The Forbidden Trilogy(86)

'Poor girl. Can't believe she's been through so much. She must be exhausted.'

My eyes flicked to him. "Professor, you believe me?"

He harrumphed. "Please call me Bernard. And yes, I believe you."

I couldn't help but grin. "Bernard Shaw. Really? As in the famous Irish playwright and novelist?"

He smiled. "Yes. Actually, George Bernard Shaw, but I've always gone by Bernard. My parents had a sense of humor."

"A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into superstition, and...."

"...art into pedantry. Hence University education," Bernard finished. "One of my favorite quotes."

So far, I liked him.

My brain pounded from the lengthy connection. I rubbed my head.

'Sam, pull out. If any red flags pop up, you can go back in, but you're going to kill yourself.'

"Okay, for now. I just don't want any more surprises."

The pressure eased as I slipped out of the Professor's mind, and I enjoyed the solitude of my own thoughts. "Why do you believe me? This story is preposterous. Don't you want to at least test us? Have me read your mind?"

"All right, what am I thinking?"

Drake frowned at me, but I slipped in and out just fast enough to grab his thought. 'Brad needs a girlfriend. He's wasting away as a bachelor.'

"Ha! Really? Brad, apparently the good professor here thinks you need a girlfriend to fatten you up. Though I have to say that assuming the girl will feed him is a bit sexist."

Brad sat up straighter. "I do not need a girl in my life right now. Are you kidding me? How would I even see her?"

He made eye contact with me, then turned his head sharply and looked at Bernard. "I know you're open-minded, but I didn't expect them to win you over so quickly. What aren't you telling us?"

Bernard picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. "I spent a lot of years writing for some pretty big publications: Newsweek, U.S. News & World Report, The New York Times and L.A. Times. As an investigative reporter, it was my job to uncover the stories no one else could break. Once, when I was young and cocky, I landed on something I knew would be Pulitzer material, only I kept hitting dead ends. Not just normal, contacts-dried-up, leads-too-scared-to-talk dead ends, but literally—people kept ending up dead. All accidents, of course, unrelated to me or my story, but my gut told me there was more to it. I didn't take the hint. I kept prying."

He put his mug down and pulled up his flannel shirt, revealing a fairly toned stomach for an old guy—and a nasty, familiar-looking scar.

"You were shot." I rubbed the still-healing bullet wound on my own arm.

Brad's eyebrows shot up. He'd obviously never heard this story.

I asked the question I already knew the answer to. "What story were you working on?"

He looked me straight in the eyes. "I'd met some very powerful people who, in exchange for not having their names plastered all over national headlines, offered me an interesting story about kids with paranormal abilities who are rented out as spies."

My mouth dried up in an instant. I couldn't swallow. I grabbed my water and chugged it. Clients who broke Rent-A-Kid's confidentiality agreement faced serious harm. Though, it did make sense that someone would spill the beans eventually—especially if a famous reporter had serious dirt on them, and they needed to shine the spotlight on an even bigger story to protect themselves.

Bernard continued, "Of course, I didn't believe them at first. They would have said or done anything to keep me from printing what I knew about them. But they had proof. They'd kept videos, pictures, and other records of the kids they hired. I looked through it all and.... What if it was true? The evidence was damning, but that could have been faked. So they agreed to hire a kid spy and let me see the powers firsthand."

I perked up. He'd met someone from my school? "How long ago was this?"

"Oh, I don't know, eighteen years ago. I met a girl who could move objects with her mind. I wouldn't have believed it, but I witnessed it with my own eyes. I started asking around, using contacts to dig up dirt on other wealthy and powerful members of our society. Not everyone used this service, but I found two more who had and were willing to trade information to keep me quiet.

"I can only assume I was getting too close, because one day my house was robbed of all my research, and I was shot and left for dead. On that same day, someone killed all three of my contacts. It took me months to recover physically. I lost the trail and could never figure out how to pick it back up. After that, I tried going back into journalism, but had lost the appetite for it. That's when I started teaching. So yes, Sam, I believe you."

I exhaled hard, expelling the pent-up pressure in my lungs in one great whoosh. I didn't know what I had expected from the professor, but this punched me in the gut.