Line of Sight

by Rachel Caine

  “I’m handing you off to Stefan,” Katie said and gave him the phone. “Relay what she says. And tell me how to get to East Fourth Street.”

  “Forget the side streets. You said northwest, right? Take the 101.”

  He talked her through to the freeway, a gigantic behemoth of concrete that shimmered with cars. Katie tried not to think about how many traffic laws she was breaking as she dodged through the traffic, speeding by on the shoulder and breakdown lanes whenever possible. Stefan clung to the door handle and looked several times as though he was going to say something—probably “Slow down!”—but then he kept his silence, listening to whatever Allison was saying on the phone.

  “They’re on 110,” he said. “Heading south. Take the turnoff, it should be about five more miles ahead.”

  Five miles took too long; traffic jammed to a stop, and all Katie’s maneuvering couldn’t levitate the Jaguar over the blockage. The Angelinos around her seemed accustomed to it; they yawned, drank coffee, read newspapers, brushed their hair…. She was ready to scream. She grabbed the phone from Stefan. “Allison, did you give it to the task force?”

  “Already done,” Allison said. “They should have air support heading out there, too. Don’t break your neck, Katie. They’re on top of it.”

  But there was something wrong; Katie could simply feel it. It wasn’t just the frustration of being away from the takedown, although that was undoubtedly eating a hole in her stomach; this had to do with other things. Things that she couldn’t define or explain.

  Something was wrong.

  “Chopper’s in the air,” Allison said. “They’re arranging for a roadblock, but they want to let the van get off the freeway first before they close in. Too many variables on a crowded freeway.”

  “Allison—”

  “I have to put you on hold, Katie.” Dead air. She growled in frustration and pitched the phone back to Stefan, who fielded it neatly.

  “What?”

  “That van. It doesn’t feel right.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know.” Katie shook her head impatiently. “I hate to ask, but…is it possible you could…?”

  “Plug in?” Stefan finished, so quietly she could barely hear the words. “I can try.”

  She heard the resolve in it, and the dread he couldn’t quite conceal. She reached over and grabbed his left hand with her right and squeezed it tightly.

  “I need you to get to her, but stay with me. Don’t let her drag you all the way, okay? I need you to relay to me what’s happening, minute by minute. You can do that, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please try.”

  He nodded, then took in a couple of deep breaths, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. For a few seconds he looked tense with concentration, and then she felt a tremor go through him.

  His hand went slack in hers.

  “Stefan?” No answer. He was gone. But that was what she didn’t want…. She had no idea how long he’d be gone, and even though he might come back with information, that was of no help to her in real time. She squeezed his hand again, sharply. “Stefan! I need you to talk to me! Talk to me!”

  He groaned, a deep and primal sound of pain that shivered her skin into goose bumps. She couldn’t stop; there wasn’t any place to pull over, and she had no idea if they’d be able to gain ground again if she gave it up now. She had to concentrate on driving, too. What she was doing, weaving in and out of traffic like this, was horrifyingly risky, even though she was trained for it. Any lapse in her concentration could put them in an accident, cost innocent lives.

  “Stefan!” She almost screamed his name, and squeezed so hard that she felt daggers of pain stab through her own fingers. “Stefan, you talk to me! Now!”

  “Not in the van,” he whispered. He sounded so faint, so far away, but he was talking. She caught her breath, and it felt like a sob. “They’re not in the van. Switched somehow. Don’t know how.”

  When the van had stopped, probably. The bastards had concealed what they were doing from the satellites. They’d known, or at least, they’d suspected that someone might be watching. “Stefan, tell me where they are! Tell me what you see!”

  Long silence this time, but she could tell he wasn’t gone, not all the way gone. He was fighting to stay with her, and it physically hurt him…. She felt the tremors going through his body. Teal’s gift was strong, maybe too strong; she had no experience in controlling it, and Stefan was trying to hold her off.

  I’m asking too much. Too much. But she couldn’t ask any less, not and live with herself.

  “Truck. Some kind of truck. Two small windows in the back.”

  “A delivery truck?”

  “Can’t see. It’s dark.” She risked a glance. Stefan’s eyes were still closed, but there were tears leaking from beneath the lids, and he struggled for breath. And words. “She’s on her knees, handcuffed. Lena’s—Lena’s facedown on the floor. They have a gun pointed at Lena’s head. I think—they’re threatening to kill her. Making Teal do what they want. She’s angry, Katie, she’s so angry….”

  “Focus on what she’s seeing. Anything, anything!”

  Stefan shook his head, a violent convulsion more than a controlled motion, and then opened his mouth and gasped. His back arched in agony.

  “Oh God—Stefan! Stefan, talk to me!” She kept saying his name because some part of her knew it helped, it helped him remember who he was, where he was. “What’s happening?”

  “Fighting. Fighting them.” His eyes flew open, and they looked strange, so strange that for a moment she couldn’t figure out why. Then it hit her with chilling force…. His pupils were widely dilated, as if he was in a pitch-black environment, but he was in full sunlight in the car. Teal was in the dark.

  His body was mimicking whatever was happening to her. This was what Stefan had been afraid of, she realized; feeling so intensely, being hurt and being helpless to prevent it.

  “What’s going on? Stefan!”

  His pupils suddenly contracted, and he screamed. It shocked her so badly that she let go of him, grabbed the wheel, jammed the clutch and brake and slewed the Jaguar to a gravel-spewing stop in the breakdown lane. She jammed it into Park, unbuckled her seat belt and grabbed his shoulders to hold him down as he thrashed. He was completely out of control, and he was stronger than she’d expected. She managed to lean her weight on him to keep him from hurting himself too badly, and then suddenly he collapsed into the seat, breathlessly making a sound that was halfway between a whimper and a moan.

  “Stefan!” Katie grabbed his head in both hands and forced his eyes to meet hers. He looked dazed and horrified. “Stefan, please talk to me. Come back. Talk to me.”

  “Can’t,” he gasped. His face was going dirty-pale, and as she watched, a trickle of red dripped from his nose. He didn’t seem to feel it, even when the trickle became a flood. Katie had come prepared this time; she’d grabbed chamois cloths from Angelo’s extravagant car-care rack in the stables, and she hurriedly took one and folded it to catch the blood flow. “Oh God, Katie, I can’t.”

  “You are. You’re talking to me. Just stay with me, tell me whatever you see, okay?”

  “Can’t,” he said again, and for a second his dazed eyes locked on hers. “Can’t shut it off. She’s scared. Drowning.”

  Teal was clinging to the link, trying to send information at what must have been overwhelming strength. And he could neither shut it off and save himself, nor fall into it completely and give in.

  Katie was his only lifeline.

  “Just tell me what happened,” she said, putting her lips close to his ear, trying to keep her voice calm and gentle. “Please. Please try.”

  He gasped it out, voice thick and wet behind the bloody towel pressed to his nose. “She—took out the one with the gun on—Lena—kicked open one of the doors—but—couldn’t jump—going too fast—sun too bright—”

  “She saw where t
hey were?”

  “Sepulveda. Passing Sepulveda. On the 110.”

  “How far ahead of us?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Stefan, I just passed—” What the hell was that? “The 405. How far ahead of us?”

  He was almost sobbing with effort. There was sweat on his face now, and sweat darkening his silk shirt. “Ten miles, maybe. Don’t know, Katie, please. Just drive. They hurt her.”

  “Teal? They hurt Teal? How badly?”

  He shook his head again. “Taser.”

  Oh Christ. He’d stuck with Teal during that? No wonder he’d screamed. Katie checked his nosebleed; it was lessening again, but he’d lost a hell of a lot of blood over the past few hours. You’re killing him, Katie. You’re killing him, and it’s not fair.

  As if he heard her thoughts, he said, “It wasn’t your choice, Katie. It was mine. Whatever happens.”

  “I know,” she whispered, and stroked his forehead and hair. “I know, honey. Let go now.”

  “Can’t. She won’t—”

  Stefan’s eyes went entirely blank, and he went slack.

  Gone.

  She’d lost him completely. He was with Teal now.

  Katie wiped tears from her cheeks, strapped herself back in and peeled out hard to merge back into the constant traffic. She drove like a demon now, totally focused on the goal. The Jaguar blew through open spaces, braked and drafted like a race car. It didn’t like the rougher pavement of the breakdown lane, but she controlled its tendency to shimmy and kept moving ahead, always ahead.

  It took ten more minutes before she spotted a sign up ahead. Sepulveda Boulevard.

  The truck had passed Sepulveda ten minutes ago. She was catching up. She had to be catching up.

  Because everybody else was looking for the wrong damn van.

  Chapter 11

  T he world was pain, a constant red haze of it, and Stefan wanted to just turn away from it, burrow into the darkness and hide. Katie’s voice had been like a drill in his head, all the questions, questions, and it had been so hard to answer from where he was.

  He could see his body behind him, slack and empty in the passenger seat of Angelo’s cherished Jaguar. He could see Katie, gorgeous sweet Katie, glorious in her fury and resolve as she steered the car in and out of traffic. Oh, Katie, I don’t want to leave you. He wanted to tell her that, but words were gone now, and he was being pulled inexorably away, into the red haze, into the world where Teal was trapped.

  Fall, or jump. He couldn’t hang on any longer. It was ripping him apart to try.

  Stefan let go and dived into the mind of a seventeen-year-old girl. A girl with more power than he could really comprehend, but still just a kid, a scared and angry kid. A hurt kid, now, thanks to the vicious Taser jab her guards had administered to keep her in line.

  Teal was lying on the floor, next to Lena Poole, who had raised her blond-and-purple head to stare at her friend. Are you okay? Stefan couldn’t hear the words, except as a distant buzz, but he could read her lips in the dim light. Teal?

  First Katie, now Lena. Stefan supposed Teal looked as dazed and frightening as he had earlier. Whatever Teal answered, it brought a flash of relief to Lena’s face, relief that was immediately overshadowed by fear as a big hand buried itself in her hair and dragged the girl upward. At the same time, Teal received similar treatment. Stefan felt the red-hot pull as Teal was jerked up to her knees. Her hands were still restrained behind her, but her legs were free. She was in bare feet, and the truck’s floor felt cold and gritty.

  Flashes of light illuminated things inside the truck. Nothing that would help him identify it, but he saw the faces of the kidnappers. They’d taken off the masks, maybe because of the warmth of the van, maybe because they no longer cared whether or not the girls saw them.

  Teal made sure to look at the faces, and Stefan looked through her eyes. The first man was tanned and very hard-looking, with a shaved head and a tattoo of a roaring lion on the right side of his bare dome. He was the one with the Taser, and he seemed to enjoy his work; Stefan hated the way the man’s eyes slid over Teal. He could feel the girl’s disgust, as if she’d been covered in slime and was unable to wash it off.

  The second kidnapper was a woman, and the instant Teal’s eyes fixed on her, Stefan felt a pure, hot spurt of fury go through her. This was personal, he sensed; this was her betrayer. He hadn’t gotten a clear look at her before, but Teal stared at her now, surely deliberately, to give him a chance to etch the woman into memory. Sheila Prichard. The woman who’d tried to blow them up with a booby trap in her apartment, who now loaded a clip into an automatic pistol with cool competence. There was nothing but contempt in her eyes.

  The third was another man, shorter and stockier than the bald man. He had a mess of brown sun-streaked hair and a golden-tanned face. A surfer, Stefan thought; he had the look, and the cat-quick reflexes. There were two others, but they were in the cab of the truck and visible only as dim shadows in the narrow sliding window.

  Five adults, for two young girls. An elaborate plan, clearly nearing fruition from the attitude of the three holding the girls hostage. They all looked tense, silent, and anticipating something big.

  Maybe the final handoff. Because Stefan no longer had any doubt that this was only the beginning of their plan; the girls were going to be transferred to someone else, or some other place. A plane, a boat…something capable of getting beyond U.S. jurisdiction, because these shadowy masterminds, whoever they were, must have known that the FBI was hot on the trail, much less Katie’s mysterious government friends.

  But why? What did they want? It was clear that they didn’t just want money, or they’d have already demanded it. The number of people they’d killed to get this far meant that money wasn’t the point.

  The girls were the point.

  Lena’s lips were moving again, but the angle was bad; Stefan couldn’t see her clearly enough to read the words. Whatever they were, Sheila leaned over to put her face very close to Lena’s, and he read her lips clearly enough: They want you both. There was more, and he thought she said, spoiled little bitches, which matched the vindictive contempt and the cruel light in her eyes.

  Someone was calling his name. He felt tired, very tired—Teal was weakening, too. She swayed, but the surfer holding her by the hair yanked on it to keep her upright and still.

  Not far now, the bald one said to Sheila, and she nodded. Such a pretty girl. A waste of beautiful skin.

  Stefan felt himself slipping and struggled to hold on. He needed to know where. He had to know. Katie was depending on him. He thought Teal knew he was in trouble; he could sense her trying to push him back, let him go, but he fought to hang on now. To stay with her.

  Look out the window, he tried to send his thoughts to her, but he knew she wasn’t getting the messages. She couldn’t, just as he couldn’t access her thoughts or hear her words. Dammit, I know this town! I just need one look, just one…

  Without warning, Teal yanked her head forward, pulling the surfer off balance, and then slammed him back into the side of the truck with her body weight. The second he let go she lunged toward the doors, and fetched up against them with a bruising impact.

  She pressed her cheek to the glass, and Stefan got his look. Just one.

  Thank you. He didn’t know if she could feel his weary gratitude, but he knew that she felt his withdrawal from her. He felt the pulse of fear.

  They were going to hurt her again, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He had to believe that Teal and Lena were important to their captors—critically important. They wouldn’t damage them permanently….

  But it was a hell of a risk to take with a child’s life. He felt sick with the weight of it.

  He drifted back into his body and was instantly crushed by weariness, an aching hot fire in his muscles as if his body had been put on the rack while he was away. He felt weak, horribly weak, and when he moved to take away the cloth smothering him he saw that
it was soaked with blood.

  “Stefan?” Katie’s voice. It sounded as if it was coming from a long, long way. Even the touch—the back of her hand gently laid on his cheek—seemed more like a dream than reality. “God, don’t do that again. Please. I’m begging you, don’t.”

  He swallowed and tasted blood, sniffed and wiped the worst of the mess from his face. His shirt wouldn’t show the blood that much, thankfully, and he didn’t think he’d bled all over Angelo’s vintage seats. He found a plastic trash bag in the glove compartment—Angelo was always careful about such things—and crammed the bloody chamois inside.

  “They’re at the port,” he said.

  “The airport?”

  “No, the harbor. Port of Los Angeles. They’re heading for Terminal Island.” Stefan forced his eyes to stay open, even though he desperately wanted—needed—to sleep. “Stay on the 110, then merge onto 47. They’re somewhere right off the freeway, heading south on North Harbor. They’re close, Katie. We’re close.”

  The world was unraveling at the edges, his vision closing slowly off. “Katie,” he said, and felt her hand on his face again. “Katie, I can’t—”

  He skidded away, into the dark, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he didn’t feel any pain.

  Katie, alarmed, pressed her fingers to Stefan’s neck and tried to concentrate on detecting a pulse while she kept most of her attention on combat driving down the L.A. freeway. That was getting easier—apparently, traffic had either loosened up its stranglehold or she was just getting better at it, but there was free airspace between cars now, things were moving at nearly half posted speed, and she was taking full advantage of it.

  She felt a faint, fast throb against the pad of her fingertips, and let out a slow, relieved sigh. She’d thought, when he’d relaxed like that, that he’d slid back over to Teal, out of body, but then she’d realized that this didn’t look like his other trances.

  This was unconsciousness. His mind and body had finally rebelled against the abuse.