Hunt the Dawn
Page 24
“Too little, too late, man. It’s over. She’s…” Lathan couldn’t force that word—the word that meant the end—from his numb lips.
Isleen tipped her head up, waited until his attention focused on her. “She’s alive.”
Her words cut him deeper than any knife ever could. He couldn’t correct her. He might fucking start sobbing if he opened his mouth. The best he could manage was a jerky shake of his head.
Isleen reached out to him, then dropped her hand like she knew he didn’t want to be touched. “I dreamed about her. My dreams are never wrong.”
Lathan’s joints went melty. He slumped down and sat on the stairs. “You’re saying you dreamed that she’s alive? I don’t mean to be a bastard, but don’t do this to me. I don’t have the mental space for false hope.”
Dr. Stone moved in next to Xander and Isleen, hovering over him.
“Isleen is the other dreamer I told you about.” Dr. Stone settled his hand on Isleen’s shoulder. “I can vouch for the accuracy of everything she says. She’s never been wrong.”
Lathan wanted to ask for more information, but couldn’t make his mouth work.
“She’s in a windowless space,” Isleen said. “Reminds me of a basement studio apartment. Her face is badly bruised, but she’s alive. There’s a guy there… She calls him James. He’s taking care of her. Not hurting her. They seem like friends.”
Lathan couldn’t help it; his gaze darted to Gill. He read Gill’s expression—I told you. She’s working with the Strategist. Lathan shook his head. She couldn’t be teamed up with the Strategist. He’d have smelled her deception. He knew, he fucking knew in his DNA, that she loved him. But, if she actually was alive, why hadn’t she called? Sought him out? Come home?
Did he really believe she was alive?
Didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding her. Dead or alive.
“Something inside me tells me where Isleen is when we’re not together.” Xander’s protective arm around her tightened. “It’s like an urge, a tugging that guides me to her. I’m sure you have the same thing. You just have to recognize it and listen to it. For too many years, I ignored that feeling and Isleen suffered because of me.”
“There is no urge. No tugging inside me. Only the constant drilling ache from being shot.” Despair burned Lathan’s eyes and nose. He gulped back the urge to rage on himself, harm himself—fucking carve her name on every square inch of his skin.
Dr. Stone spoke. “As long as the light shines in one of you, the other will live. That’s why you aren’t dead and neither is she. Wherever she is, she’s alive. When you find her—and you will—stay together.”
“You have to be touching to be truly safe.” Xander glanced down at Isleen. “When you know that, really understand it, it’s hard not to be touching.”
“The answer is inside you.” Dr. Stone’s clear-blue gaze locked with Lathan’s as if that simple gesture would make his words true. “You just have to find it.”
Lathan wanted to believe. But belief was as solid as a cloud. He smelled the Strategist. Knew the Strategist had taken Honey. But he didn’t know that she was alive. Didn’t know how to find her.
Lathan sat stuck to the stairs, unable to utter a word as everyone left the house.
Whether he believed Isleen or not, he needed to find Honey. Gill would help him—if for no other reason than to prove Honey was working for the Strategist.
“Find out Dr. Jonah’s location. He’s fucking going to help me find the Strategist.”
Hope could be a dangerous dream.
Chapter 19
Lathan stood center stage at a presentation much like the one he’d tried to attend, fists wrapped in the nation’s most-respected profiler’s shirt, sniffing the guy. He smelled the audience’s surprise, apprehension, and fear—a precursor to panic. Felt everyone watching him. What did he expect? With the way he looked, the audience probably thought they were on the cusp of witnessing an actual murder. There’d be pictures of this all over the Internet in seconds.
“I smell him. Where is he?” Lathan didn’t wait for Dr. Jonah’s answer. He turned to the audience and scented the air. His brain automatically sorted and sifted through all the people, picking up a skinny thread of the one smell that gave him the greatest hope and the greatest fear. “Gill—he’s here.”
Gill drew his badge and gun and said something to the audience. Must’ve been some version of freeze because no one moved.
“…are…?” The scent of Dr. Jonah’s fear grew.
Lathan didn’t need to read or hear the words to understand the man’s question. “You know who I am.”
“I don’t.”
Lathan waited for the peppery scent of the lie to enter his nostrils, but it didn’t. “You know who I am. You sent your partner after me at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar. You have been inside my home. You decided Honey killed Junior and shot me.”
The light of recognition sparked in Dr. Jonah’s eyes. “Lathaniel Montgomery? But…”
At the mention of Lathan’s name, Gill slapped his hand over the microphone. Then fumbled with it a moment, turning it off.
“But what?” Lathan asked Dr. Jonah.
“I didn’t know…at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar.” Dr. Jonah spoke so rapidly Lathan couldn’t catch it all.
It wasn’t important, nothing more than a trivial detail in the greater search for Honey, but for some reason Lathan couldn’t let the conversation pass. “Your partner chased me down. Told me you wanted me to return to the presentation.”
“That’s strange. Let’s ask James.”
James. Isleen said Honey was with a man named James.
“Your partner is named James?” Lathan asked, certain he must’ve read the name wrong.
“Yes.”
“James?” This time Gill asked, his gaze colliding with Lathan’s.
“Yes.” Dr. Jonah confirmed. Again.
Lathan forced himself to let go of his grip on Dr. Jonah. “I don’t believe in coincidences. What if…” A memory floated out of the ether of Lathan’s mind. That day at the Minds of Madness and Murder seminar, he’d smelled something familiar as he rushed across the grass to his Fat Bob, but he’d plugged his nose before his brain could lock onto it. And then the partner had grabbed his arm. “Holy Jesus. Holy Fuck. The partner. The partner has to be the Strategist.”
Gill looked as skeptical as he smelled. “There are a fuckload of people with the name James. Just because—”
Lathan interrupted Gill to ask Dr. Jonah. “The seminar—did you hire an interpreter for me?”
“No. Of course not. I didn’t even know you were there.” Dr. Jonah’s gaze flew back and forth between Lathan and Gill.
“Gill, listen. When I left, Dr. Jonah’s partner chased after me, told me the doctor wanted me to return to the presentation, but he”—Lathan flicked his thumb in Dr. Jonah’s direction—“never knew I was there. Don’t you see?” Lathan waited for Gill to have the spark of understanding, but Gill just looked at him. “I’m the only one claiming the Strategist exists.
“What if the Strategist has been watching me, trying to figure out how I do what I do? What if he suspected I had hearing problems and the interpreter was his way of confirming it? What if he was watching five nights ago? That would explain the bizarre timing of him taking Honey. It would explain why the scene was set to look like she’d shot me and killed Junior. Only a professional would’ve known how to stage it so perfectly.”
Dr. Jonah raked a trembling hand through his flyaway hair, his gaze faraway, lost in thought. Lathan could practically see the man shifting puzzle pieces into place—and reaching the same conclusion as Lathan, but for different reasons. Shaking his head, he stepped up to the front of the stage and spoke loud enough that Lathan could hear. “James, come down here.” No one moved. “James?”
“Why would he leave?” Lathan directed the question to Dr. Jonah. “Does he normally leave?”
“No. Oh my God. I can’t believe this. He said he was too sick to attend the crime scene at your home. He’s been out the past five days with the stomach flu. I didn’t even question him. Why would I?” He swallowed, and sadness lined his face. “He’s my son. I should’ve seen. Should’ve known. Should’ve stopped him. I’ll take you to him.”
His fucking son—one of most prolific killers, and the great Dr. Jonah had been completely oblivious. Compassion for the guy wasn’t in Lathan’s dictionary at that moment, but neither could he direct any anger at Dr. Jonah. All he wanted was to find Honey.
Lathan inhaled the entire way out of the auditorium, searching for the Strategist’s scent. Confirmed for himself the guy really was gone.
Gill drove. Dr. Jonah navigated. Lathan obsessed over their speed. Speed of light wouldn’t have been fast enough. He didn’t bother trying to follow Gill and Dr. Jonah’s conversation. There was nothing either of them had to say that mattered. Only Honey mattered.
Lathan didn’t see the roads or the scenery they passed. All he could see was Honey in his mind’s eye. Her wiping the blood off his face after his fight with Gill. Her laughing and playing with Little Man. Her as he made love to her. Her. Her. Her.
The drilling ache in his chest eased, faded, stopped all together. Xander’s words came to him. Something inside me tells me where Isleen is. I’m sure you have it too. The pain. He’d thought it was from the gunshot, but it wasn’t. The pain was a compass. Nothing like pain as a motivator—go in the wrong direction and get hurt. Go in the right direction and feel fine. Terrified excitement bunched Lathan’s muscles. Alive or dead, he was going to find her.
Lathan lost track of time until Gill whipped the car into the driveway, the tires fishtailing before finding traction. A neat, nondescript home sat nestled next to a forest. It was painted a shade that perfectly matched the bark on the barren trees surrounding it. The yard was tidy and well kept, not picturesque. Nothing special.
Pent-up energy propelled Lathan out of the vehicle before Gill completed the stop. Lathan slammed into the front door at a full-on run, barely breaking his stride when the door caved and he burst into the house.
He stopped. Scented the air. Nothing. No honeyed undertones. His chest twinged. Wrong direction.
Gill entered the house, gun out, looking like the professional FBI agent he was.
“She’s not in the house.” Lathan followed the direction in which he felt no pain. It led him outside. The only other structure on the property was a tidy little shed tucked up against the trees. He found her scent—faint, so faint that if he hadn’t been hyper-focused on her, he might not have found it. The pain transformed into certainty. He ran. Flat-out sprinted. It was too late to prevent the dangerous dream from infiltrating his mind—her alive. Please, let her be alive.
He tore open the shed doors. Stopped. Brain struggling to assimilate the image.
A shiny, green riding lawn mower, hedge clippers, a weed whacker, bags of potting soil, fertilizer. And the scent of the Strategist. What the fuck?
She was here. Lathan fucking smelled her.
“Honey!” He yelled the word. His throat burned from the force of his vocalization. He whipped around to find Gill just reaching the open doorway of the shed. “Do you hear anything?”
Gill paused, cocking his head to the side, genuine concentration on his face. He shook his head.
“She’s here. I smell her.” Lathan tore the garden tools off the wall and threw them out the double doors. Together they carried the lawn mower out of the shed. Once they’d stripped the room, they searched. Every inch. Bottom to top. Twice. Three times. Nothing. No hint of her.
“You’re sure she’s here?” Gill asked for the seventh time, his face smudged with grime.
“I smell her. I know she’s here.” Lathan pounded his pain-free chest. The pent-up rage, the frustration of not finding her, vibrated his limbs with unexpressed energy. He slammed his fist into the shed wall, punching clean through the wood.
How could he know she was here if she wasn’t? Maybe he didn’t have anything that told him where Honey was. Maybe he’d wanted to find her so badly he’d convinced himself he had an ability he didn’t. He wanted to stab himself with the hedge clippers.
Lathan pulled his hand back into the shed, scraping his knuckles bloody. He invited the sting. The Strategist’s scent flowed in through the hole. Was he outside?
Lathan paced around the building, testing the air. The Strategist’s scent was strongest at the back. He knelt down, nose in the grass and inhaled. The guy had been here. Not long ago. Lathan ran his hands in circles over the ground, stirring up the scent. That’s when he noticed it. The grass his right hand touched was as cold as the environment. The grass his left hand touched was warmer. “Something’s here.”
Gill fell in beside him. Lathan pointed out the temperature differences. He dug his fingers into the earth and ripped out a clump of grass. Another. Another. Until he uncovered the straight line of man-made material. A door.
“She’s in there!” The lip of the door was no bigger than an eighth of an inch. Not enough to get his fingers underneath. “I need a crowbar. An ax. A sledgehammer.”
Dr. Jonah handed him a crowbar. Lathan had forgotten about the man until that moment. He braced it under the edge, leaned his entire body weight on it, and rocked it, but the fucking door didn’t budge.
Lathan grabbed the ax and slammed it down on the metal door with all the force he possessed. The impact reverberated through his hand, up his arm, rattling his bones all the way to his chest. Fucking metal door wouldn’t move. He smelled her. She was in there, mere feet away. The Strategist was with her. Every moment Lathan spent trying to get to her was another moment of torment she had to endure.
What was the Strategist doing to her right that moment? Carving out her insides, like he’d done the man in Indiana? Amputating her extremities one by one to see how long she could live? Slicing through her tendons just to immobilize her?
Stop. Lathan pounded his fists against his temples.
The drilling in his chest began again. Something was wrong.
Chapter 20
On the monitor, James watched the two men beat at the door with crowbars. They could beat for twenty years, and the door would not give. Explosives were the only way to get inside. The image was too distorted and grainy to tell exactly who was out there. He suspected Gill Garrison and Lathaniel Montgomery.
How did they find the bunker? No one knew about it. No one. And the entrance was perfectly concealed. He’d have to ponder those questions later. Right now, the priority was escape.
“I’ll tell them I kidnapped you. Made you take me here. Forced you to take care of me.” Evanee moved to stand beside him and watched the men beat at the grass. One rucked up huge handfuls, clawing and beating at the door.
He’d done a good job with her. She had no idea they were there for him, not her.
“They won’t believe you. I left today. Never called law enforcement. And came back here willingly. They’ll know that. Will know that I could’ve turned you in and didn’t. They’ll charge me with aiding and abetting. As an accessory.” He turned to her. “And you won’t get a fair shot with these guys. Look at them.”
Rage fueled the men’s movements. They weren’t simply doing their jobs; they were on a mission. A mission to capture him. But she didn’t know that.
“Do you trust me?” he asked, and waited for her to look at him.
A small smile teased at the edge of the undamaged side of her mouth. “Obviously.”
“I’ve got a plan. But you have to do everything I tell you to do. Everything. Without question. Can you promise me you’ll do that?”
“I promise.”
“Good. We’re in this together now. I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine. Deal?”
* * *
“Deal.” She latched onto his words and chose to believe he was right.
She pulled another sweater over her head, then stepped into a pair of long johns. She rummaged through the drawer until she found a pair of pajama pants and slipped those on, tying the waist.
“The only way they’ll get the hatch open is with explosives, so that buys us a bit of time.” From underneath his desk he grabbed a fat backpack and wrapped a rope around his ankle, securing the pack to his foot. He shoved the desk over to reveal a wooden door two feet in diameter. He unlatched the lock and swung it open.
The tunnel looked too small for a human being to fit inside, but she understood without him speaking that they were going to crawl through there.
She took a step back and ran into the nightstand. “Where’s that go?”
“Half a mile into the woods. Everyone will be focused here, not searching the woods. At least not yet. Thank God, Grandpa was the paranoid sort. He was forever fretting that the Commies were going to invade.”
“His paranoia is our escape, I hope.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the too-tiny tunnel.
James nodded his head. “You can do this.” He sounded so sure of himself, so sure of her.
She sucked in a breath, squared her shoulders, and forced herself to move toward the tunnel entrance.
“One more thing, then we’re ready.” He sat down at his computer and began typing.
On the wall-mounted screen, she watched the men outside. The grainy image distorted and wavered. One man beat the ground violently, rage in his every movement. Was that Gill? If he was doing that to the ground, what would he do to her? He’d kill her. A shiver passed over her shoulders.
The screen went blank. A few keystrokes from James, and a quiet pffft sounded. A swirl of smoke whispered up from the computer. James stepped away from the machine and led her to the hole. They knelt, facing each other.