlist the help of Lawrence to contact Ronan.

_"Lawrence, I'm outside. Can you hear me?"_ I call mentally, trying to concentrate amidst Sophia's nonstop chatter. When he doesn't respond right away, I conclude that it's because of her interference and I glance at her sharply, resisting the impulse to silence her by force.

"Sophia, I think some exercise would do me good. Do you mind if I take a jog around the yard?" She hates to exercise and responds predictably.

"Go for it," she says, pulling out her iPod and heading straight for the bench.

***

The elation I feel, when I'm finally able to summon Lawrence is short lived when he claims that he can't help me connect telepathically with Ronan and Claire.

"I think it's possible, I just don't have an instruction manual telling you how. It's a matter of tuning into their mental frequency. Doubt or fear can block the flow of energy, so if you're not getting through, you could be throwing up mental roadblocks."

_"Lawrence, it's urgent that I get a message to them. If you can't help me then please go so I can concentrate,"_ I say a little rudely. Sophia glances up at me as I jog past her, and holds up all ten fingers, signaling that I have ten minutes left outside.

I know you're anxious to connect with your family Cat, however I need your full focus on what I am about to tell you. There is no guarantee that I'll get an opportunity in the future. If Dr. Kappel's DNA enhancements work, you'll have all the power you need to reunite with your family. Please trust me."

_"All right, let's hear it,"_ I reluctantly concede giving him my full attention.

_"The first truth is that everything in the universe has a vibrational quality to it that produces energy. When I say everything, I mean every single thing that exists including our thoughts and emotions. Our ability to telepathically communicate is nothing but a wave of energy carrying our thoughts back and forth. Of course, there has to be an open channel in our brains to receive the input through, which you now have. The second truth is that the energy can be seen in everything. All it takes is activation of the pineal gland that lies within the center of our brain. And the third truth is that energy can be controlled and manipulated. You have the ability to do all of this Cataryn,"_ he says confidently.

Instantly I know what he's talking about, but he's got it all wrong.

_"Lawrence, you have the wrong person. It's my sister you're thinking of. She can do all of the things you're describing. She can see energy fields around people ,and move things with her mind. You have me mixed up with her,"_ I insist, suddenly disappointed.

_"No Cataryn. I can assure you; I'm not mistaken. I was there when you were nothing but an embryo and witnessed Dr. Kappel working on you and your twin brother. He referred to you as the Golden GEM's. The last to be created will determine what's fated,"_ he recalls, confirming Elizabeth's recount of her father's final last words.

_"Lawrence, I'm not the last to be created, my sister is. She's six-years-old, and I'm seventeen. She was Dr. Kappel's final Designer baby. Her name is Claire."_ I say impatiently, resisting the urge to tell him to get his facts straight.

He pauses, and for a moment, I fear I've offended him by disagreeing.

_"Dr. Kappel wasn't referring to birth age Cat. He was referring to the activation of DNA in a person. You are the last to be created because up until a short time ago, the synthetic DNA was dormant. He linked the DNA strand to your pineal gland, and then coded it with a specific protein that would be activated when under the influence of certain hormones. He wanted to make sure you were mature enough to handle the responsibilities. You and your brother are the Golden GEM's, not Claire,"_ he says quietly, and with the authority of a professor.

Sophia calls out her one minute warning and Lawrence hurriedly continues.

"I don't want you to take my word for it. I want you to experience it for yourself. Start by looking for the energy field in nature. It's easiest to see it in plants. Once your eyes are accustomed to seeing it here, you will be able to see it in people, objects and animals. Practice every chance you get."

***

It's been two days since I've heard from Lawrence and all attempts to make contact with Ronan and the others have been in vain. I have started to accept the possibility that I'm slowly losing my mind and Lawrence was nothing more than a symptom of my insanity. I sit on the couch staring at the vase of flowers that Sophia brought home yesterday when I complained that there were no live plants outside. I had no success yesterday in seeing the energy field that Lawrence was talking about, but for lack of anything better to do, I look for it again today. Pulling one of the long stem pink roses from the vase, I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. The fragrance from the rose saturates my nasal passages with such an intense aroma that I can almost taste it. I am mesmerized by the colors and shapes of each unique flower in the vase and the longer I stare at them, the more vibrant they become. The flowers are common: roses, lilies, dahlias, and gerberas are a few that I recognize, but seeing them now is like seeing them for the very first time, and I am helpless to look away.

I can't say for sure how long I've been fixated on the flowers, but when I see a faint hazy halo of light surrounding them, I blink and look away, my heart thudding in my chest. _It can't be._ Daring to take a second look, I slowly rest my eyes on the flowers in the vase instantly aware that I'm seeing the energy field that Lawrence was talking about. At the same time that I acknowledge it as such, I feel a surge of warmth throughout my entire body and the halo of light surrounding the flowers expands until it seems to touch my skin. Without warning, my eyes fill with tears and slowly trickle down my cheeks.

***

"Cat, are you okay?" Sophia says as she gently shakes my shoulders. I don't say it, but I am better than okay and when I break my trance from the flowers and focus my gaze on her, the same phenomenon occurs; an acute awareness of her features and her beauty that I had never noticed before, followed by the ability to see a field of energy surrounding her body. Unlike the plants, which emit a lighter yellow-pink glow, Sophia is a much darker shade of yellow. I've learned from Claire, that when it comes to humans; yellow is good no matter what the shade. I am not surprised by her color screening.

"I need some fresh air," I say smiling.

Her brows furrow in response and she glances at her watch. "It's a little early," she says hesitantly.

"It's not a problem," I say confidently, placing the pink rose carefully in the vase, as I walk toward the exit door at the end of the hallway. I can't say how I know she'll follow and agree to open the door for me, but I know.

***

The tumbleweeds strewn across the ground no longer symbolizes the desolate, dismal-looking plant that it did a few days ago. In spite of their dry, dead appearance, it still emits a halo of light yellow-pink energy. Lawrence was right—energy is everywhere, and I can see it. I have an awareness that I can't quite put into words. It's like I've been living my life under a constant cloud cover and am now seeing the sun for the very first time ever. It's the most peculiar thing I have ever experienced in my entire life. I almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. I have an inner peace and confidence that momentarily transcends my current circumstances. I had to talk to Lawrence again, and I almost shout his name out loud while sitting next to Sophia on the bench. When he acknowledges me, I am ecstatic. It's confirmation that I'm not going crazy after all.

_"Very good Cataryn. Very good indeed,"_ Lawrence says when I excitedly report my experiences to him. He sounds relieved and I wonder if he had his doubts about me too.

_"Seeing energy is just the beginning_. _Once your eyes are open to seeing energy then you can learn to manipulate it_."

_"How...?"_ I ask, anxious to learn.

_"By using the energy of your own thoughts. The exercise that I am going to give you will require that you focus on your own energy field as well as the energy field of an object, like the tumbleweed for example. Resist the urge to focus on the tumbleweed itself, only the energy field around it. Once you have both energy fields in sight, merge them together. Push your own energy field toward the tumbleweed and let the two mix. Then when you've accomplished this, you are ready to influence that energy field by using just your thoughts. Try it now,"_ he urges me.

It takes me only a matter of seconds to learn the technique. It's ridiculously easy to do once you get the hang of it. My energy field appears almost white, and it can be tracked as it swirls in and around the tumbleweed. At the same time that I think about the energy moving to the right, it does, and the tumbleweed follows, trailing behind the field of energy like a piece of metal being dragged behind a magnet. I switch directions and move it to the left, and the tumbleweed abruptly changes course too. Sophia is oblivious to the fact that in a yard full of tumbleweeds, only one is being picked up and tossed around the yard like a big beach ball. When I reconnect mentally with Lawrence, he is laughing.

_"The same principle and technique can be applied to people and animals,"_ he assures me, then leaves me with an assignment to master the technique on Sophia by tomorrow morning.

I am so preoccupied with the exercise that when Sophia nudges me and says, "It's time to go in," I am caught completely off guard.

"I need a few more minutes Sophia. I'm not quite ready yet," I say. She stands up and says, "You're not in charge here. I am. Get your coat and let's go inside, now."

I watch as she starts to walk towards the bunker entrance. Her color screening is a shade darker then it was a few minutes ago.

"I'm not going in without trying to connect with Ronan," I mutter under my breath and watch as my energy field collides and mixes with hers. She is just about to reach for the door handle when she instead turns right and continues walking, following the perimeter of the fence around the yard. She catches me watching her and quickly looks away appearing slightly embarrassed and confused by her unintended action.

"Ronan, if you can hear me, just know that I love you. I miss you every day. I want to..."

_"Cat...?"_ The voice of my husband is faint but undeniably there.

_"Ronan, can you hear me?"_ I almost sob out loud.

_"Yes. Yes, Cat—I can hear you. Can you hear me? Please hear me,"_ he responds mentally; the excitement, desperation and uncertainty clearly evident in his voice.

"Ronan, I can hear you, too. I can hear you, but I only have a few seconds longer outside. They keep me in an underground bunker. I don't know where. Keep looking."

As Sophia walks by, she grabs me by the arm and pulls me towards the bunker door. I can tell she's annoyed, although she probably has no idea why.

_"I'm looking. Believe me, I'm looking. Are you hurt? Can you give me any clues? I don't know where to start. I thought you were dead,"_ he says emotionally.

_"I'm okay. I love you, and tomorrow I will try to connect again,"_ I say, before Sophia pushes me through the bunker door and slams it shut behind us.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RONAN

The lack of sleep does little for my temperament and in less than forty-eight hours, I've had to employ Jason's technique, close to a half a dozen times in various circumstances. It's not really anybody's fault. In fact, the others have been exceptionally tolerant of me since making contact with Cataryn two days ago. One minute I am on an emotional high, full of hope and promise, and the next minute I am engulfed with fear and rage.

"She said she would be outside yesterday morning. Where the hell is she?" I mumble out loud, clenching my hands in tight fists by my side. My mind runs wild with different scenarios of what could be keeping her from connecting with me, none of which provide any comfort.

"Ronan, maybe it was a dream, or some sort of auditory hallucination? I mean as far as we know, the telepathic thing is a Designer trait only. Why would Cat have this ability?" Alisha asks, not trying in the least to be optimistic.

"I believe she has found a way to access the same part of her brain that we do," I respond curtly.

Claire says, "Maybe she has a white color screening now," and Alisha gives her a stern look. It's as if the very idea of a Non-Designer acquiring our special gifts seems to threaten her. If it were anyone other than Cat, I might feel the same way, but I've always considered her my equal regardless. For me, her ability to communicate with me telepathically was just one more expression of how well we fit together.

"Alisha, please try one more time to remotely view the area. If I could just get a few more clues, I might be able to find it," I beg.

"I will later tonight. I have to get some things done in town today. We need a break anyway Ronan," Alisha says as she grabs her handbag and coat. The others follow suit, not making eye contact with me as they file one by one out the door.

***

The quiet solitude of the Freeman estate is shattered when the bustling team of window installers, arrive with several pieces of heavy equipment, including a crane. Every window on the west side of the house has been removed to make room for the replacement bulletproof glass. The house is barely forty-five degrees, even with the heater running full blast, and this gives Alisha and Liz the perfect excuse to escape with Claire into town to do some shopping. Jason joins them at the last minute leaving Brandon and me to supervise the window project. Neither of us pays much attention to the comings and goings of the workers but when there is a change in the noise level from the loud roar of twenty men, to hushed whispers, I am immediately on guard. Brandon must have picked up on the change too, because he intersects me at the top of the stairs, and we descend in three long strides, landing at the bottom with barely a sound. I recognize the red head standing in the living room almost immediately from our search for other Designers a few months back. Natalie Nesbeth looks at us uncertainly; I suppose trying to decide if we are part of the work crew. Brandon is the first to recover from his shock and smoothly introduces himself like a refined gentleman. It's enough to put her at ease, in a house swarming with men who are now gawking at her unabashedly.

"Sorry, I rang the bell," she says apologetically, shaking a thick mane of auburn hair and flashing a flawless smile at the two of us. I step forward to introduce myself and am stunned when she says, "You must be Ronan."

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I saw you on the national news and Alisha told me I might be needed to replace you."

"Oh, she did, did she?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest, to keep her from seeing me tighten my fists. _"I'll have words with you later, Miss Salisbury,"_ I think, already preparing my speech. Brandon chuckles and slaps me on the back. "Miss Nesbeth, welcome to Designer Estates, let me show you around," he says as he reaches for her suitcases, apologizing for the chaos in the house.

"You have your choice of one room in here, available on the second floor and one in the guest house out back. As you can see, there is quite a bit of construction going on right now, you may be more comfortable in the guest cottage," he slips in casually, then turns around, and with a wide crooked grin, winks at me.

***

The window project is finished by the time Alisha and the others return from their shopping trip. All of them enter the house carrying an armful of shopping bags, packages and mail from the post office, along with carry out dinner. I can tell from the cheerful chatter that the outing has a positive effect on them psychologically. I must admit, just having the plywood removed from the sliding glass door and windows, is enough to lift my spirits and for the first time since Christmas morning, I plug in the lights to the Christmas tree. Claire jumps on my back when she sees me, hooking one arm around my neck while she runs her other hand through my hair that is almost long enough to put in a pony tail.

"Ronan, Cat really likes your hair better when it's short. You should think about getting it cut before we find her," she says matter-of-factly. Such an innocent comment and yet the power that it has on me is profound.

I promise I'll go tomorrow," I reply laughing out loud. "Hot potato, calling Ali...!" I yell suddenly, and Claire instantly slips her foot in the palm of my hand. She is ready when I launch her toward Alisha who is already in position to catch her.

"I call Jason," she says, repeating the same maneuver, eliciting squeals of delight from Claire. She lands on Jason's back and he calls out Brandon's name just as he and Natalie enter the room. There is a momentary look of horror on Natalie's face when she sees Claire, flying across the room, wild eyed and screeching. In a flash, she reacts, diving in front of Brandon to catch her. It's obvious by the manner in which her body moves that she has some feline and maybe even chimpanzee DNA in her. The impact from catching Claire almost knocks her off balance but Claire quickly squirms out of her arms and Natalie gracefully recovers.

Natalie looks around the room at the rest of us, like we've lost our minds.

"Do you have any idea of the kind of injuries a child can sustain if you were to drop her?" she says, placing one hand on her hip, like an annoyed parent scolding a bunch of careless teens.

_Now this ought to be good,_ I think, watching Alisha stiffen in response. I can tell by the smirk on Brandon's face that he's thinking the same thing.

"You must be Natalie; I'm Alisha," she says coolly, extending her hand out to her, and surprising us with her level of self control. "This is Claire, Jason and Elizabeth," she announces, gesturing to the three of them.

Claire steps forward and mimics Alisha by extending her hand. She has been studying Natalie's energy field and reacts accordingly, smiling hugely. "Hi, Natalie. I am very pleased to meet you. You don't need to worry about me; I always land on me feet. Watch I'll show you."

Before Natalie has a chance to respond, Claire takes off running, full speed toward me, springing herself in the air, with her arms extended straight in front of her like Superman. I catch her by the waist, flinging her up ten feet in the air, watching Natalie's jaw drop when Claire does a triple somersault and lands on her feet in the middle of the room.

"Oh my, you are like a little monkey," she says, putting two fingers to her lips and giggling. "I apologize for my over reaction. I hope I didn't offend anyone," she says looking directly at Alisha.

Alisha relaxes her shoulders and smiles in response. "Actually, we all feel very protective over Claire, so the fact that you were willing to offend us to protect her is a good thing." We all nod in agreement.

Elizabeth and Jason come forward and welcome Natalie to the group, and Brandon motions everyone to the kitchen to eat carry-out Chinese food.

***

Natalie Nesbeth is even more beautiful in person than in her online photos. Her custom green eye shade would be classified as emerald, but unlike Burke's, hers have more of a blue tint versus yellow and the result is a stunning "traffic light" green color. They showcase brilliantly against her creamy white skin and auburn hair. Her personality is enthusiastic and lively, and she has the full attention of the six of us, as she openly tells us about her background, using exaggerated arm movements and facial expressions to support certain aspects of her stories. Claire already gave her a "thumbs up" color screening of white and seems particularly enthralled with her, along with Brandon who hasn't taken his eyes off of her since she arrived.

Like Alisha, she graduated early from an Ivy League College. She was at the top of her class at Harvard Law, and didn't seem at all concerned about leaving a successful law practice to join our group. She said she had a life changing moment the day Elizabeth contacted her telepathically.

"I have always been scared of my superhuman achievements and used to wonder if I was some sort of alien because I was so different. The only thing that kept me somewhat sane was the fact that my little brother Austin was equally gifted. Had my parents just been honest with me about my DNA engineering, it would have made things so much easier," she says reflectively.

Alisha clears her throat and pulls a tablet from her briefcase, signaling that dinner is over, and it was time to get to work. It is close to midnight when we finish telling Natalie about how we met, the Designer virus, our life on the run, and our contract with the federal government. From a lawyers perspective she isn't too happy about us signing contracts without legal representation and immediately requests copies of the contract to review. I'm not thrilled at having to tell a complete stranger my personal story about Cat and narrow it down to just the vital details: she's being held hostage somewhere, and we need to find her. Much to her credit, Natalie doesn't ask ridiculous questions that I don't have answers to.

"Why the bulletproof glass," she says glancing around the great room. It's a hard story for even Alisha to retell, and we both briefly step away when Jason quietly launches in to the story of the shooting and Burke's death. He tells her straight up that joining the group could mean exposing herself and family to dangerous situations. I can't be completely sure, but her eyes seem to dance with excitement at the threat.

***

Natalie watches in fascination as Alisha spreads a ream of paper out on the kitchen table. Her drawings are of buildings and houses that to anyone else wouldn't make a lick of sense, but I recognize the layout immediately as the place to where I've remotely traveled. It has a little more detail then her last drawings but still doesn't look like anything we haven't seen before, so I'm a little perplexed by Alisha's level of excitement coming out of her remote viewing exercise.

"It's right here," she says pointing a finger at something on the right hand corner of the paper, near a row of what appears to be airport hangars. She's written the letters AFB across the side of one of the buildings, and Brandon recognizes the lettering right away.

"It's an Air Force Base," he says, excitedly.

"It's an abandoned Air Force Base with underground bunkers," I add.

"And there's a good chance that it's here in the United States," Elizabeth says, contributing to the enthusiasm.

"Brandon, do you think you could..."

"Already on it, buddy," he says, slapping me on the back and exiting the room.

"Ali, you're a genius!" I say, picking her up in a bear hug that she automatically protests. Claire gives me a thumbs up and wide grin, as Elizabeth carries her off to bed.

***

Sleep comes easier to me than it has in a long time, and I don't wake up until after five in the morning, which is considered sleeping in for me lately. I lie in bed listening for any signs of movement downstairs hearing nothing except for the clock ticking over the fireplace mantel. I wasn't sure about Natalie, but aside from me, Alisha was the only other person likely to be up at this time of the day. Natalie had declined Alisha's suggestion to take one of the guest rooms inside the main house, instead choosing to room with Brandon in the guest house. He was ecstatic, but Alisha looked less than pleased by the arrangement. In the short time that we've known Natalie, she has made it quite apparent that she was used to calling her own shots and being in charge. It would be interesting to see if, and how, she and Alisha might share the alpha female role within the pack. It certainly wouldn't work in nature.

***

Taking just enough time to brush my teeth, I throw on a pair of swim trunks and head for the pool room for a morning swim. The heavier bulletproof windows obscure the picturesque landscape now, but I can still see the sun just starting to peek over the horizon.

Swimming has become a morning routine for me now. It's my meditative time that not only allows me to work my muscles, but also clear my brain. I feel selfish not telling Claire. She loves to swim and argued with Alisha and Jason when they made a rule that she could not be in the pool without supervision. Secretly, I sided with Claire. She is after all part fish and the risk of her drowning seems ludicrous to me.

I am three miles into my swim, my body on autopilot as I skim the top of the water, and my mind is completely void of thoughts, when I hear her.

"Ronan, Bernie was right. They know about the Designers and your abilities."

Her voice is full of anguish and fear. Her sobs can be heard in my mind as clearly as her words.

"They have our family and he says they'll begin with torture and progress towards killing if you don't cooperate. I don't know if you can hear me, but I want you to know that I'll die loving you."

Her ominous words trigger a remote travel event without my conscious effort, and I instantly find myself hovering over the familiar deserted Air Force Base. I didn't plan on recklessly abandoning my body in the pool, but when I spot her sitting on a bench in the backyard of one of the vacated houses, everything about me, ceases to exist. I've found her, and that's all that matters. She has her knees drawn up to her chest with her arms tightly wrapped around them as she sits motionless next to a girl who outwardly seems harmless. I drift closer and see a large tear roll down her cheek.

_"Cat, I've found you. I'm here with you. Can you hear me?"_ I want desperate to reach out and pull her into my arms.

She looks up and glances around the empty yard.

_"Ronan? Ronan, I can hear you. Are you really here with me?"_ she asks, abruptly getting up from the bench, startling the girl sitting next to her. She grabs her head in her hands and I can see her breathing speed up with the condensation of each exhaled breath.

_"Ronan, they have our family, just like Bernie said. They showed me a video tape. They said they sent one to you guys too. My mom and brother, and your parents too..."_ Her voice cracks, and she brushes a trail of tears away from her cheek with the back of her hand.

_"Cat, I'll come for you and we'll find them too. Don't worry. We know you're being held at an abandoned Air Force Base. Brandon is already researching it. It won't be long before we find you,"_ I try my best to reassure her.

_"Even if you find me, they have everyone else scattered in different locations. You'll never be able to find all of them in time, and they won't hesitate to hurt or even kill any one of us,"_ she says in despair.

The girl calls Cat's name and holds up two fingers.

"I only have two minutes left Ronan. Please whatever you do, don't give them Claire. He thinks that she's the Golden GEM, but she's not. Lawrence says me and my brother are. We're the last to be..."

_"Who's Lawrence?"_ I interrupt.

_"I'm not sure,"_ she says hesitantly. _"I hear him telepathically too. He says that he worked with Dr. Kappel. He's teaching me how to use my abilities."_

_"What abilities, Cat. Tell me what you can do,"_ I say urgently trying to gleam as much information from her as I can. The other girl gets up and walks towards the house, stopping to open a door adjacent to it, revealing a staircase leading beneath the earth. She looks over at Cat and beckons her to follow.

_"I can see energy fields and I've learned how to move objects just like Claire. Lawrence is teaching me how to influence people, but I haven't fully mastered the skill yet,"_ she replies, slowly following the girl toward the house.

"Can you tell me anything about the people holding...?"

My brain becomes fuzzy, and I'm unable to finish the question. Cat glances around the yard anxiously.

_"Ronan, something's wrong. I can feel it. Are you okay? Ronan are you okay? Ronan!"_ her screams echo inside my mind.

I want to reassure her that I am, but she fades slowly away and then everything goes completely black.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CAT

The northern bald eagle circling overhead has a wing span of almost six feet, and it glides effortlessly along the air thermals with minimal wing flapping. The occasional shrill, high pitched sound it makes gives life to the otherwise dead silence of the early morning. Today, for the first time, I sit on the bench by myself enjoying the sense of freedom I have without Sophia watching over me. No matter how many times Lawrence reassures me that I was pre-designed with the abilities I'm currently capable of performing, I fear they'll vanish at any moment. Now, my confidence soars as I sit alone in the backyard, holding my breath, watching the eagle glide lower and lower until it lands on the fence post, thirty feet away.

_"As long as your own vibrational frequency is higher than that of the object you are trying to manipulate, you will always be successful. Just project your energy with a single thought onto any living thing and hold it there long enough, it will accept the thought as its own,"_ Lawrence proclaimed, sounding more like a new age-y guru than a scientist. He assured me that if given the opportunity, he would scientifically prove the link between the subconscious mind of humans and electromagnetic energy fields of the universe. Learning to influence the energy fields of another human was Dr. Kappel's highest purpose for genetically modifying my brother and me, says Lawrence, who warned me that this gift alone, above all the others, wherein the power to influence world events lies.

It was surprisingly easy to convince Sophia to let me go outside alone this morning, by following Lawrence's instructions to increase my own vibrational energy. I prepared for the exercise by thinking mostly of Ronan and Claire. I pictured seeing them again, holding them in my arms, feeling the excitement and relief I would have once I was home. By the time I walked out of my room and approached Sophia, who was in the kitchen making pancakes, I was already feeling lighter, like a cork bobbing on top of the water. Once I got the hang of letting my energy flow away from my body, I sat back watching with fascination as the white cloud settled around her, mixing with her own dark yellow hues. At first her color darkened as if detecting and protesting against the invasion of faster moving particles, but just as Lawrence predicted, the longer I held my focus on her, the more blended the two energy fields became. Then it was just a matter of introducing a single thought that she would agree to let me go outside without an escort.

"Sophia, I would like to spend some time outside alone this morning if you don't mind," I said over breakfast. She hesitated for just a moment and furrowed her brows as if trying to think of a valid reason why I shouldn't, then shrugged her shoulder and said, "Sure why not."

It was so easy, that I almost laughed out loud, as I put on my coat and waited for her to unlock the door.

The eagle took far more effort and time. By the time my energy field reached the flying bird, it was nothing more than a stream of faint light. I wasn't sure how human thoughts could be translated into meaning by other species, so I kept it as simple as possible. _Come closer,_ was the single thought I kept repeating to myself over and over again. Now the brilliant bird is staring at me, cocking its head to one side, as if waiting for further instructions, which I am about to give, when Sophia bursts through the bunker door.

"Cat you need to come in now!" she yells, breaking my focus on the eagle who immediately takes off in flight. Her eyes are full of fear, and she half sobs as she grabs my arm, pulling me to the door.

"Sophia, what's wrong?"

"Mr. Z found out that I let you out on your own," she says, her voice trembling.

"But nothing happened. All I did was sit there on the bench," I say instantly becoming defensive. "Look, I'll talk to him and explain..."

"You'll do no such thing!" she hisses, turning around to face me in the crowded stairwell. "You don't make excuses with Mr. Z and you don't break his rules. Don't think that because he was nice, and sent you a gift, that he won't change on a dime. He is a Jekyll and Hyde. Besides, it was my fault. I don't know what got into me," she mumbles shaking her head as she pushes me through the open door and locks it behind us.

***

Sophia left the apartment almost immediately after getting me inside, not even taking time to braid her long dark hair like she usually does. It's the only time that she is considered off-duty from guarding me, and it's the loneliest time of the day for me. She barely spoke a word to me after my morning outing, and muttered a quick, "I'll see you later," before walking out the door. I noticed this time, that she jiggled the handle making sure it was locked, before ascending the stairs, and letting the second hatch door slam shut behind her.

I spend the first few hours by myself, working on the lyrics and melody to a new song and barely notice the passing time. When Sophia still hasn't returned, I move to the bedroom and practice my telekinetic skills, first moving small objects in the room, progressing to larger, until I successfully levitate the dresser six inches off the floor. It's only out of boredom and a growing uneasiness that my eyes happen to settle on the exit door with its deadbolt lock. Ronan told me that Claire was able to unlock security doors in Area 51, so why not me? Ten minutes of focused energy is all it takes and the audible click of the deadbolt startles me out of my trance like state. My pulse quickens when I turn the handle, and the door creaks open against the weight of my body. _Now what?_ I think as I look up the stairwell, trying to recall if I'd ever seen or heard Sophia lock the door leading outside. I slowly inch my way up, barely breathing as a million thoughts run through my mind. I have no escape plan, and Sophia's return is way overdue. However, she did say the punishment for trying to escape was solitary confinement. The threat that terrified me before wasn't looking half bad. In fact, two weeks solitary confinement could work out quite nicely for me now. I reach the second door and crack it open just enough that I feel the rush of cold air sting my face. I try to connect with Ronan first and when there's no response I hurriedly move on.

_"Lawrence, are you there?"_ I mentally call, peeking my head out just enough to get a good connection. He responds right away.

_"I wasn't expecting you to be out of the bunker until later this evening,"_ he says observantly.

_"Me neither until I realized I had the ability to open the lock,"_ I say proudly, expecting accolades from him as well.

"Cataryn, you must be very careful with Zane. You are not strong enough to face him yet. He has a dark, but powerful mind."

_"Is Zane Mr. Z, and do you know him?"_ I ask suddenly suspicious.

_"Yes and yes,"_ he responds quietly.

"How...?"

"It's best I don't say and you must never mention my name in front of anyone. Believe me—I'm on your side. Aside from Dr. Kappel; who is no longer with us, I am the only one who knows about you and your brother and I'll take that knowledge to my grave. Zane Harrington isn't quite as dangerous as the others, but you're not ready to go to battle with him yet."

_"What do you mean by go to battle with him?"_ I ask cautiously.

A long silent pause precedes his answer, and I have a sinking feeling that I probably don't want to know.

"Cataryn, I'm going to give you a four hour lesson on quantum biophysics condensed into a five minute synopsis. You now know about energy. You can see it, and you've started to manipulate it with your mind. As I said before, Dr. Kappel genetically modified you with a synthetic DNA strand that once activated, opens a network of channels or pathways between your conscious and subconscious brain. In doing so, he's given you a powerful tool that if applied correctly, could change the course of humanity."

_"Here we go, more save the world stuff. Wasn't that Jesus' job?"_ I ask sarcastically, almost immediately regretting it. He laughs much to my relief.

_"This isn't religion. It's science and it's all about energy and vibration. Because of your specific DNA strand, you automatically have the highest vibrational quality possible, as do most of the Designers. That's why Claire color screens them white. You however, have a specific pathway that gives you the ability to influence the vibrational frequency of other humans. To be blunt, you can influence a blue/gray to become a yellow, maybe even a white. Consider a world without blues and grays, or even oranges. It would be a world without hate, greed, jealousy, poverty and murder. The entire earth, including plants and animals would rise on a vibrational scale,"_ he says, and I can picture the faceless man actually smiling.

"Lawrence, I'm one person and there are millions of blues and grays in the world... Seriously?"

_"You'll start with Zane and other people with power and wealth. By changing a few key people, you start a chain reaction that will take on a life of its own,"_ he says with a level of enthusiasm that I'm about to dismantle.

_"Lawrence, all I want is to be reunited with my family, and if Zane gets in my way, the only thing I will use my newly acquired gifts for is to kill him. Besides wouldn't it be better to just rid the earth of the blues and grays permanently?"_ I ask, suddenly feeling powerful enough to do the job. The thought cheers me and not wanting to hear otherwise from Lawrence on the matter, I purposefully retreat to the underground bunker, taking care to lock the door behind me.

***

When Sophia isn't home by three o'clock, I find myself becoming a little anxious. When she still isn't home by five, I start to panic. I occupy my time by fixing dinner, even though I know it'll end up in the garbage untouched. My mind is racing with all kinds of scenarios as to why she hasn't returned from her time off, and not one eases my growing tension. I happen to glance at the clock just as it turns eleven minutes past seven, and it triggers an emotional response that I am helpless to contain. While sitting at the table staring numbly at the plate of cold food, the first set of tears begins to trickle down my cheeks. My earlier fearlessness of being left alone has dwindled as I look around the empty apartment. The realization that she isn't coming back, causes my heart to sink like the Titanic, and I slowly make my way down the hall to my bedroom, crawling between the ice cold sheets on the bed. I close my eyes and picture the only thing that can bring me comfort—Ronan; tall, strong and beautiful, always confident, always in control. I can almost feel his arms tighten around me, and the warmth of his love engulfing me. For a brief moment, I feel okay again.

***

The sound of a key turning in the lock, wakes me and I bolt right up in bed, my heart pounding in my chest. I can just make out Sophia's small frame in the dimly lit hallway. She goes directly into her bedroom, not bothering to look to see if I am awake. I glance at the clock. _What could she possible be doing out until four in the morning?_ I think to myself, slipping out of bed to go find out. She has her back to me, changing in to a nightgown and the welts across her back stand out like the red stripes on the American flag.

"Sophia, what happened?" I gasp.

She whips around, holding the gown up in front of her, and puts her finger to her lips, motioning me to be quiet. I walk over and grab her by the arm, pulling her in to the bathroom. Silently I turn the shower on high to mask any sound and whisper, "Let me see."

Reluctantly, she slowly turns around. There are five to six linear welts that run across her lower back and buttocks, and dried blood where the straps cut deeper into the skin. She winces when I gently run my finger over one.

"Did Mr. Z do this?" I ask, already knowing the answer. Instantly my eyes fill with tears once again. I can feel the fear, anger and frustration churning in the pit of my stomach.

"I'll kill him for this," I vow out loud.

She looks at me wide-eyed and shakes her head. Turning to the steamed mirror, she writes with her finger;

He is dangerous and will do the same to you!

_I'm not afraid of him!_ I write below her fading message.

You should be!

The others will come for me.

Just as soon as I finish, she writes, _He'll be ready for them!_

_You're coming with us!_ I reply, ignoring it.

Her face softens and her dark eyes swell with tears. She shakes her head helplessly.

***

Sophia is still asleep when the house phone rings, so I don't think twice about answering it after the first ring, even though she warned me not to.

"Well, well, just the person I wanted to talk to," he says almost cheerfully, making me feel sick to my stomach.

"What do you want," I respond coolly.

"I think we are all set to negotiate a ransom for your release, Cataryn. What do you suppose Ronan would be willing to pay to get you back?"

"Whatever you ask for," I answer confidently.

"Do you think he and the others would be willing to carry out a few relatively easy assignments? How about the Golden GEM? Dr. Kappel indicated that she'd have extraordinary powers—powers to change the world in fact. We could certainly use a person like Claire on our team," he breathes softly into the phone.

It takes a second for me to process what he's saying. Like everyone else, he assumes Claire is the Golden GEM, and when I fully realize the terms of my ransom, my entire world starts to crumble in around me. He was using me as a bribe to coerce the Designers into God only knows what type of unlawful activities, but even worse, get to Claire. I instantly feel sick to my stomach and teeter on disclosing the true identity of the Golden GEM just to steer him away from Claire. Something tells me he wouldn't buy it and remembering Lawrence's warning, I instead do my best to respond with ignorance.

"The Golden what...?" I ask, plastering a look of confusion on my face for the camera.

"Don't insult me by playing dumb, Cataryn. You know very well what I'm talking about," he says coldly.

"Um FYI, my sister is not a golden anything, and if you touch her, I will kill you!" I say, clenching me teeth to keep from shouting.

"When Ronan and the others see the videotape, there will be no question whether or not they should cooperate. Too many lives are at stake," he says, ignoring my threat.

"Let me give you a preview of what the Designers will be getting in the mail tomorrow morning," he says about the same time I hear the TV click on. He remotely launches a video with footage of me in the apartment.

"You're wasting your time," I say, slamming the phone down in its cradle. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of watching the tape and am about to walk out of the room when I hear something that stops me dead in my tracks.

"Mom," I whisper, my eyes filling with tears as I watch the woman being videotaped walk around a similar underground apartment to the one I'm being held. She looks thinner and pale, not at all the athletic, energetic woman I remembered from the day she left to go sailing. After a few minutes, the scene shifts and this time my dad is shown in a different apartment but the same layout; concrete walls, no windows and only one door leading outside. He sits motionless in the chair, staring blankly ahead. His face is gaunt and his eyes vacant of emotion. The Callahans are shown next. Nothing more than a thirty second clip of each of them, as they move around their bunkers. They appear just as I remember them, the effects of being held captive apparently haven't yet taken their toll, as it has on my parents.

Alisha's parents disappeared while scuba diving several years ago, but only her mom and sister are shown in the videotape. She looks like Alisha, minus the custom light blue Designer eye color, and has a similar sad expression on her face as my parents and the Callahans. I can't imagine what Alisha's reaction will be when she sees that her older sister Alexandra that she thought died in a car crash is still alive. The video ends with footage of my brother. His cries as a whip strikes the skin on his bare back pushes me over the edge, and I snap.

In a rage, I grab the closest object within my reach. The TV screen makes a loud shattering sound when the guitar collides with the front of it, but I don't stop there. I continue my rampage, swinging it like a bat until I am left holding nothing but a piece of the fingerboard with the strings dangling loosely in the air. A wide-eyed Sophia doesn't say a word when I rip the telephone cord from the wall and launch the cordless phone at the concrete wall. I move into the kitchen and pull dishes out of the cupboards, aiming them one by one at the concrete walls. Each loud crash echoing throughout the bunker gives me a feeling of retribution. When I've exhausted destroying everything I can in both the kitchen and living room, I crumble in a heap, sobbing hysterically, while Sophia attempts to sweep up the glass and debris around me.

***

"They didn't die in a boating accident?" I mumble, trying to grasp the concept that my parents and brother are still alive and being held and tortured somewhere. Memories of the worst days of my life come flooding back to me; cops knocking on the door, Claire's cries of anguish, social workers taking us away, funerals, separation from Claire, despair and loneliness.

"Did you know?" I ask Sophia as we sit together on the bench outside.

She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Does it matter?"

In the big scheme of things, it doesn't really matter but it feels good to have a reason to resent her. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I look the other way, trying my best to suppress thoughts of my family long enough to try and contact Ronan to warn him.

_"Cat, I've found you. I'm here with you. Can you hear me?"_ The words spoken by my husband are the sweetest I've heard in weeks, and I jump to my feet, trying hard to stay calm in front of Sophia. I want to be comforted by his reassuring words, but I know in my heart that in spite of all the Designers powers, it was the captors who had the upper hand right now. Sophia holds up two fingers giving me a warning signal and from out of nowhere, I have a sudden and terrible premonition, followed by a staggering feeling of dread. One minute I'm conversing with my husband in our own mental cloud, and the next, I am free falling through a black, bottomless pit.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CAT

"Sophia, open the bunker door—let's get her inside. Why the hell did you allow her outside in her state of mind anyway?" I hear the familiar British accent of Mr. Z as he roughly picks me up off the frozen ground. Ever so slowly, all of my senses return after what I supposed was a fainting spell. During the time that I was out, I had the oddest dream that I was with Ronan, hovering over the Freeman pool in a suspended state between life and afterlife. It was blissful, and we both wanted to stay but he insisted on returning.

"Death by drowning in a swimming pool would be a humiliating way to go considering I have crustacean DNA. Besides, I have a wife that needs to be rescued," he said jokingly, knowing full well I would take offense to being portrayed as a damsel in distress.

I reminded him that Lawrence says I was designed to change the world, and he laughed.

"I believe him—after all you've certainly changed me," he said, softly. We remained hovering high above the Freeman pool, holding each other tightly until he finally looked down at the resuscitation effort going on over his lifeless body and said, "Things are getting serious down there. I need to go back."

The event leaves me dazed and my mind foggy. The dream seemed so real that I can almost still feel the warmth of his arms around me. I want desperately to stay outside to reconnect with him, but am too weak to resist the man carrying me downstairs.

"There was glass everywhere and I didn't want her to cut herself. I thought the fresh air would calm her down," Sophia says to Zane, her voice trembling.

The sound of crunching glass can be heard as he walks over what's left of the mess in the living room and takes me to my bedroom, lying me down on the bed. He immediately barks a list of orders for Sophia, and I hear her rummaging through cupboards in the kitchen looking for the requested supplies. Moments later, she returns to my room, and I feel a cool cloth being applied to the back of my head. He picks up my limp wrist and cradles it in one hand, as he feels for a pulse with the other.

"You're damn lucky I happened to be around," he growls to Sophia in a soft voice that has menacing undertones.

"Shut up. It wasn't her fault," I finally manage to whisper as I make an attempt to open my eyes. It takes a few minutes for the room to stop spinning and Mr. Z's face to come into focus.

He must read the look of shock on my face because he chuckles and softly says, "Not what you expected, eh?"

He looks familiar to me, but I can't place from where. Appearing to be in his mid to late twenties, he could have stepped off the front cover of a GQ magazine. He's dressed in a pair of nice slacks with a button up collared shirt, and hardly looks like the dangerous criminal that I had imagined. If it wasn't for the color screening of blue and the cruel video tape, I might question his involvement in such heinous criminal activity altogether.

"Well then whose fault would you say it is?" he asks, with a wicked grin.

"Yours," I reply matter-of-factly, attempting to sit up.

"Not so fast, Cataryn. Sophia said you hit your head when you fainted," he says, pressing his hand in my shoulder to get me to lie back down.

"Take your damn hands off of me now!" I hiss, shoving his hand out of my way.

Almost immediately, his energy darkens even further, and in a flash grabs a fist full of my hair, pulling my head back until I'm looking up at him. He leans close, and I feel the warmth of his breath as he whispers in my ear, "Cataryn, I expect women to behave properly and obediently. Do you understand?" He hisses between a perfect set of teeth clenched tightly together. He pulls back even harder on my hair, until I cry out in pain.

It takes effort to get the words out, but I finally manage a "Yes—now could you please take your hands off of me?"

He lets go of me, and his eyes soften as he regards me silently for a minute. "You know, I've been watching you, and you sort of fascinate me, Cataryn. I've been thinking how much easier it would be if you just voluntarily agreed to stay with me and your sister— it sure would simplify things. I could give you anything you wanted you know," he says, his eyes drifting down the front of me, as a faint smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

"I will never voluntarily leave my husband or sell out Claire to a maggot like you," I reply stiffly, moving further away from him.

The insult doesn't seem to bother him so much. "Ah, the pitfalls of young love. You're too naïve to accept that love is transient. It comes and goes like the wind, Cataryn. Over time, you'll forget about Ronan, and he too will move on to someone new. It's inevitable you know," he says bitterly, and I can't help but wonder if he's had his heart broken by someone.

"What do you want with my family Zane?" I ask, surprising him by addressing him by his first name. He glances over at Sophia who immediately denies disclosing the information.

"You're Zane Harrington—the pilot of the jet that followed me into the Great Falls airport. I remember now. You named your airplane Nellie," I say out loud, only to regret it moments later.

Of course, Lawrence had already told me who he was, but now, the pieces of the puzzle start to come together as the recollection of that day unfolds vividly in my mind.

He looks surprised. "I gave you enough drugs to make an elephant amnesic," he murmurs. I couldn't be sure if I should take that one as a compliment or not.

"Oh don't worry. If you think the Designers have the ability to find me down here, you are way overestimating their gifts. You have no real reason to keep your identity from me—right?" I quickly try to reassure him. "Would you really prefer me to call you Mr. Z?"

Lawrence warned me that Zane had a strong ,powerful mind, but seeing it in terms of energy is sobering. My white energy field barely penetrates the thick bluish gray aura surrounding him so I'm a little surprised when he accepts my simple suggestion that it's okay to use his first name.

"No, I suppose you can call me Zane," he says, squirming slightly when Sophia looks at him with surprise.

Encouraged by his cooperation and slightly lighter color screening, I try a second time. "Zane, can I see my family—please!" I plead, once again trying to provoke a positive answer while holding my energy field around him.

"No, we have you separated for a reason," he says coldly, getting up to leave.

My confidence falters. "But I'm only asking for ten minutes," I cry, following him into the living room.

"Nope."

"At least let me call them," I say in desperation, as he puts his coat on to leave.

He doesn't even bother to turn around when he says, "I said no—don't ask again."

My energy field dissipates and no matter how hard I try to project it back around him, only a faint swirl of white can be seen mixed with his blue gray shield.

"You bastard...!" I shout, as he's about to walk out the door. He stops with his hand on the doorknob and slowly turns to face me, his eyes darkening with anger. Had my reflexes been just a smidgen faster, I might have dodged his hand, but the force of his slap is enough to knock me backwards and almost immediately a steady stream of blood drips from my nose.

"Get her a washcloth before blood gets everywhere," he orders Sophia, before callously walking out the door.

***

In addition to a fat lip, Zane punishes me with two days of no outdoor time, the latter by far the hardest to take. I worried Ronan would be going crazy like me, especially after receiving the video tape and I was dying to talk to him, so when Sophia goes out for her daily outing, I risk everything by unlocking the door and sneaking to the top of the stairs.

_"Ronan,"_ I try calling mentally, through the crack in the door. When there's no response and after repeated attempts, I finally give up and try Lawrence. To my relief, he connects with me right away.

"Lawrence, you have to help me. They have our family and they want Claire. I don't know what to do."

_"I've already told you what you need to do. You have to start by changing Zane,"_ he replies, giving me advice that I don't want to hear.

"I can't. I tried, and it got me nowhere. Lawrence, if you know where the others are being kept, please tell me."

"I'm sorry Cat, I don't know. In order to have any influence over Zane, you need to be around him as much as possible. You need to maintain emotional control at all times. Fear, anger, doubt, and hatred will decrease your energy. You must always maintain a state of higher energy when trying to influence him. Remember, you were genetically modified with an open circuit between your conscious and subconscious mind, which gives your thoughts and emotions extraordinary power above and beyond that of a non-modified human. Use that power to the good, and you will always have it. I must go now, and I don't expect you to be able to reach me anytime soon. I will contact you again when I am able."

***

Influencing Sophia to go against Zane's orders is completely out of the question. His punishment for disobedience is violence even for seemingly minor offenses. So instead, I practice my ability to influence her in other ways.

_Sorry Sophia, I have to practice on someone,_ I silently apologize as she finishes doing her third set of sit-ups. To be fair, and not alert Zane to the unusual behavior, I get down on the floor and do them with her. She hates to exercise and every few seconds clutches her stomach, protesting loudly to the silent commands, I'm giving—commands that she's helpless to ignore. Today is the third day of indoor isolation and so far, Zane hasn't given Sophia the okay to let me outside. The exercises serve a dual purpose for me, occupying my mind in more ways than one. I'm about to plant the suggestion for her to call Zane and ask if I can be allowed outdoors when the phone rings, making us both jump.

"It's for you," Sophia says, holding the phone out to me after a brief exchange with Zane.

"Hello," I answer, hoping he can't hear the shakiness in my voice.

"Good afternoon, Cataryn," he says, in a gentlemanly fashion. "I am calling to let you know that you will be dining with me tomorrow night at six o'clock sharp. Sophia will blindfold you before you leave the apartment, and you will remain blindfolded until I remove it. My men will be there to pick you up at 4:30. Please don't make them wait."

His demands catch me off guard, and I react blindly, without thinking. "Yeah, well gee, that's a nice gesture, but I don't dine with psychopaths. Besides, I've had a terrible headache ever since you hit me, being the spineless coward that you are. So maybe in another lifetime," I announce calmly, before hanging up on him. I turn to find Sophia staring at me dumbfounded, and her face is as white as a sheet. She starts to speak, but is interrupted when the phone rings for the second time.

To my surprise, he is laughing when I answer it, but it is short-lived.

"Cataryn, let me make myself perfectly clear. My requests generally don't come with a clause for refusal. Being slapped is one of the kinder forms of punishment—just take a look at Sophia's back if you have any doubts," he says. The threat of being whipped is nothing compared to his next words. "However, I won't force you. We can postpone dinner until your headache is gone, and you've had a few more days of indoor confinement to think about it," he says matter-of-factly before hanging up on me.

"That was so stupid," Sophia finally whispers, after we stand there in silence for several minutes.

"Yeah, I know. I've always had a hard time biting my tongue when I'm mad," I confess, burying my head in my hands, as my mind races, trying to figure out what to do next.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RONAN

"What the hell is it with you and water," Alisha says, standing at the end of my bed with a stethoscope around her neck and her hands on her hips. "Do you have a drowning death wish?"

"What time is it?" I reply with a question of my own, trying to clear the cobwebs from my mind.

"Seven o'clock," she says, cocking her head to one side as she watches me struggle to sit up.

"I've been out of it for over twelve hours?" I ask finding it hard to believe.

"No Sunshine—you've been out of it for two days. We damn near lost you. Even Claire couldn't get your heart restarted. Thank God Natalie decided to go swimming that morning and Jason had the portable defibrillator here—I had to use it on you three times to get you back."

"Wait, did you say two days?"

I start to panic when she nods yes.

"Why did you keep me sedated that long Ali? I've got to go. I saw Cat. She was with me. She's being held in a bunker at the Air Force Base. She's probably worried sick that I haven't come back," I ramble like a maniac, as I frantically search for my clothes.

Jason comes in and looks at Alisha, "I better give him another dose," he murmurs.

"I'll break your arm if you try," I threaten, as he starts to approach me with a syringe, and he immediately takes a step back. One by one, Elizabeth, Claire, Brandon and Natalie crowd into my room making me feel like a caged mountain lion on display.

"I need everybody out of here so I can remote travel back to the Air Force Base. I was there with her, Ali," I say, barely able to catch my breath. "I have to find that Air Force Base. There can only be a handful of abandoned bases with bunkers. I mean..."

"Already narrowed it down to two," Brandon says, digging deep in his pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper, which he holds out to me. "Claire helped me. She said that the area where she's remote traveled to has snow, which helped narrow it down quite a bit, then we went online and reviewed aerial shots of the rest. These are the two that Claire thought matched the description the best."

"Glasgow Air Force Base and Marks Air Force Base," I read out loud.

"One's in Montana and one's in Alaska. I can have the plane ready in an hour if you want to fly over," he says excitedly.

"Whoa, Brandon—he's not getting on an airplane. In case you've forgotten, he almost died on us," Alisha immediately protests, supported by Jason and Elizabeth, who equally express their concern.

"I need to contact Cat first and give her a heads up..."

"Sure—why don't you just pick up the phone and call her," Alisha says sarcastically.

"No need to Ali. She communicates just fine telepathically—at least when she's out of the bunker. Oh, and by the way, she's a Designer," I say, enjoying the look of shock on her face when I drop the bombshell. "In fact, not only is she a Designer, but Lawrence says she's the Golden GEM, not Claire." I start to relay my experience with seeing Cat outside the bunker and the memory of my conversation with her comes flooding back to me. I am midway through the story when something recalled stops me cold.

"Did we get a package in the mail?" I ask, my voice wavering as I slowly meet Alisha's gaze. She must sense something amiss because her sky blue eyes instantly show concern. She crinkles her forehead in concentration as if trying to remember.

Brandon speaks up. "Yeah, I went into town and got the mail yesterday. I think I did see a small package. I didn't open it or anything. All of the mail is still sitting in the mud room."

I slowly pull my shirt over my head, and look down at Claire who's studying me intently. "I heard you helped save my life, Squirt. I owe you," I say holding out my hand for a high five, trying to change the subject. Cat's right when she says Claire's the most perceptive six-year-old on the planet—nothing gets past her. It shouldn't have come as a surprise when she says, "What's in the package Ronan?"

***

The small nondescript package could have easily gone unnoticed in the stack of mail that routinely sits on the counter for a week or more before anyone bothers to open it, and I can feel my hands tremble as I reach in and pull out a DVD, labeled URGENT in big bold letters.

"Maybe we should call Bernie," Jason says, and cringes when there's a resounding "NO!" voiced by the rest of us.

I hand the DVD over to Brandon, and he slides it into the DVD player, pushing the play button before joining us on the couch. Elizabeth protectively wraps her arms around Claire as if to shield her from the images, something we all debated on whether or not she should be allowed to see. It was settled that we would preview the tape first, but Claire challenged us all when she smartly reminded us, "I can either; break the TV or remote travel in here and watch it with you anyway."

There is no prelude or ominous message preceding the soundless footage that begins with Cat, moving about the underground bunker. The girl shown with her is the same that I saw sitting on the bench outside. They seem to get along well enough with no signs of tension or abuse and the video, if anything, provides a measure of relief to both Claire and I. The next images aren't so comforting. Although they don't look anything like the family photo's I've seen, I know instantly that it's a gaunt and frail version of Mr. and Mrs. McCullough. Claire confirms it for everyone else when she says in a small voice, "Mommy! Daddy!" She fights hard not to cry, even biting down on her stuffed dog Hannah, but eventually I look down to find a steady stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. It's pretty heavy stuff for even an adult, let alone a six-year-old girl who has already gone through the trauma of burying her parents and may have to do it all over again. Images of my parents are shown next. Just like the McCulloughs they are being held in separate bunkers. Other than their apparent isolation, there is no evidence of harm to either one of them. I silently make a vow to find them and bring them home along with my wife.

It isn't until footage of Alisha's mom and sister appears on the screen, that the eerily quiet room erupts with emotion. Alisha's screams of pure rage, followed by cries of anguish, sorrow, and happiness, cover the spectrum of human emotions, something every Designer in the room feels right along with her. She is subdued only when the sound of a faceless man with a British accent is broadcasted on the video, proudly claiming responsibility for a successful mission in executing the brilliant kidnappings of our family members.

"We have been tracking each of you for years, and a reliable source has provided me with insights to each of your specific talents."

"Michael," Alisha mutters, shaking her head in regret. "That son of a bitch, when I get my hands on him..."

Elizabeth blinks back tears, the hurt of betrayal apparent.

"There are a few assignments that you will complete and if successful, could mean the release of a cherished family member or two. Should at any time, you decide to abandon the missions, go to the authorities, or interfere in any way—your family members will pay the price. Let me demonstrate." The screen goes gray with interference for a few seconds, then the cries along with footage of a young man tied to a post, being whipped across his bare back, are flashed across the screen.

"NO!" Claire wails, arms outstretched to the TV. Elizabeth immediately jumps up and carries her out of the room, followed by Jason. Her screams can be heard throughout the 19,000-square-foot estate.

"Now the first assignment should be fairly simple for the group," the honeyed voice of our British tyrant resumes, after we all witness a thirty second clip of Chord McCullough being whipped.

"Holy shit!" Natalie breathes, looking like she might bolt at any minute. I wasn't sure, given what was at stake, that I could easily let her walk away now. Thankfully, I don't have to make that choice yet—she is as riveted to the tape as the rest of us.

"The keystone pipeline running from Canada to the refineries in Texas is under construction and is seven-five percent complete. You will destroy it, along with the Bakken oil fields in North Dakota by the end of this week. It shouldn't be too hard considering that you were able to induce a 7.8 magnitude earthquake in Montana. I'm not opposed to casualties, in fact I expect some given the magnitude of damage that the area will incur. The sooner you complete this assignment the jollier of a mood I will be in when I meet with Cataryn," he says, before pausing. "She really is quite lovely isn't she, Ronan?" he ends the video by saying in a taunting voice. The hiss and growling sound departing from my mouth must sound animalistic because Natalie looks at me nervously, and slowly backs away.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CAT

"I still can't believe that you spoke to him like that. No one speaks to Zane in that manner," Sophia says, shaking her head in disbelief. We are in the bathroom, and she is curling my hair in preparation for my meeting tonight. For some reason, she thinks it's important that I present myself looking my best and for lack of anything better to do with my time, I allow her to fuss over my appearance. When she presents me with a package delivered to the apartment while I was in the shower, I open it with trepidation.

"He has this weird fetish about being formally dressed for dinner," she says, as I hold up the calf-length, formfitting cocktail dress, making an ugly face.

"Does he just keep a closet full of women's clothes conveniently ready to disperse to his captives? And by the way, how did he know my size?" I demand, looking at her for answers and becoming suspicious when she looks away guiltily.

"Sophia, why do you work for him?" I finally blurt out, silently criticizing her judgment. She pauses for a moment, seriously considering my question and her response takes me by surprise.

"Believe it or not Cat, most of the time Zane is decent to me. This is the first time that he's ever asked me to participate in something I'm not comfortable with, and he's only hurt me one other time."

"Sophia, did you stop to think that the reason you're not comfortable with this is because you are committing a very serious crime? What do you think will happen when Zane is caught, which he will be, and everyone that is involved in this little scheme is hauled off to jail?" I say raising my voice at her.

I can see a hint of fear in her eyes but she steadily holds my gaze when she replies. "You're not the only one who has family members' lives at stake, Cat. And besides, Zane gave me the option of being reassigned, but when I found out whom he was going to send as your attendant, I couldn't allow it, so that's why I am here," she says quietly, shrugging her shoulders.

***

The last thing I want to do is get Sophia in trouble with Zane for not cooperating with his requests, but there is no way in hell I am wearing the formfitting black cocktail dress to this dinner meeting.

"I couldn't give a crap about how he dresses for dinner," I say, rolling the dress up in a ball and tossing it across the room. She has a look of disapproval as she watches me tie my dirty sneakers, and tuck the crisp white blouse she lent me into my blue jeans. Of course, I have other reasons for not wearing the dress. I wasn't sure where I was being taken to meet with Zane, but if the opportunity arose for an escape, I was going to be as ready as possible. I grab my jacket and stuff the other half of my uneaten sandwich from lunch into the pocket.

"Don't be afraid, Cat. If you do as he says, I don't think he'll hurt you," she whispers, unwittingly undermining my self-confidence. It is 4:25 and Sophia is standing there holding the jet black blindfold which she ties snugly around my eyes, and the room goes pitch black. When I hear the key turn in the lock and feel the rush of cold air down the stairs of the bunker, I feel my whole body tremble, and my knees go weak. Sophia tries to tell my escorts that I can be trusted not to remove my blindfold, but they restrained my hands behind my back anyway. If not for the steel grip on my arm, guiding me up the stairs and the hard body supporting me from behind, I would probably have crumbled in a heap on the stairwell.

The chill of the air feels good, but it is short lived when I am silently forced into the back seat of a car that has the heater blasting out warm air. I try hard to concentrate on the number of turns we make which adds up to just five in a matter of a few minutes, and then the car stops, and I am escorted on a short walk to another location. Once again, I am maneuvered into what feels like a large utility vehicle. It isn't until I am strapped in a three point harness and a headset is placed over my ears that I have the first inkling that I am being transported by air to my final destination. When the aircraft takes off flying what feels like vertical to the ground, it takes a moment for my heart to catch up. The bunker and Sophia offered some measure of security and predictability. Now, as I sit restrained in the cold, rigid seat, engulfed in darkness and silence, my earlier confidence is shattered. I miss Ronan more than ever, and I force myself to swallow the hard lump forming at the base of my throat as I try to establish a mental connection with him. It's my first time out of the bunker since meeting with Zane and I am dying to hear the sound of his voice again, even fantasizing that he's sitting in the seat next to me. I know that speed and distance seem to play an important factor in the Designer's being able to telepathically communicate, so I don't get completely discouraged when he doesn't connect.

***

Had I not been shown the video tape with our family members, I would have come to the meeting with Zane tonight, completely prepared to use my abilities to kill him and escape. Instead, I find myself contemplating Lawrence's last words to me. _In order to have any influence over Zane, you need to be around him as much as possible. You need to maintain emotional control at all times. Fear, anger, doubt, and hatred will decrease your energy. You must always maintain a state of higher energy when trying to influence him. Remember, you were genetically modified with an open circuit between your conscious and subconscious mind, which gives your thoughts and emotions extraordinary power above and beyond that of a non-modified human. Use that power to the good, and you will always have it._

Lawrence had faith that I had the genetic makeup needed to change Zane from a heinous, gray color screening to a yellow or even white. I was beginning to wonder if I had any other choice but to try.

***

No matter how hard I try to get my two traveling companions to cooperate, they refuse to take my blindfold off before handing me over to Zane. I reassure myself that had I been able to actually see the energy fields, I would have been successful in influencing their thoughts. Now I am being escorted with a hand on each arm up a set of steps, which leaves the men accompanying me breathing hard by the time we get to the top. It is hard to glean much in the way of clues with a blindfold on, but nonetheless I tuck a few observations away for future analysis: an hour flight in a jet could take a person up to two to three hundred miles away, landing strip is within walking distance of our destination, and the ground is cold and wet.

The soft squeak of a door, followed by a rush of warm air, signals that we've reached our destination. "Ah, thank you gentleman I will take it from here," I hear Zane's soft, aristocratic voice tell the two, as he leads me by the arm inside. A moment later, the door closes behind us, and I feel Zane's hands fumbling with the restraints on my wrists.

"Was it really necessary to keep me blindfolded and restrained the whole way?" I ask as he releases the tie behind my head.

"Actually it might be a little overkill, but until I know the extent of your sister's abilities, I don't want to take any chances," he says.

I turn to face him blinking against the insult of bright lights that temporarily blind me. True to Sophie's word, he is formally dressed in a black dinner jacket with matching trousers, a white formal shirt, with a black silk bow tie and black patent leather oxford shoes. I am momentarily distracted by his appearance and for the briefest second, regret not wearing the formal dress he sent to me. We are standing in a large foyer with white marble floors that feature a huge gold and black medallion inlay. A grand staircase looms directly ahead of us and a set of marble pillars frame hallways on either side of it.

"So, you really do dress for dinner," I mumble, trying not to gawk at him or my surroundings.

He smirks and raises an eyebrow as he glances down at my attire.

"Yes, I really do dress for dinner and... apparently you don't," he quips disapprovingly.

"I'm not here to impress you. Tell me what you want with me and my sister. I want to go home," I say flatly.

His gray blue eyes seem to dance with amusement, and he tilts his head to one side. "I never discuss business on an empty stomach Cataryn, and I spent a good deal of time preparing our meal, so shall we?" he asks, bending his arm and tilting his elbow toward me as he offers me his arm in a gentlemanly manner that seems completely natural for him. With a blue color screening, the guy is sure to lose his temper over something, so reluctantly I hook my hand around his arm, allowing him to escort me up the stairs. The minute my arm touches his, a pageantry of orange flecks highlights his previously solid blue color screening, startling me enough to cause me to stop and stare.

"Is there something wrong?" he asks, looking down at me quizzically.

"Besides the fact that you've kidnapped my family and are holding me against my will..." I murmur, slowly withdrawing my arm from his as I take a step back and watch his color revert back to solid blue. Before he can respond, I hesitantly, place my hand back on his arm and unintentionally whisper, "Interesting," when his aura lights up with orange once again.

"What's interesting?" he asks impatiently.

"Oh, um—this place," I reply, quickly looking away, showing interest in the eclectic display of art work. To my relief, he feels compelled to give me a history lesson on each piece as we ascend the grand staircase.

"The dining room is this way," he says, motioning me through a set of heavy wooden double doors at the top.

"Are we in a hotel?" I ask, looking around the room that has a bar on one side and five round tables with white lace table cloths on the other.

"It was at one time. Please, have a seat," he says, pulling one of the chairs out for me, and then pouring me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

"I'll be right back," he calls over his shoulder before disappearing through the door near the bar. Moments later he returns carrying a tray full of food which he carefully places on a nearby table, and unloads several serving dishes with silver plated dome covers. One by one, he removes the covers, revealing an impressive array of perfectly garnished gourmet dishes. Right on cue my stomach rumbles with hunger pangs, and he looks over at me and grins.

"I'm glad you brought your appetite, I hate to see food go to waste," he says, taking a seat opposite of me.

"I'm not sure what your motives are for all of this Zane, but can you please just skip the niceties and tell me why I'm here."

Ignoring me he says, "Let's see, here we have a Bombay chicken pasta and this is a strawberry salad with a balsamic vinaigrette. If you're not in the mood for strawberries, I also made a roasted pear and fig salad with a honey-pear vinaigrette. Would you like me to serve you?" he asks, already reaching for my plate.

"Go for it," I reply. _Have it your way, you lunatic. It's time for me to get down to business anyway, but first things first,_ I think to myself.

"May I use the restroom?"

"There's one off the kitchen," he says, pointing to the double doors.

The large restaurant style kitchen is full of lethal weapons, and I stand there for a minute picturing myself launching butcher knives into his chest. I shiver in response _._ I despised the guy but...

Making my way around two very large stainless steel prep islands, I find the small bathroom and quickly lock myself in.

_"Ronan—I'm out of the bunker. Can you hear me?"_ I wait and listen with my eyes squeezed closed, trying to ignore Zane clanking pans in the kitchen. Seconds seem like hours as I wait for his response, and when I hear it, I almost squeal with joy.

_"Oh Cat. You can't imagine how much I needed to hear your voice. Are you are outside the bunker? I'll remote travel there now,"_ he says, anxiously.

"No Ronan. I was transferred in an airplane to Zane's house."

_"Zane who?"_ he asks with a noticeably different demeanor.

"Zane Harrington. He's the one that kidnapped me from the Great Falls airport. Did you get the video?"

_"Yes,"_ he says quietly. _"We're trying to come up with a plan. Unfortunately, they seem to have thought of everything,"_ his disembodied voice says thickly.

_"I'll try to persuade Zane into leaking information about where they're being kept. Lawrence says I've been specifically altered to be able to influence people into a higher color screening, but I'm not so sure. The last time I tried to influence Zane he gave me a fat lip,"_ I carelessly disclose, forgetting for a moment that it's my husband I'm admitting this to, until it's too late.

_"That son of a bitch! I'll tear him to shreds!"_ he growls loud enough to make me wince.

"I'm sorry Ronan. That sort of slipped out—I wasn't going to tell you."

"Cat, you said that you have the ability to move objects like Claire, right?"

I immediately know what he's getting at, and I squelch the idea. _"I can't Ronan. Zane isn't alone in this and if anyone suspects me, then they will go after our family. You saw what they did to Chord. I just can't risk it. I'll try it Lawrence's way for now. I have to go; he's waiting for me. Please try not to worry. I'll connect with you again later. I love you. Tell Claire I love her too."_ It breaks my heart to block his pleas for more time from my mind as I walk out of the bathroom.

***

While Zane is preoccupied serving up our plates, I preoccupy myself with the challenge of clearing my feelings of fear and hatred for the man. Lawrence didn't really go into detail on how to erase murderous thoughts from your mind, so I do what's proven in the past to make me feel better—focus on the happiest memories I hold of Ronan, Claire and the rest of my family. It's not until I've done everything possible to build my own energy up, that I turn my attention on Zane who is sitting there waiting for me to take my first bite of food.

"Hmm, I taste coconut, garlic and ginger," I report after slowly chewing the first bite of Bombay chicken, savoring the burst of flavors. Zane smiles; seemingly pleased by my culinary discernment. When I smile back, the aura of color surrounding him lightens briefly, nothing like when I touched him, but I'll take whatever I can get. A feeling of wellbeing passes through me as I observe my energy field wrap around his body. _Peace, love, kindness,_ I repeat to myself, and release the swirling hues of my own white particles to wrap around his energy field.

He shifts in his seat and his forehead creases, a possible sign that his subconscious detects the intrusion. I distract him with a subliminal suggestion, _tap your fork on your glass,_ and smile widely when he picks up his water glass and lightly taps it with his fork. At first, there is a look of confusion on his face, then he clears his throat, holds his glass up, and smoothly says, "Shall we toast?" Raising my glass, I play along, letting it clink against his, nodding in agreement when he toasts to a cooperative alliance between him and the Designers.

_So you take pride in behaving like a classy formal English gentleman, huh? We all know that's a fraud—let's see the real Zane Harrington_ , I think as I introduce the simple idea that he should ditch the bow tie and dinner jacket. He shakes his head in bewilderment and apologizes profusely as he obeys the suggestion.

"I don't know what's gotten into me," he murmurs when I next influence him into taking off his shoes, then dipping his finger in the hot wax from the lighted candle on our table. He cringes and blows on his finger, cussing under his breath. Seeing him struggle with the humility of his own actions provides the most entertainment I've had in weeks.

***

"So, why don't you have servants and chefs waiting on you?" I ask, as I help him clear the table, both of us padding around the dining room in our bare feet.

"I've gone through several chefs over the years and eventually gave up, resigning to the fact that no one can satisfy my taste buds, better than me. The truth is I love to cook, so I guess I look at it as more of a hobby then a chore."

"Well you haven't tasted my cooking yet," I say without forethought and watch as speckles of orange flicker in his blue energy field correlating with the look of pleasure spreading across his face.

"It sounds like you are offering to make breakfast," he says.

"I didn't know I was staying the night," I reply suddenly panicked, finding myself backing away from him.

"Cataryn, I have a guest room set up for you. Trust me, I won't lay a hand on you in that manner until you ask," he says in a way that leaves me with the impression that he thinks I will.

"Never!" I hiss, backing away from him.

"We'll see," he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

I glance at the door, and consider making a run for it. As if reading my mind, he says, "Follow me," a slow smile spreading across his face, as he leads me outside.

***

"Boys, say hi to Cataryn," Zane says unlocking the gate to an outdoor fenced area that houses close to a dozen huge, wolf hybrids or wolf dogs; a breed often banned to keep as pets due to their reputation for being aggressive towards humans.

"Don't move, Cataryn. They won't hurt you unless I give them the order to," he says.

I stand motionlessly as one by one they approach me, sniffing my shoes and jeans. When Zane is satisfied that they have my scent, he uses hand signals and calls out a few commands in German, and the pack scatters to the perimeter of the yard disappearing into the thick grove of trees that line it. A few seconds later, they reappear darting in and out of the trees nervously and whining as they watch the two of us. Zane's brow furrows, and he sternly calls a few more commands but this only serves to agitate the pack even more and a few growl and nip at each other in response. A big dark gray, alpha male with golden eyes, boldly trots into the center of the yard, challenging Zane's authority, prompting him to grab me, and shove me into the dog kennel.

"Stay here until I tell you it's safe to come out," Zane orders.

He starts toward the dog to correct the disobedient behavior, but stops short when he sees all the other dogs slowly advancing our way, ignoring his commands to retreat to the tree line. When they omit a low growl and bare their razor sharp teeth, he backs up and joins me in the dog kennel, cussing softly under his breath. It takes everything in me to keep from laughing out loud. _You're my boys now,_ I silently gloat. I barely even acknowledge Zane when he says that he might not be able to prevent or stop an attack should I attempt to leave the house unescorted. I am looking directly into the gray one's amber eyes that remind me so much of Ronan, that it leaves me breathless.

***

Zane's converted hotel to residential home is befitting of the eccentric multimillionaire. There are a total of twenty-two guest rooms on the entry level eleven down each wing on either side of the staircase. His room is on the second story, the same level as the kitchen, dining room and great room.

"Why such a big house for just one person?" I inquire, searching his face for any clues as to who else may be involved in his elaborate scheme.

"You'd be surprised how many people come and go from this facility—family, business partners, researchers, to name a few. In fact, you're going to get to meet some tomorrow," he says, watching my reaction carefully.

I freeze, and my heart beats wildly out of control.

"Who?" I manage to croak, unable to squelch my sudden apprehension.

"I can't say," he says, simply.

"Zane, you can change your mind about all of this. It's not too late," I blurt out in desperation, unable to stop the tears already stinging my eyes.

"Cataryn, this is bigger than just me. There are others involved who are ten times more ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what they want. Cooperate with me and no one will get hurt. I promise."

We stare at each other for a moment, and I consider the gravity behind his words.

Mafia...?

A scene from the Godfather flashes in my mind and I involuntarily shutter.

"I won't allow you to exploit my six-year-old sister and neither will the others, including my husband. You're going to have to murder a lot of people to get to her."

Zane snickers. "That's very noble but do you think your husband is going to stand by and watch you being hurt or tortured? What do you think he'll say if he sees me doing this?" In one swift movement, he has my arm twisted behind me, and my body pinned tightly against his, so that I can't move an inch.

"Go ahead Cataryn, scream for Ronan. Beg me to stop," he says through gritted teeth, now so close that I can smell the lingering garlic on his breath. In a flash, his color screen changes, all traces of blue fading, leaving a swirling hue of gray that is as cold as the look in his eyes. Slowly, inch by inch, he pushes up on my arm, threatening to snap it out of the socket.

"Zane stop! You'll dislocate my shoulder," I cry, frantically trying my best to organize and center my energy and thoughts on him.

"Say you'll cooperate," he says through gritted teeth.

"Yes! I'll cooperate," I sob.

He smiles. "That's good," he breathes, pleased by my response.

A large oriental vase displayed on a console table catches my eye and without planning, I cast a wave of energy that has enough power to send it catapulting through the air crashing to the floor a few feet from where we stand. Zane jerks me around in front of him pressing his arm across my throat.

"What the hell...?" His eyes dart around the room, looking for an explanation.

"It was Ronan," I manage to croak. The fib has a positive effect. Zane drops his arm from around my neck and swings me around to face him. For a split second, I see a glimmer of fear in his eyes and I take advantage of the moment by stringing him along.

"They've found me, Zane. Ronan can remote travel, and he's watching you right now," I warn, trying to keep my voice steady.

His jaw tightens but a wicked smile plays at the corner of his mouth.

"Well then, I'll do my best to give him a good show," he murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine catching me completely off guard.

"You despicable son of a bitch," I hiss, wrenching free, as my hand flies up striking him hard on the cheek.

He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes, his jaw twitching from the tension. "Cataryn, that was probably the biggest mistake you will ever make," he snarls, his hand gripping my arm like a vice.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RONAN

"I don't know what to do," Alisha whispers for the third time, followed by a sniffle as she dabs her eyes. An hour after watching the video, we all sit motionless in the great room trying to grasp the notion that the family members that were buried in our hearts and minds, are actually alive and being held hostage. Whoever was behind the kidnappings, had gone to an elaborate effort to make most of them seem like accidental deaths, staving off a full blown investigation. Cat says they're being held in different locations, possibly scattered all over the world, making a rescue of one without compromising the others nearly impossible. The perpetrators had intimate knowledge of Dr. Kappel's work in genetic modifications, and knew of our potential long before even we did. We are at their mercy, and for the first time in months, I resent the genetic manipulation of my DNA once again.

"I'll tell you what we're going to do, Ali. Tomorrow morning, we're going to abandon our oath to Bernie and focus on destroying that pipeline. We'll evoke an earthquake beneath the Bakken oil fields so powerful that every inch of it is destroyed. We're going to do this because we have no other choice, and maybe, just maybe, one of us will get lucky enough to be reunited with a family member. Got it?" I say, daring opposition.

"I don't know. I was told we would be working undercover for our government..." Natalie says, hesitantly, looking up at me with a set of wide green eyes, clearly struggling with the moral dilemma. I bite my tongue not to tell her to go to hell.

"Your parents and siblings are no safer than ours were," Alisha says quietly.

There is icy tension in the room as all eyes turn to Natalie, waiting for her decision. Brandon alleviates some of the uneasiness when he says, "I'm in. You guys are my family, and I'll do whatever it takes to help get the others back safely."

There's a chorus of "thank you," murmured by the group and Elizabeth turns and gives him a quick hug before saying, "Ditto—me too."

"Oh all right," Natalie finally says, throwing her hands up in the air. "Count me in as well. Even though I've only known you for a short time, I feel a certain kind of kinship to you. I'll call my brother Austin to help—he thrives on this sort of thing."

"I'm not a Designer, but I'll help in any way I can," Jason adds, sealing the allegiance and motivating Alisha into action.

***

The Bakken oil fields are contained in about 200,000 square miles mostly in North Dakota and some parts of Montana and Canada. Approximately 500,000 barrels of oil per day are produced, far exceeding the pipeline capacity to ship it out of North Dakota. To date there is only one pipeline connected to the oil fields, taking it to refineries in Canada. The rest is transported by railway to Texas refineries, a practice that is not without controversy due to the expense. The Keystone pipeline project, once completed, will eliminate the need for either, costing the investors involved millions of dollars.

"Well, there's our motive, but who's behind it?" Alisha murmurs.

"It could take days to research every single one of these investors, but I'll start with the CEO's and see what I can find out," Jason says, taking the list of names from her.

"Claire, do you think with our help we'll have enough energy to destroy this area?" I ask pointing to the map streamlined from the computer to a large flat screen TV. She studies it intently for a few minutes, then looks up at me with large brown eyes and says, "We need more people."

"Natalie, we need Austin here by tonight. Does he have a passport?" Alisha asks.

"He's on standby for a flight out of Denver. If he gets on, he should be here in about six hours," Natalie replies.

"That makes seven including Claire," Alisha murmurs.

"Actually eight if we time it when Cat is out of the bunker," I correct her, trying to be casual about reminding Alisha that Cat is a Designer, possibly even more powerful than all of us.

She's tight lipped when she glances up at me but doesn't challenge the notion.

***

"His name is Zane Harrington," I say, handing a piece of paper with the name scribbled on it to Jason who's spent all day trying to come up with what took me five minutes of conversation with Cat to get.

"You talked to her? What did she have to say? Did she get any information on where the others may be?" Alisha grabs my arm as I'm walking into the kitchen, anxious to get any information on her mother and sister.

"No Ali, but she's in the same house with this lunatic. He's already hit her once, and if he doesn't kill her, she might be lucky enough to get some information from him. I'll let you know if I hear anything," I say, grimly. She immediately backs off, her eyes flashing with anger, no doubt already synchronizing with my feelings of rage. She bites her lower lip and mumbles her happy thought mantra to counter the emotion, and I inhale deeply trying to suppress my own. The thought of someone physically touching my wife stimulates the instinctual animal DNA in me to kill. My intense emotion has a ubiquitous effect and attracts the attention of Elizabeth, Brandon and Natalie from different parts of the house.

"Ronan, what's wrong?" Elizabeth asks, immediately looking at Alisha accusingly.

"Here we go," Alisha mutters, already in control of the emotion. "Happy thoughts guys... He just had a conversation with Cat, that's all," she says before mentally cluing them in on the rest.

"Well, I've got a hit on Zane Harrington," Jason announces, entering the kitchen with his laptop and unknowingly interrupting their mental conversation. He sets it on the counter and waves us over to take a look at the computer screen. "He owns a private island in British Columbia, land down in Texas and guess where he purchased another big chunk of land about six years ago?" he asks and doesn't wait for an answer before pointing to a map on his computer. "Right outside of Glasgow, Montana—less than five miles from the Air Force Base," he says excitedly.

"And that's not all, the guy and his dad have made millions off of investments in foreign oil. Once the Keystone pipeline is in, it will reduce US reliance on foreign oil by about fifty percent."

"How fast can you have the airplane ready to go?" I turn to Brandon and ask.

"Ronan, you can't!" Alisha shouts, stepping between the two of us.

"Ali, did you not hear me say that he hit her?" I raise my voice to match hers.

"Yeah, well he's hit a lot of people. That doesn't mean we can go rushing in without a plan and jeopardize everyone else's safety."

"Whoa, wait a minute—everybody just calm down. Ali take two," Jason says in a calm, gentle manner, tugging at her arm to pull her aside. She hesitates for a second, looking at me before her eyes unexpectedly fill up with tears, trading one emotion for another.

"Please Ronan. You'll compromise the rest of them. Let's at least see if we can get them to release someone after we give them the Keystone pipeline—please!"

"Don't worry Ronan—if she's the Golden GEM, she's more than capable of handling any situation. You'll see," Elizabeth says, trying to alleviate some of my fear.

"Besides, my brother is coming in tonight and we need to practice for tomorrow," Natalie points out, siding with team Alisha.

"Yeah buddy, we need to pick up Austin in about two hours," Brandon says, looking sympathetically at me.

Without even one member of the group on my side, I am forced to wait it out until at least tomorrow.

***

Austin Nesbeth doesn't look anything like his sister Natalie. It isn't as if he's a bad looking kid, he just isn't a standout like her. His unruly copper hair and average shade of hazel eyes aren't the type of custom cosmetic traits consistent with what I've come to expect of a Designer baby. However, once we're outside, and the kid has a chance to show off his athletic ability, it becomes quite apparent where his parents spent their money when designing him. His strength, speed, and agility would probably exceed Brandon's or mine if tested in the lab. I can't imagine how he manages to temper his talent enough to play college sports. Grinning ear to ear, he admits he's used to giving less than fifty percent effort just to avoid any controversy.

"Guess what I learned to do a few days ago?" he says, turning to Natalie, who's already hinted that her kid brother is prone to mischief and regards him warily now.

"Watch this," he says. "Don't move."

He folds his arms across his chest and stares at her without blinking, as we watch with curiosity.

"Austin, what are you doing? Whatever it is knock it off," Natalie says, fidgeting under his intense gaze.

"Hold still Nat," he whispers.

After about thirty to sixty seconds, he raises his arm towards her and twists his wrist so his palm is facing up, slowly inching his hand higher in the air. Natalie's feet leave the earth, and when she realizes what he's doing, she stiffens her whole body, clenching her fists tightly by her side, not moving a single muscle. Austin's eyes follow her as she rises higher and higher until she is hovering a good six feet off the ground. Her long auburn hair blows wildly in the wind, and her eyes are wide with astonishment. She looks like some Greek mythological creature hovering above us; an observation also shared by Claire when she breaths "Aura—goddess of the breeze."

Alisha and I slowly look at each other, her surprised face, mirroring mine. She nods and grins. "Austin, you have no idea how badly we needed to see that," she praises him.

"You have telekinetic abilities? How did you figure that one out and why didn't you tell me?" Natalie demands after she's safely back on the ground.

"Well, I went mountain bike riding and stopped for lunch. I was sitting on this rock, looking out over the canyon and noticed a sort of pinkish yellow halo of light being emitted from the plants. It was like someone flipped a switch in my brain. One minute everything was normal and the next minute everything and everyone I looked at had some sort of halo of light. Man, at first I thought I was losing my mind," he says tossing his head back and laughing heartedly.

"You're just like me," Claire says proudly, then proves it to him by picking a small branch up off the ground and floating it through the air, until it's within her grasp.

"Hey, and people—they're the trippiest of all. One person's yellow, and another is blue. Some are almost dark gray or black," Austin says, shaking his head as if he's still trying to figure that one out.

"It's called color screening, and that's how you know if someone is good or bad," Claire informs him. "Good people are yellow—or white if you're a Designer, and bad people are blue and gray."

"Let's just say that Claire's ability to color screen has been a valuable asset. Unlike people, color screenings don't lie," Alisha informs him. I can't be sure about everyone else but Michael's name immediately comes to mind.

"You know, we just assumed this was a Claire thing, but maybe this is something that we can all learn. Do you think you could teach us to see and influence energy fields? " Elizabeth asks and Austin's face lights up. He looks around the property and says, "I'm not really sure how I did it, but let's go some place quiet and give it a shot."

He has an enthusiastic crowd following him to toward the river, including Claire who instantly sees their common gift as a reason to bond. I hang back and head inside with Jason, taking advantage of their distraction to have some time alone to contact Cat.

***

I lie on my bed with my eyes half closed waiting and listening for Cat. I have no idea if she would be in a shielded room for the night or not, but was aching to hear her voice one last time. I have so many things I need to talk to her about; her specific abilities and whether or not she can contribute to the demolition of the Keystone pipeline, Zane Harrington, and most importantly her safety. I need to know that she is safe from him, and I want to hear it from her that she has the power to protect herself. Nothing in my wildest dreams could have prepared me for the sudden explosion of her terrified screams reverberating within my entire psyche, and it pulls me to her with the same force as earth's gravity acting on a skydiver without a parachute. When it comes to Cataryn, my remote traveling events seem to happen spontaneously, and without warning. It's as if she has a built-in mechanism to magnetically attract me to her when she needs me most.

***

The crack of a whip and the screams of my wife complete the horrific scene below me as I helplessly witness the man delivering them, administer a total of five.

_"Cat, use your powers! Use your powers to do something!"_ I mentally yell, trying to get her to focus on using her gifts.

_"I can't she wails,_ " slumping against the pole he has her tied to. A bead of sweat trickles down her forehead and blood begins to seep through the white blouse she's wearing.

_"Yes you can! Focus Cat,"_ I desperately cry, looking around the room for something she might use as a weapon. Each time the whip snaps against her skin, I feel it in my chest, like a wrecking ball clamoring against the chambers of my heart.

_"Cat, I'm here with you. I'm coming to get you. I'm coming for you right now—I promise,"_ I whisper in her mind, as her assailant tosses the whip on the floor and unties her hands. For a moment, he looks almost regretful, however that changes when she looks up at him and says, "You're a monster."

"It's my job to keep you in line, Cataryn. Don't take it personally," he says, with a calloused British accent. I get a good look at his face and imprint it in my mind where it will stay until I personally steal his last breath.

_"I'm coming for you and I will kill him with my own bare hands,"_ I vow to her.

_"No Ronan, don't come. Please don't come. I'll be okay. They'll kill our family, and if I have to bury mine again, it will hurt far more than this,"_ she pleads as I watch him escort her down into the basement. Before I can respond, all mental connections are lost completely when he shoves her through a door and locks it from the outside.

I break out in a cold sweat almost instantly drenching my T-shirt, and my breathing pattern changes, resembling the panting effort of a large cat. Every muscle fiber in my body feels strongly contracted and ready for action—an expression of my predator DNA. I have every confidence in the world that I could find Cat and bring her home tonight and yet she's begging me to stay away, something that goes entirely against my instinctual nature to protect her. Never in my life have I felt so helpless—so completely powerless as I do now.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CAT

Solitary confinement in the cold, pitch black basement of Zane's home isn't as dark and terrifying to me as the man who put me here. Both my telepathic and telekinetic abilities are rendered useless in the steel vault, so I carefully feel my way to the corner of the room and curl up in a tight ball allowing the cool, surface of the wall to sooth the burning welts on my lower back. Five lashes with a whip across my back is what he deemed appropriate punishment for my offense. All it really did was strengthen my resolve to keep Claire as far away from him as possible. The fact that his house contains a room set up for punishing people is a testimony to his evil nature, and I don't think it is beneath him to employ the same violent attack on a six-year-old. Equipped with a whipping post, and some sort of electric chair, it has all the elements of a modern day torture chamber and everything I learned from Lawrence about using energy was forgotten when I was shoved through the door.

Ronan's invisible presence during the incident was both reassuring and gut-wrenching. On one hand, I was comforted by the fact that he found me here, but on the other hand, I knew what his reaction would be, and I was petrified that he would make a rescue attempt. I am convinced that Zane wouldn't hesitate to drop a dead body at the doorstep of the Freeman Estate to punish them, and he had three to spare from my family alone. After unsuccessful attempts to mentally connect with Ronan, Claire and Lawrence, I do my best to get comfortable and settle in for what was going to be a very long night. Reflecting back on the evening with Zane, I know exactly where things went sour and had I heeded Lawrence's warning about controlling my emotions, I might be sleeping in a comfortable bed, and more importantly seeing a greater concentration of orange around Zane Harrington, the man Lawrence insists has the potential to be a yellow or white.

***

I have no idea how long Zane has been standing there watching me when I awake from a dream that I had been fighting to stay in. It was a dream that included Ronan and we were kayaking down a river, surrounded by a landscape of beauty. The trees, rock formations and even the water were vibrant with a prismatic display of color, and the energy emanated around us like a spider web. Ronan sat topless in front of me, his muscles rippling as his torso rotated side to side, paddling and propelling us through the water. His color screening was pure white, and there was no distinction between where his aura ended and mine began. We were connected, not just to each other, but with the natural elements surrounding us. It's the type of dream that you don't want to see end, and when I look up and see Zane standing there, I moan out loud.

"You're free to come out now," Zane says quietly, watching me as I struggle to sit up.

The movement aggravates the wounds on my lower back sending sharp pains up my spine. When I wince, he offers a hand to help me up, and looks surprised when I take it. His blue color screening once again shows promising twinkles of orange. At some point during the night, I had an epiphany and made up my mind that no matter what happened, I would never react to Zane with an emotion that would cause me to relinquish my power. It required a new way of thinking and a new way of responding. Since the beginning of time, man has been fighting battles with hatred, anger and physical force. Now I was going to embark on a new kind of battle—a battle of the minds, using the energies of the universe to elicit responses that favored something better than whips and concrete floors.

Zane looks down at my blouse which is unbuttoned at the bottom and tied in a knot below my breasts, exposing my belly.

"It was sticking to my wounds," I mumble as I limp out the door ahead of him, letting him get a glimpse of his handiwork on my backside. I know he won't feel any remorse for such a heinous act, but I figure it won't hurt to try.

"Sophia sent some things for you, and you can shower in your guest room," he says motioning me down the west wing, and stopping at the end of the hall to open one of the rooms.

"Is that what I am Zane, a guest? I thought I was a prisoner," I say evenly.

"I guess that all depends on you," he responds, pausing outside the bedroom door and staring down at me. I say nothing, and instead surround him with a wave of my energy that seems surprisingly pronounced in his mixture of blue. _Love and kindness,_ I suggest mentally. I hold my breath when he reaches up and brushes his hand across my cheek. Judging by the look of confusion in his eyes, the spontaneous gesture is unintentional. He pulls his hand away quickly, shoving it in his pocket.

***

The plaque on the guestroom door says 'Sweet Violets' which in and of itself seems odd, but when Zane opens the door, and I enter a room playfully decorated with green and purple violets and bunny paraphernalia everywhere, I am speechless.

"If you don't like it, there are ten others to choose from," he says.

"Do you have kids?" I ask suddenly, terrified that he might say yes.

"No. My mom loved violets and rabbits. This used to be her room when she would come and visit."

"Used to be?"

"She passed away a few years ago," he says.

"And your dad...?" I push.

"My dad is very much alive," he says wryly, the aura around him darkening.

"We have a meeting scheduled for eleven o'clock sharp. The kitchen is well stocked. You can fix yourself something to eat when you are ready. I will be in my office if you need anything," he says, abruptly turning to leave before I have a chance to ask any other questions.

***

I am glad Zane is occupied for the rest of the morning. He seems confident that his punishment last night was enough to discourage any misconduct because he didn't throw any boundaries at me regarding where I could and couldn't go. I suppose he thought the dogs were enough to keep me inside, not knowing that I feared him more than the pack. I don't waste any time slipping through the back door, stopping only in the kitchen to grab a few pieces of fruit on my way out. I figure I only have a few hours at the most before he will start looking for me. I want to scout out as much of the property as I can for future reference, however even if the opportunity arises, escaping at this point isn't an option. I have no idea who the guests are that Zane said I would be meeting today, but something told me, it was important that I stick around to find out.

Across the expansive, perfectly manicured lawn sits the dog kennel with the gate wide open and not a dog in sight. I make a beeline for the trees where they disappeared last night and am almost under the protective cover of the forest when I hear Zane call my name. Pretending like I don't hear him, I continue walking until I'm sure I'm out of his sight. Only then do I take off in a sprint, involuntarily letting out a howl that sounds realistically wolf-like and feels surprisingly natural for me. Within a few seconds, the alpha male hybrid appears in front of me, followed by the rest of the pack; an intimidating army of canines trained to kill on command.

"Don't let him follow me," I whisper out loud, looking directly at the pack leader, not questioning whether the order will be obeyed. He shakes his big gray coat and sits on his haunches, slightly lifting his right paw off the ground. The rest of the dogs scatter in the direction of the house, but he doesn't take his eyes off of me. I now understand how Claire is able to communicate with animals and why she finds it difficult to explain the ability to the rest of us. It is all energy related. Simply put, I am tuned into their specific radio frequency making it possible to interact in an unspoken way; intuitively. When I take off running, he trots loyally at my side.

My first thought about being immersed deeply in the forest, is how incredibly, spectacularly, beautiful it is. My second thought is how good it makes me feel being here. Lawrence assured me that it would. "Spend as much time as you can in nature. There's no better place in the world to increase your vibrational energy than the forest," he claimed. I am almost giddy now as I run faster and faster, jumping over tree stumps and patches of snow like a deer. Even the stinging pain across my lower back, as the skin stretches beneath the crusted wounds, doesn't prevent me from enjoying my few moments of freedom.

"I'm free!" I squeal, unable to resist after being confined for so long. The dog running by my side seems to wag his tail in response.

I knew there was an airstrip adjacent to the house, but I wasn't sure if it was on the east or west side, so when he veers off to my right, I figure I have nothing to lose by following and we make a big arc towards the east side of the house. Only when I see a break in the trees with sunlight pouring through, do I stop to catch my breath and make my first of several attempts to connect with Ronan. His failure to respond only adds to my growing apprehension about whatever meeting Zane has planned.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CAT

Something inside tells me that leaving the cover of the trees is a big mistake, but I can't resist investigating the area around the private airstrip and hangar. It wasn't the Lear jet sitting in the open hangar, or the snow covered 172 Cessna (my possible mode of escape), sitting next to the runway that interests me. It is the odd looking dome-shaped building just beyond the runway that I am headed for. Partially nestled in the trees, it looks like a UFO with its spherical aluminum and glass shell construction. A snow-filled irrigation ditch is all that separates me from the road that would lead me to it.

"Stay here," I order my canine companion as I get a running start and dart out of the tree line, trying to gain enough speed to scale the irrigation ditch. Unfortunately, I underestimate the distance by about two feet and end up landing on the muddy up slope side of the ditch. The earth slides beneath me, and I feel my right ankle twist beneath my weight, sending me flying backwards into the slushy trench just as a vehicle comes speeding up the road, skidding to a stop above me.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hear Zane growl angrily as he makes his way down to me. The boots he's wearing must have much better traction then my tennis shoes because he barely even slides, making it down the muddy slope in three long strides.

"Taking a mud bath," I reply curtly.

I attempt to stand up, but the pain in my ankle makes it impossible to bear any weight on it, and I stumble forward, falling directly into Zane's outstretched arms which fold around me as I teeter on one leg.

"Do you have any idea how much danger you are in with the dogs on the loose?" he hisses.

His question makes me smirk. _Words spoken by a man who beat me with a whip and has threatened to kill me more than once_ , I think to myself. When his arms tighten around me, I fight the urge to slug him in the belly.

With my cheek pressed against his chest, I can't see his color screening, but judging by how fast his heart's beating, it probably wasn't looking too good for me.

_Respond differently Cat—your family's life depends on it,_ I inwardly remind myself.

"I'm sorry I gave you cause for concern, Zane," I force myself to say and I feel his body slightly relax.

"Can you bear weight on that foot?" he asks, sighing deeply.

"No. I think I sprained it."

"Hold on," he says, scooping me up in his arms to carry me out.

"Whoa buddy. You don't need to carry me. I can walk," I say, squirming to get out of his arms. His grip tightens.

"Okay, how about I tie you to the bumper of the car and drag you out," he says snidely.

"Put me down!" I demand, freeing one of my legs from his grip and swinging it to the ground, an action that causes him to lose his own balance. Both of us reach for each other in an attempt to stay upright but in the end, he falls backwards, taking me with him and making a loud "Oomph!" when I land on top of him.

"Oops," I whisper, looking down at him after an awkward moment of silence. The distinguished Brit, who's probably never had a speck of mud on him in his life, looks vulnerable as he brushes his arm across his face, smearing a large streak across his cheek. I smile unintentionally—a reaction as inappropriate as laughing at a funeral, which judging by the look on his face he thinks so too.

He sits up and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe the mud off of his face. "Seriously—you think this is funny?"

_Apparently I do._ I bite on my lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. When he smears mud across his other cheek, I am helpless not to giggle, even though I'm fully aware of the potential consequences. To my surprise and relief, a faint smile plays at the corner of his mouth and comforting flecks of orange highlight his color screening of blue.

"You don't look much better," he says reaching down to wipe some mud off the side of my face. For the briefest moment, he looks almost friendly.

"We need to get back. They're going to be here soon," he says, suddenly standing up and reaching down to give me a hand. Like turning on a light switch, his color brightens to a solid orange the minute I take his hand and remains that way until he lets go, leaving me in the front passenger seat of his vehicle.

***

"Cataryn, I'm going to warn you not do anything stupid today. A beating is nothing compared to what they'll do," Zane says, staring dispassionately at the road ahead on the drive back to his house.

"Yeah, I know—people like you don't have any boundaries when it comes to hurting innocent people. Is it an anger thing, or do you get some sort of pleasure from it? Or maybe it's about control. Yeah that's it—control and power. Am I right?" I say, studying his color screening which shows a peculiar mixture of orange, blue and gray.

He stops his truck in the middle of the road and turns to look at me, his eyes narrowing.

"This might surprise you, but I don't get a lot of enjoyment out of punishing people. It's part of my job. I only do what's necessary to get people to cooperate. And to answer your questions...you're about to find out," he says quietly.

I am about to ask what he means when I notice a change in his energy field that catches me off guard. Absent of my touch he has a solid aura of orange surrounding him, and my heart catches in my throat when our eyes lock.

"You were by far the hardest," he says barely above a whisper.

"The hardest...?"

"The hardest to hurt. It was easier to tune out the cries of the others, but there's something about you..."

His sentence is cut short by the sound of his cell phone and the orange quickly dissipates leaving a dull blue that matches the change in his demeanor. Speaking in a foreign dialect that sounds Arabic, he exchanges a brief conversation with the caller that doesn't appear to be social in nature. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, when he raises his voice at the caller, and a moment later, he tosses the cell phone on the seat and pushes down hard on the gas pedal, causing the tires to squeal as he speeds down the road.

***

I'll never understand the saying "lick your wounds," because if it's anything like the warm water running over mine, it's far from soothing. Between the crusting wounds on my lower back and the noticeably swollen ankle that protests loudly any time I put weight on it, I am not gleaming much enjoyment from the warm shower I had been looking forward to. I have less than an hour to get ready and I'm not about to keep Zane waiting after the small breakthrough we had earlier. He never did finish his sentence, but more important to me than his words, was the change in his color as he said them. It was an indicator that somewhere buried deep inside; he had the potential to be something good, independent of the influence of my energy.

***

_"I'm here Cat,"_ Lawrence says right before I'm about ready to abandon my effort to connect with him. His voice sounds weak and frail—nothing like it did a few days ago.

"Lawrence, what's wrong?"

_"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with Cataryn. I want you completely focused on strengthening your own energy. Now tell me everything that's happened in the past two days,"_ he demands, and I quickly fill him in on the latest events starting with my out of body experience with Ronan.

" _Typically, there are only one or two people in the world who will match your vibrational energy perfectly, and you just happened to be lucky enough to find yours. You and Ronan are what some people refer to as soul mates, which is just a romantic term for two people that are a perfect vibrational match. It's the only explanation I have for how interwoven together your energies are._ Of course, I knew we were soul mates already—it was just nice to hear it explained in a more scientific way _._

It isn't until I inform him of Zane's color screening changes that there is a noticeable upbeat quality to his voice. _"You're almost there Cataryn—you've almost reached the highest potential,"_ he says, reminding me of a proud grandparent making a big deal over a seemingly minor act of a child.

_"Lawrence, if I'm almost there then we're in serious trouble. He whipped me last night—remember?"_ I refresh his memory.

"Ah, yes that reminds me—I almost forgot. There's one last way that you can use energy. It's a coveted gift and the most easily misinterpreted, so exercise caution where and when you choose to use it. In the same way that you have learned to use energy to influence people, animals and objects, you can also use it to heal the body."

_"What do you mean by misinterpreted?"_ I ask.

_"People will equate it with religion and will try to idolize you as some sort of God. You must never portray yourself as such, or lead people to this false conclusion. It is simply using the law of energy. It's science,"_ he says firmly, leaving me with the impression that he has disdain for anyone confusing the two.

I recall our reaction to Claire when she healed my jaw and Ronan's gunshot wound. I can definitely see his point.

_"Now, look at the energy around your ankle and tell me what you see,"_ he says.

It takes a minute for my eyes to pick it up, and I am astounded when I see a blue ball of energy surrounding my swollen ankle.

_"The flow of energy is obstructed in an area of injury or illness, so the frequency of vibration slows way down._ _Put your hands on your injured ankle and close your eyes. Inhale and exhale very slowly and concentrate all of your energy in your upper arm, near your shoulder. Do you feel tingling in your fingertips?"_

"Yes."

"Now simply release that energy and let it flow down your arm and out through your ankle."

It takes a moment or two, but when I am finally able to release it, the concentrated energy exiting through my fingertips is as obvious as a flashlight in the darkness. When I open my eyes, the dark ball of energy around my ankle is slowly dissipating. I don't really need proof that I'm healed, but I stand up anyway.

_"It worked. Thank you,"_ I say, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It coincidently flashes 9:11 the moment I look at it, and I broach the subject with Lawrence now, trying not to sound paranoid as I describe the phenomenon of constantly seeing the number eleven.

_"Consider it a whisper from the universe. For me, it's always triple numbers and I see them in clusters right before something major is about to happen. It's a signal to pay attention,"_ he says, relieving me of the notion that it's a crazy person thing.

***

I hear the sound of an airplane on final approach right before the knock on my bedroom door and my heart catches in my throat when I look up to find Zane standing in the doorway with a color screening of almost gray. Sucking in a deep breath, I hold my hand out and he raises an eyebrow in response.

"My ankle is still a little sore," I lie. "Do you mind?"

"I could carry you if you would like," he replies wryly. When I don't respond, he walks over and offers me his hand.

"You're shaking," he says, when I place my hand in his.

"I'm such a coward," I whisper, admitting the obvious out loud. I can't even bring myself to check out his color screening—anything less than a blue would cripple me.

"You're the most fearless woman I know," he says softly, and I look up at him in spite of myself.

_Orange with definite flecks of yellow dispersed throughout._ I smile and grip his hand tightly—as if my life depended on it.

***

As interesting as the outside of the building appears, it's nothing compared to the inside. I momentarily forget that I am on my way to a meeting with the mafia when I walk through the front doors.

"Wow, it's so beautiful," I whisper, letting go of his hand to investigate. Apparently Zane has a thing for plants because the entire front space is a greenhouse filled with varied size planter boxes that hold everything from common household vegetables and fruit trees to exotic looking foliage, even trees. Small paths wind around the planters and there are plaques with neatly written descriptions attached to the side of each. The colors and energy fields are intoxicating and I feel an instant kick in my own energy. He couldn't have picked a better setting to empower me with.

"I take it your ankle is better?" Zane says, interrupting my trance. I was so engrossed in my surroundings that I completely forgot to fake my ankle injury.

"If you wanted to hold my hand why didn't you just ask?" he says folding his arms across his chest.

Caught off guard, I stand motionless, trying to think of a valid response, and come up with nothing except the truth. I'm toying with the idea of giving him an explanation based on the transfusion of energy particles to raise the overall vibrational rate of a person, when we are interrupted by a third party.

"Ah, there you are Zane. Would you and Miss McCullough care to join us?" an elderly gentleman with a British accent says approaching us from the hallway on the other side of the greenhouse.

Zane immediately stiffens and his energy changes to a gray matching that of the man walking towards us.

"We will start the meeting when I say it's time," Zane says challengingly, narrowing his eyes at him.

The older gentleman looks like he's about to respond, but thinks better of it and instead turns to me.

"Miss McCullough, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Zane's father Mr. Harrington. This meeting won't take long. You'll discover very quickly that cooperation really is in everyone's best interest," he says, glancing sideways at Zane and offering his arm with the same formality that Zane did when I arrived.

"It's Mrs. Callahan, but you can call me Cat," I correct him, taking his arm, allowing him to lead me away. _It's better than nothing,_ I silently remind myself when the dull gray hue around him barely lightens to blue. I glance over my shoulder and Zane smiles sadly at me. I can't be a hundred percent sure, but he almost has a look of remorse as he slowly follows us down the long corridor leading to a large conference room.

# CHAPTER THIRTY

RONAN

"The rest of us can see it so you should be able to see it too. You need to set aside your feelings and thoughts of Cat right now, and concentrate harder," Alisha says impatiently, before getting up to leave. I was just as frustrated as her at not being able to see the energy fields surrounding the foliage that now everyone else claimed to recognize, but erasing the images of Cat being beaten was nearly impossible. She was expecting me to extinguish the smoldering flame inside of me by thinking happy thoughts, and the only happy thoughts I had at this moment was how good it would feel to get my hands around the throat of the man responsible. I spend the next half hour staring at the half dead Christmas tree, finally shaking my head in defeat. I am not used to failing at anything, and when Brandon excitedly shouts, "I moved it! Did you see that?" my mood darkens even further.

"Don't worry, it will happen," Elizabeth whispers, putting her arm around my shoulder while the others gather around Brandon, eager to confirm his developing telekinetic abilities. "We're still going to have to use Claire for the Keystone pipeline anyway," she adds in an attempt to make me feel better. It would definitely be a victory if all the Designers had their own mind movement power, instead of having to use Claire to accomplish our dirty deeds.

Unlike Alisha, Elizabeth has a gift for saying the right thing at the right time, and when she found me writhing in agony after seeing Cat, she sat with me over an hour counseling and reassuring me of Cat's capability of protecting herself from the man abusing her.

"She knows what she's doing Ronan. You need to listen and trust her. If you intervene now and they hurt her brother or parents, she'll be devastated. She'll let you know when she can't handle it anymore. You need to focus on developing your skills further so that when the time comes you'll be ready to help," she says wisely, rallying me to action.

Taking a big gulp of milk, I study her for a moment. Not only is she beautiful, but she has such a kind, gentle quality—it's hard to imagine Michael betraying such a woman. "Liz, I'm sorry about Michael. For what it's worth, I didn't see it coming at all—none of us did, except maybe Claire," I say.

She smiles sadly. "Thanks Ronan. I knew something was a little off—I just thought Claire would speak up if his color screening changed dramatically. It'll be nice to see people's energies for ourselves, although it probably wouldn't have changed what's happened to Cat. And besides, you've set the bar for the kind of man every woman should marry. I mean, shouldn't every girl have a guy willing to die for her?" she says softly, playfully nudging me in the shoulder.

"Lizzy, I'm sure you've bewitched plenty of men," I tease, and she blushes slightly.

"Let's see if everyone's ready to tackle the pipeline. Alisha thinks there'll be fewer casualties if we do it late tonight while everyone's sleeping," she says, changing the subject.

***

"Well, it looks like we've just committed our first act of terrorism," Alisha mutters, making Natalie look up at her warily.

"Why don't we all get some rest? It'll be a while before the story hits the news station. Come on pumpkin—you were outstanding," she murmurs, picking up Claire, who is already half asleep. The act of destroying the pipeline took close to an hour of concentrated mental effort and as draining as it was for us, I could only imagine what it did to Claire. If it weren't for Austin's contribution, we quite possibly could have failed altogether. At one point Claire started to wince and touch her forehead, a sign that the wave of energy moving through her was overwhelming, giving all of us more reason to develop our own telekinetic powers.

"Well, there's no turning back now," Natalie says to Austin, who just grins widely.

"It's sort of the perfect crime. No one could ever prove it anything other than just an act of nature," he muses. I stretch out on the floor and at some point close my eyes, tuning out the voices of the others as they rehash and ponder the fallout of the events. It isn't until I hear Elizabeth and Natalie say goodnight that I mentally connect with Brandon and Austin asking for their help.

***

"Big sister is going to kick our ass," Brandon chuckles, as he pre-flights his airplane. It didn't take much to persuade him into flying me to Glasgow, Montana, especially with an enthusiastic Austin chomping at the bit to engage in a more daring, hands-on assignment. I was beginning to see why Natalie worried about him.

"So do you want to land at the Glasgow commercial airport first or head straight to the Air Force Base," Brandon asks as he studies his aviation maps.

"Let's do a fly-by over the Air Force Base first and check out the surrounding landscape to see if we can get in by foot." It was going to take a good six hours to get down there, during which time I would be inaccessible to Cat should she try to mentally connect with me. I hadn't completely made up my mind what I was going to do once we arrived, but I knew one thing for certain, sitting around the Freeman estate was out of the question. I figured the Harrington's would be distracted with the Keystone pipeline giving me the opportunity to sneak in and find Cat. We are seconds away from being airborne when a large antelope appears from the edge of the woods and casually walks onto the runway, stopping dead center to stare into the cockpit of the airplane. Brandon flicks his lights off and on, in attempt to scare it off, but this seems to paralyze the animal even further.

"Hey, shoo!! Get out of here!" Brandon shouts. When the animal doesn't budge, he shuts the engine off and gets out of the plane waving his arms and running towards it. The action is effective in getting the animal to move off the runway briefly, but as soon as Brandon starts the engine again, it reappears.

"Let's all three get out and see if we can scare him enough to leave for good," Brandon says.

Thank god for feline vision and speed. It takes only a few minutes to successfully chase it deep into the forest.

"All clear for take-off," Brandon finally announces once again, and his plane lunges forward into the black of night, leaving the ground to skim over the trees at the end of the runway before circling around and heading south.

***

Two hours in to the flight, I am awakened from a nap by a light tap on my shoulder. When I turn to see Claire, staring at me with a wide innocent grin, my heart lodges in my throat.

"Holy crap—how did you...? Brandon, turn around we've got a stowaway," I groan. Both Brandon and Austin turn around at the same time, and Brandon cracks up laughing as soon as he sees her.

"Hey Claire, how'd you get in here?" he says good-naturedly, failing to grasp the serious dilemma her presence creates.

"Brandon, turn around now," I say, clenching my teeth to keep from yelling.

"Ronan—No! I'm coming too. It's my family," she says stubbornly.

"Claire, it's too dangerous. We can't take you with. We're going to be running most of the way, and you won't be able to keep up."

"I'm faster now. I never used to be able to keep up with Parker and now I can," she says proudly.

"Who's Parker?" Austin asks.

"He's the antelope that distracted you so I could sneak onto the plane," she replies matter-of-factly.

"Wow, you're like a modern day Addams Family," Austin says and Brandon roars with laughter.

"Hey guys—this is serious shit. We can't take a six-year-old with us. Brandon, turn the plane around please."

"Ronan, if we turn around now, Alisha will make it very difficult to leave again. We are half way there. Let's just at least check it out by air, and we'll come back another time."

"Yeah, Nat will have a fit, if she knows what we're up to," Austin agrees.

I scowl when I catch Brandon winking at Claire, but eventually concede to a fly over. If it came down to it, I could always bench Brandon with Claire and take Austin with me.

"All right—but you better listen to what I tell you," I say, giving in. She nods her head eagerly and settles back in her seat, wisely closing her eyes to get some much needed rest.

***

If not for our enhanced night vision, it would have been impossible to see the destruction below us. In order to stay above the news helicopters already swarming the barely lit up sky, Brandon had to fly at an unusually high elevation. Now the four of us press our faces to the windows as he makes one more pass over the Bakken oil fields. It wasn't that far out of the way to fly over North Dakota, so none of us objected when Austin suggested it. From our vantage point, it appears that the Harringtons got what they wanted. Everywhere we look, there are jets of geyser-like flames accompanied by mushrooms of black smoke mounting above the debris of drilling rigs, pumps and tankers. The thick smoke obscures most of the landscape of the neighboring town Williston, but the sporadic glimpses we do get, show devastation. I was certain that those lucky enough to have had their homes spared in the earthquake would certainly be driven away by the subsequent smoke.

"We have to get out of here, the airspace is getting too busy," Brandon murmurs, banking the airplane hard left, to avoid a Piper Bonanza approaching from the right. None of us speaks a word, not even Austin, who left the Freeman estate boasting of the experience.

***

The minute we land in Glasgow, Montana to refuel and devise a plan, Alisha connects with me mentally and spends ten minutes threatening, lecturing, and pleading with us to come home. When she's done with me, she gives the others a dose of the same, including Claire, who uses her hand to make the talking mouth motion while mouthing the words, " _blah, blah, blah"_ to the rest of us, in response to the scolding she's likely receiving. Right before we take off, Alisha connects with me one last time and in a soft, sad voice, says, _"He's not going to kill her Ronan. She's too valuable of an asset for them. Do you realize that her presence there gives us the only hope we have of finding where the others are located? Just think about that when you're planning your heroic rescue."_

"The lives of my family are at stake, too, Ali. I'm not going to rush in and do anything stupid, but I just can't sit around any longer and not do anything. They could string us along forever if we let them."

_"Please be careful and take care of Claire,"_ she finally says, in her own way giving us permission to proceed.

***

The fact that it was still early in the morning served as a reasonable enough explanation as to why Cat didn't respond to my mental calls. Dwelling on any other explanation would drive me crazy, so I accept that she's still confined in a shielded room.

"Who wants a sandwich?" Claire asks, pulling a backpack out from behind the back of the seat, once we are in flight again. The offer perks up Brandon and Austin, who are much more somber after flying over the Bakken oil fields.

***

"There it is on the left," Brandon announces, rolling the plane to the left so we can get a good look at it. Claire unbuckles from her seat and nudges her way onto my lap to get a better look.

Seventeen miles north of Glasgow is the abandoned town of St. Marie, and the old Air Force Base with the former base housing. Alisha's drawings contained much of the detail that we were now seeing from the air. If it weren't for the one maintained runway at the base, landing there would have been tricky, even with Designer capabilities. The rest of the airport is as dilapidated as the houses surrounding it.

"That's it!" Claire and I both say at the same time, pointing to a particular house sandwiched between rows of similar looking houses. Both of us recognize the area from our remote travel events. It's one of only a few houses in the area with fresh tire tracks and a bench in the back yard where I found Cat sitting a few days ago.

"It looks completely deserted. We should land and take a look around?" Austin says eagerly, regaining some of his earlier enthusiasm.

"Harrington's place is a few miles to the north. Let's swing over there first and take a look," I answer, as my stomach twists in knots thinking about how close I could actually be to finding Cat.

"Are you sure?" I question Brandon's coordinates. He glances down at his instrument panels and says, "Yep, that's the millionaire's property." Aside from the huge airport hangar and nice long runway, there was nothing about the property that screamed money. The single family residence looked to be a quarter of the size of the Freeman estate, with modest landscaping and lax security. At least, the tall stone wall surrounding the perimeter that might discourage the average trespasser, wasn't anything that couldn't easily be scaled by the four of us.

***

"Let's split up and check the rest of the houses just in case," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat, as I look around the bunker where my wife had been held, up until a few days ago. "Make sure to scramble the security cameras," I remind Austin as he and Brandon silently retreat up the stairs. Claire says that security monitors, as with most electronics, have a unique vibrational quality that she is easily able to see the energy field of. Once she pointed it out to Austin, the two of them quickly located and disabled the ones used to spy on my wife, the very idea of which makes my blood boil.

The next two houses don't have bunkers below them, but the third one does and while I wait impatiently for Claire to unlock the door, resisting the urge to kick it in, Brandon connects a call with us. _"We've got something; fifth house to the east."_

"Whoa honey, nobody's going to hurt you. Just put down the knife," we hear Brandon say as we enter the underground apartment. I instantly recognize the girl standing in the kitchen with a large butcher knife pointed at him.

"Get out or I'll call the police," she threatens, waving the knife while he slowly inches towards her.

Naturally, he finds this hilarious and cracks up laughing. "Well then we have a few days before we need to be worried," he teases, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

"Where the hell is my wife," I blurt out without thinking.

She takes a step back looking at me for the first time, and I see her bottom lip begin to tremble. "I don't know who you're talking about," she says unconvincingly. I am about to refresh her memory when Claire steps out from behind me. She gasps and her eyes instantly fill with tears. "Claire?" she whispers, lowering the knife. Claire nods and says, "I miss my sister." The two silently gaze at each other and I can tell Claire's presence has her struggling with her loyalties.

"I'm so sorry—I had no choice. I tried my best to take care of all of them," she finally says, with a look of fear and desperation. She slowly raises the knife again, this time turning it towards her own chest.

"Don't do it. We can help. Give me the knife," Brandon says, holding his hand out.

"Hey guys, I think he's going to need some medical attention," Austin calls, and we turn to see him carrying the body of a frail elderly gentleman out of one of the back rooms. In that brief moment of distraction, I hear Claire scream and catch a glimpse of Brandon diving towards the girl, knocking the knife from her hand as it slices across her chest.

***

Brandon is quick as lightning to catch her before she hits the floor, and Claire leaps like a gazelle across the room hurdling the countertop, and landing lightly on the other side as he's lowering her to the ground. I follow close behind resisting my natural instinct to order Claire out of the way, as she places her hands over the blood soaked chest of the injured girl.

"What the hell just happened?" Austin asks, looking towards the kitchen as he lays the man on the couch.

"It's a pretty deep cut," Brandon murmurs in an atypically stressed voice.

"Holy shit! Is she going to be okay?" Austin asks, matching Brandon's tone.

The girl moans in response. "Let me go. He's going to kill me anyway," she murmurs, trying to push Claire's hands away.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, just hold still," Brandon says soothingly, looking anxiously at Claire who looks so relaxed with her eyes closed, that you would never know she owned a part in the girl's fate.

Brandon doesn't leave the girl's side, and his continuous flow of gentle reassuring words makes me a little nervous about his plans for her. Thirty minutes pass before Claire finally lifts her blood stained hands from the girl's chest, and turns around giving me a slight nod with her head indicating that things have stabilized. It's only then that I turn my attention to the man being attended to by Austin.

***

"He color screens yellow, but I haven't been able to get much information from him. Let's see if you have better luck then me," Austin says, shrugging his shoulders as he moves out of the way. The man appears to be in his sixties or seventies and is clearly in a declining state of health. His lips are crusty, dry, and there are dark circles under his already sunken eyes. His respirations are so shallow, that I have to lean close to detect the exchange of air, and he is clearly malnourished.

"Sir, my name is Ronan. Can you tell me anything about why you are here?" I try.

He slowly opens his eyes and turns his head, warily regarding me with dull blue eyes. After several seconds, he furrows his brows and scrutinizes me more closely.

"What was your name?" he asks.

"Ronan. What is yours?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing a row of yellow stained teeth.

"Lawrence. My name is Lawrence," he says, sighing with relief.

END OF BOOK TWO

