Charmed (Second Sight) (2 page)

“Yolanda,” Isabelle said. “I’m serious. Keep it to yourself.
Please
.” Yolanda grimaced and shook her head. “Seriously,” Isabelle said quietly. “If you can’t do that, then I can’t do this.”

Yolanda seemed to consider it, pressed her lips into a tight line, but then nodded.

Good
.

Isabelle relaxed a little.

Who knows
, she thought.
Maybe Daniel wasn’t in her future or maybe he was living somewhere in L.A. or maybe out of state
. She watched as Yolanda laid her hands flat on the table to either side of the ball. Slowly, she closed her eyes. For several moments, she sat like that, perfectly still, her breathing low and shallow.

“So, Daniel then?” Yolanda whispered, eyes still closed.

Isabelle had jumped a little at hearing Yolanda speak.

“Yes,” she said. “Is Daniel in my future?”

Yolanda slowly nodded and her hands rose, drifted to the side of the gazing ball, and lightly caressed it. She smoothed her fingers around its equator and then over the top as though she were combing through someone’s hair. She repeated the procedure and then slowly opened her eyes. Isabelle had never seen Yolanda do a reading. Though she gazed into the center of the globe, her eyes seemed unfocused, pupils dilated nearly as large as the entire iris.

Suddenly, Yolanda’s eyes flicked back and forth with tiny movements, and her mouth opened. Her fingers pressed against the sides of the crystal. Isabelle gripped the edge of her seat and leaned forward. Yolanda’s breathing ramped up and the rapid eye movements continued until Isabelle thought she might get dizzy just watching. Finally, Yolanda gasped and let the ball go, throwing her hands to the side as though it’d been made of hot metal. One hand flew to her chest and she used the other to steady herself on the table.

“
Good god!
” she exclaimed. Isabelle was leaning toward her, her heart pounding. She didn’t know if this was normal for Yolanda’s readings but it didn’t seem like it. “
Good god
,” Yolanda whispered, staring hard at the crystal ball.

“What?” Isabelle blurted out. “What did you see?”

Yolanda blinked and swung her wild-eyed stare to Isabelle as though she’d forgotten she was even in the room.

“Mac–” Yolanda began.
 

Isabelle jumped to her feet.

“
Stop!
” she said.

“But…”

“
No!
” Isabelle yelled, holding up both hands as she backed up, toppling her chair.

Breathing hard, hand still on her chest, Yolanda stared at her.
 

Isabelle stared right back, ready to bolt from the room if need be. For several seconds, dead silence reigned.
 

What had Yolanda seen?

Why did she say Mac’s name?

Isabelle shook her head.

No. Don’t go there.

“Did you…” she said. “Did you see Daniel?”

Yolanda took a moment, closed her mouth and her eyes, and inhaled through her nose.
 

What had Yolanda seen?

“Yes,” Yolanda said, opening her eyes.

She opened her mouth as though she were going to say more and Isabelle tensed but then Yolanda stopped and shut her mouth again. She glanced at the crystal ball and then back to Isabelle, her eyes narrowing. Suddenly, she stooped, reached under the table between them, and pulled out her purse.

Isabelle cocked her head, watching, as Yolanda pulled out her keys, took one off the ring and set it on the table.

“You’ll be borrowing my car,” she said.

•••••

“I don’t see a death certificate,” said Tim, continuing to type as Mac looked over his shoulder. “Daniel Allmand, with a d, right?”

The dark computer lab of the Cyber Crime division was full of young agents like Tim, each one at their workstation, headphones on. The only sound was the whirring and whine of computers and the occasional clicks on keyboards.

“Right,” Mac said. “Two l’s.”

Tim shook his head.

“Nope. No death certificate.”

Tim glanced down at the picture of Kayla and Daniel that Mac had put next to his keyboard. And though Mac glanced down as well, it wasn’t the photo that he saw. It was Isabelle.

She’d been furious. Hadn’t even looked back as she’d dashed up the stairs.

But she had to see this was for her own good.
 

“MacMillan,” Tim said.

Mac blinked and looked at him.

“I said, are you sure he’s dead?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s not,” Mac said finally.
 

“Well then why–”

“He was reported dead,” Mac snapped, louder than he’d intended. “I wanted to confirm that first.”
 

Tim held up his hands.

“Fine,” he said quickly. “
Fine
.”

Mac took a breath.

“I want to know where he is,” Mac said.

Tim clicked on an icon at the bottom of the screen and it brought up a blank document.

“Go,” Tim said.

Mac frowned and looked down at him. Eventually, Tim looked up.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Tim said. “His first and last name?”

Mac clenched his jaw at the oversight.
 

I never asked Isabelle or Kayla for Daniel’s middle name.

“He went to a college here in L.A. and got a degree in a computer related field.”

Tim scowled at him.

“You’re joking,” he said. “You expect me to…”

“To do your job,” Mac said. “Contact Kayla Massen. She might have a social security number for him. She’ll definitely know the school and the years.”

All of her information had been in Mac’s report. Even so–Mac crossed his arms over his chest–he was mad at himself. Tim pointedly closed the blank document.
 

My head’s not in the game. It’s with Isabelle.
He gritted his teeth.
Focus
.

“And what about the Green Earth Commune?” Mac said. “What’s the story on Geoffrey and Maurice?”

“There is no story,” Tim said, not turning around.

Though Mac was distracted and angry, Tim’s attitude wasn’t helping.
 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Though the Green Earth Commune had been on the Cyber Division’s radar and they’d known about Geoffrey Girod from the web site, Maurice had been a new piece of information. And it had clearly been Maurice who was running the organization.

“They don’t exist,” Tim said to the monitor as he brought up the commune’s file. “Not before seven years ago.”

“Show me,” Mac said.

Tim’s fingers pounded on the keyboard. Several windows opened and Tim rolled his chair back to allow Mac a closer look. Escrow records, domain name registrations, articles of incorporation, driver’s licenses, credit cards and yet nothing that went further back than seven years–as though Maurice and Geoffrey Girod hadn’t existed before that.

Because they hadn’t
, Mac thought.
They were fake identities.

And there’s never a good motive for that.

As much as he’d hated upsetting Isabelle, he’d been right. They were dangerous.

•••••

The guard waiting in the gravel parking lot of the commune was an unpleasant surprise. As Isabelle had wound her way up the canyon road and then past the spot where they’d parked off-road when they’d rescued Kayla, she couldn’t help but remember the gun shots and how strange they’d sounded–like little firecrackers. She knew she was gripping the steering wheel of Yolanda’s old Toyota Tercel too hard but she couldn’t help it.
 

The security guard waved her to a stop as she passed under the wide arch that announced the “GreenEarthCommune.org.” Isabelle lowered her window. She didn’t recognize the young man though it was doubtful that she would.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he said.

He wore the same black t-shirt that the other guards wore and Isabelle recalled how Mac had put one on, stretching it to its limits over his muscular frame. She quickly looked at the man’s hands and belt–no gun. Beyond him, only the furthest playgrounds were being used, those closest to the buildings.

“I’m here to visit the commune,” Isabelle said, trying her best to smile and make eye contact.

As was usually the case, the young man seemed to stare. But after a few moments, he cleared his throat and looked away.
 

“I’m afraid we’re not open for tours today,” he said.

What?
Every other time she’d been here–with Susan or Mac or by herself–she’d simply walked up the path to the group of buildings in the distance. Geoffrey had invariably appeared.
 

Something’s changed.
 

But it was no wonder.

She gazed beyond him to the main house. There had to be a way there. Yolanda wouldn’t have let her borrow her car if there wasn’t. For a moment, she thought of Yolanda’s shocked reaction to what she’d read and Isabelle felt a jolt of fear. But she was here now and something at the commune was going to lead her to Daniel.

“You can use the parking lot to turn around,” said the guard.

Again Isabelle turned on her most winning smile, let her eyes drift to his and looked deeply into them.

“I’m here to see Geoffrey,” she said.

THOUGH HE COULDN’T wait to see Isabelle, Geoffrey paused at the wet bar. He’d splashed on a little extra cologne and checked himself in the mirror, satisfied as always with the perfection of his capped teeth, the straight nose from the plastic surgeon, and the taut and unwrinkled skin from the same guy, though different surgery. He’d kept himself incredibly fit, spending hour upon hour in the gym,
plus
the time in the tanning booth. But the end result was something that could have been the envy of male models everywhere, maybe even body builders.

At the thought, his smile vanished. Though the guard had said Isabelle was by herself, Geoffrey couldn’t help but think of her boyfriend. He’d seemed to be able to carry her as though she weighed nothing.

Geoffrey glanced at the pitcher of iced tea, staring at it.

Maybe I ought to use it right away.

Slowly, he pulled open the drawer just to his right. Inside, small, round white pills clinked quietly in a stoppered glass vial that Maurice had given to him–Rohypnol, more commonly known as roofies or the date rape drug. It had come in so very useful so many times. He imagined Isabelle barely conscious, the befuddled confusion that would set in, and how he would ‘help’ her. Warmth spread through his groin as he glanced at the door to his bedroom. He squinted at the pills.

Yes. They’d already seen that Isabelle suffered from some type of fainting spell when Maurice had used the shock wand. It would seem entirely plausible.

And with a roofie, they never remembered a thing. It often didn’t take a full dose to put them in the mood and then a full dose if the mood just wouldn’t take over. If he was lucky, he’d get her pregnant right away. She’d almost surely have to move to the commune then.
 

Yes. If she’s alone, now might be the time.

•••••

Maurice hung up the phone.

So, Isabelle had returned.
 

Not exactly a surprise.

He took a sip from the highball, filled with ice and vodka.
 

It had to have been her who helped Kayla leave. The timing was too much of a coincidence. And if there was one thing a scientist couldn’t tolerate, it was coincidence.
 

“Here’s to cause and effect,” he muttered, raising his glass to the lab.
 

He took another sip.

Isabelle was the only one connected to them all: Kayla, Kayla’s mother, and the boyfriend. Maurice swallowed loudly. It had to have been the boyfriend who knocked the guard out. There’d been a lump on the back of the man’s head like a baseball.

It’d be best if Isabelle just disappeared.

Maurice grimaced and slowly shook his head.

“Nope,” he said quietly.

He knew better than that. Disappearing someone always brought trouble. That was a
fact
. And once there was trouble, it was just like a cancer. Good cells went bad. The spread was inevitable. And cancer treatment? It was sometimes worse than the disease.

“Stop it,” he muttered, setting the glass down so hard that one of the ice cubes bounced out. It skittered across the black granite of the lab bench, leaving a wet trail, before it disappeared among the glass beakers across from him.

Just hold on
, Maurice thought.
You’re not there yet.
 

“Accentuate the positive,” he said, sitting up straighter, though the white lab coat tugged at his shoulders because he was sitting on it.

The only thing that was
really
screwed up now was the queue. That couldn’t be helped.
So there’s no point in thinking about it.
Slowly, he shook his head and his thoughts returned to the reason the queue had a hole in it in the first place–Isabelle.

Let Geoffrey try to turn her.
His brother
did
seem to have a way with the women.

Maurice gazed across the lab.
This
was where he shined. He’d built it slowly and carefully, the whole thing really: the lab, the commune, the business. It was a well-oiled machine at this point. And it had been
so
much work. It couldn’t end now. It just couldn’t.

Give Geoffrey his chance–he glanced at the refrigeration unit–and then we’ll see.

THOUGH GEOFFREY CLUTCHED her arm to him as they walked side by side, Isabelle couldn’t help but glance at the guard behind them. This was new too. Even Geoffrey seemed different–a bit subdued.

This might not be as easy as she’d thought. Maybe Mac had been right.

“And your boyfriend,” Geoffrey said, as though he’d heard her thoughts. “Is he still in the picture?”

She knew what Geoffrey wanted to hear but that’s not what she said.

“Honestly,” she said quietly, looking down at the gravel path in front of them, “I really don’t know.”