A Gift of Thought Read online

  Her eyes felt hot again. Damn it, she was not going to cry.

  “The security system checked out clear,” Ty told her, voice neutral. She threw a quick sideways glance in his direction. He was watching his son, eyes on the playground, but he’d seen her expression. He was looking away from her out of tact, not worry for Joshua’s safety.

  “Dillon’s dead,” she told him flatly. Ty was her best friend, the only one who knew her story.

  For a moment, he looked blank, and then, “Oh, Sylvie.” He sat down on the bench and put his arm around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry.”

  For a second, two, she leaned into him, feeling the strength of his chest next to her, and then she straightened, and took a deep breath. “Not like I knew him, right?” She tried to make the words casual, but a sniffle escaped. His arm tightened around her and she pressed her lips together.

  They sat in silence, watching the children, until Ty started. “So . . . ?”

  She could feel his questions. “Why does Chesney need such good security?” she asked. The question seemed random, but it was the thought that had been bothering her underneath her sorrow last night. She had no idea what Lucas had been up to, but she knew he wasn’t a common criminal. Why had he been in Chesney’s house?

  “What?” Startled, Ty glanced away from the climbing structure, where Joshua was pulling himself up the steps to the slide, to look at her face. She guessed he’d been expecting answers, not questions.

  “Chesney. His security. Us. Why does he need round-the-clock guards in Washington DC? And on his kid?” Sylvie picked up the coffee cup by her side and took a gulp, ignoring the bitterness of the warm liquid.

  Ty shrugged, letting his arm drop. “Can’t say I’ve thought about it. Politics? Business? Family issues? His divorce was a long time ago, but he’s got sole custody of Rachel. Maybe he’s worried about the ex. Or maybe he’s just paranoid.”

  “Maybe,” Sylvie said. “Why us instead of AlecCorp?”

  “Because we’re better,” Ty answered. “I know he’s got a financial interest in AlecCorp, but they’re mercenaries. Would you want them around your kid?”

  Sylvie tried to keep her expression blank, but knew a flicker of pain escaped.

  “Sorry,” Ty apologized. “I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t thinking.”

  She shook her head. She understood it had been a rhetorical question. And Ty was right. AlecCorp employees were the type who gave private security contractors a bad name all around the world, the ones who believed they could get away with murder and usually did.

  “Maybe he wants to keep his business interests and his personal life separate?” Ty suggested.

  “It just seems strange.”

  “He can afford us.” Ty’s tone was pragmatic. “That’s good enough for me. Tell me what happened last night.”

  Sylvie took another sip, then set her cup down on the bench next to her. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket, feeling the cool chill of her phone, wishing she’d worn gloves. She’d been sitting for long enough that the day was starting to feel cold. “As we drove in, I realized someone was inside the house and I recognized him. I thought he was looking for me, so I was surprised but not worried. Turned out he didn’t know I was there. He was in Chesney’s office, searching the desk.”

  “This was someone who knew you before?” Before, Sylvie knew, meant before the Marines, before she’d run away, before she’d changed identities. Before. It was an eternity ago.

  She nodded, her mouth twisting. “Dillon’s dad.”

  “Ah, the kid.” Ty’s eyebrows rose, a gleam of humor in his voice.

  Sylvie grimaced. “Twenty years ago, a kid,” she pointed out. Lucas. She shook her head. It was hard to remember that Lucas had ever been a kid.

  Sylvie moved to Tassamara with her mom in her junior year of high school. It was the smallest town they’d ever lived in and Sylvie wasn’t happy to be there. But she and her mom, they moved a lot, and Sylvie had learned not to ask too many questions.

  She’d also learned how to quickly size up a new school: she could peg the bullies, the cliques, the leaders and the losers by the end of a first day. But in Tassamara the usual rigid social structure of a public high school had been much more fluid. The head cheerleader was dating the editor of the yearbook, instead of the quarterback. That was just plain weird. Maybe it was because the school was so small, with less than 300 students.

  And Lucas had already been six feet tall and damn cute. How was she supposed to know he was a freshman? By the time she’d found out, it had been too late. Hell, maybe it had always been too late, she thought, trying not to feel bitter.

  From the moment she met him, it had been magic.

  “So what was he doing? Doesn’t he work for some company in Florida?” Ty sounded curious, as well as worried about the break in security. “And how did he get inside? The system tested clean. We couldn’t find anything wrong with it.”

  Sylvie shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “He worked for his parents’ company the last time I saw him, but that was years ago.”

  “Syl, if we’ve got a hole in our security, we’ve got to fix it.”

  She shook her head. “It’s unfixable,” she said, realizing the truth of the statement as she said it. “If the system was fine, Lucas must have gotten the code.”

  “We have a leak?” Ty reacted immediately. He stood, the shock in his voice showing his sense of betrayal, although Sylvie could also feel it radiating from him. The codes were changed every few days, which meant only current staff knew them. And every employee was personally screened by Ty; if someone had sold the codes, it was someone they knew.

  Sylvie didn’t let Ty’s emotion faze her. She was watching Joshua, who seemed to have gotten distracted from his usual pattern of up-the-steps, down-the-slide, over and over and over again. “It’s tough to prevent leaking information to a telepath,” she said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “Oh, he’s . . . .” Ty paused, and Sylvie could almost hear the unspoken, “like you.”

  “Not exactly, but the same general idea,” she told him. “But yeah. And, um, I think you need to . . . .” She gestured with her elbow, not taking her hands out of her pockets, at the steps to the slide, where Joshua was attempting to wrestle a toy shovel out of another boy’s hand. The other boy was starting to scream in protest and a worried mom was turning their way.

  “Damn.” Ty hurried the short distance over to the climbing structure and started negotiating with Joshua while Sylvie buried her neck a little deeper in her jacket, hunching her shoulders.

  What had Lucas been up to? Why had he been in Chesney’s house? The phone in her pocket vibrated again.

  Maybe she should talk to him.

  But Lucas . . . he was like a drug. It had taken her years to get over the last time.

  Unresolved conflict, that damn therapist had said. But some conflicts were unresolvable.

  Her phone vibrated again and Sylvie pulled it out, reluctantly. She glanced at the display. It was a text, not a call this time. She touched the button to display the message.

  Her heart froze.

  You would have been a good mom.

  That bastard.

  Sylvie stood, feeling as if her face had gone numb as Ty headed back, carrying a squirming, protesting Joshua.

  “You okay?” he asked sharply, seeing something in her expression.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, just once. “His name’s Lucas Latimer. You should run a background check. We should try to discover what he wants with Chesney. And we should up the rotation so someone’s at the house 24/7. But don’t worry about the security system, I’m sure it’s fine.” Her voice sounded strange to her, cold and tinny over the ringing in her ears.

  “All right.” Ty nodded, shifting the complaining Joshua around in his arms.

  “I’ve got to get to the gym,” Sylvie said to Ty. “I’ll see you Monday.”

  He nodded again, still looking doub
tful.

  “Silly,” Joshua howled, reaching for Sylvie.

  She ignored him. As she turned and walked away, she passed a trash can. Without pausing, she dropped her phone into it.

  She’d get a new one with a new number after she ran the twenty-two miles of the Capital Crescent trail and Rock Creek Park loop.

  Chapter Four

  Oops, thought Dillon. He’d intended his text message as a compliment. He’d realized while watching Sylvie with the little girl and the toddler that maybe he’d missed out on more than he knew. Yeah, his life had been good, but he might have liked having Sylvie as his mom. But maybe she hadn’t taken it that way?

  “I’m sorry,” he said to her back, following her out of the park. “I wasn’t trying to be mean.”

  She didn’t pay any attention, of course. But he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He resolved to apologize to her as soon as she got a new phone.

  Later that evening, they pulled into the parking lot of a giant mall in her sporty blue Subaru. Sylvie headed directly to the T-Mobile stand in the middle of the mall. As she shopped, Dillon watched the crowds, enjoying his freedom. He missed Rose and Akira, but this was the most excitement he’d had, maybe ever. Now all he had to do was explain that he was here to his mom.

  Of course, that might be easier said than done. Maybe he should start by telling her who he was? Or that he was a ghost? No, that’d be bad. But he had time. He’d be able to convince her eventually.

  As soon as she walked away from the stand, new phone in hand, Dillon starting texting her, and before she made it to the door of the mall, he’d managed a simple apology. As her phone buzzed, she paused. He stood next to her, watching for her reaction, bouncing on his toes a little. Would she understand?

  Her eyes flickered from side to side, and she tilted her head slightly as if she was listening. Then she turned, eyes scanning the crowded mall as she rotated in a slow circle.

  Uh-oh.

  The slight expression changes on her face, the twitch of a muscle in her cheek, the crease that had appeared in her forehead: it looked as if she was silently talking.

  Or trying to.

  And then she walked straight back to the guy who’d just sold her the phone and said to him, with a sweet smile that didn’t disguise an underlying tension, “I’m so sorry. This isn’t going to work for me after all.”

  “I—you—what?” he stuttered, startled.

  “I need to return this phone.”

  Dillon sighed. His mom was going to be difficult. If only Akira was around to translate for him. But Sylvie would have to get another phone soon. He’d just be persistent. Eventually she’d have to listen, right?

  Monday morning, her alarm went off well before daylight. Dillon had been sitting at the window, watching the night, and when she emerged from the bedroom, dressed in lightweight gray sweat pants and a white jacket, he grimaced. He hoped this wasn’t going to be another interminable run. Yesterday, he’d chased her down a sunny wooded trail that went on for what felt like forever. If he hadn’t been dead, he could never have kept up.

  A couple of hours later, she drove up to the fancy house and parked around back. It was close to dark, but there were glimmers of light on the horizon. Dillon didn’t have a watch, of course, but if he had to guess, he’d say that it was almost seven.

  Sylvie headed straight to the room with the monitors, and Dillon tagged along, wondering what the day would be like. Did she sit in the room watching the screens? That’d be boring. Okay, not as boring as sitting in a parking lot for years. But not exciting. Still, if he knew for sure that she wasn’t going anywhere and he wouldn’t lose her, he could explore some, check out the house, maybe visit the girl upstairs.

  The guy from the park was sitting at a small desk, head down, using two fingers to type. Next to him sat a younger black guy in a dark suit. He was leaning back in his chair, with sneaker-clad feet perched casually on the edge of the desk. They were talking about football but as Sylvie walked into the room, they broke off their conversation.

  “Good, you’re here,” said the park guy.

  Sylvie’s eyebrows rose. “Where else would I be?”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you. You haven’t answered your phone.”

  “Ah, right.” Sylvie glanced over at the monitors, not meeting his eyes. “Phone problems. I need to pick up a new one.”

  “Well, we’ve got some schedule changes this week. Here, come take a look.” As Sylvie peered over the park guy’s shoulder, Dillon’s attention was caught by sounds from the next room. He wandered over to see what was going on. Two uniformed maids were chatting as they folded laundry in a big room lined with cupboards. His basic Spanish wasn’t good enough to understand what they were saying, but they seemed cheerful.

  After glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Sylvie wasn’t going anywhere, Dillon explored further down the stone-tiled hallway. A huge kitchen held multiple appliances, including two ovens and three sinks. He wondered how many people lived here and how big their Thanksgiving dinner had been. As he continued down the corridor, he passed an exercise room, lined with mirrors, holding stationary bikes, elliptical trainers, and weight machines, then a living room with couches and chairs. Glass doors opened onto a patio with what looked like a swimming pool. Next up was a room that looked like a mini-theater, with a giant screen on one wall and tiers for seats. Wow, Dillon thought. This house was insane. He wondered what kind of movies they liked. Maybe he’d take up haunting the theater room.

  “It’s not a problem.” That was his mom, and it sounded like she was going somewhere. She stood in the doorway to the security room, back still turned to the hallway, but Dillon hurried back. Maybe he’d hang out at the mansion later but he wanted to stay with Sylvie for a while longer.

  The girl, Rachel, who he’d seen the other night, clattered down the stairs. She was wearing a school uniform: a blue blazer over a white shirt, a short gray and blue plaid skirt, gray knee high socks, shiny black shoes.

  “Ready?” Sylvie asked, turning to face her.

  “Obviously.” Rachel didn’t look at Sylvie, just pushed past her and out the door to the garage.

  Sylvie pressed her lips together as if to hold back her words, then turned and raised an eyebrow at the men in the room behind her. “Coming?”

  The black guy swiveled in his chair, dropping his legs to the floor and bounced to his feet. He wasn’t big, but he moved like an athlete, Dillon realized, like he knew exactly where his body was in relation to the other objects in the crowded room. “Sounds like Her Highness is in a snit.”

  “Watch it,” Ty said, voice mild, not looking up from his keyboard. “If you screw up and call her that where she can hear you and I have to fire you when we’re short-staffed, I’ll be pissed.”

  The other guy tapped his forehead, a casual salute. “You got it, boss man.” Putting the emphasis on the name, he added, “Miss Chesney sounds like she’s in a snit.”

  Ty sighed as Sylvie chuckled. “Not much better,” he muttered.

  “Come on, James,” Sylvie said. “Time to get the client to school.”

  The car was a black Mercedes with dark windows. Rachel was already sitting in the back seat, head up, staring straight ahead of her. James was the driver, Dillon realized, watching as he crossed in front of the car, while Sylvie went around the other way to get into the back with Rachel. Quickly, Dillon pushed himself through the door and took the front passenger seat.

  “So, this must be the morning routine, huh?” he asked, feeling cheerful. He wondered what grade Rachel was in. She looked like she was about his age. Maybe he’d start hanging out at her school. He was just as glad that he never had to take another math test, but he’d always liked history and English. He wouldn’t mind sitting through a few classes. He peered over the seat, trying to see if she had any books out, but her backpack was tucked neatly at her feet.

  “We need to go over your schedule.” Sylvie pulled an iPhone out of her pocket. />
  Score, thought Dillon. Ty must have lent her the phone. He wouldn’t text her right away. Maybe he’d wait until tonight, so that she wasn’t at work. And so that it wasn’t so easy for her to throw the phone away. He stayed turned in his seat, watching Sylvie and Rachel. It wasn’t as if he needed to wear his seat belt, after all.

  “If we have to.” Rachel’s voice was flat, expressionless, and she didn’t look at Sylvie.

  Sylvie glanced at her, but didn’t otherwise respond to her attitude. Scrolling through the calendar, she began calmly reciting a list of activities: piano lessons, dance rehearsal, SAT prep, soccer practice, a dentist appointment. It seemed endless. Rachel didn’t answer to any of it with more than a sigh, until Sylvie said, “Friday at 3:30, you have an appointment with Dr. Oshuda.”

  “What? Why?” Rachel’s head snapped toward Sylvie so quickly that Dillon winced. That looked like it hurt.

  “I don’t make the schedule, I just keep it.” Sylvie’s tone was matter-of-fact, but her glance at Rachel was sympathetic.

  “I hate her,” Rachel whined. “I really hate her.”

  Wow, Dillon thought. That was a serious whine, high-pitched and nasal and annoying. He could tell from the flicker of Sylvie’s eyes that it annoyed her, too, and a muscle in the driver’s jaw jumped as James clenched his teeth.

  But then Rachel turned away, staring out the window fixedly, and Dillon saw the gleam of light in her brown eyes that said they’d filled with tears.

  Sylvie didn’t sigh, but her mouth tightened. “Just tell her about your dreams. Therapists love that.”

  Rachel didn’t look back at Sylvie, but Dillon could see her swallow. James, though, flicked his gaze up to the rearview mirror and raised his eyebrows at Sylvie. She shrugged one shoulder.

  “Do you have third period free today?” Sylvie asked.

  Rachel nodded silently, sullenly, still staring out the window.

  “Do you want us to bring you a Frappuccino?”

  Rachel looked back at her, one corner of her lips turning up. “Can I sit in the car?”