Haunted (State v. Sefore) (6 page)

Chapter Seven

M
addison pulled the
pan of chocolate chip pumpkin muffins out of the oven as the doorbell rang. After setting the pan down, she ran toward the front of the house. The vidscreen in the entrance displayed Sophie and Olivia’s faces. “Disengage lock,” she whispered, waiting for the audible click before swinging the door open.

“Hey, you.” Olivia bounced into the house, her energetic words mirroring her appearance. “What’s up?”

Maddison opened the door wider but held a finger to her lips, her head nodding to the bedroom at the top of the stairs where Taylor slept.

“Oops. Sorry.” The twinkle in Olivia’s blue eyes contrasted with her chagrined smile as she skipped toward the kitchen. Sophie followed, an indulgent smile planted in its normal spot. She had always been the most mature of the three of them. Add to that her dark chocolate hair and latte-colored skin, and Sophie had an air of sophistication neither Maddison nor girl-next-door Olivia had. It rather awed Maddison sometimes.

As Maddison re-entered the kitchen, the sliding glass door glided open.

Josh stuck his head inside. “Something smells incredible.” He made a beeline for the baked goods, his aim off by a few degrees. It was one of the only tells that he couldn’t see out of his right eye since he refused to wear the eye patch Taylor acquired for him. “I wandered over to throw a little with Jakob and Ethan, but I’m being drawn inside.” His ebony hair glistened from the shower he took every evening. She’d never understood why he cleaned up before volunteering for any athletic endeavor he could find. But at least that was still the same. He seemed determined that nothing change.

“Are these for me?” He didn’t wait for permission before reaching for a muffin.

Maddison swatted at his hand. “They’re hot. Let me at least get them out of the pan.”

He grabbed one anyway and jumped up to sit on the counter.

“You do know this isn’t your house, right?” Sophie’s mouth quirked, softening her tone of disapproval.

“Might as well be.” Josh shrugged, but a faint pink hue surged up his neckline. Maddison smiled, her suspicions confirmed. Her baking hadn’t snagged Josh’s attention—Sophie had.

Josh swallowed half of the muffin in one bite. “Hey, these aren’t too bad.”

Maddison brushed past him with a light shove and offered napkins and glasses to the girls. Olivia flitted over to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. Sophie drew a familiar container from her bag. “May I?”

“Sure. None for me though.” Maddison set the pan in the sink with its twin to soak and waited for the bubbles to flow over them. She smiled at the choreography they’d developed: Sophie making her signature up-all-night coffee, Liv waltzing around the kitchen to hand out mugs, and Josh wandering in from next door on cue. Despite her desire to experience all that life had to offer, she craved predictable nights like this one. A truth Josh pointed out on more than one occasion.

Olivia handed him a glass. The careful way he held it triggered an alarm bell in Maddison’s head. “What’s wrong with your hand?”

Everyone grew still. Josh shot her a glare. “It’s fine.”

The girls took a couple of steps back. Her intuition hardened into knowledge. “Let me take a look.” Anyone else would have complied within a second. Then again, Josh had heard this tone often over the years. He didn’t move. She stepped in front of him, laying a hand on his knee.

“Maddie.” A warning from him, but it had the opposite effect.

“Maddison, maybe you should—” Sophie began.

“Joshua Kahl, let me see your hand.”

He held his arm out. The skin on the back of his hand was tight and inflamed. She gently pushed his long sleeve up and inhaled a short quick breath. More of the same. She forced an exhale and turned to Olivia. “Go wake Taylor up, please.”

Feet scurried away behind her, but she didn’t move, answering Josh’s angry stare with one of her own. Moments later, Olivia returned alone. “She’ll be down in a few.”

“It wasn’t going to heal overnight,” he said.

“Shut up. It’s been two weeks. How much mobility have you lost?” Her voice trembled a little on the last word.

“Not much.”

“How much is that? And while we’re on the topic, how much pain are you in? What exactly are you hiding from me?”

“Maddison.” Sophie stood beside her, her hand reaching out for Maddison’s arm. “This isn’t his fault.”

She twisted away from Sophie’s reach. “He’s already lost half his sight. Now his hand might not be healing the way it’s supposed to either.” She gestured in Josh’s direction. “I can’t stand by without a word and let this happen. Sorry, I’m not quite as in control as you.”

Sophie flinched.

“Enough.” A muscle in Josh’s clenched jaw twitched. His posture straightened, towering over her now. “You think you’re the only one upset about this? It’s my sight. It’s my hand. I’m the one who has to live with it. I’m the one who can’t let it affect my quota. I’m the one whose parents can’t look at him anymore. Me. If somebody’s going to get angry and do something about it, it’s me. Got it?”

Maddison hung her head, heat warming her cheeks. What had come over her? She forced her eyes back up to Sophie. “I’m sorry, Soph, I don’t know why I said that.”

Sophie gave her a little nod. “It’s okay.”

Josh’s shoulders relaxed. “Better. Let’s talk about something else, okay?” The tension rolling through the room began to dissipate.

“Are you going to do something about it?” Her words were a whisper.

Olivia gasped her name. Sophie didn’t even flinch.

Josh pinched the bridge of his nose. “How about you and I talk about that some other time?”

“I would recommend that time be never.” Taylor stood at the threshold of the kitchen, hand on her hip, eyes blazing.

“Tay—”

“Sophie, Olivia, why don’t you go into living room and find a movie for all of us to watch. I need a moment with these two.” Both girls skirted around her without a word. Taylor put the medical bag in her left hand on the table and pointed to a chair. “Sit, Josh.”

He complied with slumped shoulders.

Taylor radiated enough anger to dissipate all of Maddison’s. “You two are old enough to make your own decisions, but you’d better weigh each and every word out of your mouths or someone’s going to get hurt. And it probably won’t be you. It’ll be someone you know, Olivia or Sophie or Jakob.”

She cursed under her breath, inhaled shakily. “You’ve got to be careful. I know that better than … You just have to be more careful.”

*

Couldn’t this woman talk about something else? Noah rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. Hours of watching Madame Director and her husband in their home had garnered him nothing but a headache. All she talked about was the incompetence of every other hospital employee. Her husband bowed and scraped and made sympathetic noises without expressing a single opinion of his own.

Noah wanted to shake him. Considered driving over to their house for that very purpose, just for something to do. This was the one problem with surveillance—the sheer monotony of it. His fingers itched for the other compad, the one belonging to Noah Seforé. If he could view video with one and research financials with the other, this would go faster. But Noah Seforé didn’t have access to the Elite’s secure sites.

Good thing he had a photographic memory. Leaning his head back against the headboard, he closed his eyes and recalled the couple’s financials. The audio from their home faded into the background. Mortgage payment, car payment, incidentals, everything looked normal. There were no payments or deposits which couldn’t be accounted for. With nothing unusual there, he mentally shifted to their general backgrounds. If nothing popped soon, he’d have to comb through their vidcom and compad histories again. Which was possibly more boring than watching the couple interact with each other.

“If I could move up into regional administration, things would be different.”

His eyes shot open.
Here we go.

Madame Director stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, wielding a wooden spoon in her hand. “Hospital administrators should have the power to investigate their employees. I know Matt Dooley can’t have been the only idiotic troublemaker on staff. But all I can do is pass the suspicious names on to one of the stationary liquidators. Think about if I could discreetly interview the ‘off’ ones myself. If the other administrators could do the same. We’d rid the health care system of any malcontents within a month’s time.”

“I’m sure you could, dear.”

Enough. Noah clicked off the surveillance feed and opened the
Innocent and Uninvolved Parties
file. Madame Director’s name would be the first. Just as he suspected. He stood and paced the room. Opened the window. Couldn’t force himself to start over with the next person in question. His stomach grumbled.

The perfect reason to take a break. He’d walk next door and get dinner. Then he’d start surveilling John Henderson. Noah had about thirty-six hours before his next shift at the hospital. Maybe he could sort Henderson before then. Too many others waited in his
Undetermined
file.

His real vidcom vibrated on the bed. Callista. Again. He rolled his eyes, hit ignore, and shoved it and the Elite-enabled compad back into the hidden pocket in his messenger bag. Across the room, his cover vidcom played “Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2.”

He grabbed his keycard with one hand and the blaring vidcom with the other. The caller ID read Liquidator Callista State. Seriously?

Might as well get it over with.
He hit accept. Callista’s face appeared on the vidcom. “I’m beginning to think you’re dodging my calls. But that can’t be right, can it?” She smiled, but the tightness around her eyes told him it was just an act.

“How did you get this number?”

She pouted. “Why can’t you be nice to me? No, ‘Hi, Callista. Sorry I’ve missed your calls. How are you?’ I mean, aren’t we friends, Noah?”

If you’d be happy with that, sure
. The pain in his head pulsed faster, but he resisted the urge to massage his temples. “How, Callista?”

The smile dropped off her face, and her eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been answering your vidcom. So I asked for a status report on you. ARL Kelly contacted me personally to let me know you were fine, just undercover. It wasn’t hard to find Noah Seforé’s number after that.”

She’d asked for a status report? He counted to ten. Twice. “If you know I’m undercover, why are you calling this vidcom? Anyone could’ve seen the caller ID.”

“But no one did. Am I right?”

He unclenched his jaw. “I can’t have you calling this number. It’s too much of a risk.”

“So you’ll answer your real vidcom when I call?” A tentative smile matched her tone of voice, but her eyes still pierced. Steel underneath silk. Vulnerable question and direct threat in one.

“I will.” Would that be enough to placate her? Her smile grew. Good. “Listen, I’m sorry for being short. I’ve been doing surveillance for the last eight hours. My head hurts. And I’m starving. Can we postpone catching up until next time?”

A sigh. “I guess. Go get something to eat, Noah.”

“That’s the plan. Talk to you later.”

“Definitely.”

He disconnected the call and sank down on the bed, the vidcom dropping beside him. Four years of conversations, and he still didn’t know how to read her. One part potentate disciple, one part calculated assassin, and one part flirt with a dash of stalker. Talking with her was like playing hot potato with a stick of dynamite. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Oh well, it was over now. Time for food.

Twenty minutes later, Noah set his large cola and dinner on the desk and pulled it closer to the bed. Steam wafted from the takeout container when he opened it, and he sucked in a deep breath. Nothing smelled better than a greasy cheeseburger. He grabbed a handful of fries and shoved them in his mouth then headed to his messenger bag to retrieve the other vidcom and compad.

He navigated past the home screen, opening the remote spy program that allowed him to view audio and video from any vidcom, compad, and vidwall on the network. He entered his password and typed in “John Henderson, MA-4, Coastal South East.” A list of devices came up, and he double-clicked on the living room vidwall. Sound and motion filled his screen. Sandra Henderson browsed on her compad while the Henderson boy—Steven?—channel-surfed.

Noah sent the images to the vidwall in his hotel room. Vidwall. He stared at the top left corner where he knew a camera and microphone were embedded. How did Callista know he was dodging her calls? She’d disconnected the call to his real vidcom as soon as he hit ignore instead of leaving a message. And she’d sounded certain that he was alone during their conversation. Could she have been watching him? She wouldn’t have the access to view another liquidator … unless the higher-ups approved it.

Ice water flowed through his veins. They’d tapped his compad before he was a liquidator; why wouldn’t they now? He forced a bite of hamburger while concentrating on the footage in front of him. He had to find out without tipping his hand. If they were watching, he didn’t want them to know he knew. He glanced at the battery level of the vidcom on the bed. Eighty-seven percent. Not conclusive.

As he stared at the Hendersons’ Tuesday night routine, he picked up the compad. He left the surveillance program up but gave the command to open the user interface. The instructors at the Academy had spent a scant hour discussing surveillance techniques, and only one sentence to name the spyware that could nest in anyone’s electronics. But he had been paying attention, and an afternoon later he’d found the program hidden deep in the lab computer’s operating system.

It took him a minute and a half to navigate within his compad’s operating system now. He scanned the code. Optimization.679355.779. There it was. He closed the interface window and left the Hendersons’ feed open. So they were watching.

ARL Kelly and Callista and who knows who else were watching … and listening. As he investigated people and worked shifts at the hospital. As he chatted with Maddison over coffee. Maddison. He closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. Was she already on their list? Was she on Callista’s? His shirt collar seemed to shrink. How was he supposed to minimize collateral damage while hunting a violent resistance with Big Brother looking over his shoulder? He needed a new plan. One that kept persons of interest off the Elite’s radar until he was certain of where they stood. Even better, one that guaranteed those with anti-regime feelings but no resistance ties would be safe from any cleansing McCray planned. And he needed to come up with this new plan fast.