KnockOut

by Catherine Coulter

  “And Caldicot? What does he get from this?”

  Theodore shrugged. “Shepherd and I found Caldicot one day in a strip mall in Huntersville, an out-of-the-way place we chose because we had to be careful. Caldicot was selling cars, can you believe that? He tried to con us. I admired his abilities, and we talked.

  “Two months later we bought the old tobacco farm some twenty miles down the road, using his mother’s name. It served for a while, but I feared the assassins would find me. We decided to build my beautiful temple. As you know, money is never an issue in any decision I make.

  “You know that my family is extraordinary. You’ve seen what Grace and Blessed can do.” Theodore’s face spasmed and his breathing hitched. He began to breathe too fast. He nearly rose out of his chair as he shouted at Ethan, “My poor Grace, my poor Shepherd! What have you done to my family?” Theodore’s thin chest heaved. For a moment, Ethan thought he was ill.

  After a moment, the old man settled himself back onto his throne. “Caldicot already believed he could read some people’s minds on occasion. When he saw Blessed and Grace he was, of course, astounded. He is an ambitious man, and I convinced him he could achieve whatever he wanted if he joined with me.

  “And so he did. Whistler is a Harvard man. He brings us fervent, eager people, thrilled that I will teach them.”

  “Caldicot said you haven’t found another gifted person as yet.”

  “No, not as yet, but tomorrow Caldicot is leaving for Denver to see a gentleman who professes to foresee the future. We will see.”

  Ethan said, “So tell me again why people come to this big white concrete vault?”

  Theodore waved a veiny old hand. “Enough! Look around you, Sheriff. My sanctuary is magnificent. My holdings are large here, and my children can explore the woods with me as much as they wish. Why would they not wish to stay?”

  Ethan looked around the large, completely white room, the beautiful Impressionist paintings on the wall. Was that a Monet? There was a beautiful antique Persian carpet under the old man’s sandaled feet.

  It was a gem, this room, save for a ridiculous dais with its golden throne at the center. “You build underground to hide from the Mafia?”

  Theodore said, “In part. I feared I would not be so lucky twice. There were other reasons. When you are nearly beaten to death for being who you are, Sheriff, you think about what that means. I left the business of gathering earthly wealth to my sons, and I was free to read and to contemplate, to think about the gifts we Backmans have been given, and the history of others like us. I came to believe my nearly being beaten to death had a purpose—indeed, that I have a purpose, a mission, to find others like us and to build our own community away from our murderers, a community of the elect.”

  “‘A community of the elect’?” Ethan raised a brow. “I don’t see that Caldicot has any extraordinary powers. And all these people here, are they being taught something, or are they being used? You have gathered so much money and power by putting your sons to use that you can convince these people to do just about anything, at least for a while. How long do people stay here, Mr. Backman? How long before they realize there is nothing here for them?”

  “Are you quite done, Sheriff? I don’t care for your sarcasm. This is where I choose to be. I’m safe here, and I come and go as I please. That old barn is set a good half-mile from the county road, a road that few drive.”

  “If everyone here is free to leave, then why did Autumn see your family burying people in the family cemetery?”

  The old man’s eyes held a momentary look of regret, and then he let it go. “Two of our visitors—not worthy of us, a rare mistake by Caldicot—threatened to expose us unless we paid them. It was a grave decision, not arrived at easily, but they were not as important as Twilight. I had to protect our secrecy, no matter what. Kjell had to remove them, unfortunately. It has been a difficult time for me, Sheriff.”

  “And just how did Grace and Blessed find Autumn?”

  “Ah, that was a simple matter for Caldicot. He is a clever man. He knew Joanna lived in Boston. All he had to do was look up my poor Martin’s obituary, and there was her maiden name. With that and what she and Autumn had told us, it required only a few well-placed phone calls to search out her family and friends, and her connection to Titusville, Virginia.

  “Now, Sheriff, I have answered your questions. I have an offer for you. You will leave here alive and the woman with you if she wishes, if you convince Autumn to remain with her family. She will not suffer; she will come to be happy here, I promise you. She will be with her family, and I always protect what is mine.”

  69

  SUDDENLY THEODORE LOWERED his face in his hands a moment and whispered through his fingers, “But I couldn’t protect poor Blessed.” He raised his head. “My firstborn is not possessed of an agile mind. It was foolhardy of him to follow you into the Titus Hitch Wilderness. He should have waited for a better time. But he could not conceive of failing—he and Grace had never failed before, at anything we asked them to do.

  “And now Grace is dead. The two of them were always so very close, in their minds, in their hearts.” Theodore raised his head. “You took part of my family, Sheriff; you owe me Autumn to pay for what you’ve done to me.”

  Ethan smiled at the profane old man. “You’re worried Blessed will never be able to stymie anyone again, isn’t that right, Theo?”

  Theodore slammed his fist onto his throne arm. “You will call me Father or Mr. Backman!”

  He sighed, then straightened, trying, Ethan thought, to look like a monarch rather than a pathetic old man. His hands fisted, making the veins ride high under his parchment skin.

  He said, pride bursting in his voice, “Whatever happens, it is my granddaughter who did it to him. With no direction from anyone, with no training, with no understanding at all, this little seven-year-old girl simply pulled it out of herself. Did she destroy his power? Wipe it out of him forever? I hope not. But this child is amazing. Blessed was helpless against her. She is her father’s daughter, my own granddaughter. Ah, Martin, another tragedy. I wonder what he would have achieved if he’d only remained with me in Bricker’s Bowl.”

  “Why did he leave, Mr. Backman?”

  “He was a boy, and he did not understand that with our gifts the Backmans behave as we choose, we are not bound by ordinary rules. We fought, always fought. One evening he said I was crazy, that I was using him, and I lost my temper and beat him. It never occurred to me that he would leave, but he did, and that was his choice. That left Grace and Blessed with us, and now only Blessed. I believe Autumn can help him. What she took she can give back. She must stay, Sheriff. Do you wish to live? Do you wish Autumn’s mother to live? If so, you must convince the child to stay here, with her grandfather, with her uncle.”

  Ethan said, “Listen to me, sir, you must. You believe her mother and I can convince Autumn to stay. But Autumn doesn’t want to be here, and when she meets you, I doubt she’ll be leaping into your lap. She loves her mother, and if you harm me or her mother, she will never trust you, and she will find a way to leave, or to do you in. You must let her go.”

  Theodore’s old voice was shrill. “You will listen to me, Sheriff. I have lost too much to let her go. No, Sheriff. The child will not leave Twilight.”

  Ethan laughed. “Twilight? I don’t see any sky. Being in this place is like being buried alive.”

  Theodore slammed his fist onto the arm of his throne. “You will be quiet! You are common, Sheriff, and you understand nothing. I am having Autumn brought in, and you will convince her. You will tell her if she does not stay with me, you will die. Do you understand? I am her grandfather. She will come to accept that. If you value your life, you will help us come to terms.”

  The old man slowly pulled a gun from the sleeve of his robe, then pressed a button on the arm of his chair.

  Ethan heard the door open behind him. He turned to see Caldicot come into the room, his hand around Autumn�
��s arm, shoving Joanna in front of him. Autumn pulled and pushed at him, trying to get to her mother, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  Whistler tightened his hold on the little girl’s arm. Why was she still fighting him? Didn’t she realize how important she was to all their future plans? Didn’t she realize how lucky she was, what incredible power she had, a power they would teach her to use? If only he could do what she’d done to Blessed—he’d prayed for such a talent. “Stop fighting me,” he yelled down at her, and shook her arm.

  “You leave her alone, you bastard!” Joanna dove at him, but her hands were tied behind her and she could only butt her head against him.

  Whistler wanted to backhand the woman, but he merely shoved her hard, sending her to the floor. He shouted down at the child, “Look, that’s your grandfather over there! Your grandfather! Your daddy’s father! Get control of yourself!”

  Autumn’s eyes went blank, her pupils fixed. She became still, no expression at all on her small face.

  Whistler grabbed both her arms, shook her again. “What are you doing? Damn you, what are you doing? What are you seeing?”

  Joanna jumped up at him.

  Ethan yelled, “Let her go!”

  Whistler sent his fist into the woman’s jaw, knocking her backward. He saw the sheriff coming at him and grabbed the little girl around her chest and hauled her back against him. He raised his right hand, and Ethan saw a snub-nosed .38. “Stay back, Sheriff, or I’ll shoot you! Or her, I don’t care.”

  “Caldicot, don’t harm Autumn!” Theodore yelled. “Bring her to me. Then you can take the mother and the sheriff out. Look at her eyes—her eyes are like Blessed’s, the intensity burns within her.”

  She was looking off, away from all of them, seeing something he couldn’t see. “What are you doing, child? What are you doing?”

  70

  WINNETT, NORTH CAROLINA

  Victor heard something, like the rustling of leaves beneath someone’s foot, someone who was trying to walk really quietly. Lissy? He raised his gun and turned toward the sound.

  Bernie watched Victor unwind and slowly get to his feet, his gun swinging around him. Bernie hadn’t heard anything.

  Was it a cop? Lissy coming back? He couldn’t do anything except wait and work at the damned duct tape on his hands.

  From the trees he heard Lissy’s excited voice: “Hey, Victor. Look at what I’ve got me!”

  She wasn’t alone. Bernie didn’t want to believe it. Dillon Savich, his leg wounded, his belt wrapped around it, limped in front of Lissy.

  She did a little dance. “The macho man told me all the cops in this pitiful town are on the other side of the woods, waiting for us to waltz out. All of them but one. Yep, a young deputy nearly walked right into me before I nailed him. Then Special Agent Savich here comes running to save him. See what I did, Victor? I shot him in the leg.”

  Victor stared at Savich, a complete stranger to him, except for his picture in the papers. Lissy was still dancing in place, she was so excited.

  Victor said, “It makes sense he’d bring all the local cops in. I’m thinking they probably found our car. It’s going to be tough for us to get out of here.”

  Lissy waved her gun around. “Big deal, a bunch of hick clucks, probably as brainless as the one I shot.” She giggled. “Do you know, if I raise my face to the sky and breathe in, I can actually smell cops?” She shoved her gun into Savich’s back. “This is my prize cop. Just look at his leg, he’s not going to kick me anymore. Sit down, pretty boy, next to Bernie with the two little kiddies.” Lissy started lightly rubbing her chest. When she saw Savich looking at her, she dropped her hand.

  They were maybe a hundred yards inside the police line, Savich thought, in the thick trees that ringed the area, on high ground. He and Lissy had trekked slowly through the unending maze of oak trees, at least a quarter mile of woods, to this small hollow that sat on a sharp rise. Through the trees, he could see Victor’s apartment building and the front of the ramshackle house where he’d left Sherlock and Cully.

  He said to Bernie, “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay, I just feel really stupid.”

  “Shut up,” Victor said. “I don’t want you two talking, you got that? Sit down next to him and don’t try anything.” Victor pointed his gun right at Savich as he slowly eased down against an oak trunk, stretching out his wounded leg in front of him. He eased his belt loose, studied the wound. It had stopped bleeding. He pulled the belt off.

  “Why’d you bring him here, Lissy? Why didn’t you just put a bullet through his head where you found him?”

  “Big boy here tells me he’s got lots more juice than poor Bernie with the two little kids, says we need a hostage cops will listen to and he’s the only one who can get us out of here. What do you think?”

  Victor looked from Savich to Bernie, then back to Lissy. “I don’t like it, but I gotta admit, he does have more juice. Maybe he could get us out.”

  She cocked her head to one side and stroked her long, graceful fingers over her jaw. “When he does get us away, well, then, maybe you should be the one to put a bullet between his eyes, Victor. I’m thinking you need the practice. Remember you didn’t have the balls to kill that highway patrol cop, even after I told you to punch her between the eyes?”

  Victor’s fist shot out so fast Lissy didn’t have a chance. His fist smashed into her jaw. She reeled back, falling. Savich was halfway to his feet, his leg on fire, when Lissy screamed, “You sit back down or I’ll put a bullet in Bernie! You got that, Mr. Special Agent? He’ll be dead and it’ll be all your fault!”

  She was lying on her side, her gun aimed right at Bernie.

  Savich eased back down, closer to Bernie this time, maybe close enough to get the duct tape off his wrists.

  There were tears streaking down Lissy’s cheeks. Victor leaned over her, his voice all soft and concerned, his fingers lightly touching her hair. “You shouldn’t have said that, Lissy; you shouldn’t have made me feel less a man. Look at what you made me do.”

  She worked her jaw with her fingers, her eyes never leaving Savich’s face.

  “You hurt me, Victor. You’re lucky my jaw isn’t broken.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll be okay, you won’t have to go to the hospital again. No matter what you say, no matter how bad you insult me, I don’t want you to have to go back to the hospital.”

  “I’m gonna have a big bruise.”

  “Not bad, I don’t think,” Victor said. He looked over at Savich. “You really brought this FBI agent back here as a hostage? Then you expect me to kill him? I could kill him, I could, if I wanted to. He doesn’t look so tough all laid out there. We’ll see, after he gets us out of here.” He gave her a hand up.

  Lissy continued to work her fingers over her jaw. “You could pop him right between the eyes? I could take care of Bernie. Then we’d be free and away from this hick town. We’ll find us a car. I want to go to Montana.”

  “Montana might be good. I wonder how long it takes to drive there.”

  “We’ll take five days, take it easy.” Lissy looked up to see Bernie speaking low to Savich. “Shut up, or I’ll shoot your heads off! Victor, before Super Cop takes us out of here, I’ve got an idea. Hand me his cell phone. I want to look at his speed dial.”

  Victor pressed the muzzle of his gun against Savich’s throat as he pulled his cell phone out of his shirt pocket. Victor jumped to his feet and took two steps back and handed Lissy the cell. She flicked it to his stored numbers. “Isn’t this a kick! The very first name, it’s Sherlock.”

  “What kind of name is that? I wonder who he is.”

  “Probably a stupid nickname,” Lissy said. “Let me place a call, see who this Sherlock is.”

  Bernie sent Savich a look, saw his face was perfectly still, expressionless.

  The cell rang once, then a woman answered. “Yes?”

  “Hey, is this Sherlock?”

  “Yeah, I’m Sherlock. Who wants to k
now?”

  “Smart mouth, aren’t you? This is Lissy Smiley. I got me two big federal agents right here. Special Agent Savich, and Special Agent Bernie with two little kids. You’re Savich’s partner, right? You’re the one with all that red hair?”

  “That’s me.”

  “You’re really not sleeping with him? He said he didn’t even like you much. Still, why wouldn’t you want to get in his pants?”

  “Why are you calling me, Lissy?”

  “I want to know what hair color to buy to get your shade. And is that a perm?”

  “Sorry, what you see is what you get.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, now, isn’t it? I called to warn you to stay inside that dumpy house or you’ll get blood all over that pretty hair. I want you to tell the cops if they try anything I’ll shoot these guys’ heads off. Oh, yeah, the big guy is now our hostage. He’s going to accompany us out of here.” And Lissy flipped off Savich’s cell, threw it back at him. He caught it, stuck it in his shirt pocket. His right hand was only inches from Bernie’s wrists, and neither Victor nor Lissy seemed to notice.

  In that instant Autumn yelled for him.

  71

  SAVICH HEARD HER yelling, louder than ever before. Her face was white, her eyes wild. She was panting.

  What’s wrong, Autumn? What’s going on?

  It’s my grandfather, Dillon, he’s alive and he’s here, and I think he’s going to hurt Ethan and Mama!

  Whoa, wait a minute. Where are you?

  In this building, it’s underground, all white rooms and bad, real bad.

  Autumn, listen to me. I’ve got a huge problem of my own right now—

  Show me.

  He looked over at Bernie, bound, propped up against a tree trunk, then at Victor and Lissy, their guns pointed at him. Could Autumn see what he was seeing, as he had seen that motel sign? Could she possibly see through his eyes?

  “What are you doing?” Lissy yelled at him and took a step forward. “Whatever you’re doing, you stop it or I’ll have Victor drill you right now!”