The Dark Gate (18 page)

Jack called Mei.

“Jack! Oh, my God, Jack. What's happened? You have to tell me what's happened.”

“Look out your front window, Mei.”

A moment later he had to pull the phone from his ear at the squeal of happiness.

“Is he really all right?”

Jack chuckled. “He's fine.”

“I love you, Jack Hallihan! You brought my babies back to me.”

“'Bye, Mei.”

Henry raised a brow. “You didn't tell her about me?”

Jack grinned. “She wouldn't have heard me through all her screaming.”

Henry smiled, but his smile quickly dimmed. “She thought he was going to die. I wasn't there for her, Jack. My son was dying and I barely noticed.”

“It wasn't your fault, Hank. You and I both know that. Mei will understand once she knows what's going on.” He glanced at his watch. “Considering how fast those kids of yours can talk, I'd guess she'll be fully apprised within about five minutes.”

 

A short time later Larsen pulled into the parking garage of Charlie's apartment building in Adams Morgan, then watched with Myrtle as Harrison and Jack rolled up their guinea pig and hoisted him onto their shoulders. No one saw them.

Jack tossed her the apartment key and Larsen went ahead to open the door. The apartment was dark, the drapes still closed. But as she started toward the window, intending to open the drapes and let in a little light, a hard arm hooked around her neck, slamming her backward into a rock-hard chest.

The press of cold steel bit into her temple.

Terror tore through her lungs, filling her brain.
They'd found them. The cops had found them.

Her fingers clawed at the arm at her throat. She was getting seriously tired of being choked to death! Larsen kicked off her flip-flop and slammed her bare heel up and into her assailant's kneecap as hard as she could.

She was rewarded by his grunt of pain, but immediately punished by the tightening of his arm at her throat.
She couldn't breathe.
Again and again she kicked at his knee until he jerked her up and off her feet, strangling her with his arm.

“Put her down.”
Jack's voice, cold and deadly, came at a distance through the roaring in her ears.

And suddenly she felt the carpet beneath her feet. The pressure at her throat disappeared as the arm shifted to the top of her chest.

Sweet air tore into her lungs and her vision cleared until she could see Jack standing in the doorway, his gun held in both hands in front of him.

Still, the barrel of her assailant's gun pressed hard against her temple. “Drop your gun or she dies,” the man at her back growled.

Harrison stepped in behind Jack, a look of disgust on his face. “Put the guns down, both of you.”

Harrison pushed past Jack to step in between the men. “Jack, this is my brother, Charlie. Charlie, meet Detective Jack Hallihan and Attorney Larsen Vale.”

The pressure at Larsen's throat released immediately. Coughing, she lurched out of the man's reach and turned to face him, backing away.

Charlie Rand resembled his brother only in the broadest sense. They both had the same grayish-green eyes and the same lean physique, but Charlie had a couple extra inches and far greater muscle definition than his brother. A lean, deadly warrior's build.

“You okay?” Charlie asked her, his expressive face registering concern and regret.

Larsen tried to speak, but the coughing that she'd just gotten under control started up again and she had to settle for nodding her head. She felt Jack's arm go around her shoulders.

“You need to sit down,” he said.

“I'm…okay.” She managed to get the words out between coughs, drinking in the feel of Jack's solid arm around her. It felt so natural…until she remembered why he'd touched her so often. Because she'd quieted the voices in his head. Not because he cared. As much as she needed a moment's comfort after the scare Charlie had given her, Larsen pulled away.

Harrison opened the drapes, flooding the living room with light. Charlie sank onto the upholstered chair, his expression collapsing into a mask of pain, the breath hissing out of him. “God-
dam
-mit, woman, you've got a mean kick.”

Larsen's hand went to her throat as the adrenaline surging through her found an outlet in anger. “You nearly broke my neck!”

He rubbed his knee, sliding his kneecap back and forth. When he met her gaze, his eyes were grave over the pinched line of his mouth. “I'm sorry if I hurt you. I just got in a couple of hours ago after days with no sleep. When I heard someone coming in the door, my instincts kicked in.”

His gaze went to his brother. “Maybe someone can explain why my apartment has suddenly turned into Grand Central Station.”

“I guess you didn't get my message.” Charlie shook his head and Harrison continued. “It's a long story.” He glanced at Jack and her. “And I think I only have half of it. But before we sit around the campfire and tell our tales, let's get that rug inside before it hops in on its own.”

 

Ten minutes later Jack paced the living room as he waited for everyone to get out of the bathroom or to get their glass of water, and get situated. The adrenaline pumping through his veins made stillness an impossibility even as every step lanced through his head like a blade. The riot had turned into a full battle inside his head, complete with swords and battle-axes. If only Larsen had cured him. Or left him the hell alone. If this kept up, he wouldn't last another week. If they failed tonight, it wouldn't matter.

But the thought of getting lost in the madness terrified him. Trapped in that hell, falling into that maelstrom for eternity…. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He'd kill himself first.

“Your head bothering you again, man?” Henry asked. He was tied to the sofa as he had been the car seat.

Jack met his friend's concerned gaze. Always before, he'd denied any problem, but there didn't seem to be any point. His sanity was in a spiraling free fall, complete with smoke and flames. Henry was bound to notice when Jack turned into a raving lunatic.

“I've got a devil of a headache,” he admitted. Without meaning to, he looked at Larsen where she sat perched on one of the bar stools, sipping a glass of water.

She met his gaze, her eyes awash with regret and apology.

She hadn't meant to hurt him. Everything inside him knew that, but it no longer mattered. The damage was done.

“You got those headaches of yours checked, yet?” Henry asked.

“Haven't had much time for doctor's visits lately, Hank.”

Henry gave him a rueful look. “I guess not.”

Finally the others joined them. Charlie sprawled on the sofa beside Henry, as Jack motioned Myrtle onto the one upholstered chair.

Harrison remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest like a sentinel. “Tell us what you've learned, Jack. It sounds like you know more than the last time we spoke.”

Jack nodded, then grimaced, regretting the movement as the pain rolled through his head. “We have reason to believe the murderer isn't human.”

Harrison stared at him, his expression never changing, never giving anything away.

Charlie smirked. “Are you trying to say he's an alien?”

“We're not sure what he is, but he's a lot more dangerous than we'd believed. We're fighting magic. And if we don't win, if he gets back where he came from with the key he's stolen, the entire human race is in trouble.”

Charlie scoffed. “Sounds like something out of a video game.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “It does. Larsen can tell you, I wasn't any happier about believing it than you are. But your brother's seen him, seen what he can do.” Myrtle made a snuffling sound and began to snore softly.

Harrison grunted. “I can believe just about anything at this point. I've turned that day over and over in my mind a thousand times and haven't come up with a single explanation for what he was able to do. I still don't know what he did to Stephie. Inhuman makes as much sense as anything. Any guess what he is?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “They call themselves the Esri. The best I can figure, they share this planet with us in an alternate universe kind of way.”

“The two worlds used to open in a dozen places,” Larsen added. “But now apparently there's only one.”

Charlie laughed. “You're talking high fantasy. Crazy high fantasy.”

Harrison ignored his brother. “Do you know where that place is?”

“No. We're going to have to stake out the police station and follow him. He's apparently enchanted the entire D.C. police force and turned them against us just as he did the audience at the Kennedy Center.”

“Is there a way to break his control?”

Jack shrugged. “That's the million-dollar question.”

“You can't really believe this crap,” Charlie said.

“You up for a demonstration, Hank?” Jack met his friend's gaze. “If I can't get you back under control…”

“Just knock me out, man. You might as well know now.”

Jack leaned over to untie the rope at Henry's ankle that held the holly sprig, but the movement set off a rocket explosion in his skull. He gripped his head to keep it from splintering into a dozen fragments.

“Jack?” Harrison said sharply.

“I'm okay. Fine.” When the worst of the pain had passed, Jack completed the task. His other knots had better hold. The last thing he wanted was to have to shoot the man who was closer to him than family.

“Watch his eyes,” he told the others as he lifted the stick of holly.

Even as he said the words, Henry's tired eyes sharpened to keen points, his gaze jumping from one to the next. He began to struggle against the ropes.

“Who are you?” Jack asked him.

“Henry Jefferson.”

“What is your mission?”

The man stilled, looked Jack in the eye. “To kill you.” Henry's words were without inflection, yet hard. Utterly truthful.

“And how do you feel about that?”

His face contorted with effort as he pulled against his bonds. “I serve Baleris,” he said through clenched teeth.

Jack leaned forward to press the holly branch against his partner's arm and got clocked by the man's shoulder as he tried to barrel into him. Spears sliced through his brain, tearing a yell from his throat.

“Dammit, Hank.” He felt the holly being pulled from his fingers.

“Let go, Jack,” Larsen said, and shoved the holly against Henry's neck.

His friend stilled, then released a shuddering breath as his eyes turned calm. “Did you do it?”

Jack slowly lowered his hands, wishing someone would saw his head off and end his misery once and for all. “You don't remember?”

“No.”

Charlie propped his feet on the coffee table and clapped. “Proves nothing except the man can act.”

“It's not an act,” Jack swore. He eased himself down onto Myrtle's footstool.

“I've seen it, little brother,” Harrison said with quiet steel. “I've seen him in action. The entire audience rose up against us like a scene from some horror flick.”

“You really believe this crap?”

“Yes. I do.”

Charlie's expression slowly changed from rigid skeptic to determined warrior. He pulled his feet off the table and stood. “All right, then. I'll take care of him.”

Jack scoffed. “All he has to do is open his mouth and you'll be controlled.”

“Then we'll wear ear plugs.”

“We?” Jack asked.

Charlie shrugged. “My colleagues and I have a little experience with terrorists here and there.”

“Special ops,” Larsen said, voicing Jack's own thought. She'd crossed one leg over the other, and now swung her foot back and forth as she cut Charlie a look that defied him to deny it.

When he neither denied nor confirmed her suspicions, she went on. “This is no garden-variety terrorist. If he turns you, you'll be a heck of a lot more dangerous to us than the cops.”

“We won't be turned.”

“You can't know that,” Jack said, pressing his fingers into his scalp. “You don't understand what's he's capable of, Rand. You can't possibly understand until you've seen him in action. And for your sake, I hope that never happens.”

“Well,
you're
sure as hell in no shape to run this operation.”

“Charlie,”
Harrison warned, then turned to Jack. “I think we should let Charlie and his team give it a try. With earplugs and holly, it might be enough. If they can get past the enchantment, they'll get the job done. They're the best, Jack.”