Chosen (Second Sight)

by Hunter, Hazel

  “Of course, of course,” Geoffrey said.

  He waved the very pregnant woman over. Like everyone else, she beamed at him and covered the distance as quickly as she could.

  “Maybe you can help us,” he said to her. “We’re looking for someone called…”

  He turned to Isabelle.

  “Kayla Massen,” Susan said loudly from behind them. “For god’s sakes, Kayla–”

  “Kayla?” said the woman, the first person to actually look at Susan. “She’s in the kitchen. It’s just back–”

  But Susan had already turned and was running in that direction.

  Again, Isabelle had to tug her hand free from Geoffrey’s grasp but in moments she was running after Susan. The little, red-haired boy had followed them into the house and she dashed by him.

  “Kayla?” Susan called. She quickly disappeared into the first kitchen door. “Kayla?” she said again.

  No sooner had Isabelle entered the kitchen, than she nearly ran into Susan. Standing frozen, her mouth open and eyes wide, Isabelle followed her stare. There, at one of the sinks, stood Kayla. Her hair was longer than Isabelle had remembered and she’d obviously put on weight.

  Equally obvious was why. She was pregnant.

  “Mom?” Kayla said, her hands in the sink, looking nearly as shocked as her mother. Susan covered her mouth with both her hands. Kayla dried her hands on the ballooning apron in front of her. “What are you doing here?” Kayla said.

  Except for boiling pots and the burners beneath them, the room had become hushed. All eyes were on mother and daughter. Though Susan was a moment collecting herself, she quickly lowered her hands, and crossed the kitchen. Heads turned to follow her and though Kayla held her arms out, Susan came to a quick stop in front of her and slapped her.

  Someone dropped a bowl that shattered on the floor and someone else gave a quick scream. Geoffrey flew past Isabelle. He wrapped Susan in a bear hug from behind and lifted her. Two more men flew past Isabelle.

  “Put me down,” Susan yelled.

  “Mother!” Kayla sobbed, holding her cheek.

  “Escort her,” Geoffrey said, handing Susan to the two men who’d charged in after him. “To the gate,” he finished, setting her down as each man grabbed one of her arms.

  “That’s not necessary,” Isabelle said. She glanced at Kayla and then followed the security guards as they dragged Susan toward the far door.

  “Isabelle?” Kayla said.

  “Take your hands off me,” Susan yelled, struggling.

  “You’re hurting her,” Isabelle yelled, following them, as the women in the kitchen backed away from the tumult.

  Isabelle turned to see Kayla following her and Geoffrey following Kayla.

  “Are you all right, Kayla?” he said.

  “Let me go!” Susan screamed.

  “Tell your men to stop,” Isabelle said over her shoulder, hurrying after them into the corridor. “There’s no need for that.”

  “I’m afraid they won’t listen to me,” Geoffrey said. “They’re just following the rules.”

  In moments, they had all burst through the back door but Isabelle noticed with relief that Geoffrey had stayed behind.

  “Isabelle,” Kayla muttered under her breath, as they followed Susan and the two guards. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” Isabelle said, though the answer seemed obvious. Up ahead, Susan had stopped struggling and was trying to glance behind at Kayla. “Your mom asked me to come. She’s been trying to get in touch with you. She’s worried.”

  “Yeah,” Kayla said, feeling her cheek. “I could tell.”

  Though Isabelle had been shocked to see Kayla pregnant, it had obviously disturbed her mother deeply. The slap had come out of nowhere. Though Isabelle couldn’t understand it, she felt badly for them both.

  Kayla put a hand on Isabelle’s arm and glanced back at the main house.

  “We need to talk,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I don’t buy it,” Scanlon said. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  To say that Special Agent in Charge Lee Scanlon was a by-the-books kind of guy was an understatement. Mac sat in the low chair facing him as Scanlon, leaning against the front of the desk, tossed the folder onto it.

  “There’s nothing to buy or not buy,” Mac replied, trying to keep his voice amiable. “You have a job and I want it.”

  Though Scanlon was only one rank lower than Ben, his office was one quarter the size, Ben’s gleaming wooden desk replaced by a metal one. The blinds on the small window were closed as was the door. Mac had noted the several commendations hung on the wall behind Scanlon’s chair, several of which Mac recognized since he had the same ones.

  Tall and lanky, almost too thin, Scanlon’s face was long and drawn. Unlike Ben, he avoided the comb-over by shaving his head but the baldness lent him the look of a skull.

  Scanlon shook his head and smirked.

  “You want a demotion,” Scanlon said.

  “Correction,” Mac replied. “I want that job.”

  “Correction,” Scanlon said. “You want a transfer.”

  Though Mac had stopped trying to keep his relationship with Isabelle a secret, he hadn’t realized how far knowledge of it had spread.

  Or had Ben given Scanlon the head’s up?

  No. Ben might not be in favor of the transfer but he wouldn’t try to undermine it.

  Either way, Mac wasn’t going to argue the point. Instead, the profiler part of his brain went into overdrive.

  He glanced at the wall again: the Medal of Valor and the Shield of Bravery. No personal photos but Scanlon wore a wedding ring. To reach his rank, he’d have been with the Bureau some twenty years. Moved from post to post. His leather shoes were scuffed and his brass belt buckle worn from years of use. Except for Mac’s file, tossed onto the ink blotter, his desk was immaculate. No computer.

  Mac looked him in the eye. Scanlon was a Bureau man–an old school one at that. Everything about him screamed the job. He was watching Mac this very moment, looking for any insight into him. Mac decided to give it to him.

  “I want a transfer,” Mac said. “In fact, I’ve made my decision. My record of service,” he glanced at the folder, “qualifies me for any number of jobs. I’ve chosen the Criminal Division because I think it’s the best fit–a place where I can use my skills and contribute. I’m qualified for the job and I know I’m over qualified, as do you. The only question is whether or not I work for you or someone over in Intelligence.”

  Mac had a few moments to wonder if the plain talk, simple and straight, had been the right approach. He’d knowingly left Scanlon with a yes or no decision. Scanlon slowly crossed his arms over his chest.

  “That was good,” he finally said. “But let’s be clear. I don’t buy your voodoo.”

  Inwardly, Mac had to smile. Not everyone in the Bureau was enamored of profiling.

  But he wasn’t applying for a job as a profiler or even as an instructor. He’d be a special agent assigned to cases that involved organized crime, drugs, and high-profile, white-collar felonies. Profiling would be useful but it wasn’t required. Mac returned Scanlon’s steady gaze with his own, careful to blink before it became a contest.

  “I could use a senior agent,” Scanlon finally said, standing up. “So I’m going to give you the job.” Straight and simple had been the right pitch. Mac stood up. “But understand this,” Scanlon said. “You work for me, not Ben Olivos. Keep your private life private. Play by the rules–every single one of them. You do that and solve cases and we’ll get along fine.” Scanlon extended his hand. “Do we understand each other?”

  Though he hadn’t said the word psychic or mentioned Mac’s breaches of protocol, he clearly knew about both. Mac gripped his hand.

  “We do.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Older brother or no, Maurice thought, Geoffrey was becoming a liability.

  “Her mother
?” Maurice demanded. “Her mother?” He’d heard the shouting and gone to the security cameras immediately. “In front of everybody.” He paced back across the living room. “The rules are there for a reason, Geoffrey. There’s more at stake here than organic, goddamn carrots.”

  He gripped his clipboard like a vice and jammed his other hand into the pocket of his lab coat.

  “Wait until you see her,” Geoffrey said. “Then you’ll understand.”

  “Could you think without your gonads for three seconds?” Maurice shouted.

  “That’s what I get paid for!” Geoffrey shouted back.

  Maurice silently fumed.

  Technically, that was true.

  He spun on his heel and paced past the floor-to-ceiling Hi-Def television, the black, leather couches and glass tables, and stopped in front of the built-in bar. Opposite the bar, two sets of sliding glass doors took advantage of the view across the valley. But Maurice didn’t see the landscape. Instead he hammered the marble counter with his fist. If he hadn’t sent the guards to intervene when he did, the daughter might have left.

  “You should have alerted security,” Maurice said through his clenched jaw. “They’d have hidden the daughter. It’d have been the usual routine.”

  “Well you didn’t see the friend,” Geoffrey said. “The one I’ve chosen.”

  “You can’t choose her,” Maurice screamed, whirling on him. “She’s not a member! We don’t go kidnapping people!”

  They didn’t so much as get parking tickets! They didn’t attract any attention that might be cause for any type of investigation by anybody.

  “She’ll be a member,” Geoffrey said, nodding. “You’ll see. I can always pick them.”

  Maurice narrowed his eyes, glowering at Geoffrey. His brother was starting to believe his own press. That could be very dangerous–even deadly.

  “In fact,” Geoffrey said, “if she’s still here, I’ll–”

  “You,” Maurice said between clenched teeth, freezing Geoffrey with his glare, “will do nothing of the kind.”

  • • • • •

  Kayla glanced back over her shoulder at the parking lot for the tenth time. Isabelle couldn’t help but do the same. One guard was waiting there with Susan. He’d said they were lucky the police hadn’t been called. You couldn’t come on private property and assault someone. The other guard trailed behind them as they slowly walked back to the house.

  Isabelle also couldn’t stop staring at Kayla. Though it’d only been four years, she looked so different–and not just because of the pregnancy. Deep lines in her forehead and dark shadows under eyes made her look as though she’d aged ten years. Her hair was nearly down to her waist, straight and un-styled. She didn’t wear makeup or jewelry. Plus she’d put on weight, her face pudgy and her jaw receding into a few extra chins.

  Several times Kayla had started to say something but stopped and glanced back. The security guard following them was easily within hearing range.

  “Daniel’s dead,” she finally said.

  Isabelle stopped and gaped at her.

  “What?” Isabelle said. Of all the things that Kayla might have said, that was the last thing Isabelle had expected. “When? How?”

  “Car accident,” Kayla said, beginning to choke up. She clutched her unborn baby with both hands. “About a month after we found out we were pregnant.”

  Stunned, Isabelle could only stare. Daniel…dead? She looked down at Kayla’s shaking hands, rubbing circles over her stomach. And Daniel’s baby?

  “I’m…so sorry,” Isabelle managed to get out.

  Pain lanced through her chest at the thought that he was dead. Though the breakup with him had taken her months to get over, Isabelle had never blamed him.

  Without warning, Kayla grabbed Isabelle by the shoulders and hugged her as close as the baby would permit.

  “Read me,” she whispered into Isabelle’s ear.

  What?

  Isabelle tried to pull away and see Kayla’s face but Kayla held her fast.

  “Please, Isabelle. Read me. Just pretend to hold my hand.” As they separated, Kayla looked down expectantly at Isabelle’s hand. The security guard had stopped a few feet from them. Kayla wiped her eyes. “I knew you’d understand.”

  Kayla needed her to know something–something the security guard couldn’t hear. But reading Kayla was the last thing Isabelle wanted.

  My old boyfriend’s girlfriend?

  Even so, something was obviously wrong. Isabelle glanced back at Susan in the parking lot, standing next to the Volvo, hugging herself and watching them. Kayla resumed her slow walk back to the main house and took Isabelle’s arm. Slowly, her back to the guard, Isabelle removed her glove, hovered her hand over Kayla’s bare forearm, and took in a breath. Then she touched her.

  Though she kept her feet moving, Isabelle could no longer see the path. Instead, the images from Kayla’s mind flooded in. Scenes from the kitchen mixed in with another building. It had rows of beds for the women. Daniel’s boyish face. Kayla’s grief rose to the surface and her fear at being pregnant and alone. But not just that. She didn’t feel like she could leave. She wanted to but she had no place to go. Daniel was dead. She didn’t want to be with her mother and the commune–Isabelle gasped and nearly tripped but Kayla kept a tight grip on her arm–all the other women there were pregnant by Geoffrey.

  Isabelle let Kayla go.

  The grey haze of the reading took several moments to clear but Isabelle could hear their feet on the gravel, felt it crunch beneath her shoes. She took in a deep breath, her heart hammering, her palms slick with sweat. Finally, the path came into view and then the surroundings, the buildings, the playgrounds. Isabelle blinked the last of the haze away and looked at the children in the distance.

  They were Geoffrey’s–all of them.

  “Thanks for walking me back,” Kayla said and let her go. The security guard stepped forward to help Kayla and she offered him a little smile before returning her gaze to Isabelle. “I hope I see you again.”

  • • • • •

  Isabelle was relieved to be safe at the curb of her apartment building. Susan had missed the freeway exit and then had run two red lights. If Isabelle had been speechless at Kayla’s revelation, Susan was stunned.

  “Tomorrow?” Susan said, leaning over the passenger seat as Isabelle shut the door. “What time?”

  Ever since they’d left the commune, there’d been a stream-of-consciousness recital of everything Susan had done right as a mother. Though Kayla hadn’t thought she’d be welcome in Susan’s home, Susan was more than ready to have her–if only to prove herself right.

  “After rush hour?” Isabelle said, leaning down toward the window. Susan’s worried face looked up at her. “Maybe 10?” Susan nodded though Isabelle wasn’t sure she’d actually heard. “You’ll pick me up here?”

  “I was a good mother,” Susan said. “I tried so hard.”

  Isabelle crouched low.

  “I know,” she said. “We’ll pick her up tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Right,” Susan said. “Right.”

  “Ten o’clock,” Isabelle said. Susan’s unfocused eyes shifted one way and then the other. “Susan?”

  Her eyes quickly narrowed and her upper lip curled into a sneer.

  “That smarmy bastard Geoffrey,” she said. “The whole place makes me sick.” She finally met Isabelle’s gaze. “I’ll be here. Ten sharp.”

  Without another word, Susan put the Volvo in drive and hit the gas. Isabelle barely had time to back away as the car jumped away from the curb with a little squeal from the tires. As she watched it head to the corner and round it without so much as a pause, Isabelle hoped Susan would make it home without a ticket.

  Or at least in one piece.

  As she turned to the stairs, she glanced up to the landing in front of her door. For a moment, she thought she might see Mac. But the landing was empty and her heart sank a little. As she climbed the steps, she checked the time
on her cellphone. It was getting late.

  Inside, she put her purse on the small table next to the door.

  Maybe she’d text Mac, see where he was, but she hesitated. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. Would a text interrupt him? She stared down at the phone, her thumb hovering over it. On different coasts, they hadn’t really done this sort of thing–partly because of the time zones, partly because their day-to-day lives were so separate. Instead, they talked on the phone every evening.

  Maybe she should just wait.

  As she set the phone on the table, the flashing red light on the answering machine caught her attention. She pressed the play button.

  “Thought I might catch you at home but I guess not,” said Yolanda’s voice. “Just wanted to know how it went today.” There was a pause. “Oh, and I took a look at tall, dark, and hunky,” she said. Isabelle’s heart nearly stopped. Had Yolanda done a reading? “Just seeing him from the street, that much was clear.” Isabelle exhaled with relief. “But remember what I said.” There were footsteps on the stairs outside. “It’s not going to end well.” She heard the landing creak. “It never does. I–”

  Isabelle hit the erase button.

  • • • • •

  As Mac was about to knock, he thought he heard a voice–a woman’s but not Isabelle’s. He balanced the box of Indian food on one arm.

  “Hello?” he said, knocking.

  The door opened before he’d knocked twice.

  “Mac!” Isabelle said, opening the door and stepping back.

  As he entered, he glanced quickly around the room and then closed the door behind him.

  “I thought I heard someone,” he said.

  “No one here but me,” Isabelle said, shrugging her shoulders, her voice higher than normal.

  Mac tensed a little. He couldn’t remember her ever shrugging her shoulders. As he set the box of styrofoam containers next to her purse, she smiled nervously.