Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harold Goddard, alias Mr. Smith, pounded the table in the control room.
His anger surging, he whirled on one of the TV monitors and smashed the screen.
His only accomplishment was cutting his hand.
He drew it back, looking in shock at the blood welling up and running down his fingers. Shit. He’d done that to himself.
The realization increased his fury, but it also helped to ground him.
He had to assume he was under attack from a group of men and women who had superhuman powers.
He had to keep his cool. But what the hell was he supposed to do now?
Against all odds, the invasion team had made it past the boat dock.
They’d gotten into the house. They’d even defeated the psychic scrambler he’d installed out front.
And before that, they’d taken out his surveillance system.
Now he was Goddamn blind. He didn’t know how many of them were coming.
He didn’t know who they were. He didn’t know what had happened to any of his men.
He tried to raise Lambert on the comms system. Nothing from him or anybody else.
He’d heard gunfire somewhere outside and then from his automatic system at the patio door. But they must have gotten past it because the system in the hall had also triggered. Then nothing. And no one who had gone out had come back.
He tried once more to raise the men he’d sent to the dock. Again nothing. A while ago, he’d heard a pop from one of the land mines he’d activated on the back lawn—followed by silence.
Maybe it had gotten some of the invading deviants. But others were definitely in the house. How many? And had the hallway blast gotten them?
He spared precious moments to stick a thumb drive in the computer and download all his important files. Then he checked to make sure his Glock was in the appendix holster. It hadn’t disappeared since he’d felt for it the last time.
Where were the bastards now? Should he stay here?
Or try to go out the front? He pressed a hand to his temple.
His mind felt muzzy, like someone was pumping nitrous oxide into the air.
Sort of like he’d done at Olivia Langston’s house.
But that was impossible. There had been no time for anyone to set up anything like that.
With effort, he steered his jumbled thoughts back to his best tactic now. Was the safe room his best bet? If he locked himself in there, could they get to him? Or would that just be delaying capture for a few minutes?
Cautiously, he stepped out of the control room and saw—a ghost.
His eyes almost bugged out of his head as he focused on the stunning visage of Olivia Langston. But it couldn’t be her. She was dead. He must be making it up. A jolt of fear stabbed him like a red-hot blade. Or was somebody making him see things that weren’t there?
Ordering himself to stay calm, he studied her image.
Her long auburn hair streamed back from her face as though she were the figurehead on the prow of a boat racing through the waves.
Her skin was as white as marble, her white gown rippled around her legs, and she carried the scent of the sea with her as though she’d risen from the deep to come back and haunt him.
“No,” he gasped.
When she said nothing, he managed, “They drowned you.”
“Yes,” she answered in a serene and even voice.
“A very painful death it was. Think about your lungs bursting with the need for air. And when you finally have to drag in a breath, there’s nothing there but water.
Have you ever swallowed wrong? Of course you have.
It hurts when you have to cough that little bit of liquid up.
Think about how much worse it must be to drown. ”
He shuddered, imagining the pain of her death. Yet she was standing in front of him, talking like a living, breathing woman. Somehow, she must be making his fogged brain believe something that wasn’t true. Raising his chin, he asked, “Then how are you here?”
“I came back for retribution. You almost got Matt Delano and Elizabeth Forester in the bayou. And before that, Stephanie Swift and Craig Branson. But they all got away. Some genius mastermind you are.”
The slur hurt. Pressing his back against the wall, he growled, “And how would you know that?”
Instead of answering, she asked her own question. “How many people have you killed recently? Travis Carson. Gabe Bowman, me? Anybody else?”
He struggled to keep himself from shaking. The only way he could stand was to lock his legs. She couldn’t be here. It was impossible. It had to be a trick. She must be alive. Which meant he could kill her.
Christ, what was he thinking—standing here talking to her? He could kill her.
With a trembling hand, he reached for the gun, but something froze his muscles. He couldn’t free the weapon from the holster.
“Oh, sorry. It looks like you can’t move, like when you had me strapped to that table with my hands manacled,” she said. “How do you like it?”
He tried to speak, but no words came out. His chest was so tight he could hardly breathe.
“Why have you gone after the children from Dr. Solomon’s experiment?” she asked.
Suddenly, the power of speech returned, but not the power to move. “Because you’re dangerous,” he shot back. “You’re proving it now. I was so right to keep you drugged.”
“All we want is to be left alone.”
“And alligators can fly.”
“Where do you keep your information on the children?”
He didn’t speak, but her gaze shot to his pocket. Reaching out she removed the thumb drive and closed her fist around it.
“Do you have paper records?”
He pressed his lips together. But he couldn’t stop the image of the filing cabinet in his office from leaping into his mind.
“And now I know you’d like to get away from me,” she soothed. “Go on. I’ll give you a chance to escape my evil magic. Go out the back. If you can get down to the river, you can make your escape that way.”
For a moment, he thought that was a stupid plan. Escape how? But the image fixed itself in his mind. Along with the urgent need to get away from her.
He didn’t wait for her to say more. He dashed toward the back door, heading for the river.
And as he ran, too late, he remembered that he’d salted the lawn with land mines—which he’d activated from the house.
One had even gone off. But only one. There were a dozen more.
Oh God, no. He couldn’t remember where they were.
He slowed down, moving more cautiously now.
But he had to keep going. He had to get to the river.
His escape boat was at the dock. Wait—was it?
It didn’t matter. He’d swim if he had to.
* * *
Gabe moved up beside Olivia, who was now trembling with reaction. The illusion of her ghost costume and the wind effects were gone, and she was dressed in the dark shirt and pants she’d worn for the raid.
“Good job,” he whispered.
She leaned into him, overwhelmed by her own performance.
That was Oscar-worthy.
Thanks.
From outside the house, they heard an explosion. Turning, they started toward the door, Gabe leading the way because Travis knew where the mines were planted.
They saw Smith’s crumpled body. Or part of it. The leg with the foot that hit the device was missing, and blood poured from his femoral artery.
The man was moaning, gasping, crying out for help, sounding weaker by the second. Then the voice stopped, and there was only silence.
“We’d better get the records from the office, then get out of here,” Rachel said. “It’s only a matter of time before the police show up.”
Gabe led them to the office, since Travis had explored the house while the others had been in captivity.
They grabbed the pertinent files and stuffed them into the pack Jake was carrying.
As they reached the front door, Rachel held up a hand. The psychic scrambling...thing...could still be working.
She heard muttered curses behind her.
Are you still there? She sent to Craig and Stephanie.
Yes. Thank God you’re okay, Craig answered. What happened? We could follow some of the action. But not all of it.
Tell you later. Can you see or feel anything that might be projecting the anti-psychic field out there?
Yeah, we’ve been studying the house. I think I see something along the eaves. And something else in the shrubbery, but we didn’t want to take a chance on going after them in case someone figured out what we were doing and came charging out with guns.
There’s nobody left to come out. Blast them, Rachel ordered.
Craig and Stephanie did as requested, and Gabe heard a sizzling noise and smelled charred wiring.
After taking a cautious step outside, Rachel beckoned to the others, Let’s split.
They all headed for the SUV down the road. It was a tight fit, but they managed to pile in, with Jake driving again. As they made for Route 50, they heard sirens.
Jake laughed. “A day late and a dollar short.” He added, “I think we’re all too tired to go very far. I made reservations at the Historic Inns of Annapolis. We can treat ourselves to some major coddling.”
As they approached the bridge, Rachel said, “I know we’re all on our last legs, but I need one more thing from you. Give me energy, like we did when we snuck up on the murder boat. We need to disable the camera and plate reader at the toll booth so nobody knows we were here.”
They all joined in the stealth operation, erasing any evidence that they had been on the Eastern Shore.
Completely wiped out, Olivia dozed off on the way to Annapolis. She opened her eyes as they pulled up at the hotel complex. But she was still on the wrong side of coherent.