But the one thing he remembered right now was seeing two security guards enter a room at the top of the stairs. He fought the urge to bound up them, stepping quickly, one at a time. At the top, he remembered looking here for any clue about how the commune managed to survive. Now he knew. The only thing that mattered in this moment was finding Isabelle. And the room that those guards had gone into–he tensed as he rounded the corner of the hallway that led to that room–was the best place to start. Without hesitating, he strode directly to the door and just opened it.
“What took–” said the security guard sitting in front of the monitors. But as he turned to see Mac, he started to get up. “Hey, this area is off limits.”
In his baseball cap embroidered with the Green Acre logo and his black t-shirt with “Security” printed in bold white letters, it might seem to someone else that this was a security guard. But Mac had already observed them. These weren’t professional watchmen. They were commune members with outfits, with no background in defense or protection and likely no training either.
He was about to put that theory to the test.
The young man started to get up from his office chair.
“I know,” Mac said as he landed a hard, quick jab on the guy’s jaw.
Though he rocked for a moment, teetering on his heels, his eyes glazed and nearly crossed and his legs buckled. Mac darted forward and grabbed the shorter man around the shoulders. He wanted him knocked out, which he was, not breaking his neck in a fall. Quickly, Mac settled him to the ground.
He spun back to the monitors and hunched down in front of them.
Where is she?
Quickly, he glanced at each one in succession. She wasn’t in any of them.
“Damn it,” he muttered, going over them again to make sure.
He glanced back at the guard behind him. Still out. In the small room, there was no where to hide him. Mac would have to leave him there. But as Mac turned back to the monitors, someone caught his eye.
“Maurice,” he muttered.
Maurice who had used the shock wand. Maurice who Isabelle read arguing with Geoffrey. Maurice to whom Daniel had brought his kidnapped son.
If anyone can lead to Isabelle, it’s him.
Or Geoffrey.
But a quick check of the monitors revealed no Geoffrey.
Instead, Maurice was making his way down a hallway. Mac watched him.
Where is that?
Maurice used a key to enter a doorway that looked like any other in the building. Mac watched the other monitors waiting for him to appear but he didn’t. Mac stood up. He scanned the other monitors yet again. Members came and went, appeared in one view and then another, approached cameras and then passed by them. But no one just disappeared. Except for Maurice.
His room wasn’t under surveillance.
“That’s where she might be,” Mac muttered.
But where is that door?
“Camera number seventeen,” he said, reading the label below it. “Where are you?”
On the table in front of him, under plexiglass, was a map. He jammed his finger down on top of seventeen.
There.
“And I am…”
He scanned the schematic.
I’m on the upper floor, same as camera seventeen. Here are the stairs at either end of the building. On the first floor, there’s the kitchen. I’m above that now.
Which meant he was…here. His finger quickly traced a route between the two locations. He whirled to the door. Time to find Maurice.
•••••
“No,” Geoffrey said, feeling his heart race. “Not here.” Isabelle had paused in the living room, near the leather couch. Geoffrey glanced up at the fire alarm. One hand under her elbow and another around her waist, Geoffrey hustled her to the other side of the room, opened the screen door and stepped out onto the deck with her. “There,” he said. “That’s good.”
Reluctantly, he let Isabelle go as she moved toward the deck rail.
“He thinks I don’t know,” Geoffrey said as he closed the glass door. “But I know.” He turned back to Isabelle who was still trying to catch her breath. “My rooms might be under surveillance but I guess the genius overlooked the deck.”
Geoffrey grinned but Isabelle stared at him, her look still puzzled.
“Maurice has everything watched,” Geoffrey said, taking a moment to realize what he’d just done. He’d disobeyed his brother. And with the strange moods Maurice was in lately, who knows what his reaction would be.
To hell with it, he thought, as he watched Isabelle take a deep breath. She’d nearly been shaking when he’d taken her from the punishment room. Thank god he’d been getting his shot with Maurice when the guard had radioed.
“I was with him,” Geoffrey said, taking a step toward her. She was as beautiful as he remembered. Maybe even more so. She wore a light, v-neck blouse that was aqua and sleeveless. The ruffled and darkly patterned skirt was tight at her waist, but quickly flared, accentuating her hips and falling only to about mid-thigh. The light, grey gloves gave her an air of elegance, something he was getting used to. Her skin was flushed and her lips were a deep red. Geoffrey was already deciding how he’d undress her. “When security called about you I was there.” He stepped closer again. “Just be glad I got to you before he did.” Geoffrey paused. Something about the way Maurice reacted had actually made Geoffrey fear for her safety. “But, anyway,” he continued, stepping in front of her and looking down into those gorgeous eyes. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
He knew she’d be back. Women didn’t get a taste of the ole Geoffrey charm and not want more. He started to put his arms around her but, to his surprise, she backed up to the rail, put a hand on his chest, and stopped him. Scowling, he looked down at her gloved hand.
“Geoffrey,” she said, “I’m sorry. I’m just…” she fanned her face with her other hand. “Could I just…have something to drink?” He cocked his head at her. “I’m overheating. That guard…”
Geoffrey couldn’t help but grin, feeling it spread from ear to ear.
“Something to drink?” he said. “I’ve got just the thing.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“COME ON,” MAC muttered under his breath.
Maurice had to have heard by now.
The tumblers of the deadbolt refused to line up so Mac jiggled the lock pick yet again. He glanced over his shoulder but not up at the security camera. Though he’d come prepared for a sneak and peak, he hadn’t thought he’d actually have to do this. He kept the tension light on the torque pick and raked the other across the pins. It finally clicked. He twisted the tools quickly clockwise and the deadbolt thunked open. He grabbed the knob, already opened, and pushed through the door, instinctively hunkering lower. But as he passed through, scanning in every direction, and closing the door behind him, Mac realized why Maurice had not heard. Maurice had already gone and there was no sign of Isabelle.
“Damn,” he muttered.
But as the realization sank home, Mac also saw he was in a room unlike any of the others. It was a lab. Like some strange throwback to a high school chemistry classroom, Mac stared at the surroundings.
This is the secret room?
Something didn’t click.
How did this fit with the organic and whole earth commune?
Mac’s internal clock was whirring at a furious rate. Isabelle was still missing. But as he stepped into the lab, unease filled his stomach. This was a lab that was in use. High-tech equipment gleamed, digital readouts pulsed, and large units that looked either like ovens or refrigerators hummed along one wall.
On the nearest table there was an open lab book.
As he approached it, Mac realized it sat in front of a row of rat cages. He stopped. All the animals were dead–maybe a dozen in all. Their little bodies lay in various spots, on their sides or simply laying down on their stomachs. One actually had its feet in the air. The cages were hand-labelled with white tape a
nd black pen, each with a percentage: 2%, 10%, 50%, 100%. Without touching the journal, Mac peered into it.
Column one was time in 24-hour notation. Column two held the same percentages as on the cages. Column three had notes about the rats. The latest entry only minutes ago.
Is that what Maurice had been doing here?
On the next lab bench, on top of a small pedestal, a whirling brown liquid in a large flask drew Mac’s eye. A small white capsule, barely visible through the murk, was spinning at the bottom of the glass. Behind it, up on a shelf, were jars of what looked like chopped meat, some of it rotted black. Bottles labeled HCl and NaOH were lined up next to it. Glass probes were inserted into one of the jars and it looked like they led to–Mac read the label on the equipment–a pH meter, its digital display flashing green.
Mac passed these and headed to the large glass-fronted hood at the end of the room. It’s bottom was lined with petrie dishes, also labeled with handwritten notes. More flasks of brown liquid were arranged to the side.
But what immediately caught Mac’s eye was a magazine on the last bench before the hood.
The Journal of Bacteriology, an old and dogeared issue–Mac flipped it closed–addressed to Dr. Maurice Giraudot.
Not Girod.
Of course not.
What is Dr. Giraudot doing that’s so secretive his own security cameras can’t watch?
Mac glanced at the large storage units that flanked the opposite wall and was about to head toward them when the writing on the flasks of brown liquid suddenly registered. He stared into the hood. The glass containers were arranged in order of solution strength.
“Cl. Botulinum Type A 2%” read the first and lightest colored one. Then 10%, 50%, and 100% for the darkest.
“Botulinum,” Mac muttered. He whipped his head around to look at the dead rats. “Botulism,” he whispered.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THOUGH ISABELLE WOULD have liked to sit on one of the cushioned lawn chairs, it was better to be a moving target. Inside, she heard Geoffrey pouring iced tea. Of all the people to come to her rescue, she would never have imagined Geoffrey. She peered through the sliding glass door to the doorway on the far side of the living room, weighing the risks. If she tried to run, she’d have to deal with the guards. If she stayed, she had to deal with Geoffrey. She looked over the deck railing to the spread of the farmland across the valley below.
Mac must be looking for me. He has to have gotten back to the SUV by now.
She peered through the glass door again.
But how will he know I’m here? According to what Geoffrey says, not even the guards would know they were out on the deck.
I have to be inside.
But just as she reached for the door handle, it slid open.
Startled, she backed up, as Geoffrey thrust a glass of tea into her outstretched hand. Then he turned and closed the door.
Though she thought he might come onto the deck, he simply stood in her way and then raised his glass to her, the ice cubes tinkling.
“Raspberry iced tea,” he said, winking. “Organic and made right here.” He took a sip. “Ahhh,” he said, smiling. “It’s just what the doctor ordered.” He looked pointedly at her glass. “If you’re overheating, this’ll do the trick.”
She looked down at it and then past him toward the living room.
A bathroom break, she suddenly thought. I’ll use a bathroom break as an excuse.
Quickly, she raised the tea to her lips and took a sip.
“Yes,” Geoffrey said. He paused, watching her. “What do you think?”
It was actually very good. The tea was sweetened and the raspberry flavor wasn’t overpowering or strong.
“It’s very nice,” she said.
“I’m so glad,” Geoffrey said, sounding quite pleased. “Drink up.”
•••••
“What?” Tim said, answering his phone.
“Shut up and listen,” Mac said. “Their last name is Giraudot.” Mac spelled it. “You got that?”
“Got it,” Tim said, sounding disconcerted, but the tone in Mac’s voice must have conveyed the urgency he felt.
“Also,” Mac said, looking quickly around the room. “He’s growing botulism here.”
“Growing it?” Tim said. “You mean like growing food poisoning?”
“It’s Cl. botulinum,” Mac said. “He’s testing it on rats. I want…” Suddenly, Mac pictured the empty medical clinic. He swung back toward the row of flasks. The 100% flask was nearly empty. “He’s going to poison the commune.”
“What?” Tim asked. “Did you say–”
“Maurice,” Mac said. “He’s going to use it to kill the people here.” Mac stared at the door.
Where is Isabelle?
He looked at the flask again.
“Scramble medical teams.” He said heading to the door. “And hazmat.” Mac yanked the door open. He’d been about to barrel into the hallway but had to stop so quickly, he nearly tripped. “Darren?” he said.
The little red-haired boy stared up at him and then pointed.
“That’s him,” Darren said.
Mac had just begun to turn and duck but it was too late.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ISABELLE FOUGHT THE need to yawn.
The forced march from the road must have tired me out.
The half-finished glass of tea felt heavy in her hand and the condensation was wetting her glove.
Wait. I was supposed to be doing something.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Geoffrey said. “Don’t you think?”
Though Isabelle tried to concentrate on him, Geoffrey seemed to be moving in and out of focus. All she could really make out for sure was the fact he was smiling.
I remember. I was supposed to go use the bathroom.
“Geoffey,” she said, having trouble with the ‘r’ but not really caring. “Where’s your bathroom?”
He pointed through the glass door.
“Just past the TV,” he said. “On the right. You can’t miss it.”
Good.
She set her drink on the railing, only to hear it crash on the deck at her feet.
“Oh my god,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
Quickly, she bent to pick up the broken pieces but, as the world suddenly spun, she clung to the railing instead, almost missing it.
What is wrong with me?
“Here you go,” Geoffrey said. His arms went around her waist. “I’ve got you.”
•••••
Though consciousness threatened to wink out, Mac rolled as he hit the floor. The blow had come out of nowhere, to the back of the head and the upper back. A wooden chair crashed down next to him.
“That’s him,” Darren screamed.
A boot landed in Mac’s ribs and he grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. Though he tried to keep rolling, the hallway’s wall thumped into his back. Another kick landed in his stomach. The force of it picked him up and before he could even land, there was another.
A deep ‘unh’ flew from his lips.
Then he couldn’t get any air. It was all he could do to protect his head from their feet. There were two of them and they had him pinned.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THOUGH IT’D ONLY been half of a drink, Geoffrey decided to make the best of his opportunity. As he drew Isabelle away from the broken glass and spilled tea, he tugged her waist to his and wrapped his arms around her. She swayed in his grasp.
“Geoffey,” she slurred. “Don’t.”
The feel of her was amazing. Her lithe body twisted against him and her waist almost disappeared in his grasp. She put her hands on his chest and tried to push but he hugged her tighter and smiled down at her.
“You’re even cuter when you’re high,” he said.
She shook her head as though she could clear it.
“I’m not–”
He smothered her mouth in a kiss. Wet and sweet, her mouth was luscious. But he’d misj
udged her high. No sooner had his tongue pushed between her lips than he felt her bite down.
Quickly, he snapped his head backwards and shoved her away.
She careened off the railing and stumbled along it as he grabbed his tongue and then looked at his fingers. She hadn’t drawn blood but, damn, that had hurt.
He chuckled a little.
“You want to play rough?” he said, following her.
Because now he did.
•••••
As yet another kick flew toward his midsection, Mac quickly uncovered his head and grabbed the boot. With a savage twist, he wrenched it counter-clockwise like a steering wheel. The feel of cartilage crunching was accompanied by a wet popping sound as the man screamed.
Mac shoved.
As he pushed to his hands and knees, Mac sucked in a breath. The second guard was rushing past the one who was going down. He had picked up the chair. Though he needed another lungful of air, there wasn’t time. Instead, Mac pushed off the wall and launched himself into the man’s midsection. As the chair came down on his back, Mac savagely uppercut, right between the man’s legs.
They both went to their knees.
Though his lungs burned and pain radiated through his spine, Mac didn’t stop. The guard whose knee he’d twisted was hobbling on one foot and reaching for the chair. Mac pushed to his feet and lunged for it. His hand landed on one of the back legs and, as his lunge turned into a roll, Mac came up swinging. The chair connected solidly with the guard’s head and torso, knocking him completely sideways where he sprawled in front of the lab door. Breathing hard, Mac surveyed the hallway.
Darren’s back retreated down the corridor. The second guard was still clutching his groin, kneeling, still as a statue. But Mac couldn’t take any chances. Though he tossed the chair to the floor, he followed it with a quick cross to the man’s face. His head snapped sideways and, still holding his groin, he simply tilted like a log and landed on his face.
Changed (Second Sight) Page 4
