Walk a Mile Page 10

  Okay, wait. He did recognize it—but this wasn’t his hand.

  He followed the line of his arm out past the ends of his fingers, where Flynn was still holding the artifact. Only it wasn’t Flynn staring at him with a stupefied look on his face.

  It was himself. He was staring into the face of Jerry Parker.

  This couldn’t be happening. And yet it was. What the fuck?

  Before he could complete the thought, it hit him. The wall of thoughts. They smashed into him like the tidal wave he’d often dreamt of in nightmares, the massive wall of water cresting ever higher, breaking over to crash down upon him. When it hit, he lost all sense of direction. All sense of self.

  What is it between these two? Jerry, can you hear me? I’m going to have to stop by the grocery on the way home. I’ve got nothing to eat at the house. I wish for once, just for once, I could have something nice. Something not dinged or dented or secondhand. God, I hate this job. If only I could make enough money singing in nightclubs. Maybe I can scrape up enough to make a demo CD. I’m not an alcoholic. I can quit anytime. I’ve just had a rough day. I deserve a nice bottle of wine with dinner. Why did I ever break up with him? Damn, he still looks good after all these years. Maybe I’ll get lucky this weekend. He’ll never know. I’ll pay the bill off before he sees it. Christ, I’m getting old. When the hell did that happen? What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. And if she pries into my affairs, well, she deserves whatever’s coming. Please don’t let it be blue. What does the positive result look like again? If it’s blue, my mom will kill me. Maybe I’ll try ordering my glasses online this time. If it doesn’t work, I won’t have wasted too much money….

  He grabbed at the air around him, trying to find an anchor but falling off the edge of the desk instead. He lay on the floor as the room ran around his head like a circus carousel. Voices swam in and out of his consciousness, blending with the voices in his head.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Oh my god. Should I call 911? He looks terrible.

  “No, he was complaining of a migraine earlier. I just need to take him back to the hotel.” Jerry, can you hear me? We switched bodies, okay? Hang in there. I’ll take care of you.

  “Since when does John suffer from migraines?” Jerry could hear the cutting disbelief in Nancy’s voice.

  “Since he got shot in the line of duty.” Did his voice really sound like that? Jerry hoped not. What a nasally, high-pitched whiny kind of voice.

  If only the room would stop spinning. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the oscillation at the edges of his senses. Jerry was afraid he’d puke if it didn’t stop.

  “Shot?” When did he get shot? For Chrissake, John, why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d been shot? Oh my god, he could have died and I’d never have—

  “Trust me.” Jerry felt a hand under one arm, pulling him upright. “He doesn’t get them often, but when they happen, they hit him like a ton of bricks. He’s got medication back at the hotel room. I just need to get him there.” I know you can hear me, Jer. It will be okay. Focus on my voice. It will be okay. I promise. Jesus fucking Christ, I’d never wish this on anyone. I am so sorry. Look, picture yourself under a shield, okay? A glass dome. Whatever. Nothing can get in but the thoughts closest to you.

  The hammering of voices around him made him sag into Flynn’s support. He was going to drown in the voices, he just knew it.

  “If you’re sure….” Nancy sounded doubtful. Get a grip, Nancy old girl. Now is not the time to renew your feelings for John. His partner will take care of him. I wish it was me, just the same.

  “I am.” As sure as anyone can be under the circumstances. Crap. I’m so sorry, buddy. I didn’t know this would happen. Hell, no one could have known this would happen!

  The image of a large, shimmering force field going up around him, blocking everything beyond a six-foot radius, came into his mind. He realized Flynn must have helped put it there by picturing it in his own head. Jerry could still feel the thoughts and emotions of the world hammering on the shield, but they were muted now.

  Jerry looked up into Flynn’s face, staring numbly at his startled expression as though he was looking into a mirror. It was so weird seeing himself up close like this. Blue eyes, clearly worried, met his own. Blond hair curled around “Flynn’s” collar—he definitely needed a haircut. He looked less like an FBI agent and more like an unkempt graduate student. Belatedly, he realized he should shore up Flynn’s absurd claims.

  “I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down. In a dark room.” He managed a weak grin in Nancy’s direction, feeling the pull of his muscles as his face slid into Flynn’s habitual half-smile.

  “John, I’m so sorry.” Nancy’s touch on his arm brought with it a whole host of emotions. Regret. Fondness. Concern. Sorrow. Even desire. It was all he could do not to violently shove her aside. “Is there anything I can do?”

  It was Flynn who gently disengaged Nancy’s grip from his arm. “I know what he needs.”

  Flynn sounded so sure of himself. Jerry couldn’t help clinging to him like he was a piece of wreckage in a storm-tossed sea. Flynn might’ve been telling the truth about the migraine too. Something flashed and spun in Jerry’s central vision as he wavered on his feet. The room still felt like it was rotating even though he knew he wasn’t moving. God, he hated vertigo. He squinted at Nancy’s concerned expression and grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Nancy sounded angry, but she came around to Jerry’s left side and took hold of his arm. She walked with him as Flynn, on the right, began guiding him toward the door. “Come on, Agent Parker and I will help you down to your car.”

  He started to correct her automatically, but stopped himself just in time. He was Agent Flynn now. And Flynn was him. Christ. A dull ache shot down his arm at her supportive grip, and he sucked in his breath through his teeth.

  Nancy felt him stiffen. “What is it?”

  Flynn had felt him tense as well. “Scar tissue,” Flynn said in a voice like ground glass. “It pulls sometimes.”

  Nancy let go of Jerry’s arm as though her touch might burn him, and out of all the seething emotions around him, Jerry caught the little burst of satisfaction emanating from Flynn on making Nancy back off.

  Who’d have figured you for the jealous type? Jerry lobbed the thought without strength in Flynn’s direction and was staggered by the echoing silence. Right. Flynn could no longer hear him. After six months of nonverbal communication, it was like walking up to his apartment and finding the locks had been changed. He stumbled on legs slightly too long for him and felt Flynn shore him up.

  “You okay, there, buddy?” Flynn asked, his voice warm and quiet near Jerry’s ear. It seemed like a beacon from a lighthouse in the fog. It was weird not having to look up, though. He was used to those couple extra inches of height Flynn had on him.

  “You can’t hear me,” Jerry said. His voice sounded as though it had been soaked in gin and left to dry in a smoky bar. He watched his own face wince at him in sympathy, though the expression was pure Flynn.

  “What does he mean, you can’t hear him?” Nancy’s concern for “John” stabbed like a needle behind his eye. He pressed the ends of his fingers over his left temple, hard, hoping the pain would subside.

  “Migraine talking,” Flynn said.

  Damn, if Flynn didn’t sound just like Jerry at his squelching best. He had to admire the smoothness with which Flynn delivered his lie. Did lying come that naturally to him? Did he lie to Jerry like that? That sort of reflexive lying was usually learned at a young age by someone who felt the need to shut others out of their lives. What had Flynn been hiding from him all this time? He was both afraid and dying to find out.

  They moved in a careful procession into the hall. Nancy hovered without actually touching him, within reach should Jerry stumble again. He walked like a marionette operated by an inexperienced puppeteer and resented the fact that Flynn seemed to have no difficulty maneuvering his “new” body.
It wasn’t fair. Though he supposed having both of them reeling around as though they’d stepped off an amusement park ride would have been a bit tough to explain.

  As they moved slowly toward the stairs, a couple of people came out of their offices, obviously leaving for the day.

  “Nancy.” A short, stout man nodded briskly at Nancy as he made a show of locking his office door. Keys jangled on an impressive ring as he spun them searching for the right one. He glanced briefly at Jerry and Flynn, his eye as bright and assessing as a crow’s. I don’t know what’s so special about her. She’s no better than the rest of us working here. Hah, that man looks like he might be drunk. What secrets are you keeping from us, Nancy, dear? I guarantee the museum will think better of placing you in the curator job if these are the kinds of friends you have.

  Jerry inhaled sharply, shrugging off Flynn’s support to stand upright. He straightened his tie. Narrowing his eyes, he fixed a penetrating stare on the round little man, who bristled up in response.

  Beside him, he could feel Flynn’s alarm. What the hell? Oh no, ignore him, Jerry. Please, God, whatever you heard, ignore him. Remember what we said? We can’t let anyone know about the telepathy.

  Jerry shot Flynn a cool look. “I’m fine,” he said. He sounded just like Flynn when he didn’t want anyone to know how he really felt, and realized just how the Great Wall of Flynn worked.

  Well, I like that. Flynn was annoyed. It took me days before I could leave the apartment without puking. He’s been telepathic, what? All of five minutes? And he’s adapting just like that?

  Jerry felt Flynn’s sardonic smile curve on his lips. There was probably a logical explanation—Flynn’s body might be new to Jerry but the telepathy was something this body had been dealing with for a while now. Jerry just had to learn how to drive the stick shift after always having driven an automatic before. Let’s see how Flynn liked being on the other side for a change.

  A woman leaving her office at the far end of the corridor approached the stairs like a celebrity making a red carpet entrance.

  “Nancy.” Her acknowledgement of Nancy was perfunctory. She had eyes only for… Jerry. Or rather, Jerry as John Flynn. He felt like a sparrow suddenly in the sights of a hawk. Holy Mother of God. That’s the best-looking man I’ve seen outside of Hollywood. Come to Mama, baby. Wonder what he looks like out of that suit?

  The little round man locked his door and huffed as though the air around him had suddenly become toxic. He shot a disapproving look at Red Carpet Woman and clattered rapidly down the stairs. The thought man-eater drifted up the stairwell.

  “Hello.” Red Carpet Woman, a slinky brunette, stepped in front of Jerry and held out her hand. Her nails looked as though she’d dug them into her last victim. “I’m Jenna Kline. I’m the budget director here.”

  Hands off my boyfriend, bitch!

  The words exploded so abruptly in Jerry’s head he wasn’t sure where they came from. Nancy’s smile was that tight little grimace women gave other women they didn’t like. He turned to look quizzically at Flynn.

  Normally the King of Cool, Flynn was having a hard time hiding his feelings in Jerry’s body. Blue eyes flashed, and the cheekbones reddened as his nostrils flared. All Flynn had to do was duck his head and paw, and he’d look like a bull about to charge.

  Feeling an impish impulse to cause trouble, Jerry shook Jenna’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Kline. I’m Special Agent John Flynn, a friend of Nancy’s. This is my partner, Special Agent Parker.”

  Oooh! FBI. I should have known he’d be something in law enforcement. Honey, you can come over and cuff me anytime. She cast a dismissive glance at Flynn. Jerry bristled on behalf of his own body, thus slighted. He could hardly blame her, though. Flynn’s rugged good looks made him a babe magnet. Flynn could step out of a helicopter into an Arctic wasteland and within minutes, Jerry could bet some fur-clad bimbo would find him.

  “Are you in town on an assignment, then?” Figures Nancy would snag the best-looking man around. Then again maybe she’s interested in the other one. He’s got that earnest, academic look about him she usually goes for. “I was just headed out to dinner. I can recommend a couple of wonderful restaurants if you’re interested.” She was looking at Jerry when she spoke, but she cast a sweeping glance at all of them, as though graciously including them in her entourage.

  Food was the last thing Jerry wanted. His stomach twisted at the thought. He felt Flynn perk up beside him, though. Really, seriously? At a time like this? Once again, he realized too late Flynn couldn’t hear him anymore.

  But he could hear Flynn. Beyond Jenna’s rapacious drooling over him and behind Nancy’s simmering dislike of Jenna, he could hear Flynn’s outraged reaction. Why are we wasting time talking to this bitch?

  Jerry closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his forehead before he spoke. “I’m afraid we’re headed back to Quantico in the morning, otherwise I’d take you up on your offer. Parker is a bit of a gourmand.”

  Oh, baby, you’re the only thing around here I want to eat. Clark Kent can have dinner with Nancy, and you and I can go back to my place. Jenna’s smile was calculatingly confident. “You still have to eat, right?” She spoke to Jerry as though he was the only one present, and he could feel the shimmering dislike radiating from Flynn and Nancy behind him. If he’d had an emotional Geiger counter, he was sure the levels of animosity were approaching the lethal range.

  Jerry moved past Jenna and started down the stairs. He paused, one hand on the banister, to look up at her, offering a smile he knew to be both seductive and chilling. He’d seen it on Flynn’s face often enough to know, especially when Flynn had a prisoner dead to rights. “We’ll just grab something at the hotel. Besides, we wouldn’t want to interrupt your plans for the evening.”

  “Plans?”

  Ah, she’d walked right into that one.

  “Yes, plans.” Jerry could feel the brittle incisiveness of his expression, enjoying the subtlety of it, the feel of Flynn’s ultracool control of his features instead of his own more volatile facial responses. “Of course, your usual dinner companion might not be able to make it this evening. It is likely he’ll choose to take the wife to see their daughter’s play.”

  Jenna’s mouth tightened into an ugly red line, and her nostrils flared. What the hell? How did they—am I being investigated?

  “Okay, then,” Flynn said loudly, coming alongside Jerry and taking him by the arm. “Nancy, I’ll see you Saturday night.”

  “What?” Nancy stood at the top of the stairs, her gaze bouncing from a red-faced Jenna to Jerry and then landing on Flynn with confusion. Emotions poured out of her like a creek overflowing its banks: a burst of glee at a suspicion proved correct, uncertainty at how “John” could have known Jenna Kline was cheating with a married man, a spurt of irritation that “Parker” had presumed he was invited to the meeting over drinks, and disappointment that he and Flynn were leaving. Jerry could almost taste her desire to run after “John” and beg him to come see her privately so they could talk.

  He allowed Flynn to keep him moving, momentarily dazed by thoughts that had scent, and flavor, and form. Was this what it had been like for Flynn the past six months? How had he ever gotten used to it? It was like suddenly being gifted with the sense of smell of a dog—and having to process a million bits of data differently than he’d ever done so before.

  “I mean John will see you Saturday night. At Killian’s. He’ll… ah, never mind.” A steady stream of expletives poured out of Flynn’s mind as he herded Jerry down the stairs.

  Chapter 6

  FLYNN STALKED across the parking lot with rapid strides. Jerry watched the movements of someone else in his body with an odd sense of detachment. He wore a suit well, if he did say so himself. His ass, for example, was fantastic. And damn if his shoulders weren’t, as his granny might have said, “mighty fine.” Well, after all, that is why he paid the big bucks for a tailored suit. From the back, he looked smashing. He knew from time spent
in front of his mirror the suit was also cut to disguise his less-than-six-pack-perfect abs. Even when he’d been working out regularly, his stomach had always been the first part of his body to show any extra weight. He’d either have to get serious about running again or cut the carbs. He just hated running with Flynn. Everything turned into a competition between them. Carbs, however, made life worth living.

  At least his hair was still good. Sandy blonds had a tendency to go bald early, this he knew. From the back, his hair was as thick as ever, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  What the hell was he doing? Focusing on the little details to keep from hyperventilating into a paper bag, most likely. Because how the hell were they going to fix this?

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. Flynn punctuated each stride across the parking lot with mental cursing. Something deep inside Jerry wanted to burst into maniacal laughter because, really, if you said “fuck” often enough, it became funny.

  The sun was starting to set, and the buildings around them emptied as office workers began their daily trek home. Once again, Jerry felt the weight of their unfiltered emotions beating down on him. It was oppressive, wrapping around him like the humidity on a hot summer day, every breath laboring as though under water. It hung just outside the force field Flynn had helped him create, a gathering storm on the other side of a thin windowpane. Occasionally, a thought would break through like a crack of unexpected lightning, startling him even though he recognized it for what it was.

  I can’t believe he sat there and handed me a bill that was twenty-five percent higher than what he quoted me. He’s not going to get away with that. Who does he think he’s dealing with? That jerk.

  He turned his head in the direction of the thought, but the people around him kept walking. Each was in their own little world, occupied with their internal dialog. To attempt to focus on one person, one thought, was asking to break the dam and drown him with a tidal wave of emotion.