Mind's Eye (35 page)

She settled in to watch a long romantic comedy on pay-per-view, and before she knew it, the movie was at its end, and the inevitable misunderstandings between the two romantic leads were finally being cleared up, allowing true love to blossom.

Megan caught motion at the edge of her field of vision.

It was the door. Swinging open!

Before it had completed its arc, a man with light blond hair slid inside the room and drew a gun, raising it to a firing position in front of him. Megan instinctively threw herself from the couch as a silenced projectile whistled by her ear.

The man was trying to kill her.

A specialized electronic device had been shoved into the door’s keycard mechanism, no doubt to emulate a key, and the gunman disengaged the device and slipped it into his pocket. The assailant was lean and his motions were calm and practiced; professional. The level of competence and sophistication of the attack reeked of John Delamater. If she had been on the other side of the couch, the opening door wouldn’t have been in her line of vision, and she’d be dead already.

Not that it mattered. She had only bought a few additional seconds of life. She was now on the floor—a sitting duck—and her visitor would not miss again.

The man reached for the door and gently pulled it closed behind him with one hand while raising the gun once again with the other. But just as he was pulling the trigger, a silenced shot from outside ripped through the door and into his arm, causing his aim to be off.

The man didn’t miss a beat, despite having been shot. Ignoring both his arm and Megan Emerson, he dived against one wall and out of the line of fire as two more silenced bullets punched though the door.

“Need reinforcements,” he hissed into an unseen microphone. “I’m inside Hall’s suite. One or more hostiles are outside the front door. Hurry!”

All the drapes to the room were already closed, but just as Megan’s assailant said his final word a bullet crashed through the outside wall of the bungalow, missing him by less than a foot. He rolled past the splintered door and into a standing position behind it, drawing a second gun and lying in wait for anyone who tried to enter.

Megan jolted awake. What was she
doing
? Why was she acting like a spectator in this drama? Now was her chance.

She stayed low to the floor and crawled for almost ten feet, sliding open the door to the suite’s small patio and rushing through. She rose to a crouching position and hastily surveyed the area. While the walking paths between suites were relatively well lighted, it was a cloudy, moonless night, and much of the sprawling complex was too shrouded in darkness for her to be certain another gunman wasn’t lying in wait.

It didn’t matter. She had no choice. She laid her torso on the flat upper beam of the short, decorative wrought iron fence that surrounded the patio and swung her legs to the other side.

Just as she stood she heard an explosion of sound from within the suite as the door was kicked open by her protectors, who must have been the two bodyguards Ed Cowan had stationed next door. Her racing heart quickened even further as she rushed across the lighted pathways and into the darkness, as quickly and quietly as a cat.

Inside the suite, the man who had attacked Megan was perfectly positioned behind the door and took out the first of Cowan’s men to burst through with a shot to the torso. The second man through slammed his fist into the intruder’s bloody arm and sent his gun flying. But the wounded assailant ignored the severe pain and evened the score by launching a series of rapid-fire open-handed strikes at the bodyguard’s arm, causing him to drop his weapon and forcing him to immediately square up his stance and switch to a hand-to-hand posture.

Cowan’s man was good, but the intruder was better, managing to hold his own even though injured, blocking attempted blow after attempted blow with a flurry of well-honed martial arts moves.

This is where Megan’s would-be protector made a fatal mistake. He pulled a lethal switchblade knife from his pocket, sprang it open, and lunged at his adversary, who grabbed his knife hand as it was coming down and used the bodyguard’s own momentum to break his wrist and drive the knife into the man’s own chest. This was done so expertly that the motion of the bodyguard’s arm was smooth and continuous, from the beginning of his lunge to the moment his lungs began filling with blood.

It was late on a Sunday night, and only a few nearby residents who were up and about bothered to look through their windows to determine the cause of the loud crack they had heard when the door was kicked in. But since the door in question wasn’t in direct view of any other unit, they soon shrugged and went about their business.

On the grounds, Megan Emerson kept to the darkness, certain her jackhammering heart could be heard in the next city, giving away her position as surely as if she were inside a macabre Edgar Alan Poe tale.

Megan watched the lobby, which fronted the grounds and which represented the only way to enter the large community of temporary residents that didn’t involve climbing fences or walls. Two men, who had the unmistakable physical aura of trained killers, rushed through the lobby doors. They tried their best to look casual, but failed miserably.

Megan flattened herself against the dark ground. After the two men passed her on the way to their comrade, she rose to a crouch and rushed to the lobby doors. But just as she was about to push through, she spotted two additional men across the lobby, chatting casually near the exit to the street. In her state of heightened awareness, and heightened paranoia, she was certain these two were also part of the assault force trying to kill her.

How many of them were there?

She retreated back into the darkness and called Nick Hall, trying to shield the light of the phone with her body and hands.  “
Nick
,” she whispered frantically the moment he answered, “all hell’s broken loose. Delamater’s men are swarming the place.”

Hall had just finished the MRI scan and was in the rental car, heading back to the hotel. “Are you hurt?” he asked anxiously, and then quickly added, “what about Cowan’s men next door?”

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Our neighbors tried to stop them but failed. I’m hiding on the grounds.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice raw with barely contained emotion. “Do whatever you can to stay hidden. Stall if they catch you. I’ll be in range in about five minutes and can read what you’re up against and help you. Good luck, Megan.”

The tone of his voice said so much more than just good luck, and she could tell he was dying to tell her what she meant to him, but he wanted her attention
off
her cell phone and
on
staying alive.

Megan looked across the grounds to the weight room and considered using it as a hiding place. No good. It was still well lighted inside, even after eleven at night, and had several windows. The men after her would be able to see in. She wouldn’t be able to see out. Very bad idea.

While Megan weighed her limited options, the man who had originally attacked her managed to re-close the door and was tending to his injury. The two men who had rushed to his aid were now fanning out over the grounds, both pretending to be on a casual stroll, with their weapons hidden.

Megan saw them as they crossed lighted areas and knew they would likely close in on her before Hall got into range. There were limited hiding places available, and since they were being methodical, it was only a matter of time. And not much time at that.

She needed to move. If she stayed where she was she’d be discovered in seconds.

Megan worked her way soundlessly to the pool area. The pool and spa had been closed since nine-thirty and the water inside of both was still as ice.

Sitting next to where patio chairs had been stacked for the night, on four small wheels, was a large, rectangular laundry cart, with a shiny steel frame and royal blue fabric walls. It had been emptied and was awaiting dozens of wet towels that would be deposited inside by hotel guests the next day.

Megan realized it was her only hope. The pool area was well lighted, for safety reasons, so they would never expect her to hide here. She approached the fabric container and carefully folded herself inside.

Where was Nick? How much longer until he was in range?

But even as she considered this, she knew it didn’t matter. These men were very good. It might take them a few extra minutes to check the wet towel container, but they would—long before Hall could arrive. His ESP was remarkable, but there was no way it would save her this time. Not from
these
men.

Too bad. It would have been fun to joke with Nick about it.
Why did I hide in a laundry cart?
she imagined asking him.
Because not everyone’s lucky enough to find an open dumpster when they need one
, she would answer with a smile.

Yeah. Someday they’d have a good laugh over this. Unfortunately, that laugh would have to wait for the afterlife.

42

Nick Hall was out of his mind with worry. He had felt panic before, but never like this. Not even in the Shell gas station bathroom.

He had lost numerous friends and colleagues on the Scripps
Explorer
. But the prospect of losing Megan Emerson was
unthinkable
. It was psychologically debilitating.

He felt so
helpless
.

Hang on, Megan
, he pleaded to the gods, glancing up at the dark, moonless sky.
Please hang on.

He pressed down even further on the gas pedal and the rental car jumped to above eighty. As he approached red lights, he flicked on his brights and laid on the horn, sounding a single long, blaring warning, and then burst through the intersections like a rocket.

Part of him wanted to up his speed even more, but he wasn’t on a freeway, and he could only be so reckless before it caught up to him. The streets were largely deserted at this late hour, but if a single approaching driver didn’t hear his warning, or was at the exact wrong place at the wrong time, they’d be carting him away in a body bag.

While he drove he shot his mind out to its limits, searching for the familiar mental presence of Megan Emerson. But he was still out of range.

He streaked past the smattering of cars on the road ahead like they were standing still, and since the road had three lanes, he was always able to find a way to slide around these glowing speed bumps without slowing. He ignored thoughts such as “
shithead
” and “
where’s the fire, asshole,
” coming from the drivers he passed. Not a single driver gave him the benefit of the doubt. Not even one considered that a life-and-death emergency might be the reason he tore past them at twice the posted speed limit.

As he neared an upcoming intersection, he slammed on the brakes without knowing why, realizing only as a car shot by in front of him, just clearing the intersection before his squealing, decelerating car barreled through, that his mind had picked up the panicked thoughts of the crossing driver before Hall had seen him. The cocktail party effect had reared its magnificent head once again.

He regained his speed and was soon nearing ninety, on a street with a posted limit of forty-five.

Hall cursed in frustration
as he picked up the minds of two cops in a squad car heading back to the station. They weren’t prowling for speeders, but it didn’t matter. They didn’t need a radar gun to tell he was breaking every traffic law in the book. And even if he could have slowed fast enough to escape their attention, Megan couldn’t afford
any
delay.

He pressed the gas pedal even further toward the floor as a siren began sounding behind him, its red and blue strobing lights visible for miles in the dark night, like an angry UFO flying after him. The blare of the siren diminished as he picked up even more speed and left his pursuers farther and farther behind.

The cops had been chasing him for almost a minute when a light switch went on in his head.
Hallelujah
! Finally
,
he felt Megan’s impenetrable mental presence. She was still alive!

“Megan,”
he broadcast as forcefully as he could.
“I’m in range. What’s the situation?”

“Nick, thank God!”
came the quick reply.
“I’m hiding in a towel cart near the pool. There are two men combing the grounds for me, and at least two more in the lobby.”

“Got it,”
sent Hall. After a short pause, he added,
“I’m reading the two on the grounds. They’ve checked the weight room, outside bathrooms, tennis courts, and maids’ closets. One of them is coming to check the pool area now.”

“I’m lucky it took them this long. Nick, you can’t get me out of this. You can’t. But I’m glad I’ll at least get to say goodbye. I just want you to know
—
”