“Right. With the creation of the teams, the military found a way to explain away the unexplainable.”

I watched his profile. “You said they don’t officially exist.”

He slid a glance to me and dipped his chin. “The government needs distance

if the public catches wind of its existence. It’s funded by a sub-committee of a

sub-committee of a special interest group that works with the Department of Defense.”

“Buried under layers for deniability.” Years in the military and dusty hells of

foreign battlefields rubbed all the shiny off a soldier and revealed the seamier side of politics. “So, who’s currently in charge?”

“Charlene Delacourt.”

His answer set off my alarm bells. I swallowed hard. “Colonel Delacourt?”

“The one and only.”

During my years in service, Delacourt’s name had been uttered with

terrifying respect. A powerful female in a male-dominated environment, she was

the stuff of legends. Unfortunately, she also served on the inquiry board that raked me over the coals. Unease settled over me, making my voice tight.

“Sounds like you’re still working for the marines.”

“Delacourt has been the official head of the teams for the last four years.”

I fell silent, processing the information Kayden had dumped in my lap.

Four years ago, I joined MCIA and was assigned to Captain Eric “Flash”

Fowler’s team. At the time, I was ecstatic. Not only was Flash a close friend of

my adoptive father, but he’d helped me through my first enlistment when I questioned signing the dotted line. He’d shared some of the stories surrounding

Delacourt, providing examples of what a determined woman could do in the Corps.

During Ellery’s trial, I found out just how determined Delacourt was, and it

made one hell of an impression. Sitting in the courtroom, confused by my teammates’ mysterious absences, fuzzy from the painkillers still winging their way through my system, I endured question after brutal question, most asked by

Delacourt.

Maybe if I hadn’t been reeling from the shock of my discoveries, I would’ve

handled it better. But fearing an actual court-martial, or worse, being labeled mentally unstable, I stuck to my amnesia excuse like super glue.

The inquiry board’s frustration with my lack of answers at what had

happened to Flash was understandable. If I had been on the other side of the equation, I would have had a hard time believing me, too. So, when the case was

closed without a deeper probe, I didn’t push it.

Flash and Ortega were dead and buried. The rest of my team was reassigned

and scattered to the winds. No one was talking to me. A whitewashed report emerged, and I received a medical discharge, the Corp’s polite way of saying,

“you screwed up, but we don’t want people to know”. As soon as the doctor cleared me, I ran as fast and as far as I could, knowing for all intents and purposes, my career with the Corps was done.

Hindsight is twenty/twenty. Looking back, it wasn’t hard to recognize the

transparency of my alibi. Delacourt had to have guessed the truth, especially if

she ran a group of covert psychic teams. Not only did I have psychic abilities, but that horrific night, I discovered so did Flash. Pieces clicked together.

“Kayden?”

“Hmm?”

“Is Tag psychic?” My pulse raced as I waited for his answer.

He turned toward me. “You need to ask him.”

Not a denial. The sting of betrayal zipped through me. Why wouldn’t Tag

have told me?

Like you told him? A nasty voice perked up.

My stomach dropped as my world shifted. If half of the eight-person joint

team had been psychic, chances were good all of us were. Which meant our team had been one of the government’s little experimental units. My thoughts

stumbled to a halt. All that effort to hide something everyone seemed to know about? “The entire team was psychic.”

“Yes.”

“Were you working for PSY-IV at the time?”

He nodded.

“Just you?” I pushed.

He didn’t answer right away. “No.”

Kayden’s quiet answer left me grasping for mental footing. According to