Hostage (14 page)

She looked toward the sideboard, watching as the same maid she had encountered earlier checked several dishes, apparently to make sure nothing required replenishing, and casually said to DeMarco, “So I’m guessing you don’t see her over there by the sideboard.”

The maid turned, smiled at Hollis, and bobbed a curtsy.

“See who?” DeMarco had turned his head and frowned toward the sideboard.

Hollis watched as the spirit walked the length of the sideboard, turned, and again vanished, this time through what was clearly a solid wall.

“Although I suppose there could have been a door there once,” she mused out loud. “Had to be, I guess. When the place was first built and parties were huge, there were probably two places servants could enter the room. Carrying stuff in one door and out the other, so as to avoid traffic jams and a lot of broken china. Judging by the size of this table, there must have been some hellaciously big parties.”

“Hollis?”

She looked at him.

“What’re you talking about?”

“The maid you didn’t see. Just now.”

“A spirit?”

“Forgive a bad pun, but so it would appear. I saw her earlier upstairs. And thought she was alive. Spoke to her and everything.”

“You mean—”

“I mean I can’t seem to tell the living from the dead right now, or here in this place. Not sure which.” She drew a breath and looked at him. “It’s . . . unsettling. Bishop said I should talk to you about it. But you probably already knew that part.”

“That you were going to talk to me about something. Not about what.”

Hollis absently folded her linen napkin and placed it beside her coffee cup on the table. “Well, why don’t we do a bit of exploring outside while we talk? I need air. And to get out of here for a while. Because I can sense the others all around me.”

“Close the door.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the third new thing,” Hollis replied somewhat grimly. “I can’t seem to close the door. At all. And I’ve already been warned that that isn’t exactly a good thing.”

EIGHT

Luther Brinkman shifted slightly on the couch, adjusting his leg, which was propped on the coffee table and resting on a pillow, and trying to find a comfortable position.

“I told you it was too soon to get dressed,” Callie said.

“If you hadn’t given me that shot while I was unconscious, I’d be fine,” he retorted.

“If I hadn’t given you that shot, the wound would likely have gotten infected. Is it my fault penicillin needs to go in the hip?”

He ignored that question. “Look, we both know I need to get on my feet and mobile as soon as possible. Especially after you found that blood.”

It was early afternoon, and Luther was more than a little disgruntled that he’d slept through the morning totally against his will, waking only when Callie had roused him for lunch. Already, he was itching to be up and doing things. Like his job.

“I told you, the only blood test kit I have is unreliable. Even testing positive for human blood doesn’t necessarily mean that’s what it was because of the high percentage of false positives. Could have been animal blood. And even if it was human, it could easily have been from a hunter careless enough with his tools to hurt himself. It happens.”

Callie told herself that there was no sense in telling Luther what she was sure of, that the blood was indeed human and the person who had shed it beyond their help. She told herself it was for his own good, that he didn’t need to be agitated more than he was, not when he was recovering from the wound and not when there was nothing he could do about it anyway.

She told herself all that.

And she knew she wasn’t being fair to him, or even just professional. He needed to know what she knew.

But . . . not now. Not yet.

“We need to know for sure, Callie. In case it has anything at all to do with Jacoby.”

“Yes. But it was more than half a mile from Jacoby’s cabin, and he’s shown no signs to date of venturing that far out.”

“Maybe he got curious about me.”

“Maybe. But if so, he wasn’t tracking you. That blood was nowhere near the path you took going to his cabin or the path I took getting you back down here after you were shot.”

“Look, you said Cesar didn’t pick up a trail from the point where you found the blood; if it was just a hunter, wouldn’t he have headed for town? Or for one of the cabins up here?”

“Not necessarily. Hunters often camp up on the mountain, and some would consider it completely unnecessary to have a minor cut looked at by a doctor. Could be, he realized he was bleeding and just went back to his camp to take care of it himself.”

Okay, now she’d gone beyond lying by omission; now she was posing a possibility she knew very well hadn’t happened.

“So why didn’t Cesar lead you in that direction?”

Because he knew what was there. Because he knew we couldn’t help her, that no one could.

Luther knew she didn’t want to answer, and that was one of the reasons he was pressing the matter. That and a certain evasiveness he had heard in her voice when she had first told him about finding the blood. She was holding back, and he didn’t like it. Granted she barely knew him, and granted she could be following orders, but, dammit, they were both in this now, and he needed to know what she knew.

Plus, he was feeling generally irritable because he was a grown man and not accustomed to needing help getting his damned pants on, a procedure made more annoying (for some reason) because she had been utterly matter-of-fact and efficient getting him into the borrowed jeans and flannel shirt while he was barely able to stand upright.

After a long moment and a thoughtful stare, Callie said, “Cesar didn’t want to go in any direction except back here. He made that very clear. Not up or down the mountain, and not toward Jacoby’s cabin.”

“I gather that’s unusual?”

“First time he’s done it here. At other times in other places . . . it was always his way of protecting either me or someone else. Sensing something potentially bad and guiding us away from it.”

“He wouldn’t have had a reason to protect me; you were the one out there with the blood.”

“True enough.” She went to top off her coffee, sent him an inquiring look, and then hung the pot back on its hook in the fireplace. She didn’t sit down, but wandered rather aimlessly toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter, frowning.

“What?” Luther asked.

“I could feel it too,” she said finally. “Out there with Cesar. Pushing at me, like wind but . . . not. Pressure. I felt the edge of that darkness, that energy, that I felt before around Jacoby’s cabin.”

“Why does that surprise you?”

“Because,” Callie said, “the last time I felt it, it was weaker, less defined—and it was much closer to Jacoby’s cabin. A good three or even four hundred yards closer.”

“What?”

“I can’t be sure, because my instincts as well as Cesar’s were telling us to get back here and not stop to probe, but that feeling, that sensation of dark energy, isn’t something easily forgotten. It was the same thing. Stronger, darker, but the same thing.”

“Then . . . it’s what? Expanding?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he was close out there and we just couldn’t see him. Maybe he carries it with him. Maybe he always did.”

Luther watched her, absently rubbing his wounded thigh. “I have a strong hunch your background info on Jacoby is a lot more extensive than mine, especially when it comes to possible psychic abilities. Was he ever examined by anyone in the SCU? Before he escaped?”

Callie shook her head slowly. “There was never a reason. The SCU generally doesn’t deal with bank robbers. Until Jacoby escaped the way he did, there was no reported indication he might have a paranormal ability.”

“He was given psych evals, right?”

“Several times, as a juvenile and as an adult. This most recent robbery wasn’t his first rodeo; he has quite the rap sheet. Starting with petty theft and boosting cars when he was around twelve and ending up eventually with both armed and unarmed robbery by his late teens. But no real sign of violence. His psych evaluations were pretty standard. Not a psychopath or a sociopath, just on the antisocial end of the scale, like a lot of small-time criminals. He could make casual friends, he could hold down a job, he could talk to people with fair ease and even charm when he wanted, but most considered him a loner. Good with puzzles, with numbers, tested a bit above average in intelligence.

“He didn’t come from an abusive background, but he was orphaned young thanks to a car accident that took both his parents, and since there were no other relatives located, he went into the system. Decent foster home, from all accounts; he was in the same one until the judge got tired of making allowances for a poor orphan who couldn’t stay out of trouble and sent him to a juvenile facility when he was fifteen.”

“And he was on his way.”

“Yeah. Not so much rehabilitated as educated; he pulled his first successful major robbery not six months after he got out. Managed to stay ahead of the cops for a couple of years before they got their hands on him again, and that judge in that particular jurisdiction was dealing with homicides, gang wars, drug crimes. Wasn’t much concerned by a young thief who hadn’t used a gun in that particular robbery and who promised with great sincerity to go straight.”

“So . . . time served?”

Callie nodded. “Time served. After that, he got more careful, and he got good at robbery, good at getting away with it. He got very good, and for years. Never did time again until they caught him after he pulled this last heist. Probably wouldn’t have caught him then if he’d stuck to his usual type of robbery, netting himself a few hundred grand at most and then laying low and living simply.”

“But ten million draws a lot of attention,” Luther finished. “A lot of resources.”

“Yeah. Bishop believes Jacoby had no idea that payrolls for several major corporations were sitting in that vault. From the tools he left behind, he was going after the lockboxes—which were
supposed
to be in a secondary vault, not one connected to the cash safe. He shouldn’t have been able to get that safe open, and nobody is sure even now how he managed it. Maybe he had time to spare and was curious to try his skills. The alarm was down, though no one seems to be sure how he managed that
or
how he disabled it in such a way as to avoid an automatic secondary alarm. No way to be sure. But once that safe was open, with millions in cash just sitting there . . .”

“Who’d blame him for taking the easy route.”

Callie nodded again. “He dumped his tools and presumably filled the bag that had held them. Everybody was surprised that he managed the break-in alone, but there was never a shred of evidence to suggest he had an accomplice, or that anyone on the inside helped. It was almost as if . . . everything just fell into place for him. A glitch in the security system of the building itself that made access a lot easier than it should have been; a security guard who was supposed to be watching the monitors happened to be taking cold medicine and fell asleep—”

“Or maybe was put to sleep,” Luther offered.

Callie nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought, but maybe so. Maybe even then he could do that much.”

“The cold medicine could have made it easier,” Luther said thoughtfully. “Unless the guard lied about that to cover his ass.”

“Yeah. But either way, Jacoby got in with amazing ease. The disk storing the camera feeds was faulty and nobody knew until afterward. Even the vault lock itself was just days away from being upgraded because there was some kind of issue with the electronics of the locking mechanism. Just a whole string of glitches that helped Jacoby get in and out way too easily.”

Luther frowned. “Does Bishop think Jacoby might have used some paranormal ability? Even then?”

“I’m not sure what Bishop knew or suspected about the robbery; he didn’t say. But, looking back, it’s certainly possible. At the time, the SCU wasn’t called and knew nothing about it, which means we were never able to inspect the actual vault and safe or talk to employees, when it might have mattered, right after, with a secured crime scene. I think Bishop knew or suspected something before Jacoby was transferred months later, but, well, it’s Bishop. Whatever he knew or suspected, he didn’t say.”

Luther glanced absently toward Cesar, then said to Callie, “Maybe it’s time to report in and talk to Bishop about the situation. I know there’s no cell service here, but is there service anywhere nearby?”

“Five hundred yards higher up the mountain is a sweet spot where cell reception is crystal clear because of the tower on the next mountain to the north. There are a few spots like that one, scattered around, but none are close and the terrain is hellish.”

Luther realized he was looking at Cesar again, frowned, and returned his gaze to Callie. “You’re saying you’ll have to hike up the mountain to make a call?”

“No, actually, I don’t need to do that. As I said, Bishop and Miranda are right on my frequency, so I can communicate with them telepathically and as clearly as I can talk to you here.”

“Dammit, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

Honest, she said, “I wasn’t ready to report in. You were okay, we were safe here, and I hadn’t yet done my job. Still haven’t.”

Luther sighed but wasn’t angry because he completely understood her attitude. It was typical of those who were accustomed to working alone, or virtually so. “Are they close by?”

“No. Bishop is outside Boston, and Miranda is in California. Distance doesn’t seem to matter, as long as I can focus. Luther, do you realize you keep looking at Cesar?”

“Just realized,” he admitted. Then added slowly, “Also just realized I’m feeling profoundly uneasy.”

That was when Cesar suddenly got up—and they heard the frantic scratching at the cabin’s door.

Outside.

* * *

COLE JACOBY THOUGHT
breakfast would make him feel better. And then he thought lunch would.

Neither helped.

But what really bothered him was that he had no memory of the time
between
breakfast and lunch. It was just . . . blank. When he tried to remember, there was only a dark nothing.

At first, realizing that, he was grateful at least that he didn’t have blood on him. But then he realized that he was not wearing the same clothes he had dressed himself in that morning.

He found those in the washtub with the other set he had stripped off that morning. Soaking in reddish water that smelled strongly of bleach.

He was almost afraid to look at the dogs, and when he did, he was surprised at first. Ace’s bed was empty. Cleo’s. Lucy’s. But if they weren’t in their beds . . .

It nearly broke his heart when he found them huddled against the back door, all three trembling. And as he watched, Cleo began frantically scratching at the floor while the other two stared at him fearfully.

They wanted nothing but to get away from him.

“You know, don’t you?” he murmured. “You know what’s happening. You know I’m not . . . safe anymore.”

He could feel the darkness then, not just at the edge of his awareness, but creeping inward, like some smothering black sludge that would swallow everything in his path.

Even him.

Especially him.

Cole didn’t know how much time he had left, but he knew he had to use it to save the only beings in the world he had ever truly loved.

He went to the front door of the cabin and opened it wide, then stepped back. “Here,” he called to them, holding his voice steady and calm with what he suspected was the last of his control. “Let’s go, guys. Out.”

They hesitated for only a moment, and then all three scrambled for the door, and out.

This time, Jacoby gave them no command—except one. He stood in the doorway and watched the dogs race away, calling after them in a voice that wasn’t steady anymore, “Stay away from me.
Away.
Find somebody to take care of you. And don’t come back. Don’t ever come back . . .”

* * *

LUTHER WAS STARTLED
by how fast Callie moved, setting her coffee cup down, getting her weapon from the table near the door—and then halting suddenly and for a long moment to look at Cesar.