Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  That night I’d snuck downstairs, killed the alarm, slipped outside, and then reengaged the system from my iPhone. If the bimbo woke up she’d see a steady red light, and wouldn’t suspect a thing.

  The trickiest moment had been getting by Coop. Even bribed with two Greenie bones, the wolfdog hadn’t been pleased to be left behind. Thankfully, he hadn’t blown my cover.

  “You’re sure about this tunnel?” Shelton asked for the fifth time.

  “Absolutely.” Hi wiped orange Doritos crumbs on his black sweatshirt. We all wore dark, athletic clothing. Our ninja garb, Hi called it.

  “Explain it one more time.” Sitting there, on the brink, I wanted to visualize our strategy step by step.

  Hi sighed theatrically, but repeated the story. “Last fall, my dad had to come down here to reclaim the LIRI hardware stolen from Lab Three. He brought me along to help lug the gear. That afternoon there was a baseball game up the street, snarling traffic around headquarters, so the detective took us on a shortcut.”

  He pointed to the building across the street. “We went in there. Annex A. That ugly shack has a tunnel to the main building. Even better, the passage connects to the basement, right where evidence storage is located.”

  “So we enter here, sneak along the tunnel, find and copy the tape, then retreat.”

  I sounded much more confident than I felt.

  “Exactly.” Ben was actually smiling. “It’s perfect.”

  “Perfect?” Shelton began ticking points on his fingers. “We don’t know how to get inside this building, if the tunnel will be manned, or if the video is actually in the evidence room, which is almost certainly guarded, alarmed, and recorded twenty-four/seven.”

  I tried not to cringe. Shelton was right. Our plan was borderline suicidal.

  But it didn’t matter. I couldn’t get the twins’ faces out of my head.

  “We’ll improvise,” was all I said.

  “Nope.” Shelton wagged his head fatalistically. “We’re getting caught, and going to jail. At least they won’t have far to take us.”

  “Enough wasting time.” Ben killed the engine. “Light ’em up.”

  “Do we have to?” Shelton glanced at me with troubled eyes. “Flaring is starting to feel a little like playing Russian roulette. How do we know the powers won’t suddenly go sideways on us while we’re sneaking past the po-pos?”

  “Honestly, we don’t,” I answered grimly. “But there’s no other way to do this. We’ll just have to be careful. Keep it simple.”

  “Which means,” Ben said sharply, “you staying out of our heads. No mind scrambles.”

  Though bristling at his tone, I nodded. “I won’t try to merge our thoughts.”

  “Good. Now let’s get moving.” Golden light exploded behind Ben’s irises. He gasped, then shook like a wet dog.

  “See you guys in lockdown.” Hi closed his eyes.

  “Not funny.” Shelton took a deep breath, then shuddered as his power burst to life.

  I rolled my neck, then whispered to myself. “Go time.”

  SNAP.

  My flare opened easily. The usual jolt of fire and ice, but nothing like the last time. Waves of pure energy flooded my limbs, powerful and addictive. I almost cooed with the pleasure of it.

  Senses boosted to hyperdrive, I stepped from the SUV and scanned our target with preternatural precision. The boys huddled by the rear bumper, waiting for my signal.

  Not yet. I wanted to test something first.

  Take it slow.

  Eyes shut, I visualized the flaming cords in my mind. They danced and spun, seemed almost eager. I harnessed them easily. The cords became tunnels.

  I felt an odd sensation, like plunging into freezing water.

  Thoughts poured into my head.

  So easy this time.

  As one, the boys winced.

  “Are you reading my thoughts?” Ben demanded, hands clenching into fists. “You just said—”

  “No.” I concentrated on the fiery tunnel leading to Ben. Our connection held, but the mind-meld remained tantalizingly out of reach. I resisted the urge to try to force it. My flare felt surprisingly stable. I didn’t want to risk a meltdown.

  The telepathy is imperfect, I sent. I can’t harness your senses, but we can communicate.

  This is plenty weird enough. Shelton nearly ripped an ear from his head.

  Coop isn’t here. Hi overlaid the thought with an image of my wolfdog chasing his own tail. Maybe that dilutes the effect?

  I nodded. This will have to be enough. Let’s go.

  Ben stepped into the street. Follow me. For some reason, his sending was faintest.

  Moving single file, we hurried across and cut left, moving along the fence. An alley ran between the wire-capped chain link and the next building over. We bolted down its length to the rear of the property, which faced the river.

  Tucked in the shadows, we peered into the Annex A enclosure, at a parking lot crowded with slumbering snow vehicles. Those don’t get a ton of work in Charleston, South Carolina. Ten feet from where we hid, a second gate split the fence. Chained and locked.

  Shelton hurried to it without prompting. We crouched, waiting as he picked the lock.

  Click.

  Got it. Shelton swung the gate wide. We slipped through and darted toward the building.

  Look for a door that—

  My thought was interrupted by the scrape of claws on asphalt. My flaring nose caught a whiff of wet, musky fur.

  We whirled in unison. Two German shepherds were pounding toward us.

  Panic flooded my brain as the boys scrambled for hiding places. I froze, unable to move.

  Growling, both dogs barreled toward me.

  Instinct took over. I flung my thoughts at the charging animals.

  HOLD.

  Both shepherds stopped short. The larger one—perhaps a grizzly bear in disguise—shook his head, black fur rising along his spine. The other beast cocked his head and yapped, eyeing me with icy brown eyes.

  I could sense their thoughts—a jumble of confusion, and thwarted aggression.

  The larger dog tensed, preparing to charge again.

  Focus on the alpha.

  I sent a mixture of impressions and images, trying to communicate as I did with Coop.

  No harm. No threat. Leaving your territory.

  Grizzly Bear sat back on his hindquarters. Regarded me. Then, slowly, he settled down on his haunches. Brown Eyes whined at his companion, but followed suit.

  Pass.

  I thought it was Grizzly Bear, but couldn’t be sure.

  Thank you.

  I waved the boys toward the building. Hoped Shelton could get us inside. Quickly.

  The guard dogs watched as Shelton reached a set of steel doors, began frantically fiddling with a knob.

  Brown Eyes abruptly stood. Drilled me with a look.

  Pass. Once.

  I felt an emphasis on the second word.

  Understood.

  After long seconds, the lock yielded. We piled inside and slammed the door shut.

  Phase One was complete.

  But we were going to need a different way out.

  • • •

  What now? Ben asked, his smile gone.

  We’d just completed Phase Two—the tunnel had been easy to locate, and blessedly abandoned at that late hour. It’d taken less than five minutes to reach the basement of the main headquarters building.

  Where the weak point in our plan reared its ugly head.

  Let me think. I peered through a tiny window in a hallway door.

  Not only was the evidence room locked up tight, but so was the corridor approaching it. Halfway down its length sat a duty officer, drowsily reading a Dan Brown novel. A security camera perched above h
im completed the disaster.

  “I told you!” Shelton hissed, forgetting to send his thoughts. “And we can’t even go back now, unless you wanna be dog chow.”

  We huddled in the dim hallway, trying not to panic. My mind raced, searching for a miracle solution. At this point, just getting away sounded wonderful.

  Then an idea occurred to me.

  Hi, where is Hawfield’s office?

  Hi whipped out his iPhone. Tense moments passed as he surfed the web.

  Finally, he looked up. Major Crimes is on the fifth floor.

  Are you nuts! Shelton’s hands shot skyward. Hawfield knows who we are!

  No, she’s right! Hi bounced on his toes. And nobody that matters will be here this late.

  Ben pointed back the way we’d come. Elevators.

  With my enhanced vision, I easily spotted the bank of doors twenty yards away.

  We go up, I insisted. But first, snuff the flares.

  Ben reared back. That’s nuts! We can’t give up our edge.

  I gave him a hard look. We might run into someone. We can’t risk an officer spotting our glowing eyes, even if it means getting caught.

  Ben crossed his arms. I’ll take my chances.

  I nearly slapped him. No! It’s too dangerous. Stop being stupid.

  A pulse of anger radiated from Ben. He turned and stormed toward the elevators.

  I slapped my sides in frustration. Didn’t know what to do.

  Would Ben really gamble everything? Risk exposure?

  Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I turned. Hi gave me “calm down” hands as the golden light faded from his eyes. I glanced at Shelton. He’d also powered down.

  Deep breath.

  SNUP.

  I shivered as the shock waves dissipated. Losing my flare made me feel small and weak. A terrible hollow feeling, that seemed worse each time.

  “Let me.” Hi hustled up the corridor.

  Shelton and I waited, unable to pierce the gloom, not speaking for fear of discovery.

  I counted seconds in my head.

  “Come on,” a voice finally whispered.

  Shelton and I jogged to the elevators. Ben stood at the doors, his eyes their normal dark brown. Wordlessly, he punched the up button.

  We waited, pulses pounding. A door beeped, then opened. The car was empty.

  The four of us piled inside. Hi pressed five. The doors slid shut.

  “Hope nobody else needs a lift,” Shelton whispered.

  “We can make something up,” Hi hissed. “Say we lost our pony.”

  I snorted. “And came to report it at one a.m.?”

  “Better than breaking in to steal evidence,” Hi countered. “Maybe we loved that pony.”

  My heart rose in my throat as we passed each floor. One. Two. Three.

  The elevator slowed. I was close to losing my dinner.

  I imagined the doors opening to an office full of detectives working overtime. Heads turning. Confused eyes gradually growing suspicious. Hawfield, outraged, dialing Kit’s number.

  Four. Five. The doors hissed open.

  Before us was an open space filled with interlocking cubicles, surrounded by glass-enclosed offices lining the walls. Every light was off. No one was there.

  I gasped in relief. Shelton actually fell to his knees, while Hi rubbed a hand across his face. Ben chuckled nervously, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Hurry.” I moved along the row of offices. The one I sought was third from the end.

  Hawfield, Fergus.

  Rounding the standard issue gray metal desk, I considered where to start. I woke his computer by tapping the space bar. No good—the system was password protected.

  Then I noticed an iPad on the desktop. I flipped the cover and pressed the home button. The display winked to life. A collection of icons covered the screen.

  The right one was obvious: GableRansomVideo.

  “That’s it!” Hi squealed. “But how do we get it?”

  I thought furiously. Had no idea.

  “Give it here,” Shelton demanded.

  He opened the iPad’s web browser and navigated to Gmail.

  “Brilliant,” I breathed.

  “Won’t be so brilliant if they trace what I do,” Shelton said. “But I have a blank Gmail account for joining websites, so I don’t get spam. I’ll use that.”

  He typed quickly.

  “Tony Domo?” Hi scoffed. “Great name, genius.”

  “Can it. I was in a hurry.”

  Shelton logged in, attached the file, and mailed it to himself. Then he logged out, closed Safari, and opened Utilities to erase the iPad’s browser history.

  “Best I can do,” he said nervously. “As long as no one suspects, no one will check the hard drive and notice what I did.”

  A squeaking noise in the hallway.

  “Someone’s coming!” Ben shoved everyone deeper into Hawfield’s office.

  We dove behind the desk in a ragged dog pile. Froze. The sound grew closer.

  I stared at the tiny slice of doorway I could see. A yellow bucket wheeled into view. Passed, followed closely by a worn pair of Nikes. The squeaks sounded for another few seconds before fading completely.

  We let out a collective breath.

  “Let’s get the frick out of here!” Shelton moaned.

  “Deal.”

  Sticking my head through the door, I scanned the hallway. All clear. We bolted for the elevator. Painful moments passed as we waited for the car to arrive.

  Adrenaline jolted me as the door opened.

  Empty again. All the gods were smiling on us.

  “What now?” Hi asked, once inside. “We can’t go back through the tunnel.”

  “Now we go for broke.” I pressed L.

  The boys flinched, but didn’t argue. They understood.

  I pulled out my cell, tapping keys until I found what I needed. Then I cupped the iPhone tightly in my left hand.

  We rode in silence.

  The car stopped. The doors slid open.

  Squaring my shoulders, I strode into the lobby.

  Several officers lounged behind a counter running the length of the room. Opposite them, a man in handcuffs was slumped on a wooden bench, a huge welt forming on his forehead. Beside the suspect, an officer was calmly filling out paperwork.

  On the next bench over, a pair of elderly ladies were seated, waiting, with matching scowls on their faces. Farther down the line, a trio of disheveled college students were scrolling their cell phones.

  I spied a row of glass doors at the opposite end of the room.

  Hesitate and you’re finished, Brennan.

  Straight from the elevator.

  Across the lobby.

  Through the doors.

  The boys at my back like white on rice.

  We walked swiftly, but not unduly so. Everyone stared straight ahead.

  Behind the counter, an officer glanced up as we passed. His mouth opened, a confused expression on his face.

  The phone beside him rang.

  With a last look our way, the man shrugged, then reached to answer.

  We exited the building, skipped down the steps, and then hurried around the corner.

  I hit disconnect, ending my call to the CPD intake desk.

  Together, we sprinted down the sidewalk.

  We scrambled into the bunker an hour later.

  Ben had driven almost all the way there, something we never do. But I couldn’t wait.

  We had Karsten’s files. We had the ransom video. Sleep wasn’t coming anyway.

  Shelton dropped into the workstation chair. “What first?”

  I weighed options. The danger to the twins was more immediate.

  “The ransom video.”


  We gathered behind Shelton as he logged into his fake Gmail account. “It’s an MP-four file. Twenty seconds long. Probably shot by a handheld digital video camera. HD mode. Nothing embedded in the recording. No private streams.”

  I nodded, clueless as to what Shelton was talking about. But I trusted his expertise.

  “Play it,” Ben said.

  Shelton double-clicked the file, then expanded to whole screen mode.

  We watched in silence.

  The shot was eye level. A dirty stone chamber, bisected by a line of rusty metal bars. Harsh light poured from somewhere off camera. Beyond the bars, a boy and a girl were huddled together on the floor, squinting in the radiance. The room didn’t appear to have a ceiling. Water dripped from unseen heights above.

  “It’s them,” Hi breathed. “They’re looking right at the camera.”

  Shelton shivered, rubbed his arms. I understood.

  It appeared the twins were looking right at their captor. I couldn’t imagine the feeling.

  “Turn up the audio,” Ben said.

  Shelton adjusted the QuickTime player settings, then fiddled with the desktop speakers. “No can do. There isn’t any.”

  As we watched, the camera moved left to right across the chamber, as if being carried. The focus remained on the two miserable teens in the center of the cell.

  Lucy and Peter didn’t twitch a muscle, but their eyes tracked the camera.

  After twenty seconds, the screen went black.

  “Again,” I breathed.

  Shelton clicked play a second time. The clip repeated.

  When it ended, I began chewing a thumbnail. Unfortunately, nothing about the video jumped out at me. The scene was horrifying, no question, and confirmed that the twins had been abducted. But from an investigative standpoint, the tape seemed like a dead end.

  “There’s nothing useful,” Hi said. “The kidnapper knew what he was doing.”

  “Roll it again. And watch for details,” I instructed. “Everyone take a quadrant. Look for any kind of hint where this was filmed, or by whom.”

  After agreeing on who was eyeballing what, Shelton replayed the recording. I watched the northwest quarter of the screen. Came up empty.