Easing it open, she mentally prepared for the stench of oil and bleach. She stepped through the door and let it swing behind her.
She hurried through the galley and down the stairs, anxious to get in and get out. The door into the storage room stood open. She pulled up short and shone her light around the interior.
“Damn.” The place had been cleaned up. Even the towering metal shelves were in the upright position, not an easy task judging by their size. Certainly whoever had put the place back together knew there’d been some kind of fight down here. Had they increased security?
A zap of caution jolted her and she instantly listened for any sounds of pursuit.
Nothing.
Stepping into the room, she reached for the light switch and flipped it on, surprised that even the bulbs had been replaced, but she didn’t extinguish her flashlight this time.
Easing along the rows, she found the one where she’d discovered the file box she wanted. Raising the light beam to the uppermost shelf, she searched for the box. It was gone.
Dread shot holes in her resolve. Was it possible whoever had been in the room that night took the information? Was it possible someone knew what she was after?
About to give up, Olivia glanced down, the edge of her beam flicking over a file box on the lowest shelf.
Her heart rate kicked up. She dropped to her knees and reached for the box. She swallowed and put her Taser down on the floor, then the flashlight.
It was her lucky day…night, she decided as she pulled the lid off the box. The light penetration from overhead was negligible and she picked up the flashlight, sticking it between her teeth and aiming it into the box as she flipped through the files one by one.
They weren’t alphabetized, something that would have saved her time.
Silently, she repeated the names on the files until she reached the one with “Morgan, Ross A” printed on the tab.
Olivia’s breath clogged in her lungs, whether a result of the dusty files or the emotion choking her throat, she wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain, she’d found what she was looking for.
Slowly, she opened the file and pulled the flashlight out of her mouth, focusing its beam on the faded typewritten pages, paper clipped to the inside of the manila folder.
There was the standard information—height, weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, patient I.D. She studied the sketch of a human foot with three small dots on it in a triangular pattern. Frustrated, she flipped up the first page of the three-page file, looking for the doctor’s notes, the diagnosis, anything that would tell her what sort of treatment he’d received in the clinic.
Her eyes focused on a paragraph written in long hand. It was barely legible, but she muddled through, soaking in the information.
The patient has irreversible brain damage, which appears to be nonresponsive to treatment at this time. I administered a 200cc dose of NPQ, but the patient remained in an unresponsive state. At this time, we have done everything we can for him.
This couldn’t be all there was to Ross’s file. There had to be more.
The click of the light switch startled her. She quickly closed the file and raised her flashlight beam toward the door, determined to meet the threat head-on this time.
With her free hand, she slid the file into her tool bag and looped it over her shoulder. Picking up the Taser, she stood up, prepared for battle.
The door slammed shut.
She jumped, watching in horror and awe, as an eight-foot desk skidded past on its own and jammed against the door, trapping her inside.
Terror exploded in her body. She bolted forward.
Was she losing her mind?
Panic took hold of her. She lunged for the desk and tried to shove it away from the exit. It wouldn’t budge. Some unseen force held it in place.
The hiss of a match somewhere in the room sent a shot of terror into her heart.
The unmistakable odor of sulfur filled the air.
She watched in shock as a pile of papers in the corner of the room ignited and flames raced up the wall.
Caustic smoke filled the enclosed room, invading her lungs, burning her eyes. Her throat squeezed shut.
Dropping to the floor next to the desk, she pulled the tool bag off her shoulder and yanked off her sweatshirt. Digging into her bag, she took out the bottle of water she always carried and doused the sweatshirt.
Holding the wet cloth to her nose as a filter, she stood and tried again to push the desk out of the way, but it was useless.
Reality choked out any hope she had left as she began to feel the dizzying effects of the toxic smoke.
Sinking down onto the floor, she conserved her strength for another attempt.
If she didn’t get out in the next minute, she was as good as dead.
Chapter Three
He could hear the thump of her heartbeat through the door. She was still alive, but she wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get inside.
Raising his hand out in front of him, he pushed against the door, feeling the resistance holding it shut. What had they done?
Pulling in a deep breath, he focused all his energy on the object behind the door and felt it give, a little at first, before he heard it grind across the floor.
The door opened with a violent crack, hitting against the doorstop.
Smoke belched from the room, setting off the fire alarm.
He covered his mouth and nose and charged in, spotting her next to the massive desk that had been used to lock her in.
Luckily, they hadn’t stayed to make sure their sick plan worked. He pulled her into his arms, raced out of the room and up the stairs. He carried her through the dining hall, the entryway and out the front door.
The alarm would bring the fire department. She couldn’t be found at the scene.
Fog blanketed the landscape as he moved along the walkway, headed for the gatehouse. He couldn’t let her see his face, but he needed to make sure she was okay.
Carrying her into the woods next to the driveway, he found a clearing in the trees and carefully put her down on the grass.
There were no soot markings around her nose or mouth. No indication that she suffered from smoke inhalation.
Reaching down, he brushed his hand against her cheek. She flinched. She was breathing normally. Still, he couldn’t be certain why she appeared to be unconscious.
Was it possible she’d faked the condition?
Focusing his energy, he reached into her mind and caught her stream of thought. She was waiting. Waiting for the precise moment to open her eyes and catch him looking down at her. She wanted to discover his identity.
In a flash, he jumped to his feet, turned and took a leap into the fog.
OLIVIA SAT UP as fast as she could, but she wasn’t quick enough. She could just make out the shadow of someone retreating into the mist through the trees.
Dammit. Once again, she’d been rescued by a faceless someone…or…something. But this time she was extremely grateful.
In the distance she heard the wail of sirens, no doubt headed to the fire in the basement of the clinic.
Patting her shoulder, she let out a groan and stood up. Her tool bag was missing. The file she’d just risked her life to retrieve was probably burned to a crisp by now.
Disappointment chewed through her. At least she’d been able to read the first paragraph written by the doctor. It had revealed what she’d always known. Ross had irreversible brain damage. But what was NPQ? She’d have to plug the letters into a computer somewhere to see if she could pull up any results. And the patient I.D., she was certain she’d seen those marks on Ross’s left ankle. Beyond that, she had nothing.
Carefully, she pushed through the trees and tried to figure out where she was. The smell of smoke hung in the mist and the fire roared in the distance.
Stumbling forward, she came out at the edge of the cobbled drive. She took a left, following the stones until she reached her car.
The hum of
the fire trucks drew closer and she climbed into her car to wait.
The flash of lights against the fog bathed her hiding spot in waves of red. One fire engine rolled past, then another.
Olivia started her car, put it in Drive and eased out of the aspen grove. The bump of the stones under her tires was comforting. She’d be safely out of here in a minute or so and headed back to town with new information. It did seem like they’d tried to help Ross at the clinic.
A measure of doubt crept into her mind. If the clinic had only attempted to cure Ross and hadn’t worsened his already-devastating condition, then there was nothing for her to expose. Still, the Trayborne Foundation had set up a trust fund for him. Why would they do something like that if they had no guilt in making him worse?
The glow of headlights in front of her came up so fast that she barely had time to slam on her brakes and pull the steering wheel hard to the right.
A black Jaguar whipped past on the left.
Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his brake lights come on in the mist.
It made sense that Jack Trayborne would show up here. It was, after all, his facility.
But she couldn’t let him identify her.
Stepping down on the gas pedal, she launched forward, keeping the car in between the trees that lined both sides of the road. Had he seen her car well enough to identify it?
He would certainly be asking questions about who had started the fire. Just the memory of watching the blaze erupt with no one around made her skin crawl. Maybe it had been started by spontaneous combustion? Maybe there were oily rags in the corner? But no matter how hard she tried to explain away what she’d seen tonight, she couldn’t.
Something strange was going on at the Black’s Cove Clinic. Something terrifying and otherworldly. Something she didn’t want to believe.
Not even for a moment.
OLIVIA SAT IN ONE of a dozen Internet cubicles in the Black’s Cove Community Library.
Her hands shook as she typed the letters NPQ into the search engine and pressed Enter.
The screen filled with possible matches. One by one she scanned them, eliminating each result until her gaze settled on one interpretation of the acronym.
Neuro Pathway Quotient…Neuro Pathway Quotient.
She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about brain injuries to know it destroyed neuro pathways.
She clicked on the link and an article about the subject popped up on screen. It had been included as reference material in a medical research paper dated May 1999. The copyright on the source paper was 1979, pre-Internet.
A rush of excitement charged through her. The copyright holder was Martin J. Trayborne, the patriarch of the Black’s Cove Clinic. Jack Trayborne’s grandfather.
Olivia selected the print option and sent the request. In the background, she heard the laser printer fire up as she scanned the article.
A lot of medical jargon filled the page, but a single paragraph caught her attention.
I have managed to isolate the protein responsible for the formation of new neuro pathways. I am hopeful that this discovery will result in the formation of new attachments within the patient’s injured brain, rewiring and resetting the synapses.
Was this why her parents had brought Ross to the clinic? For some sort of miracle cure? It was a heroic effort, but obviously, it had failed. She swallowed and sat back in her chair. If Ross was used as a human guinea pig, were there others?
Was there any way to get at the Foundation’s financial records? If Ross had a trust account, then maybe others had been established, as well.
A loud screech interrupted Olivia’s thoughts.
She spun around in the swivel chair, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing.
Paper shot out of the holding tray on the printer, like fast balls off a pitcher’s glove.
The librarian scrambled, trying to shut off the kamikaze machine.
Olivia stood up and rushed to help. Finding the power cord plugged into the floor, she pulled it. The printer ground to a stop.
What on earth was happening? she wondered as she turned back to her computer cube, only to find her screen and every other monitor had gone black.
“Oh my, there must have been a power surge of some sort,” the librarian said as she crawled around on the floor picking up the paper.
“Has this ever happened before?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Olivia knelt next to the flustered woman and helped her scoot the sheets into a pile.
“I was printing out an article I found on the Internet. Did you happen to see it?”
“No,” she continued to work the mess into a neat stack. “Everything here is blank.”
Olivia placed the last piece of paper on the stack and stood up. Glancing around the library, she studied the two lone patrons. A young teenaged girl and a middle-aged woman. Neither of them looked like a would-be printer-monger and Internet saboteur.
This freaky episode was too much like what she’d experienced in the basement of the clinic. Otherworldly.
“Thanks. I’ll come back when the Internet is up.”
The librarian tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” She exited the single-story library building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the street in both directions, she half expected to see Jack Trayborne’s distinctive car, but it wasn’t there. How was it he always seemed to be nearby when things got weird?
Maybe it was time to poke the tiger.
She watched an older gentleman move toward her on the sidewalk.
“Excuse me, sir.”
He stopped, a polite smile on his mouth. “Yes, can I help you?”
“I need directions. Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”
His smile vanished. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where he lives.” The man hurried away, leaving her amused.
Surely someone like Jack Trayborne was well-known in the community his family established. She’d almost bet everyone in town knew who he was and where he lived.
“Excuse me.” She stopped an elderly woman with a shopping bag on her arm. “Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”
The woman shook her head and picked up her pace in an effort to get away.
His address wasn’t listed in the phone book; she’d already checked. Maybe she could find out where he lived through the hotel?
About to give up, she spotted a young woman pushing a stroller along the sidewalk. It was worth another try.
“Excuse me, miss.”
The woman stopped. “Yes?”
“I was wondering if you know who Jack Trayborne is?”
An instant smile spread on her lips. “Yes, I do. In fact, he’s my hero.”
Her confusion must have amplified on her face, because the young woman attempted to clarify.
“He saved Gracie’s life.”
“Gracie?”
“My baby girl.”
Olivia’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest. Staring down, she looked at the baby tucked into her stroller in a fluffy pink blanket. She had her mother’s pretty brown eyes.
“He saved your little girl? From what?”
“An out of control car. We were on the corner of Main and 11th. Grace was in her stroller. Virginia Radcliff accidently hit the gas pedal instead of her brake when the light turned red. She lost control of her car. It came through the intersection and jumped the curb. Jack Trayborne grabbed me and Gracie and pushed us out of the way. The car ended up right where we’d been waiting to cross. If it hadn’t been for him, we wouldn’t be here.” She looked down at her baby and the little girl smiled up at her mother.
Olivia could see how much she loved her child and a measure of respect for Jack Trayborne took shape in her brain.
“That’s a touching story, with a happy ending. I was wondering if you can t
ell me where he lives.”
“It’s easy to find. It’s just west of Black’s Cove Clinic.”
An ounce of dread leaked from her bones and splayed across her nerves. She’d made a silent vow to avoid that place like the plague.
Leaning over, she stared down at the adorable baby girl, pursed her lips, and made a clicking sound. Gracie responded, a toothless grin pulling up her mouth and bunching her baby cheeks. “Bye-bye, sweetie, glad you’re safe, and thank you…” She glanced at Gracie’s mom.
“Judy…Judy Bartholomew.”
“Judy. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
The young mother nodded and continued along the sidewalk.
Olivia pulled in a breath and headed for her hotel four blocks away. She planned to return to the library for a copy of the article she’d found on the Internet, but for now, she needed to write down everything she’d discovered about NPQ. And then there was Jack Trayborne. Hero, rescuer of women and infants. A Black’s Cove resident everyone had to know, but wouldn’t talk about or betray. Why?
Could she risk a face-to-face meeting with him before she’d uncovered enough ammunition to counter the verbal assault she was sure he’d launch against her and her exposé?
CAUTION WORKED its way through him as he stood in the deep shadows next to the street watching her speak briefly with Judy Bartholomew. Turning his head slightly, he searched for the sound of her voice among the street noise, picking out enough of the conversation to understand the trouble it invoked. After a couple of moments, she resumed her stroll along the sidewalk on the opposite side.
Olivia Morgan hadn’t left well enough alone, hadn’t taken the information from the clinic and come to a conclusion that would have made her leave town singing the praises of the facility’s attempts to help her brother. To give him a normal life.
Everything was in danger as long as she remained here. Her life, the lives of anyone who dared to help her along the way and his secret. Their secret.
The Phantom of Black’s Cove Page 3
