Teddy glanced back at the path to the dock. She could turn and run. But then she thought about the note she had left for her parents. She turned the collar of her leather jacket up against the breeze.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m coming.”
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN THEY REACHED THE TOP of the hill, Teddy paused to look up at the school’s official entrance: a massive iron gate topped with an arch that read Whitfield Institute. That was when she finally put it together—the school was owned by one of those Whitfields. The luxury-resort Whitfields. Why a Whitfield wanted a school for psychics was beyond her.
The whole setup reminded her of a fancy college—until she noticed the barbed-wire fence in front of the entrance and the accompanying armed guards. That would surely keep any tourists out. Teddy watched as Jillian and Jeremy passed through the security checkpoint. She stepped forward to follow but was stopped by a guard with a clipboard.
“Name?” he said. The guy was about six-six and looked to be about 250 pounds of solid muscle. The only man she’d met so far was Jeremy, and this guy made Jeremy look like a toothpick.
“Teddy—I mean, Theodora Cannon.”
He checked something off in his paperwork. “ID?”
“I was just wondering where I can find the cabanas,” Teddy said as she handed him her license. “This is, after all, a Whitfield property.” She thought she might be able to get him to crack a smile.
But he only scrutinized her license and handed it back to her, then flipped to a page on his clipboard, turned it toward her, and pointed to the bottom. “Sign here,” he said, handing her a pen.
“You mean ‘Sign here, please,’ ” she said.
He made a slight movement of his head, and the two other guards turned toward her. “Miss, if you don’t sign it—”
“Okay, okay,” she said. “Just tell me what it is.”
“It’s a nondisclosure agreement. You’re not permitted to tell anyone what you see, hear, or learn once you pass through these gates.”
Teddy wanted to ask what would happen if she refused, but she was pretty sure she wouldn’t like the answer. She scribbled her signature. “See you by the pool,” she said, and walked through the gate. She actually wouldn’t mind seeing him by the pool. All that muscle and maybe a pair of tiny European swim trunks. It’s been a long time, okay?
She was surprised to find herself in a courtyard that could be described as East Coast Ivy League meets Eastern Zen Garden. The brick buildings were shaded by plantings of cedar, yew, and Japanese maples. Across the courtyard, she noted a bamboo pagoda and a fountain, as well as meditation benches. A few low footbridges traversed paths of flat river stone and pools of artfully raked sand.
If the garden was meant to inspire a sense of tranquility, she had no time to enjoy it. She had fallen farther behind Jillian and Jeremy; she’d totally lost track of Molly. She spotted a few stragglers near a building with Fort McDowell emblazoned on a plaque. She followed them into a large auditorium where thirty or so people were scattered about. She spotted a hot guy slouched in the corner. He was wearing ripped jeans and a white T-shirt with his dark hair covering his eyes. Anywhere else, Teddy would have written him off as a cliché.
Teddy slipped into a seat as a man moved to the podium. When she turned around, she saw the hot guy staring at her—a look that generated so much heat she felt herself blush. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Probably around the last time she wore a training bra.
“Welcome, first-year students,” the man at the podium said. “My name is Hollis Whitfield.” Teddy would have described him as distinguished. He wore a perfectly tailored navy suit. Not a single silver hair out of place. Definitely one of those Whitfields. “I have led the expansion of my family’s company as president for thirty years. But I am proudest of my philanthropic work, especially here at the Whitfield Institute. I always knew that with the right guidance, men and women of your talents could be our nation’s greatest assets.”
Teddy wondered about the talents of the hot guy. She hoped he wasn’t a mind reader, though she was sure her thoughts were written plainly enough on her face for all to see.
“Five years ago,” Whitfield continued, “I had the distinct privilege of becoming a founding member of this institution, working beside representatives from our country’s military and law enforcement personnel. If you’ve made it this far, congratulations. You are now part of an elite group of individuals with talents that the world is only just beginning to recognize, let alone utilize. Before I turn the microphone over to our dean of students, Professor Corbett, I want to say one more thing: today marks your first day of a remarkable journey. We are here to guide you. But you will guide our future.”
Clint followed Whitfield to the podium. He looked even larger onstage than Teddy remembered. His presence commanded even the most bored-looking students’ attention.
Clint cleared his throat. “As Hollis mentioned, this is a selective program which trains individuals to serve the highest level of government. The purpose of Whitfield is known only to a select few. We were founded, and continue to be funded, by both the private sector and the U.S. government. We are unlike any other school in the country, maybe in the world. And our sole mission is to train psychics to become successful members of law enforcement, military, and other related fields.
“You are here to protect your country. In many ways, we are the last line of defense. We’re the ones people call when traditional police work isn’t suited for the job. We’re the ones the military looks to when they need individuals to go not only above
