Hostage (9 page)

Then, realizing, Hollis frowned down at herself, ran light fingers over her forearm, and felt the gooseflesh. Felt the fine hairs standing up all over her body. And felt the chill of that cold wave sweeping through her.

“Oh, shit, not now,” she muttered under her breath. But she had learned that spirits who wanted to communicate with her were remarkably stubborn, so she forced herself to look up, at the foot of her bed.

And felt a jolt. Surprise. Bafflement.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

* * *

CALLIE DAVIS LOOKED
at her guest for a moment, then ladled stew into two bowls, picked up a couple of spoons, and brought the food into the living room. She set his bowl on the coffee table in front of him, returned to the kitchen for her own coffee, then settled herself in a comfortable-looking chair across from the couch.

“Eat it while it’s hot,” she said, following her own advice.

Luther set his coffee cup on the table and picked up the bowl of stew. It was good, hot and filling, and his military training told him to eat it while he had the chance, because in a soldier’s life one never knew when or even if the next meal would be forthcoming.

Besides, he was starving. It took all the manners he could muster not to shovel the stew in as fast as he could chew.

“Good,” he noted about halfway through his generous portion.

“Thanks. But you may get sick of it before we’ve finished the pot. My energy source for appliances is propane, and taking the tanks down into town to get them filled is a pain, so I use the stuff sparingly. Quick hot showers using a tankless heater. One-pot meals that last a few days when I hang them in the fireplace over to the side.”

He looked briefly at the fireplace, noting two iron swing arms that would make that arrangement possible; as long as the fire burned or embers just gave off heat, the food—and probably the coffee in that pot as well—would remain at a low simmer.

Which probably explained the strong coffee.

“Am I going to be here a few days?”

“Unless you heal a lot faster than the average bear, yes. Besides, if you’re going after Jacoby, this is about the only thing close to a base shelter from which to launch your offensive.”

He didn’t have to listen very hard to hear the faint note of mockery. “I’m not going after him. My orders were to find him, make sure he’s not going anywhere, and report in.”

“And what if he comes after you?”

“You mean to finish the job?” Luther asked, gesturing with a spoon toward his covered bullet wound.

“That would be one reason.”

“You know of another one?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Because he knows you can track him no matter where he goes?”

“Track him? You found me lost in the woods, remember?”

“I found you wounded in the woods. Whether you were lost is an arguable point.”

“I pretty much was,” he admitted.

“You’d lost a lot of blood. Probably that more than anything else had your sense of direction off.”

Luther finished his stew and set the bowl on the table, then picked up his coffee cup and sipped, watching her. “But you believe I can track Jacoby wherever he goes.”

“I know you can. That’s why they sent you.”

“They?”

Callie set her empty bowl on the table, shifted so she could reach into the front pocket of her jeans, and then tossed a small metallic object to land on the coffee table precisely in front of Luther.

“Haven,” she said.

FIVE

He reached over and picked up the small, smoothly cast lightning bolt, stared at it for a moment, then looked at her.

“I followed a hunch,” she said. “Checked your hiking boots.”

“That was more than a hunch.”

Callie shrugged.

The nagging question finally came within his grasp. “You know about Haven. You knew about Jacoby not because of any news reports, but because you were expecting him to be here. You’re here
because
of him. You’re FBI, aren’t you? More than that, you’re SCU.”

Callie replied readily. “I am. And, yes, that’s why I’m here. Because of Jacoby.”

Evenly, he said, “I asked you before. How long have you been a telepath?”

Matter-of-factly, she said, “Born one. As soon as I could talk, I was freaking my parents out telling them what they were thinking.” A fleeting smile crossed her face. “And learning a
lot
more about all kinds of things kids aren’t supposed to know.”

“How soon did they have you in therapy?”

This time, the smile lingered, a bit wry. “I was lucky. Psychic abilities run in the family, reportedly going back generations. Between my grandmother’s Sight and my aunt’s ability to talk to the dead, telepathy wasn’t such a big deal. Once everybody got used to it. And once they taught me to begin building my shields
and
to keep it to myself whenever the odd thought from someone else slipped through, especially if they weren’t family.”

“Which you did. Keep it to yourself, I mean.”

“Sure. Even kids know that to be different is to attract the wrong kind of attention. Especially kids. Didn’t want to be considered a freak. Besides, it gave me even more motivation to build strong shields so I could shut out the mental chatter all around me at will. I’ve had a lifetime to make those shields very, very strong.”

“So . . . what? You dropped them with me?”

“I was curious. You send and receive. Not so common.”

He debated with himself for a silent moment, then said, “Far as I know, I’ve never sent or received with anyone else. And I’ve been tested, like we all are.”

Callie didn’t seem disturbed. “Must be right on my frequency then. Bishop and Miranda are too.”

Like all Haven operatives, Luther knew who they were talking about, even though he had not met either of the FBI agents. “Yeah, but they’re both telepaths, and strong ones. I’m not.”

“News for you. You’re a telepath now. I’m guessing you got a little bit too close to the energy around Cole Jacoby. It’s powerful stuff. Powerful enough to trigger a latent ability. Maybe even create one.”

Luther also knew what all operatives and agents knew, that external energy from various sources could affect, even change, a psychic’s abilities. Sometimes drastically. Such as activating what had been a completely unknown, latent ability. Like flipping a switch. But . . . creating one?

“There’s energy around him?”

“Definitely.”

“I didn’t feel anything. When I was there.”

“Didn’t you?” Her gaze was steady.

Luther thought back, then sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I did. It’s hard to say because that sort of thing isn’t normal for me. I tend not to pick up energy of any kind unless I’m touching something
and
concentrating. The only thing I touched near Jacoby were a few trees.” He glanced down at his leg. “And . . . a bullet.”

“Which he touched when he loaded his gun.” Callie shook her head slightly. “I didn’t feel anything unusual when I dug it out of you. But we both know any energy it might have held could have been discharged earlier.”

“Into me?”

“I suppose it’s possible. But I’m no expert when it comes to the . . . transference of energy. Not really my job to figure out the why of all this. From what I’m told, the SCU and Haven operatives are adding a hell of a lot of empirical data to scientific understanding of just how energy works. Still a lot more questions than answers, though.”

Luther frowned, considered a few unsettling possible consequences to himself, then dismissed it as something to deal with later, if and when he had to. “This energy you say is around Jacoby. Is it created by him?”

“Not sure yet whether he’s the source; I didn’t get the chance to explore the area around that cabin before he got here, and so far I haven’t caught him venturing very far away.”

“So it could be coming from the area rather than from him.” Luther was very carefully not thinking about any change in his own abilities. Not yet. He suspected his mind wasn’t quite ready to deal with that just yet.

“Some places store energy,” Callie agreed. “Some are even sources of energy; we’ve figured out that much. Energy the earth itself generates and the topography of a place holds on to. And these are old mountains with a lot of violent history soaked into the very ground and held there in some places. Maybe the area around Jacoby’s cabin is one of those places. Maybe choosing that particular cabin was no accident or coincidence; maybe he knew what was there. Or maybe it’s . . . just him.”

Somewhat belatedly, Luther said, “I’m surprised Maggie didn’t tell me there was an SCU agent here. Or didn’t she know?”

“I have no idea whether she knew. All I know is that I’m here because Bishop had a hunch. And before you jump on that one, I’m guessing we both know his hunches are never just that. Whatever he believes is going to happen, he didn’t share with me.”

“You’re here alone?”

“Except for Cesar.”

“I thought Bishop always sent people out in teams.”

“Almost always. There are some teams with multiple agents. A few agents work solo more often than not. And a few work only with a single partner. Far as I know, I’m the only one on the team with a canine partner.” She nodded toward the watchful Rottweiler.

“He’s your partner?”

“Yep. Trained and certified as a law enforcement dog. I raised and trained him, going through several different programs in which we both received specialized training. And then I got him . . . Bishop-approved.”

Luther was surprised, but when he considered, it did seem quite reasonable for Bishop to accept a trained dog to aid one of his agents. From what little was really known, outside the SCU, of the unit chief, he was all about giving his people whatever tools they could use to investigate crimes. And the FBI certainly employed K-9 units for a variety of purposes.

“You might have told me some of this sooner.”

Her eyebrows lifted in faint surprise. “I was trained by Bishop. Never volunteer information unless and until you have no other choice or else deem it necessary. Until you asked, I really didn’t see any reason to explain why I was here.”

“How long have you been here?” Luther asked, deciding not to waste a glare.

“Couple weeks, like I said.”

Luther swore under his breath. “Then what the hell am I doing here?”

“I gather the FBI agent in the nearest field office requested help from Haven in locating his fugitive. Since the fugitive escaped from FBI agents while in their custody, this is one of those cases where it’s the FBI rather than the U.S. Marshals Service who’s responsible for tracking and recapturing this guy.”

“And the FBI field agent doesn’t know you’re here?”

“No. And my cover is solid. Anybody checking the records would find that this land and cabin belong to the Davis family, this branch of which I’m connected to through a couple of marriages and a few cousins.”

“For real?”

“On paper. The current owner of this place doesn’t usually come up here this time of year and was happy instead to take a nice vacation out to Vegas, cash bonus in hand. He was also happy to mention his trip and my occupancy here before he left to a few friends down in town.”

“Devil’s Gap?” When she nodded, he said almost as an aside, “I wonder whose bright idea
that
name was?”

“Maybe a translation of an old Native American name. There are a lot of them in these mountains, especially in areas like this with a lot more wilderness than civilization.” She paused, then added wryly, “Anyway, it’s the sort of town where everybody pretty much knows everybody else’s business, even if they keep it among the natives. So my bona fides are established.”

* * *

COLE WASN’T ENTIRELY
sure he was awake. He was walking through the forest, dawn still a distant coming, and he was looking for something. But . . . he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

There were no voices in his head, and that was good, that was so good he practically sat down and cried with relief. But instead he kept walking, looking around as best he could in the moonlight.

When he thought about it, he realized that he wasn’t even sure where he was. He didn’t feel lost, only . . . displaced. And driven. Driven to find whatever it was he needed to find.

There was a little ravine, he thought, and a tree on its banks with roots exposed from many spring rains. That was where she was.

She?

A niggling unease stirred in his mind, but it was pushed down relentlessly, this time not by voices but by something else inside him he was briefly aware was darker and more powerful.

And . . . needful.

After that, he stopped worrying about it and just kept walking, briskly, climbing up to where he’d hidden her safely away.

Because it was time.

* * *

“BISHOP IS THOROUGH,
I’ll give him that much. And probably easier to be prepared for things when you see some of them coming.” Luther shook his head, but added, “We both know what my orders were. What about yours? I gather capture of the fugitive isn’t necessarily Bishop’s primary goal.”

It wasn’t a question.

Callie smiled wryly. “My assignment is to try to figure out how Jacoby managed to escape two experienced federal agents without any apparent outside help, without being armed, and leaving them with no memory of what happened.”

“Figure out psychically, I gather?”

“Yeah. One of my things is picking up on and sometimes being able to interpret negative energy.”

“That’s what Bishop figured Jacoby used?”

“As it was explained to me, it would take negative energy to . . . steal time . . . from someone. By definition, taking away is a negative action. The agents lost time, or the memories of time. Whichever it was, they haven’t gotten it back yet. Not such a good sign, that.”

The realization that his own newly created abilities as a telepath—assuming Callie was right about that—might have come from negative energy made Luther’s skin crawl more than a bit.

“Right now, you’re a neutral telepath,” Callie said calmly. “I’m not picking up on anything either positive or negative coming from you. Not so unusual with abilities that go active suddenly or unexpectedly. They tend to just sort of sit there for a bit, letting us adjust. Usually. The thing is, you need to keep your distance from any kind of negative energy, at least until you’ve learned to shield this new ability.”

“I have a shield,” he said slowly. “Usually, I mean. It’s how I . . . blend in when I’m tracking someone. How I’m not seen. That’s my thing.”

“I know. But that shield . . .” For the first time, she seemed to be struggling to convey something, but whether it was because she didn’t have the knowledge or lacked the ability to express it was something Luther couldn’t begin to guess.

“What about it?”

She was frowning. “It’s . . . cracked. For want of a better word. I wasn’t around you before you came here, but I can’t believe that what I sense is normal for you. Not if it’s always hidden you the way you describe, the way I was told your abilities work. So something must have happened. To you. To it. And I doubt it was being shot.”

“I’ve been shot before,” he said. “Nothing changed that time, not psychically.”

“Okay. Then we should probably assume the damage to your shield has something to do with the energy around Jacoby’s place. Which makes it especially vital that you keep your distance now. Aside from the cracked shield, new abilities tend to be affected by external energy a lot faster and more . . . drastically . . . than established ones.”

“Affected how?”

“You probably know as much as I do.”

“I sort of doubt it. Affected how?”

She studied him for a moment, then gave a faint shrug. “Thing is, I can’t tell for certain how strong a telepath you are. I mean, my abilities don’t work that way. I know you can send and receive, apparently complete thoughts—sentences—and I know that’s unusual. It speaks to the strength of your abilities, especially since telepathy is a new one, but still doesn’t tell me just how powerful you are.”

“And that’s important because?”

“The more powerful you are, the more at risk you are right now, as a new psychic, of being affected by external energy sources. Especially with that cracked shield.”

Luther stared at her for a long moment, then repeated steadily, “Affected how?”

“That depends on the energy. How strong
it
is. What the source is. What’s generating the energy and why. Whether that cracked shield offers you enough protection or even any at all. If you can’t protect yourself at all . . . Well, energy can do all kinds of things. Psychic energy, we both know, can do amazing things, positive as well as negative. Since this is negative energy, it could have a negative effect on you. Physically. Psychically. Even emotionally. At best, it could attack you in a sense, be a drain on your own energy.”

“And at worst?”

“I don’t know the worst. To my knowledge, this particular situation has never happened to an SCU agent or Haven operative.”

“I don’t much like the sound of that,” he said slowly.

“No, I imagine not. In fact, I imagine it wouldn’t be a good thing for any of us. Especially not here and now. Whatever Jacoby can or can’t do, the energy all around him is dark, and though I haven’t gotten close enough to be sure, I have a strong hunch it’s controlling him rather than the other way around.”

“Energy can do that?” It was something he’d never heard of.

“It can if he can’t protect himself, or deliberately opened himself to it. If it’s coming from a powerful source with an agenda—so to speak. A disembodied spirit who doesn’t like being disembodied or is just plain angry or evil, for instance. An energy that wants, needs, control. An energy that wants to escape whatever’s been holding it, containing it, here.”