Free True Shot by Joyce Lamb

probably more like fifteen. I have to tell you what I need to know, and after the drug takes effect, you’re going to put your hand on me, skin-on-skin, so I can retrieve the information from you in an empathic flash.”
    “Are you sure the drug hasn’t already taken effect? Or maybe you’ve lost too much blood. Because you’re sounding, well, crazy. And not the simple kind. I’m talking bat-shit crazy.”
    “You don’t need to understand. You just need to listen . In one hour, maybe two, we can go our separate ways. That’s all I need from you. Two hours. Just give me that then go away.”
    Their eyes met. He could see in the dark depths of hers that she truly believed the fairy tale she’d fed him. Yet the prospect of this nightmare ending in as little as an hour . . . well, he couldn’t deny the high quotient of temptation on that. They’d be in the DC metro area by then, too. He could easily take her to a hospital and turn her over to the professionals who wear white and keep a handy supply of sedatives and straitjackets.
    He checked on the gun. Her fingers had tightened on the grip, and he had no doubt that if he refused, she wouldn’t hesitate to use that weapon to get what she wanted. He really, really had no desire to end up with a gun pointed at his head, especially by a woman who looked inches from losing it.
    “Fine,” he said.

CHAPTER TWELVE
    S he didn’t like the way he watched her, like a cat planning his next pounce.
    Sam let her body melt farther into the seat when he agreed. Easier than she’d thought, yet she’d noticed the speculation in his greenish brown eyes before he’d acquiesced. He probably had his own plan—a stupid plan that would get them both killed. But, damn it, she had no choice now but to go with it and hope for the best. Time was ticking away.
    Based on the nausea building steam in her stomach, she suspected Flinn had indeed told her the truth about the fail-safe. The drug might be responsible for the piercing headache, too, but her reluctant sidekick’s painful past probably had caused it. Figures she’d end up with a guy who’d gotten violently whacked over the head and not a klutz who’d simply slammed his finger in a car door.
    Regardless, she needed to get her thoughts in order so she could tell Mac what she needed to know in a way that would make sense to her after she lost her memory. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.
    “You were right,” she said. “I’m an intelligence operative. The man we left tied up at the cabin is Flinn Ford. He’s my boss at N3.”
    “N3?”
    “National Neural Network. It’s a secret division of the FBI. The agents have psychic abilities.”
    He cast a dubious glance at her. “A secret division of the FBI with psychic operatives? How gullible do you think I am? I’m the epitome of the grizzled old newspaper reporter. Without the grizzled and old parts.”
    She blinked as she studied him. Grizzled? Not in the least. Handsome, yes. And those dimples . . . my God, they were adorable. She shook her head, then grabbed at the car door to steady herself against dizziness. She had to stay on topic.
    “Flinn impregnated a fellow N3 operative named Zoe Harris. I think he’s trying to create some kind of super psychic spy by combining the DNA of two N3 empaths.”
    The car’s front end dipped forward slightly as he took his foot off the accelerator. “Holy shit.”
    “Don’t slow down. Keep. Driving.”
    “Okay, okay. Just chill.”
    “I’ll chill as long as you don’t slow down.”
    He cranked his speed back up to a non-attention-getting 65 mph. “How did you hook up with these people?”
    “That’s not important.”
    “Look, maybe I could just take you to Lake Avalon. Charlie and Alex can help you—”
    “No!” She bit her lip as a stab of longing pierced her chest. She hadn’t seen her sisters in so long. Hadn’t heard their laughter, shared in their joys. Alex was in love, Mac had said. Sam couldn’t