"I couldn't." She tried to smile. "What if Molino killed you? If Edmund had that great an effect on me, I think you'd probably haunt me."

He shook his head. "I'd do my best not to do that. I'd want you to go on with your life and not look back. If there's any way to prevent it, you're not going to hear my voice after I bow out."

She felt a wrenching pang as she thought of Grady dead, Grady gone. The intensity of it took her by surprise. She didn't want to feel this close to Grady. It was as if that adolescent summer madness and the sexual attraction she was feeling now were blending, becoming stronger. She tried to edge away from that whirlpool of emotion. "I wonder if it's possible to control any of this. Ever since I found out about how all this psychic stuff has been surrounding me all my life I've been feeling resentful. I don't like not being in control."

"Welcome to the club. I've been trying to find answers since I was ten years old."

"You knew you had a gift that young?"

"Yes, but it didn't bother me. I was exhilarated at the thought of controlling situations. Children are instinctive savages and most savages want to be leader of the pack. It was only later that I realized that I wasn't regarded as a leader but a kind of Frankenstein."

"When?"

He shrugged. "When my father kicked me out. I was sixteen and he said I could take care of myself. He wasn't putting up with having a weirdo in his house."

"What about your mother?"

"She took off a few years before my dad decided that I wasn't welcome." He made a face. "Maybe he thought she wouldn't have left him if she hadn't had to contend with a problem child. I was a big headache to both of them. First, they took me to social workers and a couple psychiatrists paid by the state. Later they gave up and told everyone that I was a little peculiar and to just leave me alone."

"Alone? That's a terrible thing to do to a child."

"Are you bleeding for that poor kid? Don't waste your pity. I was a tough little bastard. Feel sorry for my parents. They never wanted a child anyway and then they got me."

"I don't feel sorry for them. They should have worked harder with you." She added fiercely, "And your father should never have kicked you out of the house."

"I can see I'm not going to be able to convince you that you're rooting for the wrong team." His lips lifted in a half smile. "I won't bother. I kind of like it."

She didn't like it at all. Now a protective thread had been added to the mixture of emotions she was feeling for Grady. Just the fact that he had not tried to defend or justify himself made her all the more defensive on his behalf. "Is that when you joined the service?"

He nodded. "It seemed a good way to get fed, trained, and kept out ofjail. Of course, I managed to get myself in the stockade quite a few times before I started to grow up a little. Then I found my niche and I was on my way."

"I was surprised when Phillip told me that the Services used psychics. It was like something from a sci-fi movie. I always think of the military as being clear and sharp and no nonsense."

"They also believe in weapons, hi-tech or otherwise. They can swallow almost anything if it means winning a battle." He leaned back in his seat and gazed out the window as they started to taxi. "And according to Michael Travis's research almost everyone believes in some form of psychic or paranormal experience. In fact, a great percentage believes they've had a psychic episode in their lives."

She shook her head skeptically. "A great percentage?"

"Sit down at a dinner table and lead the conversation in that direction. You'll be surprised how many interesting stories you come up with."

"Stories being the key word?"

"There's an interesting theory regarding psychic abilities. Suppose that we all have varying degrees of psychic gifts but they stay safely tucked away in ninety-eight percent of the population. Michael has had MRIs and chemical tests made on the brains of psychic volunteers and the fluid balance appears to be higher and closer to the brain center. What if the fluid in that area contains a DNA factor that opens and enables the brain to function on a different level? If that chemical makeup is hereditary, it would account for talents being passed down through families."

"Like the Devanez family."

He nodded. "Your mother's tests showed an unusually high percentage of that fluid."

"What about your tests?"

"Not as high as Sarah's. Her results were practically off the charts." He met her gaze. "I'd bet your tests would be astonishing. Sarah said you were stronger than she was."

"We're not going to find out. I don't want to be a guinea pig for your Michael Travis."

"You may change your mind. I wasn't enthusiastic either, but you can't control a problem without knowledge. I'm all for control." He smiled. "I thought you'd embrace this particular hypothesis. It's much more scientific than voodoo, witchcraft, and black magic."

"Do you believe it?"

"I believe it's entirely possible. First, you have to accept that the universe is not necessarily laid out in nice, logical, patterns for us. Then you only have to accept that we're not all capable of seeing, hearing, and experiencing to the same degree the universe around us. Dogs and cats see and smell things differently than we do. Birds see more brilliant colors and nuances of shades than we could ever dream." He smiled. "I don't hear what you hear. I'm deaf to it. You can't do what I do. You don't understand it. Maybe every now and then someone who ordinarily has no psychic ability has a rush of adrenaline or a chemical shift that surges the pertinent DNA to the brain. For a second, a moment, five minutes, whatever psychic gift being suppressed breaks free."

"Maybe."

He chuckled. "But you do like that explanation. I knew you would. Your practical soul has felt violated since you were plunged into all this."

"You're right. I'm reaching for whatever sanity I can find." She made a face. "And maybe I like the idea of everyone having some degree of psychic ability. It makes me feel less alone."

He reached out and covered her hand on the chair arm. "You're not alone."

Her hand was warm, tingling, beneath his grasp and the pulse in her wrist was pounding erratically. He might have meant to touch her in comfort but it wasn't comfort she was feeling. Did he know? Dammit, of course he knew. He'd said he was sensitive to her emotions and she was being bombarded with emotion right now.

"Don't... touch me."

"Why not? You like it. You want it."

Lord, that was no lie. The tingling that had started in her hand was now suffusing her entire body. She was acutely aware of him. The tension of his muscles, the faint scent of spicy aftershave and musk, the heat he was emitting. Don't look at him. She knew what she'd see and it would only add fuel to the fire. Her hand clenched on the arm of the chair. "I don't always take what I want."

"Neither do I." He muttered a curse. "And this is a hell of a time. I didn't intend to start this now. It just happened."

And how had it happened? A mainly cerebral discussion and then this explosive sexual tension. "Then take your hand away."

"I'd better do more than that." He unbuckled his seat belt and stood up. "I'm going up to the cockpit and talk to the pilot and Harley." He looked down at her and she caught her breath as she saw his expression. "But you'd better get used to the idea. I could control it when I wasn't sure you wanted it too, but that's not the case any more. Is it?"