Sight Unseen. Gayle Wilson

his anger and skepticism, Ethan found he was holding his breath as he waited for her answer. He must be even more desperate than he’d thought.

      “For you?”

      “For your country.”

      Her mouth was a little wide in proportion to the rest of her features. The corners ticked up quickly before she looked down at her hands, intertwined in her lap. Slim and tanned, they seemed as delicate as her face. When she looked up again, the smile had disappeared.

      “Like performing a parlor trick, you mean? Reading the cards perhaps.”

      Although the tone was again almost free of inflection, the wording clearly mocked what he’d just asked of her.

      “You seem amused by the idea of helping your country.”

      He sounded like some bureaucratic jerk. Maybe he was, but there was nothing in the least bit funny to him about what The Covenant was trying to do.

      Respect for the old man had caused him to seek this woman out. And it had kept him here, even after he’d learned the truth. Under no other circumstance would he have approached some so-called psychic for help. After what had happened to Gardner, however…

      “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to be flippant. Exactly what do you believe I can do for my country?” The tone of the last was clearly sarcastic, despite her apology.

      “I’d ask that what I’m about to tell you remain in strictest confidence.”

      She lifted one hand as if to indicate their surroundings. “Just who do you think I might tell?”

      “I’d like your word that you won’t tell anyone.”

      Again the corners of her mouth quirked and were then controlled. She was openly making fun of him. And since Ethan wasn’t accustomed to being a source of amusement, it made him uncomfortable.

      Granted, he had always taken his responsibilities, both with the agency and then later with the Phoenix, very seriously. Maybe too seriously. That didn’t ease the spurt of anger he felt at her unspoken ridicule.

      He wondered if he were overreacting because she was a woman. A woman who in any other circumstances he would have been attracted to.

      The admission was surprising, but once he’d made it, he realized how accurate it was. Physically, everything about her appealed to him. It was only the other that made him uncomfortable.

      “Then you have it, of course.” She folded her hands together in her lap again and leaned forward as if eager to hear what he had to say.

      The pose didn’t fool him. Nor did it mitigate his anger. He hadn’t come here to be mocked. Not about something that was an integral part of who and what he was—

      The realization was sudden. And stunning.

      As soon as he had realized what she’d done at the CIA, he had expected to be amused at any claims she would make about her abilities. She had very neatly turned the tables on him instead. Deliberately giving him a dose of his own medicine? he wondered.

      He’d been careful not to reveal his skepticism that her “gifts” could prove useful. Careful neither by word nor tone to indicate that he would have walked out immediately after learning about them except for the old man’s confidence in her and what had happened two nights ago. So unless she was prescient—

      Again, the natural conclusion of that train of thought surprised him. He glanced up, meeting clear green eyes, and found that, although her face was completely controlled, they were full of laughter. As if she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

      It was both disconcerting and annoying. He wasn’t accustomed to being manipulated, yet that was exactly how he felt. As if she were the one conducting the interview. As if she were the one making the evaluation.

      As if she had found him wanting.

      “You were about to tell me about the needs of my country, Mr. Snow,” she prodded at his silence.

      He took a breath, trying to gather his wits. He had to balance his innate distrust of everything Raine McAllister represented with the very real concerns he had about national security if The Covenant wasn’t stopped.

      And, too, there was his respect for Montgomery Gardner’s judgment. If the old man was right—if it was remotely possible this woman could help—then he had an obligation to pursue this.

      “We have reason to believe that members of The Covenant are funding, if not actively carrying out, domestic terrorism. We believe they are doing so in an attempt to provoke a response from our government against not only the known terrorist groups, but against the entire Muslim world. To set off an American jihad, if you will.”

      That was the word Bertha Reynolds had used during the final confrontation with Phoenix agent John Edmonds. Jihad. Holy war.

      “The agency I work for,” Ethan continued, choosing his words with care, “had some success several months ago in identifying a few individuals involved in that plan. At the time we were hopeful they were the only members of The Covenant who were in on the plot. That their actions were an aberration in an otherwise legitimate and benign charitable foundation.”

      When he glanced up, he realized that she was listening intently. At least she was no longer making fun of him.

      “Recently,” he went on, thinking about the most telling evidence they’d gathered, “there have been at least two bombing attempts that we believe may be tied to the organization. The problem is we can’t prove any of this. They’ve taken great pains to ensure that their membership list remains secret. We’ve had no success identifying their leaders. Then…Mr. Gardner suggested you could help.”

      “And now that you know why he suggested that?”

      Ethan had a feeling that if he attempted to prevaricate, she’d see right through him. Maybe literally.

      “My first inclination would be to discount the possibility. I’m not sure I have that option any longer.”

      Her head tilted, questioning what he’d just said.

      “Less than twenty-four hours after he gave me your name, Mr. Gardner was attacked in his home.”

      “Attacked?”

      That, at least, was something she hadn’t known. There was a fleeting sense of satisfaction until he remembered the seriousness of the old man’s condition.

      “In an upscale Virginia neighborhood that has one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. Nothing was taken from the house although there were a multitude of valuable objects around. In short, there was no sign that what happened was anything other than a personal attack.”

      “He isn’t dead.”

      It hadn’t sounded like a question, but he answered as if it had been. “He’s in critical condition. Given his age…”

      There was a long pause. Her eyes, locked on his face, had lost any tendency to laughter.

      “And you believe someone did that because you’d gone to talk to him.”

      “Given the timing, it makes sense.”

      “Because you talked about me?”

      “Or about the organization we’ve been tracking. I’ve no doubt that I’ve asked enough questions during the last few months to make them suspicious. Maybe they followed me there. Or it may be that Mr. Gardner was targeted because of his ties to the agency I work for.”

      The crease he’d noticed before formed again between her brows. “The CIA?”

      “A private investigative agency.”

      “But…” Her lips closed over the question.

      “Run by someone who also had very close ties to the CIA.”

      “A private