Out of Reach: A Novel (19 page)

XXV

V
OICES PULLED AT HIM.
Distant. Hushed. Dragging him up toward . . . toward something he couldn’t remember. Something important. He tried reaching them, but the darkness beckoned as well. A deep depth of silence that promised oblivion and peace. While the voices echoed with fear and memories best left forgotten. He wavered, caught between two worlds.

In the end, he chose the darkness.

Pain pulled him from the dark place a second time. Hours. Days. Years later. He didn’t know or care. It drew him toward the surface with a slow recognition of a body. His? Damaged and hurting. No voices this time. Just the agony of awareness. Like a living, breathing entity, separate from himself, yet part of him as well. He couldn’t remember what it was like not to feel pain, to live without it. Nor could he remember where it started. When? Or how?

It just existed.

He reached for the darkness, but it eluded him. Until the body moved. And the pain streaked through him, bringing momentary clarity. And memory.

Just before the darkness took him again.

When Ryan finally came back to himself, there was nothing gradual about it. Suddenly he was awake, conscious of the world around him and the way his body ached with each breath. He opened his eyes, but there was little difference between the darkness he’d just left and that which surrounded him.

His memories came intact as well. His decision to make a run for it. Going to Cody’s room. Their race across the wet grass, the dark trees beckoning, promising freedom. The black shadow of a dog. His teeth viciously tearing at Ryan’s arm. Cody facing the animal with nothing more lethal than a jagged stick. The crack of a rifle shot and spray of blood that had saved both boys’ lives.

All relived like pieces of a film Ryan wished he hadn’t seen.

He preferred the emptiness, but it was too late for that. As his eyes adjusted, the black eased to gray, revealing the boundaries of his world. Though not a cell, it was without question a prison. Four stone walls and a floor of cold concrete. A door he didn’t need to try to know it was locked. No window. And a cot, where they’d put him to await whatever fate the General doled out.

They
would
kill him.

He had no doubt and could only wonder why he was still breathing. Unless the voiceless men who guarded this place waited on the General’s order. Or his presence.

Funny, that the thought of dying no longer frightened Ryan. He was so tired. Tired of simply breathing. If he could make it happen with just a wish, he’d stop the air from filling his lungs. But the body—his body, he reminded himself—refused to let go, leaving him trapped in its shell of agony.

He guessed he was in one of the mansion’s deep cellars. He’d been down to the basement before, once while looking for a stray kitten the dogs had chased into hiding. But he’d never been this far down, never been tempted to explore beyond the cook’s store of canned goods.

He thought of Cody.

Where would they have put him? Back in his own room? Why not? He was a valuable piece of merchandise, and without Ryan’s help, the boy wasn’t going anywhere.

Suddenly, there was a rattling at the door. Keys. And the turn of a lock.

Ryan closed his eyes. Better to let them think he was still asleep.

The door opened, squeaking on its ancient hinges.

“Still asleep.” A woman’s voice, familiar. Yet Ryan wouldn’t risk opening his eyes to confirm the housekeeper’s presence.

Except, the smell of food teased him.

“Wake him. There’s not much time.” A second voice, male, but not unkind. And Ryan remembered the hushed voices from his dream.

Still, fear kept his eyes closed. Though the food was closer now, set on something near the cot. And he remembered Cody’s determination to keep up his strength by eating.

A weight settled beside him. A rough hand touched his face.

“Boy. You must wake.” The woman again, the housekeeper who’d let him take her key without reporting him.

He opened his eyes, the light they’d brought with them hurting and making him squint.

She smiled. “See, he pretends only.”

The man standing over them grunted and moved back to the door, which had been left partway open.

“You are well?” she asked, with more English than Ryan had known she could speak. Evidently he wasn’t the only one with secrets in this place.

“I’m alive,” he answered. “But no, not well.”

Another grunt from the butler near the door. “He will live.”

“Only if he goes,” said the woman in response.

Ryan shifted his eyes back to her. “Is Cody all right?”

“Cody? The boy? Yes. Though angry.”

Ryan almost smiled at the image, picturing the younger boy yelling and screaming, pounding at the hard wooden door until the General’s guards were tempted to shoot him and be done with it.

“It was a brave thing you tried,” she said. “Very brave.”

“Stupid,” came the rumble from the door, and Ryan had to agree with the man’s assessment. Though he knew he’d do it again if given the chance. At some point he couldn’t name, he’d crossed some invisible line and couldn’t go back.

“The dogs,” he said. “I used rat poison to put them to sleep. What happened?”

“Asleep? No. The . . .” She searched for the English word. “Female? Yes? She ate poison. Is dead.”

That saddened him. He hadn’t wanted to kill the animals, no matter how much he feared and hated them. “But I put the poison in both food dishes.”

She shrugged. “A guard fed other meat. He not eat dog food.”

“And is he . . . ?”

“
Ja
. The guard is good shot. Come.” She reached behind his shoulders to lift him. It hurt to move, but her hands were both gentle and strong, so he ignored the discomfort and let her ease him into a sitting position. She set the tray on his lap. Rich stew. Thick bread. Cody could have his Whoppers.

“Eat now.” She gathered a spoonful of stew for him, but he took the utensil away from her. He had one good hand, his clumsy left, but he could still feed himself.

“Good.” She nodded her approval. “Get strong. Tomorrow you go.”

“Go?” He managed a mouthful without spilling any. “What do you mean ‘go’? How?”

“We have way.” She nodded toward the man standing watch at the door. “Herrick take you.”

“But the General. He’ll send you home. Or worse.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. I stupid country woman. I cook. I clean. I know nothing about bad boys.”

Ryan grinned, almost laughed. Except he knew he’d pay for it if he did. “Were you the one who helped me the night Trader was here? After he . . .”
Beat the shit out of me.

“Herrick found you. Carried you to your room. I . . .” She touched his freshly bandaged chest.

“And the food and aspirin. And this?” Ryan lifted his right arm, bound tightly where the dog had mauled him.

“No more talk.” She nodded toward the tray, indicating he should eat. He did, gladly, quickly, imagining himself getting stronger with each mouthful. When he finished, she took the tray and started for the door.

“Wait,” he said, not wanting them to leave. “What’s your name?” He couldn’t believe he’d lived here two years, in the same house with this kind woman, and didn’t even know her name.

“Felda.”

“Thank you, Felda.”

She gave a smile, broad and warm. But as the door closed behind her and darkness settled back around him, fear crept in as well. And anger. He’d been better off before Felda and Herrick’s visit because they’d given him hope, which was so much harder than surrender.

XXVI

C
ATHY
H
ART MET THEM
in McLean, the next town north of Arlington, in a strip-mall parking lot. From there, Erin followed her through predawn suburban streets to a small, unremarkable two-story house set among a neighborhood of similar houses. Agent Hart had claimed it had only recently been added to the FBI’s ever-shifting number of safe houses.

They parked inside the garage, closing the doors behind them before climbing out of their cars.

“Where are we?” Claire asked, waking as Erin opened her door.

“Someplace safe. Come on.” She helped Claire out of the car and into the house. It was a drab place, sparsely furnished and smelling of industrial cleanser.

Agent Hart had just finished making a sweep of the house. When she saw Erin and Claire, she holstered a 9mm automatic, her expression apologetic.

“Hi, Claire,” she said. “I’m Special Agent Cathy Hart, with the FBI. And I’m here to help keep you and your sister safe.”

Claire glanced at Erin, who nodded.

“Let’s sit down for a minute.” Cathy moved toward the kitchen. “And I’ll explain what’s going on.”

The three women settled on chrome-and-vinyl chairs around an old Formica table, Claire’s hand tight in Erin’s.

“There’ll be four agents here at all times,” Cathy explained, still talking to Claire. Kindly. But like one adult to another instead of the way most people talked to Claire, as if she was a child. “Two on the inside, two out. We do this all the time. No one will get past them.”

“What about you?” Claire asked.

“I’ll be checking in regularly, but I’m going to spend most of my time trying to find the man you saw yesterday.”

“And you’ll catch him,” Claire said.

Cathy hesitated. “I’ll do my best.”

Claire studied her for a moment, then nodded, accepting that she could expect no more.

“Meanwhile,” Cathy said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Claire tensed.

“I know you’re tired, but anything you can tell me will help.”

Claire visibly struggled, and Erin tightened her hold, willing her strength to pass to her sister. But Erin wouldn’t push, wouldn’t ask anything more from Claire than she could willingly give. It had to be her decision, one way or the other.

“I know it’s hard on you, Claire,” Cathy said, again kindly.

“Yes.” Claire’s voice was shaky but determined. “But you have to catch him, don’t you? And you can’t do that without me.”

“You’re right.” Cathy’s expression tightened. “He must be stopped. He’s . . . a very evil man.”

“Yes, that’s a good way to describe him.” For once, Claire sounded certain, mature, like the woman she would have become if things had been different.

“Tell me about him.”

“I don’t remember much.” Claire closed her eyes, her hand trembling as she concentrated on some vision only she could see. “Except his hands. They were so . . . quick.”

“Was he tall?”

“Yes. And very clean.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Cathy asked questions, and Claire answered, doing her best, exhibiting a reserve of courage Erin hadn’t known her sister possessed. But in the end, her answers wouldn’t help find the Magician. She described two different men, contradicting one answer with the next, mixing a little girl’s memories with those of the woman.

To her credit, Agent Hart showed none of the disappointment she must have felt. Instead, she rested a hand on Claire’s and smiled. “Thank you, Claire. You’ve been a great help. And I promise I won’t stop until I find him.”

Claire beamed, her eyes filling with tears. She’d just triumphed over a fear that had held her captive for years.

“Get some sleep,” Cathy said, removing her hand and looking suddenly very tired herself.

Alone upstairs, Claire let Erin help her out of the blue dress and into bed. “I’m so proud of you,” Erin said. “I know that was hard.”

Claire smiled tightly. “I want to go home. To the house you bought for Janie and Marta.”

Erin settled on the bed next to her sister. “You will. Just as soon as we catch him.”

“Promise me.”

“If that’s what you want, yes, I promise.” Erin brushed the hair from her sister’s face. “When this is over, I’ll take you home.”

Claire smiled, her eyes closing, the drugs they’d given her still in her system.

Erin stayed until Claire drifted off, thinking of the changes she’d seen in her sister. Were they new, or something Erin had just not noticed? Things between them had always been tense. Had she closed her eyes to the reality of Claire, seeing only the broken child instead of the woman she’d become?

It was an uncomfortable question, but one Erin couldn’t ignore. It involved looking into the damaged parts of her own psyche. And she wasn’t sure she’d like what she found.

Not tonight, though. Not until this was finished.

Erin went back downstairs, where Agent Hart was unloading groceries. She was a petite woman, blond, and might have been described as perky in her younger years, before the FBI had recast her features into a sterner mask. Now she was all business and obviously not pleased with Erin’s role in all this. She’d been kind to Claire, however, and because of that, Erin could forgive a lot.

Noticing her standing in the doorway, Cathy said, “There’s enough food here for several days.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I’m not doing this for you, Officer Baker. It’s for your sister. No child should have to live through what she did. And I won’t let him put his hands on her again.”

Nor would she, Erin silently swore. But aloud she said, “Fair enough.”

Cathy finished storing the groceries and brushed by Erin on the way to the living room. Glancing at her watch, she said, “The first two teams should be here any minute.”

“Will you be leaving then?”

“I’m going out to Gentle Oaks. Not that I expect we’ll find anything. The Magician is probably long gone.”

“Even if he
is
there,” Erin added, “you won’t recognize him.”

“No, but you and your sister will.” She hesitated, then said, “I have to know what you’re planning. Will you stay here with your sister and let us handle this?” Even though she’d phrased it as a question, Cathy sounded like she already knew the answer.

Erin turned to the windows, the outside world blocked by faded heavy curtains in avocado and gold, a relic of a long-gone decorating fashion.

She had no idea what to do next.

Her instincts urged her to steal into Neville’s home and put a knife to his throat. He’d talk then. Or die. But in the end, who would that help? Not Claire. And not Cody Sanders.

She rubbed a hand back through her hair. “I need a few hours’ sleep. Then I’ll . . . think of something.”

Cathy looked at her, surprise in her eyes.

“What?” Erin laughed shortly. “You thought I had all the answers.”

“No, but I believed you thought you did.”

Erin dropped into a nearby chair. “I have no answers, Agent Hart. None. I’m not an investigator. I don’t know how to catch criminals or solve cases. It’s not what I was trained for.”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was so tired. “I know how to hunt and how to run. How to fight and kill. How to survive.” She lifted her head, refocusing on the other woman. “I’m good at all those things. But someone else tells me where to go and what to do. This”—she made a sweeping gesture with her hand—“is so far out of my league.”

“So why are you doing it?”

“Because I can’t let it go. Because he took my sister and who knows how many others. I’m going to make him pay for that and make sure he can never hurt another child again.”

Cathy studied her for a moment, then turned away.

“The last thing I knew,” she said after a few moments of silence, “Donovan was planning to stake out both Neville’s house in Georgetown and his estate in Middleburg. It’s impossible for one man to watch two places at once. He could use an extra set of eyes.”

Erin felt something unclench in her chest.

“Before that, though, you’re probably going back out to Gentle Oaks. If the Magician’s still there, which I doubt, you’re our best chance of seeing him.”

Erin realized this woman’s kindness extended beyond broken children like Claire; it included damaged warriors like herself. “I’ll do that.”

Cathy turned back. Smiled at Erin. For the first time. “After you get some sleep, that is.”

Erin slept like the dead, four hours, though she’d only allotted herself three. When she awoke it was midmorning, and the first thing she wanted was a phone. She needed to call Marta and Janie in Miami. They were supposed to come home today, and Erin had to stop them from getting on that plane. Calling from a safe house, however, was a sure way to reveal its location. So she’d have to wait until she could get to a pay phone.

Meanwhile, she checked on Claire, discovering her bed empty and made. Voices drew her downstairs, where she found her sister bustling around the kitchen, cooking breakfast for two strangers, a man and woman, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Claire called when she spotted Erin. “Want some breakfast?”

“Your sister makes great blueberry pancakes,” said the man.

A little stunned, Erin couldn’t reply. She had no idea Claire even knew what a frying pan was, much less how to use one.

The female agent must have detected her confusion because she pulled out her identification. “Sorry, Ms. Baker. I’m Special Agent Randle, and this Neanderthal is Agent Nolan.”

The man smiled sheepishly and started to reach into his pocket. Erin stopped him. “That’s okay, I believe you. I’m just a little groggy.”

“She makes great coffee, too,” he said, lifting his cup from the table.

“That,” Erin said, “sounds good.” Though her thoughts were far from food or coffee, because she suddenly realized that in her hurry to get Claire beyond the Magician’s reach, she’d put her sister in a different kind of danger. From herself.

Had these agents even been briefed on Claire, on the mood swings and depression that could surface at any time? Did they know she could appear perfectly fine, then lock herself in a bathroom and take a razor blade to her skin? Erin had been living with her sister’s illness too long to trust the smiles and easygoing banter.

“I hate to interrupt your breakfast, Agent Randle,” she said, “but could I speak with you for a minute?”

Randle put down her coffee cup and started to stand. “Of course.”

“She’s going to tell you to keep an eye on me,” Claire said, her eyes locking on Erin. “Aren’t you?”

Erin wished she could deny it. “I’m sorry, Claire. But this is the first time you’ve been out of the hospital for . . . a very long time.”

Claire lifted her chin. “Nearly seven years.”

“Yes.” Erin felt the weight of those years, the torment of Claire’s half-lived life.

“My sister is afraid I’ll start cutting myself,” Claire said to the agents, who’d watched the exchange in stunned silence. “And she’s right.” She looked back at Erin. “I fight the urge every day, every minute of every day.”

Tears welled in Erin’s eyes, her heart breaking for her sister and the nightmare she endured.

“So,” Claire went on, turning back to the agents once again, “she wants you to keep a close eye on me.” She paused, looking from one to the other before letting her gaze resettle on Erin. “And I want it, too.” She smiled at Erin. “Is that about it?”

Erin nodded, unable to speak. Finally, she said, “That sums it up.” She hesitated. “I love you, Claire.” And had never meant it more in her life.

“Me, too, big sis.” Claire grinned. “Now go get cleaned up.”

Forty-five minutes later, after a quick shower and some food she ate only because of Claire’s insistence, Erin left her sister in FBI hands. And as she was heading out, Claire was beating them soundly at poker. Which made Erin wonder just what the staff at Gentle Oaks had been teaching her sister.

First thing, she stopped at a pay phone. Of course, once Marta heard a modified version of what was happening, she wanted to come home immediately. Two of her chicks were in danger, and she wanted to gather them close. It was only by playing the Janie card that Erin got Marta even to consider staying in Miami.

“Just for a few days,” Erin said. “The FBI will have this man in custody, and it will be safe for you and Janie to come home.”

She could hear Marta’s hesitation. “What about Claire? How is she holding up?”

Erin thought of Claire making pancakes and beating a couple of FBI agents at cards. “She’s doing really well. In fact, she wants to move home when this is all over.”

“Really?” And that was the promise that finally convinced Marta to stay put. If she waited a few days, until things settled down, she’d have all three of her chicks under one roof.

After hanging up, Erin headed for Gentle Oaks. To her surprise, it looked just as it always had. Quiet. Serene. With no signs of the FBI investigation Cathy Hart had promised.

In the lobby, however, the receptionist was expecting her. “Both Dr. Schaeffer and Agent Hart want to see you, Ms. Baker.”

“Where is she?”

The woman frowned, obviously not pleased with having the FBI around. Or Erin. “In the conference room, interviewing employees.”

“I’ll start with Dr. Schaeffer, then. But will you tell Agent Hart I’m here?”

Another frown, but the woman escorted her back to the administration wing.

Dr. Schaeffer rose as she entered his office, crossing the room to take her hand. “Erin, what is going on here? The FBI is all over our records, talking to our employees.”

Erin pulled her hand from his. “I’m sorry, Dr. Schaeffer, if the FBI has disrupted you or your staff.”

“Yes, well, everyone is very upset. I’ve tried to tell Agent Hart that Claire is unstable, and nothing she says can be taken too seriously. Of all people, you should understand that. The very idea that she saw this man is ridiculous.”

“I saw him as well.”

He looked surprised. “You?”

“Yes, I was in the Glades Park with Claire the day he took her. And I saw the same man a couple of days ago in a park in Arlington.”