by Jayne Castle
He was already moving toward the doorway vestibule of one of the darkened buildings. She hurried after him.
“Stand back,” he ordered.
She stumbled to a halt. Rafe grasped the edge of a sagging board and hauled it away from the doorway. The old door was still in place but transients or vandals had smashed the lock long ago.
“This will have to do,” Rafe said.
He moved into the deep shadows. Ella heard the low whine of a big engine just as she followed him into the dense darkness.
“Why are they doing this?” she asked. “What do they want?”
“You, probably.”
“Me? Why?
“My fault. I’ll explain later.”
Rafe slammed the door closed behind her. She turned to look at him. With her own senses jacked up she could see his dreamlight. The psi-fever had kicked up again. It burned with laserlike intensity in his energy field.
Chapter 11
This was a hell of a time for the fever to spike, Rafe thought. He had been fighting it for several minutes now, ever since he had realized that the car had been hijacked. The visions were getting stronger.
He struggled to suppress the surge of heat and energy that was rushing through him. Maybe the knockout gas had triggered the latest spike. No telling what had been in it, obviously some crap that affected the para-senses as well as the normal senses.
Every day brought a new and more unwelcome discovery concerning the nature of the low-burning fire that was ravaging his senses.
Note to self: In future, avoid toxic fumes of unknown origin.
He focused on the only job that mattered now. His first priority was to get Ella safely out of Crystal City and into the protective custody of Coppersmith Security. He had brought the devil down on her tonight. He could not allow the fever to get control of his senses until he made sure that she was out of reach of whoever was trying to grab her.
His senses were still jacked, enough so that he could see Ella standing in the shadows, watching him, just as she had watched him in his dreams for the past three months. He could sense her fear and feel the jumpy vibe of her heightened talent. But she was in control. Hell, even after having been dosed with some unknown gas, she was still powerful enough to melt glass.
A man could get used to having a woman like this around.
He opened the door an inch and watched the street. The heavily shadowed vestibule provided ample cover for the moment. The pickup team would not immediately notice the door slightly ajar.
A heavy Resonator 600 slammed to a halt directly behind the limo. Two men dressed in head-to-toe black, ski masks covering their faces, leaped out of the big SUV and ran toward the other vehicle. Their outfits were identical. The only visible difference between the two thugs was that the driver was a few inches taller and heavier.
He reached the limo first.
“Briggs is here but the targets are gone,” he announced. “Looks like one of them got through the partition and took out Briggs. Must have been Coppersmith. Shit. The glass in the door window in back is gone.”
“How the hell did that happen?” Shorty demanded. “That stuff is bulletproof.”
“Coppersmith must be armed with something that came out of one of the company labs.” The driver took a small device out of his jacket. “There hasn’t been enough time for them to get far. We’ll track them down. We’ve got the woman’s frequency.”
Rafe heard Ella suck in a sharp breath.
“My amber,” she whispered. “It’s all tuned. They know the freq. They can follow me anywhere, even Underground.”
“Strip,” Rafe said.
He did not have to explain. He could hear Ella rustling around, removing her earrings, the amber hairclip, and a few other items from locations he knew would not have been obvious to the casual observer.
“Got her.” Tall Bastard looked hard at the dark vestibule. “She’s inside that building.”
“Coppersmith’s probably with her,” Shorty said. “He’s armed. If we charge that doorway we’re going to make really good targets.”
“I removed all of my amber,” Ella whispered. “Now what?”
“Just leave it on the floor,” Rafe said. “We’re not hanging around here for long. But before we leave, I’d really like that pair to come out from behind the Resonator. I can’t shoot through the steel on that vehicle.”
The driver opened the cargo bay door of the Resonator.
“You’re going to use the damned bell?” Shorty asked. He did not sound thrilled.
“You volunteering to rush the door and take a chance on getting shot with whatever shit took out Briggs?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then we use the bell.”
“I hate that thing. Alien tech gives me the shakes.”
“Alien tech is going to make you rich,” the driver said. “Put on the headphones. The boss says this thing will take care of anyone in the vicinity who isn’t geared up.”
“So much for hanging around for a good shot,” Rafe said quietly. He closed the door and shoved a chair under the handle. “No way to know what kind of Alien tech they’re about to use, so we’re getting out of here.”
He pulled out the flashlight.
“You wore a gun and a flashlight to the reception?” Ella asked. “I’m impressed.”
“Helped myself to the flashlight. It was in the limo console. And don’t be impressed. I’m the guy who let you get into the car even though there was a different driver.”
“Yes, well, I’m the one who booked the service.”
“We can argue about it later.”
He rezzed the flashlight. The narrow beam speared the darkness, revealing a jumble of small round tables, cushioned banquettes, and a stage.
“Looks like an old nightclub,” Rafe said. “With luck, that means there will be a hole-in-the-wall in the basement. Clubs in the Quarter always like to feature a little extra psi to go along with the booze and other assorted drugs being served.”
“I can sense it,” Ella said. “Somewhere down below.”
“Yeah, I can feel it, too.”
She looked at him quickly. “You can still sense that kind of energy? Even with a fever?”
“Yes, damn it.” He did not mention the hallucinations. It would only make her more nervous. Besides, he had them under control. Sort of.
She flinched.
“Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean—”
“Never mind. Let’s move.”
Wonderful. Now he was snapping at her.
The whiff of catacomb energy floated up from somewhere behind the bar. He started toward it. Ella followed.
The tattered remnants of a black velvet curtain loomed in the beam of the flashlight. An ancient sign hung above the arched doorway: INVITED GUESTS ONLY.
He pushed aside the curtain and started down the stairs into shadows lit with green energy.
“We’re in luck,” he said.
He was listening intently for the sound of the front door being forced open when he heard the eerie tolling of a terrible bell. It rang with mind-destroying force, freezing him on the stairs.
Ghostly energy threatened to ice his aura. Mortal dread slammed through him. A tsunami of nightmares and hallucinations surged out from the depths of his unconscious mind. He somehow knew them to be different from the visions he’d been experiencing. These dreams could shatter his senses and stop his heart.
His first thought was that the psi-fever was spiking higher than ever. This time it would kill him. He could not let that happen until he got Ella to safety.
An incomprehensible urge to rush back up the stairs and outside into the street almost overwhelmed him. Part of him was certain that obeying the summons of the bell was the only way to survive.
Except that it was not the way to survive. Responding to the hypnotic music would get them both killed. He knew that, but the knowledge did not seem to have any meaning. It was just a fact, and not a particularly import
ant fact, at that.
“Rafe?” Ella called to him from the top of the stairs. “Are you all right?”
“That bell,” he said through clenched teeth. “Alien tech.”
“Yes. It’s some kind of mesmeric device but it works on music frequencies like a lot of Alien tech. I think I can handle it.”
Her musical voice was a flame in the night, briefly pulling him out of the trance. He used all of his willpower to heighten his senses. For a moment he was able to refocus.
“I’m not sure I can handle it,” he said. He undid his cuff links. “Take some of my amber. It’s tuned. Judging by what they said, they have your frequency but not mine.”
“Rafe, listen to me.”
“Go down into the tunnels. Pick a random exit point. When you come out, don’t go home. They’ll have your place staked out.” He tugged his wallet from the inside of his jacket and extracted a business card. “Call this number. It’s Joe Harding’s private line. He’ll take care of you. Understand?”
“Listen up, Coppersmith. I am not about to call the FBPI. I’m pretty sure Harding doesn’t trust me.”
The nightmare bell tolled again, smashing against his senses in waves of darkness.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“Give me your hand,” Ella said.
“Just go, damn it. I’ll cover you.”
But she grabbed his hand. He felt the rush of her talent. Her aura enveloped him.
. . . And mercifully the sound of the bell receded.
He managed to take a deep breath.
“Okay, I can suppress the energy of the bell,” she said. “No problem. I can’t give you complete protection but I should be able to shield you from the worst of the effects.”
The eerie bell tolled again, sending out another wave of terrifying energy—but the summoning effect was oddly muted. Ella shuddered.
“Good grief, how did you manage to handle the first wave?” she asked. “Most people would have lost consciousness.”
“You’re good,” he said.
“Like Mom says, we all have a talent.”
He could hear the lilt in her voice and knew that she was getting a little buzzed because she was using her paranormal senses. Some of the thrill she was experiencing was affecting his aura due to their physical contact. He suddenly felt more confident. His senses steadied.
“Can you keep this up long enough for me to deal with those two?” he asked. “Because I’d really, really like to know who they are and who sent them.”
“I think so.”
“Then we have a change of plans. Stay behind me. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
“I won’t.”
He threaded his fingers through hers and drew her back up the basement steps. They took cover behind the bar.
The driver kicked the door open. Shorty was right behind him. For a moment they were clearly silhouetted against the green psi-light emanating from the ruins. The driver was clutching an object the size and shape of a small, graceful flower vase in both hands. Even Alien weaponry was ethereally beautiful, Rafe reflected absently. But the device glowed with a hellish light.
He got a fix and took the first shot. The driver grunted and went down. The artifact fell to the floor with a thud. The nightmarish tolling ceased abruptly.
“Shit,” Shorty muttered.
He tried to retreat back through the doorway but he wasn’t fast enough. The shot caught him in the shoulder. He flung out his arms and collapsed in the vestibule.
Rafe waited a beat to be sure that neither man made a move toward the Alien device. Then he released Ella’s hand.
“Are they unconscious?” she asked. “Like the driver?”
“Yeah.” He went forward, crouched beside the driver, and ripped off the headphones and the stocking mask. He aimed the flashlight at the man’s face. “Know this guy?”
Ella moved closer. “No. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
Rafe rose and bent down to take off Shorty’s mask. Ella shook her head again.
“No, I’ve never seen him, either,” she said.
“Neither have I.”
He did a quick search of both of the fallen men.
“No ID,” he said. “Not even a driver’s license.”
“Maybe in their vehicle?”
Rafe shook his head. “Doubtful. Whoever sent them did not want to take the chance that they might fail and wind up leaving a trail.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would send a bunch of thugs to kidnap me. It makes no sense.”
“And why now?” Rafe went to the door and studied the expensive Resonator. “There has to be a connection between what almost happened here tonight and that contract you and I just signed. Otherwise the timing is just too damn coincidental.”
She blew out a small breath. “I see what you mean.”
“Maybe Coppersmith Security can get something off the equipment these bastards are carrying and their locators. I want to get that damn bell into a vault as soon as possible, too.”
He stripped off every piece of gear he could find on the unconscious men, including the odd earphones. It was a large haul—far too much stuff to carry in his hands. He decided the easiest way to transport the assorted devices would be in a sack made from a shirt.
He saw the first tattoo when he unbuttoned the shirt of the man who had worked the bell.
“Well, damn,” he said softly. “This is interesting.”
It wasn’t much as tats went—certainly not exotic artwork—just a small tornado or waterspout done in black ink on the upper chest.
Ella came to stand on the other side of the fallen man. “A lot of people have tattoos.”
“Yes, but usually the artwork is more elaborate.”
He got to his feet and went to Shorty. He unfastened the jacket and opened the shirt.
“Same tattoo,” he said.
“Gang markers?”
“Probably. Definitely some sort of identification tag.”
He took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of the two men and their tattoos.
“That’s it,” he said. He clipped the phone to his belt. “Can’t risk staying here any longer. Let’s go.”
She looked down the empty street. “It’s going to be a long walk out of this neighborhood.”
“We’ll use the tunnels.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan.”
“More like half a plan. We’ll work on the other half after we’re underground.” He slung the makeshift sack of gear over one shoulder and started toward the door of the old nightclub. “But I’d like to get one thing clear between us going forward.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Next time we go out on a date, I’m driving.”
Chapter 12
Rafe was in trouble—psi-fever trouble. Ella could sense it but she could also tell that this was not the time to question his ability to control the heat in his aura. No strong talent welcomed that kind of very personal inquiry, and in her experience, that usually went double for talents who happened to be of the male gender. It was right up there with questioning their manhood.
The critical thing at the moment was that Rafe appeared to be in control of his talent and the fever.
They made their way back downstairs into the nightclub’s cluttered basement and wove a path through the long-forgotten evidence of more prosperous days. Extra chairs, unopened cases of glassware, broken stage equipment, and empty liquor cartons littered the floor. Faded banners and decorative streamers celebrating New Year’s Eve dangled from the ceiling. The date on the decorations was three decades earlier.
The entrance to the catacombs lay behind a door in the wall that sagged on its hinges.
She followed Rafe into another stairwell. This one featured a spiral staircase made of glowing green quartz that descended deep into the Underworld. The wide steps were designed for feet that were not quite human in shape.
Once inside the quartz stairwell,
she breathed a small sigh of relief and opened her senses. The walls sang to her in elegant, exhilarating harmonies that originated far out on the paranormal spectrum. Other people experienced the catacombs as a slightly intoxicating, refreshing tonic that induced a certain buzz—frequently a buzz with sexual undertones. She got that effect, too, but she also heard the kind of music that no human-made instrument could ever produce.
The First Generation Colonists had been terrified of the tunnels with good reason. Until they had discovered how to use tuned amber to steer a path through the heavy-psi environment, the Underworld had been a lethal maze for humans. Like the vast oceans, the underground rainforest, and other natural hazards, the catacombs were still deadly for those who did not have proper navigational equipment.
At the foot of the staircase, Rafe checked his amber locator and turned left into an illuminated green hallway that was identical to the three other green corridors that branched off in various directions. Ella knew that he had selected coordinates for an exit.
“Any idea who wants you badly enough to risk grabbing you off the street?” he asked.
“Good heavens, no,” she said. “I’ve got some odd clients but none who would resort to kidnapping and attempted murder—at least, none that I know of. I’m very careful when it comes to clients.”
“Until me?”
His tone was a little too even.
“I was ready for dinosaurs—not kidnappers.”
“Yeah, same here. I keep thinking about those tattoos.”
“One of your competitors maybe?”
“The mining business can get rough,” Rafe said. “People play hardball. But I can’t see any of Coppersmith’s corporate competitors risking this kind of action. There is another, more likely possibility, however.”
“What?”
“I think those guys who tried to grab you tonight are probably linked to the crazies who have been sending us warnings about how Harmony will be doomed if we keep digging up Alien secrets.”
“The Do Not Disturb crowd?” She thought about that. “The Alien return whackjobs are certainly out there. But mostly they seem like harmless crackpots.”
“Until now, I’ve never heard of them using Alien tech to make their point, though. Hell, they’re against Alien tech.”
