Sweet Mercy by Naomi Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

looking for vulnerabilities, for ways to distract or circumvent us.”
    “Hmm.” Rachel stood aside while he spoke with the concierge at the highly polished slab of black granite serving as the desktop. He didn’t register as Coward, but gave the man his own name. Her gaze wandered the lavish décor, from glittering crystal chandeliers to marble tiles and scattered seating arrangements on oriental carpets, but she took none of it in. Johnson could be stalking one of her friends—or David—at this very moment. But surely David would be safe. His talent consisted principally of immunity to the special talents of others.
    “What can we do if he gets to someone else on the Team? He’ll know all our plans. He can sabotage us from within.”
    “Don’t worry.”
    She realized her anxiety had spiked again and focused on easing it.
    Fluke went on, “David has thought of all this already. We talked while you were with the police artist. He’s got team members paired up to make sure Johnson won’t catch anyone alone—we’re on the buddy system.” He gave her a grin as they made their way to the elevators. “Just so you know, you and I are buddies.”
    “Perfect.” Rachel muttered to herself.
    Proximity to Fluke presented an increasing challenge to her inner peace. Every small touch, the heat and scent of him beside her, all ignited physical reactions she’d so far only marginally managed to contain. Her nervousness over affecting the people around them made it easier to keep her reactions in check. What would happen when she found herself alone with him? What did she want to happen?
    As they ascended, a placard on the wall of the elevator advertised the spa. No way. Not as wired as she felt right now; she’d undo all the relaxing anyone else there had achieved.
    “We’ve got the penthouse suite on the top floor of the hotel, and the two floors directly below,” Fluke reminded her.
    She relaxed a bit. No one but Fluke would be near enough to feel the full brunt of her emotional overflow.
    “There, that’s better isn’t it?” He led her into the living room of the suite, a room large enough to be measured in acreage rather than square feet, with floor to ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the sun setting over the surrounding countryside.
    “Much.” She stretched and eased previously unnoticed tension from her neck and shoulders.
    “Can I help with that?” Fluke moved in close behind her, bringing strong hands to the taut muscles either side of where neck and shoulders joined. His thumbs pressed down and away while his fingers and sides of his hands pressed expertly upward.
    She melted into his touch. “Mmm—that’s good. No matter how well I keep up with my yoga practice I can’t seem to keep the stiffness out of my neck.”
    “Everyone needs a little help now and then.” He tugged her toward a low couch that looked about a mile long. “Let’s sit, relax, and order room service…”
    “I couldn’t eat.” She sank to the couch. He stayed close beside her, his hands still soothing the tension from her neck. “And I want to get used to the idea that my emotions aren’t on public display.”
    “Nobody here but me. Is this really so new for you?”
    “We—David and I—have lived in the city since we met Tamara—about seven years now. There have always been neighbors, and her students, and passers-by…”
    “And before that?” The heat of his thigh close to hers at once comforted and excited her. He had to feel her excitement too, though somehow that didn’t bother her as it would if there’d been dozens of people around, picking up the same thing.
    “We spent about three years in hiding, on the run, evading the freak hunters. We spent time away from population centers. Hiding out in abandoned industrial buildings and barns—when the dogs didn’t chase us out—camping in makeshift shelters in the woods where no one could pick up on my personal broadcasts. But I was usually too