Always Look Twice. Sheri WhiteFeather

women.

      Olivia had met him through AIM, but somewhere along the line, he’d outgrown the American Indian Movement. These days he belonged to an underground warrior society, a militant group the government wouldn’t approve of.

      Not that the feds approved of AIM, she thought.

      Kyle called the FBI the Federal Bureau of Ineptitude, and men like Special Agent West, fibbies.

      “I shouldn’t let you use me like this,” he said, taking his coffee to a Formica-topped dinette set near the window. “I should make you return my keys.”

      She plopped down in the chair across from him. “We can’t be friends if we’re not sleeping together?”

      He shrugged, feigning indifference. Olivia wanted to kick him. She knew he enjoyed being her instructor. The power-blasting rush probably gave him a hard-on.

      “What’s got you so wound up?” he asked.

      “Everything.” She blew a weary breath. “The Slasher, my sister’s passive nature, the FBI.”

      That caught his attention. “What FBI?”

      “The agent assigned to the Slasher investigation. I had a premonition about him. We were kissing, pawing each other, getting all hot and nasty.”

      “That’s sick.”

      “He’s registered with the Muscogee Nation.”

      “A Creek?” Kyle sipped lazily from his cup. “I knew those civilized tribes couldn’t be trusted.”

      And she knew he was being smart. “This isn’t a joke.”

      “I didn’t say it was. An Indian fibbie is some serious shit.” He frowned at her, and the sharp, rugged expression made him look even more handsome. “Why’d you kiss him?”

      “I just told you, it was a vision. A premonition. It hasn’t happened yet. And it’s not going to,” she added, even though the idea had begun to arouse her.

      “Maybe it wasn’t a premonition.” He leaned back in his chair, scraping the metal legs against the floor. “Maybe it was somebody’s fantasy.”

      “Somebody’s? You mean his?”

      “Or yours.”

      Trust him to bait her, to accuse her of being the guilty party, to figure out that she was attracted to West.

      Olivia yanked away his cup, nearly spilling the rest of the hot brew. “I’m tired of shooting the breeze.”

      He came to his feet, six foot four of raw, rugged muscle. “Then what do you want to shoot, Liv?”

      She gave him an exasperated look. No one but Kyle called her Liv. And no one but Kyle offered her the tools, techniques and tactical training she craved.

      She needed him.

      And he damn well knew it.

      Chapter 3

      Olivia followed Kyle outside, where they took his Jeep to the aircraft hangar, a ten-thousand-square-foot structure designed to his specification.

      They reached the metal building, and once they were inside, he smiled at her, looking a tad wicked in the compound he’d created.

      Kyle claimed it was nothing more than a sophisticated, indoor, laser-tag course, equipped with a montage of movie props and set changes, including lifelike audio tracks and things that varied the weather, creating heat, rain, ice or wind.

      But to Olivia it was more than that. The other people who came here—mercenaries and militants—played war games. But she was a psychic honing her skills, using her mind, instead of her eyes, to locate a target.

      Kyle, of course, was the great and powerful Oz. He controlled the environment, modifying the course when necessary, putting new obstacles in each participant’s path.

      “Ready?” he asked.

      She nodded, handing him her pistol. He placed the Glock in a gun case and fitted her with a laser pack, then a laser gun. Next, he readied himself, using the same type of gear.

      At the moment, the course was prepared for low-light combat. The hangar was dark, not pitch-black, but dim and shadowy. Only that wasn’t Olivia’s agenda.

      Kyle came up behind her, placing a blindfold around her eyes.

      “How long will I have this time?” she asked.

      “Thirty minutes.”

      She nodded. Soon Kyle would become her target. The man she had to locate, the human predator she had to kill. They’d been working on this exercise for months, but she’d yet to catch him.

      “On the thirty-first minute, you’re fair game,” he said.

      “I know.” He would be able to see her, she thought. He would have the advantage. But that was her choice, her challenge, the reason this drill mattered so much.

      He leaned into her again, adjusting the blindfold, making sure it was secure. “Is that good?”

      “Yes.”

      “How good?” he asked.

      Confused, she frowned. “What?”

      “Is it as good as when he touches you?”

      She shook her head. She didn’t need this testosterone crap. She knew Kyle was talking about West. “Don’t be an idiot.”

      “I’ll bet you can see him in your mind right now, Liv. I’ll bet you can feel him rubbing against you.”

      “Not a chance,” she said, but her denial came too soon.

      There was no time to think, to stop it from happening. Within a heartbeat, within one breathless moment, an erotic image flowed through her blood, sending chills along her spine.

      The vision seemed so real, so lifelike, forcing her to react. She moistened her lips. Warm, wet, much too eager.

      West was going to kiss her.

      She could see him, tall and tan, his obscure eyes a silvery shade of gray. She reached out to touch him, to feel the texture of his clothes. He moved closer, and her knees went weak. She could smell his cologne.

      Beneath the blindfold, she rebelled, battling her desire, trying to will it away. But she couldn’t. The enchantment was there, deep inside her, like a—

      “Now!” A pair of strong hands shoved her, and she went sprawling, falling to the ground, losing her weapon in the process.

      She snapped out of the vision, cursing herself for falling for Kyle’s scheme, for letting him trick her. She could hear him running through the building, his footsteps echoing, then disappearing into a maze of silence.

      Her thirty minutes had begun.

      She took a deep breath and focused on her missing gun, on the laser pistol that had skidded across the concrete floor.

      There, she thought, using her ability to retrieve lost objects. To the right.

      Olivia stretched her arm, found it, smiled like a siren. She was going to blow Kyle Prescott to smithereens.

      She moved forward, zeroing in on the energy around her. Pickle barrels, shelves with canned goods, a pallet of paper products.

      Confident, she continued on the same path, then nearly lost her footing on a rock that got caught under her shoe. The terrain had changed.

      Dirt, boulders, instant sounds from the night. Crickets chirping, owls hooting. Her nostrils flared. Trees. Tall, realistic props, scented with evergreen.

      Olivia put her hand out, making sure there was nothing in front of her, nothing blocking her way.

      Then something growled, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned, took aim, fired the laser