“Don’t lie. I just have to look at your eyes to know you’re one of them. I suspected, but when you said you were ‘out of practice’ I knew for sure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re one of those. Who are you working for?”
Anger flared. “Guess I couldn’t fool a federal agent. You’re right, Sherlock. I saved you from those goons just so I could bring you back here and kill you.” She tapped her head against the wall. “Oh damn! I left my Glock in the other room.”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Your so-called night vision is physically impossible. I’ve trained for night ops. There’s not enough light out here for night-vision goggles. You can see in the dark, but are blind in the light. So, who are you working for?”
She struggled to free herself, but his body trapped her. He wasn’t buying her medical condition bullshit. He knew all about her. Not only could she even see colours in the dark, but read, too. The blacker the night, the better her vision. She had been born with a strange power and, as far as she knew, there weren’t too many other people like her in the world.
“Tell me now or I’ll take you into custody for questioning.”
An image of being blind and helpless in an unknown place filled her with dread. Avoiding that situation had been the whole reason she lived here. She was out of options. Shit. “I’m not working for anybody. That’s the whole point of living miles away from civilization.”
That made him pause. “You’re in hiding?”
“Give Mr Super Detective a gold star.”
“From who?” The suspicion was back.
“Everyone!” Her father would be livid if he were alive. She had just undermined all his efforts to keep the government from knowing where she was hiding. Sophia would never forget the day the agents had visited them. They had called her special, and wanted her to train at an exclusive school to become an agent. Her father promised them he’d take her there. Instead of driving to the school, he headed for the hills. When she questioned him, he had explained that the government would train her to sneak around in the dark, stealing, spying and killing people for them.
“And you’re the worst.”
“Me?” Mitch balked.
“Yes. You said it yourself. The government wants to exploit people like me. We can see in the dark. That’s a handy skill for an agent. The Federal Agency for Supernatural Security, my ass. You guys are the one group of people who give me no sense of security whatsoever. What is it you guys call us, again? The phrase is so hateful.”
Mitch hesitated. “Blind assassins. But they do other . . . jobs as well.”
“Do you think the members volunteer?”
“No. No, they don’t,” he said in a quiet voice. “In fact, for a long time I thought blind assassins were just an urban legend. Agents would blame them for unexplained events, things you w
ould usually blame a ghost for, like rearranging your knick-knacks, or hiding your car keys. An agent even joked once that Bin Laden used a blind assassin to help him escape through the caves in Afghanistan. At least, I thought he was joking until . . .”
He released his hold. She didn’t wait. Inching along the wall, she searched for the doorway with her hands. Was she even going the right way?
The lamp switched off, flooding the room with darkness. She sagged with relief. Mitch sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on the lamp.
She darted to the doorway, but paused at the threshold. “Until . . . what?”
“Until tonight,” he said.
“Are you going—”
“No. I won’t tell anyone about you.” He gave her a sad smile. “But I might try to recruit you. You could find Bin Laden’s hideout and—”
“Not interested.”
He sighed. “Could you get the coordinates of the farmhouse for me?”
“Sure. There’s a first-aid kit in the linen closet, clean T-shirts in the drawers. They’re my father’s, but . . . but he’s dead. The shirts should fit you; he used to be a firefighter before he was a paramedic.” She babbled, but couldn’t stop herself. “There’s food in the kitchen and flashlights in the closet. Help yourself.”
Sophia ran downstairs to her bedroom. Embarrassed and upset, she had a whole gymnastic team of emotions doing twists and flips in her chest. He had attacked and threatened her and she had transformed into Miss Manners. She should have kicked him out. One phone call, buddy and go. Was she that desperate for company? Yes, she was.
Before tonight she thought she didn’t need anyone. She had her books, her dirt bike, her pen pals, and was learning how to paint.