Yow. More shock-and-awe juice pumped into his bloodstream. He accessed everything he could in Leah Halpert’s medical records, in super-info-suck mode. A clock ticked ominously in the back of his mind. Counting off to what, he did not know.
He called Connor as he ran back out to the pick-up. Time to shamelessly exploit his friend’s FBI connections, which was way quicker than hacking the DMV.
Con picked up right away. “What’s up?”
“Need a favor.”
“Name it.” Con was a man of few words, like all his brothers. Except for Sean, who made up for the other three most abundantly.
“I need the license, make, and models of any vehicles belonging to a man who might be either Jason Halpert or Jason Hu, resident of Kolita Springs, Oregon. 1395 Pine Crest Road. Also a Leah Halpert.”
“On it,” Con said, and broke the connection.
Of course, there was no guarantee that Hu would actually show at Good Sam, after the big boss had nixed it. But it was worth a try.
His cell buzzed, and he dove for it. “So?”
“Leah Halpert does not have any vehicles registered in her name, but Jason Halpert of Kolita Springs drives a white 2011 Accura sport utility vehicle.” Con rattled off the license number. “Need backup?”
“Aren’t you guys back up in Seattle by now?”
“Nah. We hung around.” Connor paused, significantly. “We wanted to hook up with you again. See what you’ve got cooking.”
Miles opened his mouth, poised to spill his guts, and paused.
If he pinned down Hu for real, that would be independent confirmation. Solid proof that Lara was almost certainly inside that complex. More solid than head-texts from a dream girl, which still smacked of schizo delusion. He could risk his own life for a schizo delusion, but he’d rather have some harder proof before he proposed risking his friends’ lives. “I don’t have anything solid yet,” he hedged.
“We’re interested in stuff that’s not solid yet, too,” Con said. “Who is this character Hu? Tell me about him.”
“I’ll know more soon,” Miles assured him. “I swear.”
“We’ll be around. We’re still here, at the hotel. Call us. Really.”
“Thanks for the info.” Miles hung up and turned off the phone.
So they’d stayed in Portland for him. Oh, man. Guilt trip.
But he didn’t want company while chasing half-formed hunches. Plus, those guys tended to want to take command, every last one of them. He was un-commandable these days. Better to avoid the strife from the get-go, at least for the next few hours. His friends would have plenty to keep them busy soon enough, God willing. If this was for real.
He started with the big parking garages that Hu might have used, scanning for a white Accura SUV. Who knew if the wife had been admitted already, or if she had yet to arrive? He probably could have teased that out of the database, given more time, but there wasn’t much point in it now. He had nothing better to do, so he cruised the parking lots of the nearby hotels. There seemed to be gazillions of white SUVs, now that he was looking for one. Not a very systematic way to search.
Which was why he was so astonished when he found it.
The Accura was in the parking lot of a mid-level chain motel about thirty blocks from the hospital. It must be psychic magnetism. He was tempted to social engineer himself into the guy’s room right now, and put a gun to his head, but he squelched the urge. That would be stupid and impatient. This was a divine gift. He didn’t dare fuck it up.
He parked around the corner, and dug into the big box of swag he’d collected over the years from SafeGuard, the McCloud Crowd’s security outfit. He selected a slap-on RF trace and strolled through the motel parking lot, hoping Hu’s car was not alarmed. One swift gesture, and the slap-on was stuck to the undercarriage. No alarm.
He pulled out Tam’s ring, pondering it. What the hell. If ever there was a time for overkill, this was it. He twisted off the stud, shoved it into the Accura’s front right tire. It lodged there, hidden between the treads.
He slumped down in the driver’s seat, and checked for Lara. Eager to tell her his news, like a little kid trolling for approval.
He didn’t feel her in there. still there? he typed.
Nothing. No multimedia message left for him with pictures, either. Huh. She’d said she’d stay. That she could not be pried out.
Maybe she’d been compelled. He distracted himself from that chilling thought by noodling around on the laptop, setting up X-ray specs to follow the trace he’d planted, plugging in the code.
He kept on checking for her, obsessively. Nothing. Even with the shield running full force, he couldn’t block his dismay.
Damn. He missed her.
At ten o’clock P.M., Hu emerged from the back entrance, a woman next to him. He looked just like Lara’s picture. The woman was short, thin, Asian, a braid down her back. Hu pulled a wheeled suitcase.
Miles forced himself to wait as the guy helped his wife into the seat and tossed the bag in back. They pulled out, toward the hospital.
When Hu turned the corner, Miles situated the laptop on the passenger seat, counted down from ten, and pulled out after him.
“You want to dose her now, sir? It’s very early. It’s only been—”
“I am aware of the time, Anabel.” Greaves rattled the ice cubes delicately in his glass of Scotch. “Don’t ask me to repeat myself.”
Anabel just stood there like an idiot. Mouth working.
Greaves let out a little sigh. “Is it Hu?”
“Well, he, ah . . . he drove his wife to the hospital. I urged him to make other arrangements, but he was sure he’d make it back in time.”
Greaves sipped his Scotch, and said nothing.
Anabel hurried on. “He’s been worried about his wife, and he—”
“Don’t make excuses for him. Unless you want me to question your commitment, too. Let us begin without Hu.”
“Ah, well, the problem is actually not, ah . . .” Her eyes darted everywhere but at him. “It’s Lara. She’s, ah . . . she appears to be unconscious. Or in a trance, I should say. I can’t rouse her.”
Greaves was taken aback. “You can’t make telepathic contact?”
“I tried,” Anabel admitted, miserably. “There’s nobody home. It happens sometimes when she’s on psi-max, but she’s never done it to me off-dose before. I just can’t find anything to grab onto.”
“And you discovered her like this when?”
“About two hours ago. I’d turned the lights on, since she hadn’t eaten in a while, and I—”
“Two hours pass before it occurs to you that this might be of interest to me. And it was obvious that she hasn’t been eating regularly. How long had she been fasting? Was there any purpose to that, or was it just petty cruelty on your part?”
“Well, we, ah . . . we were following your orders, sir. You said that keeping her stressed and off balance would help create the conditions—”
“And you interpreted that to mean that you should malnourish her. How very creative of you.”
“Sir, I—”
“Shut up. You disgust me. You and Hu both. Take me to her.”
He fumed silently as he followed Anabel through the facility. Angry at himself for giving inferior people too much rein. Letting the situation degenerate to the point where the girl could actually have been damaged. Such a waste. He had an unfortunate tendency to expect the best in his people, and they almost always disappointed him.
Anabel unlocked the door. The room was dank and fetid. Lara Kirk lay on the bed like a saint’s marble effigy, her high, perfect breasts rising and falling slowly. He leaned to admire her face. Translucent skin, lovely bone structure. Too thin, and those splendid eyes were set in pools of bruised shadow, but her haunting beauty was still evident. And her mouth. Perfectly shaped. He looked forward to seeing it painted red as he led her across a ballroom in an evening gown.
She was perfect. Very young, true. He
was in his fifties, she was in her mid-twenties. But men of his wealth and stature almost always had younger wives, and he valued her fertility. He wanted to breed that spirit, that intelligence, and above all, her innate psi qualities, into his children. And he deeply enjoyed beauty. He had no interest in women who were not strikingly beautiful.
He approached the mental probe as a talented lover approached a kiss. Not grabbing and slobbering, but circling, taking his time. He had no doubt that he would be able to penetrate her shield. She had first dosed mere months ago, and his psi powers were immense.
They ought to be. He’d paid for them with blood and agony.
He hovered closer, savoring the anticipation of knowing her thoughts, her feelings, her dreams. Closer . . . he reached . . .
And bumped up against a force field. His psi powers bounced right off it. He tried again, digging, probing, thrusting. Then hacking.
It was like fighting air. He could not orient himself against that shield. It deflected his energy, made him feel frantic, almost frightened.
He hung over her, eyes squeezed shut. How the hell had she done this? How dare she? Drops of liquid pattered onto her face, her neck, her gray tank top. It was sweat, dripping from his forehead.
He straightened, barely catching the look in Anabel’s eyes before her gaze flicked away. Relief. Spiteful pleasure to see him in difficulty.
“See?” He heard smugness in her tone. “That’s the shield I was telling you about. See what I mean? It’s the same one she uses when—”
Whap. His invisible hand smacked, knocking her across the room. She hit the cinderblock wall and slid to the floor, holding her mouth.
“Yes,” he said. “I see. What is more important is, do you see?”
She nodded hastily, hunched and shaking.
“Get up,” he said. He turned back to Lara. The delicate jut of her nipples were brown shadows beneath the thin fabric.
Time to show everyone in this room who was in control.
He seized the shirt, ripped it right down the middle of her chest with one violent jerk, exposing her bare bosom. He stared down at her body. Like a dancer’s, but with more generous breasts. He splayed both hands over her chest. Angry as he was, her inert body excited him. The harder to tame, the more worth the trouble. To a point.
Lara Kirk was about to learn exactly where that point was.
His hands tightened. “Bring me the electric shock paddles.”
8
Miles drummed his nails as he waited for Hu to emerge from the hospital. Hours went by before the white Accura edged out of the parking garage and gave him something else to think about.
Miles waited the shortest possible decent interval, and pulled out after him. Hu’s route suggested that he was heading back to I-84 East, back up the Gorge. All he could do was follow. Gather more info.
Hu stopped at Trout Lake to gas up, so Miles did, too. As soon as Hu pulled out, he called Connor.
Con didn’t waste words. “Why the fuck is your phone turned off?”
“You guys ready to move?”
Surprise derailed Con’s scold. “Where to?”
“I’ve got a fix on the facility where they’re keeping Lara.”
“Oh, do you, now? Thanks for keeping us in the loop!”
“I wasn’t sure till just now,” Miles explained. “And I’m still—”
“Why the fuck did you gut the trace on your phone? We could have been right on your ass! This minute!”
“Um, that would explain why I gutted it,” Miles said. “Look, are you just going to rant? Because if you are, I’ll hang up.”
“Just give me the fucking data,” Con grumbled.
“I’ve got a Specs trace on this guy’s car.” Miles read out the code. “I’m just out of Trout Lake, on eastbound 84. He’s heading toward Kolita Springs. I’m pretty sure that’s where they’re keeping her. It’s Greaves, that piece-of-lying-shit douche bag. It was him all along.”
“How the fuck did you figure it out?” Connor sounded insulted. “We’ve been flogging this thing for months! We got nothing on Greaves.”
Miles let out a hollow laugh. “Dumb luck. You ready to move?”
“Fuck, yeah. Already moving.”
“This guy I’m following is one of her guards. I think he’s heading back to the facility where they’re holding her.”
Miles heard keyboard tapping from the other side. “Got him on screen.” Connor was too interested now to stay mad. “Going eighty-eight—no, ninety-three an hour. Big hurry.”
“He’s late for something. Something that involves Lara.”
“We’d be with you already if you’d left in your trace!” Connor bitched. “We’ll still be forty miles behind when you get to Kolita Springs, even if we push it!”
“Don’t sweat it. I’ll still need you when you get there.”
“What does that mean?” Con’s voice sharpened. “What have you got in mind?”
“I’ve got fuck-all in mind,” Miles admitted. “I’m not really using my mind right now. I’m staying stuck to this guy. That’s all I know.”
“Do not do anything crazy,” Con lectured. “Wait for us, Miles. Understand? You’ll just get yourself killed if you pull another—”
“I love you too, man. Thanks. I’ll put the trace back in as soon as my hands are free. Later.” Miles broke the connection, tossed the phone down. It rang, twenty times or so, then sullenly stopped.
He glanced at the monitor. Hu was gaining ground.
He gave the car more gas.
The sudden blow took Lara by surprise. She’d been focused on drafting a floor plan of the upper storey she had seen, then snapping pictures of it with the ridiculous, femmy little hot pink camera he’d dreamed up for her. And thwack—
She was crashed back into her physical self, into a chaotic hell of racking jittery pain. Screaming, shaking, convulsing—
It stopped, abruptly. She blinked back tears, trying to see, to think.
Greaves hung over her. His reddened face was not flattered by this angle. Wattles quivered under his chin. He brandished shock paddles.
“There we are,” he said. “That’s more like it. Where were you, Lara? Who taught you to shield that way?
“Nobody,” she croaked. “I just—”
“Don’t lie,” he chided. “Not because it’s wrong. Just because it’s useless.”
He slammed into her mind, like a freight train crashing through a plate glass window.
Oh, God, it hurt. He ripped, rended, tossed. She couldn’t scream, or even breathe. Only her heart kept beating, its rapid, stuttering thud echoing louder and louder in her ears as Greaves rifled and kicked randomly through her head.
“Oh, yes,” he muttered thickly, as if it gave him sexual pleasure from doing it. “Oh, Lara, yes. You taste delicious. So deep.”
He redoubled his assault, not as violent, but more lascivious, like a big, wet tongue, licking and probing. Memories were snagged and pulled out, unspooled, hungrily pawed over by that awful, slavering presence.
He was focusing on where she’d gone. Her shield. His telepathic strength was a smothering blanket, crushing her out of existence. Her lungs strained to expand. No air . . .
She fainted. Some time later, she floated back to consciousness to the sound of his voice, talking with Anabel.
“. . . of recent sexual activity. Which is impossible, of course, no?”
“Of course!” Anabel’s voice was indignant. “We never touched her, sir. No one has!”
“Good,” he murmured. “Good.”
Greaves looked down, and saw her eyes fluttering. He stroked her cheek. She did not have the option to flinch away. Her skin crawled.
“Aren’t you the naughty little thing,” he said indulgently. “Sexual fantasies. Mmm. Your dream lover is quite the studly godking.”
She couldn’t have replied if she wanted to.
“No fear,” he promised. “You’ll soon be too busy with reality for fantasies.
And a healthy libido fits in nicely with my plans for you.”
I’d rather die, she wanted to say.
He heard it anyway, of course, and chuckled. “Feisty.” He unraveled her braid, running his fingers over her scalp. “Lovely.”
Anabel was coming at her, brandishing a syringe. Oh shit, no, no, no. “Time for your medicine,” she trilled.
The burning stab, and it happened, like always, but faster. The double vision, the pull . . . but this time with Greaves’ smothering presence clamped down on her. No no not you not you!.
Oh, yes was the answering thought, chiming back. Oh, yes, me. Always me. Fly as far as you can. You will never get away from me.
She fought, but he blocked her at every turn. She went shooting off into anywhere, no direction, no hope. A shriek of utter despair echoed through the bleak, empty spaces in her mind.
Greaves’ light, mocking laughter followed it.
It was still an hour till dawn when Miles saw signs for Kolita Springs. He’d stopped only once to screw a silencer onto his pistol and put the tracer chip back into his phone. He’d disabled the ringtone, though. They were welcome to trace him and chase him, but not to scold him. The SMSs were piling up. Not yet. Later, dudes.
Lara’s long silence filled him with creeping dread. It occurred to him to check the pink camera analog. It took form in his inner vision. It had cables attached to the computer.
He imagined the screen inviting him to download.
One, two, three, four . . . ten . . . thirteen. A flood of JPGs were popping up on the screen. His unease grew. She’d done exactly as he had asked, but she hadn’t been allowed to finish the job. Not good.
He looked at the photos. Corridor, elevator. A carefully visualized floor plan, drawn in pencil. A photo of that dickhead Thaddeus Greaves. Cataloging each piece kept him too busy to freak out. The images she generated sort of . . . shone. They seemed deeper. Three dimensional. The photos of Hu and Anabel had been, too.
10 Fatal Strike Page 10
