Overtaken (4 page)

I stood there transfixed, not knowing what to do. That's when I noticed Dana was standing there too. She wasn't moving. There were tears in her eyes and she had a hand clutched over her mouth. What she'd witnessed was the cherry and whipped-cream topper on a wild homecoming party to end all parties.

I must've gasped because Dana heard it and spun around. I freaked. I could feel my body starting to return to its physical state. I had to get the hell out of that house before my secret was exposed.

I bolted out of there, leaving the front door open as I fled the house.

•  •  •

A solemn-looking female EMT was wheeling Oliver's mother over to the ambulance by the time I made it back to the accident site.

I beelined over to where Oliver was being grilled by the other EMT, a suspicious, bearded medic, who had just examined him. How had the accident happened? Had we moved Mrs. Monsalves? Had we been drinking? I immediately recognized the familiar irritability of Barrington citizens in the aftermath of a pulse. In this case, extra powerful meant extra aggressive.

“How is she?” I asked Oliver after the medic moved back to the ambulance to assist his partner with Mrs. Monsalves's gurney.

“Woozy and upset, but hanging in there,” Oliver reported optimistically. His eyes narrowed a bit as he sized me up and realized something was very wrong. “Are you okay? You're shaking.”

“We're in trouble,” I whispered, making sure the EMTs couldn't hear what I was saying. My fingernails dug into my palms as I gave Oliver a concise Cliffs Notes version of what happened to Jackson back at Dana's house.

“They all saw?” he asked queasily, clutching my arm and staring at me in disbelief. He was looking pale and pretty shaky himself.

“Everyone.” I nodded grimly.

But our conversation was cut short when the surly EMT waved us over to the ambulance. We were whisked into the back of the ambulance with Oliver's mother for the brief ride over to the hospital.

Oliver and I rode in silence. Words weren't necessary. We knew we were screwed. What a handful of our classmates just witnessed in Dana Fox's living room was totally inexplicable, and word would undoubtedly spread—fast—about Jackson, Barrington's newest power generator. I was afraid that we were going to wake up the next morning and find out that every last person in Barrington had heard the truth.

There were freaks living among them.

Once Oliver's mom had been stabilized and moved to an examination room, I tried to slip away to find my dad, who was on call. Immediately, the suspicious EMT stepped out in front of me, hands raised, and stopped me from leaving the ER.

“I'm fine,” I insisted, anxious to get away from him and the unforgiving glare of the hospital's fluorescent lighting.

“You may feel fine,” he snarked with a harsh gaze, cornering me, “but until a doctor signs off, you're not going anywhere.”

The more I insisted I was okay and didn't need a doctor, the more the EMT acted like he didn't hear me. Was he deliberately trying to unnerve me? Did he suspect something? My nails sliced into my palms, trying to fight off my jangled nerves, but I could feel my control starting to slip.

Shit. I was trapped. I couldn't outrun the guy or even try to disappear. He knew my name and who I was. To make matters worse, up until that moment I'd been able to keep my invisibility under wraps while they focused on Mrs. Monsalves. Now his eyes were riveted solely on me. It was unnerving the way he kept staring at me.

The roller coaster events of the day had already left me feeling extremely vulnerable. And now the added pressure of having my body scrutinized by some random doctor was making me feel even more exposed. The clock was ticking. It would be just a matter of time before my secret was exposed and my cover blown.

I tried some old breathing exercises to steady my nerves. It was too late. That all-too-familiar hot, tingling sensation was already rising from the soles of my feet up through my legs, along with a fresh wave of panic and terror. I looked up and down the corridor, trying to come up with an emergency-escape plan. I had moments before I literally vanished before the EMT's eyes. I had to get out of there. But when I looked down again, the black-and-white-checkered tile floor had started to become visible through my disappearing feet. . . .

“Nica!” A familiar voice called out my name.

In a flash, I was enveloped in my father's strong, tall frame. He was my life raft. A tall white knight in hospital scrubs, rescuing me from impending doom. In those few seconds, I managed to catch my breath and steady my already frazzled nerves. Slowly in, slowly out. I quickly glanced back at my feet as my father and I separated from our embrace. A wave of incredible relief washed over me. My feet had successfully rematerialized before the nosy EMT even noticed they were almost gone.

“Everything all right?” Dad instinctively knew to get me out of there. He pulled me away from the EMT and a couple of passing nurses before saying another word.

“Yes,” I lied. “At least I think I am.”

My father's commanding gaze was enough to send the still-lingering EMT packing. I was the chief of cardiology's daughter. My father was in charge, and the EMT knew better than to mess with him.

Just to be sure that I was still in one piece, Dad gave me a quick once-over there in the hospital corridor. All my limbs and extremities were still in place. Momentarily satisfied, he led me farther down the hallway to an empty examination room. When we were inside and alone, a second hug told me it was safe to start talking.

“There was a pulse right after we left the party,” I blurted out as he shut the door. “That's what caused the accident. We spun out of control and hit a tree. Oliver's mom was knocked unconscious. I don't think she saw anything.”

My dad was listening and nodding, but it was like he was on a five-second time delay. He was still examining me, checking my vision and pressure points and whatever else a worried physician did to triple-check the well-being of his only child.

“But the kids at the party . . . ,” I continued. “They did see.”

My father stopped what he was doing and stared at me, alarmed. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

I took a breath before I launched into a blow-by-blow replay of Jackson's code blue and the ensuing serious sparkage, witnessed by a rapt audience including Dana Fox.

My father listened attentively before speaking. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Just Oliver,” I meekly confessed. “I wanted to call Jackson afterward to make sure he was okay, but my cell phone was trashed in the accident.”

Dad instantly dug his cell out of his scrubs and handed it over without me even having to ask. “Give Jackson a try,” he suggested. Something in my dad's poker-faced expression looked less than optimistic that I might get an answer.

I dialed anyway. Jackson's was one of the only numbers I'd gone out of my way to learn by heart. It didn't even ring. I shook my head sullenly and promptly handed the phone back to my dad.

“Sweetie . . .” His voice, though sympathetic and paternal, was spiked with a hint of pity. He could read me like no one else, and
JACKSON
was printed in big, sad neon letters across my face. “I hadn't realized you two were so . . . tight.”

I looked back up at my dad as a swell of emotion rose inside me. Dad's attempt at subtlety was heavy-handed at best. If he hadn't known before, my moon-eyed worry had all but given it away. I wasn't aware of the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, but suddenly they were threatening to go fully torrential. If only going invisible were a cure for embarrassment.

“We need a plan,” I declared, shifting into action mode, hoping to postpone my emotional meltdown until I was alone. “To figure out what we're going to do.”

“There's no ‘we' here, Nica,” proclaimed Dad, who seemed to be wrestling with a crisis of conscience. “I can't keep letting you get in the middle of this. It's too dangerous.”

“I am in the middle of it,” I replied firmly. “No matter what you do or how much you try to protect me.”

Dad exhaled and shook his head in resignation that I was right. Nevertheless, his overprotective tendencies were charging full-speed ahead. “My shift's almost over. I'm taking you home.”

Dad set me aside in his office and quickly tended to his remaining responsibilities, then clocked out a little early. Being a respected doctor, not to mention one of Richard Cochran's favorite researchers, was a perk he didn't take advantage of often, but it was more than enough to grease the wheels when needed.

Tonight was one of those times.

I waited until we were in the car and pulling out of the parking lot to pitch him my plan.

“Dana's house is on the way home,” I announced as if it were a fun fact my dad didn't know.

He shook his head, eyes on the road, guessing exactly what was on my mind. “You've had more than enough adventure for one night.”

It was a no, but it wasn't firm enough to not risk a second pass.

“Please, Dad,” I pleaded, staring right at him. He looked at me as I continued. “Just a quick drive-by. We don't have to go inside.”

My dad didn't answer, but I could see the wheels spinning in his head. He just turned his eyes back toward the road and continued driving. It was past curfew, and the roads were completely empty. Just when I thought he was taking me home, he suddenly made a sharp turn that pointed us toward Dana's ritzy neighborhood.

“Just a drive-by,” he insisted quite firmly. He was tightening the reins, making sure I felt the boundary.

I nodded and looked out the window. The other houses in Dana's neighborhood were just as impressive as the extravagant Fox compound. Not surprisingly, the Cochran home was also only a few blocks away. Tudor mansions and modern ski chalets blended together in an overwhelming theme: wealth. Each plot was expansive, dotted with trees wrapped in tiny white Christmas lights. I'd almost forgotten that the holiday was less than a month away.

My dad slowed down as Dana's house came into view. The Martha Stewart photo spread was ruined by the collection of Bar Tech Security cars parked outside, their red and yellow lights flashing.

As we rolled closer, we could see a half-dozen uniformed Bar Tech security guards mulling around on the front lawn. They weren't alone. Dana was with them.

“What's she doing?” I rolled down my window, but we weren't close enough to make out any words. I had to go see what was happening. My dad was already turning the corner, a necessary move to avoid their suspicions.

“Just drive out of sight,” I advised. “I can sneak back on foot.”

He glared at me like I had two heads. “No way am I letting you out of this car.” There it was. The stern not-if-hell-freezes-over version of his “no” face.

“Dad. Please.” I refused to take no for an answer. Danger or not, I had to know what happened to Jackson.

Dad didn't slow, but he didn't press into the gas yet either. I could feel my window of opportunity shrinking fast—probably another few blocks if that. I turned to look behind us. We'd crested a small hill. I couldn't see Dana's house anymore, which meant they couldn't see us.

“Please. Pull over.” My voice had more urgency, bordering on desperation.

My father stopped the car short on the side of the road and looked at me. He could tell by the worried look in my eyes how important this was to me—how important Jackson was to me. Dangerous or not, he knew I wouldn't let up. And couldn't let up.

“I don't like you putting yourself in danger.”

Present tense! Relief ran through me. Dad was going to let me go.

“I'll be careful,” I promised. My dad shook his head and exhaled audibly. “Five minutes. And don't get too close. Never know who's watching.”

I nodded, then opened the car door and hopped out. I closed it as quietly as I could. Through the window, I held up five fingers as confirmation. I heard him and would obey. If only I could go invisible on command.

I hoofed it back over the small hill, careful to stay at just the edge of the road. I wasn't expecting any other drivers, but my dad would've murdered me if I ended up roadkill.

I crested the hill and had the Fox house back in my sights. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure everyone could hear it.

Three guards stood out front. There was no sign of Dana. Where was she? Where was everyone else? Nerves hit me as I skulked closer. Had they noticed my dad and me drive by? Still safely out of earshot, I jogged to the corner and around to the mouth of the driveway. As I double-checked the street, I counted six Bar Tech cars. It was unlikely any of the guards had parked there and walked home in this posh neighborhood.

Then through the large picture window I spotted a figure pacing by the Foxe's large Frasier fir Christmas tree and their equally enormous fireplace. Even though Christmas was almost a month away, the Fox family was already prepping for a very happy holiday now that beloved Dana was back home. As I squinted, I could make out a few more people in the living room. Not leftover kids from the party, however. These were the missing Bar Tech guards, warming their hands by the fire. I could barely make Dana's face out, though. Was she merely a nervous teenage girl, unsure of how to deal with a group of authoritative men demanding answers she couldn't give? Or was she a collaborating narc, selling out Jackson's secrets and celebrating over the unconsumed party food spread?

And where was Jackson? Was he okay? Or had he been carted off and locked away, never to be seen again?

I pushed closer to Dana's house. Each step was careful now. More measured. I was near enough to the guards that they'd hear a clumsy clod or two.

Focus, Nica.

Just past the guards, I pivoted to head toward the window, but a glittering expanse of fresh snow powder that had started to fall stopped me in my tracks. One more step, and I'd be two feet into a ghostly footprint the nearby guards would certainly take an interest in. Was it worth a try? Or was I just trying to talk myself into risky behavior because I was so anxious to find out what words Dana was exchanging with the guards inside.

As soon as my dad's voice chimed in, “Be careful, Nica; be safe, Nica,” I deflated and knew the plan was toast. Of course the snow was going to keep me from getting to the bottom of this post-curfew Bar Tech house call.

What options did I have left?

I turned on my heels, slinking away as quickly as I'd come. Disappointment sucked the adrenaline from my veins, and the bitter-cold Colorado air wrapped around me as I hustled back to my dad's idling Prius. What good was my power if I couldn't even use it to help the guy who made my heart go crazy?

My dad was inside his car, neck anxiously craned around to the backseat, probably counting down the seconds as he awaited my return. I gave a dispirited shrug, but he continued to stare straight through me. It wasn't his fault, though. As physics would have it, he could stare straight through me. A few deep breaths, a cold front to shock my lungs, and I popped back into visible reality. Dad heaved an enormous sigh of relief as all the tension drained from his body. He turned around and quickly started the car as his free hand massaged his cramping neck.

I collapsed into the seat next to him and leaned into the heat pouring from the Prius's vents. Being invisible didn't do shit with the cold. We pulled away from the side of the road before Dad pushed for a full report.