Chosen (Second Sight) (10 page)

“This just gets better and better,” Mac said, tugging free of her grasp.

“
Mac
,” she said, whining a little. He stalked to the bathroom and peered in. “At least we’d be together.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” he said loudly as he turned.

“Nothing!” she said. “I’m just saying–”

“Look,” he said loudly, glaring at her. “If this is about the whole moving-in-together thing, I’ve already told you how
I
feel.”

Isabelle winced at the harsh tone in Mac’s voice. It’d sounded so
real
. She stared at his cold eyes, the flaring nostrils, the grim set of his mouth–and fought a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“But I feel the
same
,” she said, without thinking.

“Of course you do,” Mac sneered. “That’s why we live apart.”

“That’s not how I
want
it,” she insisted, her heart beginning to pound.

“Really,” Mac answered quickly. “That’s not what you said.”

“But I didn’t say anything!” she protested. “I didn’t know what to say!”

“Well then say something now!” Mac yelled.

At the doorway, Geoffrey cleared his throat. Though Mac looked over at him, Isabelle couldn’t take her eyes off Mac’s face.
 

What had just happened?

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Geoffrey said. “I’ll tell you where the linens are kept in the Main House.”

“In the
main
house?” Mac asked, scowling at him. Then he looked directly at her. “There aren’t even sheets here?”

Finally, she came back to the moment. Mac flicked his eyes to Geoffrey.

“We’d love to stay the night,” Isabelle said, finding her voice. She turned to Geoffrey. “Tell
me
where the linens are.”

“Well, you haven’t seen most of the Main House,” Geoffrey said. “But past the library and the laundry, there’s a quilting room. At the back are all the linens, pillows, and quilts.” He smiled and looked from her to Mac and back again. “Only the second floor is off limits but you can ask anyone there and they’ll point you in the right direction.”

“I already know the right direction,” Mac muttered.

Geoffrey gave Isabelle a sympathetic look.

“Maybe you two would like to talk things over,” he suggested.
 

“That’d be great,” she said, smiling at him, sounding truly grateful without trying. “Maybe we’ll just have a stroll around by ourselves.”

“Of course, of course,” Geoffrey said. “Take your time. Dinner starts at five,” he said, already backing out, “and goes until eight or so. There’s a dining room in the Main House
and
in all the dorms to accommodate everyone.”
 

Isabelle turned to Mac, his hands in his pants pockets, glaring at Geoffrey.

“Dinner sounds
great
,” she gushed. “I can’t remember the last time–”

“We won’t be staying,” Mac said, crossing his muscular arms over his chest.

“But–”
 

“You
heard
me,” he snapped, glowering at her.
 

Isabelle’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. It was an act. She knew that. But, sometimes, Mac could be downright scary.

“Did I mention the doctor?” Geoffrey said. “We have excellent medical care here.” He focused on Isabelle. “We want that next generation to have the very best of care.”
 

While Geoffrey had managed to behave since they’d arrived, his eyes now drifted from her face down to her neckline. He openly stared at her chest, first one breast and then the other. He sucked his lower lip as his gaze traced a line down the middle of her abdomen. And as his tongue slowly ran over his upper lip, he focused on the apex of her thighs.

Isabelle nearly covered herself with her hands but,
thankfully
, he turned away.

Had the fight with Mac encouraged him?

Suddenly, the room seemed too warm and, as sweat trickled in the small of her back, Isabelle wished she could have a shower–for more reasons than one.

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” Geoffrey said pleasantly to Mac.

But Mac had seen the same thing as Isabelle. Corded sinews in his neck stood out as did the veins in his arms, now at his sides. His hands were balled into fists and the smooth bands of muscle in his forearms twitched. With his chin tilted down and his eyes in shadow, his jaw muscles worked at a furious rate.

Isabelle froze.
 

The tension in the air hung thick and electric and the silence stretched until she thought she might scream.

“I’ll…” Geoffrey started but then he simply turned and left.

Isabelle felt her lungs burn and realized she’d held her breath. She let it go with a whoosh.

“If he
ever
,” Mac said through clenched teeth, “looks at you that way again,
he’ll
need that excellent medical care.”

• • • • •

At the wet bar, Maurice poured himself a vodka martini. It had been a good month: revenue at its highest yet, enough inventory in the pipeline, the entire machine functioning smoothly for once. He speared an olive with a yellow, plastic toothpick and dropped it into the drink.

“I’ll take one of those,” said Geoffrey, just as Maurice was turning and lifting the cocktail glass to his lips.

Geoffrey let the door shut behind him and quickly crossed the room. Maurice had just finished his first sip when he realized Geoffrey was reaching for
his
drink. He immediately moved it out of Geoffrey’s reach.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Maurice said.

Geoffrey ignored him and went directly to the bar.

“I’m having a drink,” Geoffrey said. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“Like hell you are,” said Maurice but Geoffrey hardly seemed to have heard.
 

He pulled down a short glass, opened the ice bucket, removed several cubes with his fingers, and nearly threw them into the glass. Straight vodka followed it and then Maurice took a gulp. As he turned, drink in hand, he closed his eyes and held the glass to his forehead.
 

“You know the rules,” Maurice said, though not as sternly as he might have. Something was obviously wrong. But the rules were there for a reason. “They can’t smell alcohol on you. You put in your appearances at dinner and
then
you drink. Not before.”

“I’m not going to dinner,” Geoffrey said, smoothing the glass back and forth across his forehead as he leaned against the black, marble counter of the bar. “Screw dinner.”

Maurice scowled at him, forgetting his own drink for the moment.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Isabelle is back,” Geoffrey said, finally opening his eyes. He took a another drink, a sip this time.
 

“Oh?” Maurice said, waiting. Isabelle was Kayla’s friend. “And?”

Geoffrey turned a sour expression on him.

“She said she wants to join,” Geoffrey said.

That should have been good news for Geoffrey, the way he’d talked about her.

“
Really
,” Maurice said, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. “Care to explain?”

Geoffrey did just that–how she’d been interested in the commune, had taken the entire tour from him when she’d found out that Kayla had left.

“Really,” Maurice said again, setting down his drink.

First this
Isabelle
shows up with Kayla’s mother and then the next day she wants to join.

“She’s into me,” Geoffrey said. “No doubt about
that
. But…”

He took a gulp of his drink.

“But?” Maurice asked.

“She brought her
boyfriend
,” Geoffrey said.

“Boyfriend?” Maurice asked, relaxing a little. “Are you sure?”

Geoffrey nodded vigorously.

“Oh I’m sure,” he said. “Believe me, I’m
sure
. And they want to have a baby, or at least she does. And they’re obviously not doing well, financially or emotionally.”

Maurice narrowed his eyes. That was all good.

“And the problem?” Maurice said.

“You haven’t seen the boyfriend,” Geoffrey muttered and finished the rest of his drink. Maurice watched his brother pour another vodka. “But you should have seen her today,” Geoffrey said turning to him, his eyes a little glassy. “She’s going to look
amazing
pregnant.”

From concerned friend to prospective member in, what, two days?

“No doubt,” Maurice said, picking up his own drink again. “When did you say I would meet her?”

• • • • •

Mac and Isabelle had strolled the grounds for almost an hour. Though he’d been waiting for the members to be occupied with dinner, it’d also given him a chance to cool off. Geoffrey was everything that Isabelle had described. The man couldn’t have been more obvious. With an effort, Mac pushed the thought from his mind as they entered the main house through the wide, front doors, already open. It was time to focus–find out if Kayla was still at the commune and, if she was, get her out.

The steady stream of people who had been making their way from the fields, the barn, and whatever other buildings comprised the commune had stopped. Mac had watched in fascination as one pregnant woman after another had made their way down the gravel paths and into the back of the main house.

The dining room must look like an obstetrician’s waiting room.

As they were about to pass the first stairway, Isabelle turned to him but he tightened his grip on her hand. When he’d mentioned splitting up, it’d been in the
negative
.

“I’ll be all right,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said lowly but his hand wouldn’t let hers go.

She’d insisted that splitting up would help them cover more ground which, of course, he knew. Whether it was Isabelle’s concern for Kayla or maybe just wanting to be as far from Geoffrey as soon as possible, Mac didn’t know. But he didn’t like the idea of Isabelle being alone, even if he had to admit they
did
need to split up. There was simply too much ground to cover.

She glanced up the wide staircase.

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

Mac paused, looking at her profile, the determined set of her mouth.

“Any sign of Kayla,” he finally said. “Any type of record-keeping, something that might have her name. Anything having to do with money. A diagram or map that shows us the extent of the commune and other places we could search. That’s where we’ll start.”

From what he’d been able to see so far, the security presence was small–probably a handful of trusted foot soldiers loyal to Geoffrey–men who might enjoy some extra perks in return. Mac casually cast his glance along the ceiling, particularly in the corners of the hallways. He had yet to see a security camera.

He checked his watch.

“We’ll meet back here in forty-five minutes,” he said. “Seven o’clock sharp.”

“Okay,” she said, letting go of his hand.

“I’ll take the stairs you saw in the back of the house,” he said.

Mac glanced up and down the long corridor. People were still coming and going, crossing from room to room, but, now that the sun had set, there was significantly less activity. For a moment, it was empty.

“
Go
,” he said.

She hurriedly mounted the steps, her hand sliding up the spiral, wood banister, her hips quickly swaying with each step, until she disappeared around the curve.

Mac immediately turned and headed down the corridor.

He passed one man, about the same age as himself, who nodded amiably as they passed. Like the other members he’d seen, he wore what looked like home-made clothes, sandals, and his hair was tied in a pony-tail. Mac nodded back, smiling, moving at a normal speed. At each doorway and corridor, he took a long look. The scant furnishings were reminiscent of the bungalow. He passed the quilting room and laundry. From the sounds of dishes and cutlery, the dining hall must be down the branching corridor to his left, though it didn’t sound like many people remained.

Or many pregnant women
, he reminded himself.

Two young women who looked like they were barely eighteen, emerged from the dining room–one of them very pregnant. He doubted that even Geoffrey would be foolish enough to have relations with women under eighteen. No doubt the Cyber Division had tried that angle as a way to crack the cult. If they thought they could prove wrong-doing, they’d have done it. Even so, Mac made a mental note. Having seen Geoffrey operate in person, it was clear what drove his decision process.

Finally at the back stairs, Mac cast a quick glance in every direction. The two young women passed him as he paused. Their wide grins greeted him.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said, smiling broadly.

“Hi,” chirped the pregnant one.

“Good evening,” said the other.

As they headed to the rear entrance, they leaned their heads together and giggled, glancing back at him a couple of times before they exited.
 

Alone again in the wide corridor, Mac quickly bounded up the steps two at a time.
 

Upstairs, the layout looked identical to that of the bottom floor. He looked down the wide, main corridor. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen, probably in one of the many rooms or branching hallways–exactly where he ought to be.

Not standing here worrying about her.

With no knowledge of what any of the rooms might hold, he simply started with the first. The knob was unlocked. That wasn’t a good sign. If there were anything important or something that Geoffrey didn’t want discovered, the door would have been locked. Even so, Mac quickly opened it, ducked inside, and closed it behind him. Just the brief light from the corridor that had penetrated the expansive space already told Mac everything he needed to know. He’d stepped into a gym. Quickly and quietly, he opened the door a crack and peered into the corridor. It was still empty. He exited, softly shut the door, and went to the next.

Again, he found it open and quickly entered. It was dark as well but even on the interior of the building, he didn’t chance the light. Instead, he took out his cell phone, turned it on, and aimed into the room. It looked like a storage room. Cardboard boxes with lids were neatly stacked against the wall. He trotted over, lifted a lid and peered inside. Unused reams of paper. The other boxes proved equally interesting–office supplies. Filing cabinets on the opposite wall held bundled brochures for the commune, Geoffrey’s smiling face plastered all over everything. Floor to ceiling bookshelves were filled with promotional DVDs.