The Pretender (The Soren Chase Series Book 2) (26 page)

“How would he even know of it?” Sara asked.

“This is a creature that can learn Russian in a few days,” Alice said. “Imagine what he could do in a few years.”

“So where does all this get us?” Ken asked. “You said he’s not an alien?”

“It’s been more than a hundred years, but scientists don’t know what caused the Tunguska blast,” Glen said. “They say meteor, but that’s just because they want to have an explanation. A supernatural cause is just as possible. What if he didn’t come from the sky? There are other places, other realities.”

Ken looked at Sara doubtfully, but she just nodded. She and Alice had been inside another reality two months ago, so this part was easy for her to believe.

“Here’s the theory in all its insanity,” Glen said. “When Soren met Rakev, the guy was ranting about being in ‘this world.’ I think Rakev got thrown out of whatever dimension he was in, and he wants to go back.”

“What does the dagger have to do with any of this?” Sara asked.

“There are portals between worlds, places where the division among dimensions is thin. One of those places is in Kutna Hora, where the knife was found.”

“So he wants to use the knife to open a dimensional portal?” Ken asked, his voice skeptical.

“Not exactly,” Alice said.

“We know he’s been using the knife to siphon psychic energy,” Glen said. “We think he’s trying to make a tear in the wall among dimensions. To put it simply, he’s using the psychic energy stored in the knife to punch a hole in the universe.”

“What’s the difference?” Ken asked.

“The same between breaking down a door versus blowing open a wall,” Glen replied. “In one case, the damage is minimal. In the other, you could bring down the whole building if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What’s going to happen?” Sara asked. “If Rakev makes this tear, what will that do?”

Glen looked away, afraid to answer, but Alice jumped in.

“When it’s small, probably nothing,” Alice said. “But if it got big enough, it would cause a rupture. It would be Tunguska all over again. Only this time it’s not in some remote Siberian wilderness. It’s right smack in Washington, DC. Everything within five hundred miles of here would be wiped out.”

Soren took a breath, and steeled himself for the reception he was going to get on the other side of the door.

The cop in front of him opened it and ushered him and Friday through, but Soren barely registered anything the man said. The only person he paid attention to was Sara, who jumped up from her chair the moment she saw him. She took several steps toward him, and at first Soren thought she was going to hug him. Instead, she punched him in the face.

Soren took the blow on the chin, reeling more from shock than pain. He heard Friday snort behind him, and Soren rubbed his jaw.

“Nice to see you, too,” he said.

“Where the fuck have you been?” she asked.

Soren glanced at Glen. They hadn’t agreed on a story, but Soren knew Glen wouldn’t have told her the truth.

“Following some leads,” he said, hoping that meshed with whatever Glen had told her.

“Oh yeah? And where are you on that? Any closer to finding Alex? Because while we’ve been dying over here, I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been up to.”

Sara’s eyes lingered on Friday.

“Or maybe I do,” she said. “Same old Soren. Never lets his busy life get in the way of a good lay.”

“Hey,” Friday said angrily. “That was rude.”

Soren would have been angry, too, if the real Soren hadn’t had a habit of falling into bed with women.

Glen caught his eye, looking between Friday and him.

“Soren, we think we know who Rakev is,” he said.

“How bad is it?” Soren asked.

“He’s some kind of exile from another dimension trying to rip open a tear in the universe to get back. If he succeeds—everything near here goes boom.”

“Holy shit,” Soren said. “That’s worse than I thought. Do we know where he’s going to do this?”

Glen shook his head. Soren took a breath. It was now or never. He needed this next part of his plan to work.

“Okay, listen. This is Carla Davenport and she’s an expert on hypnosis,” Soren said, the lie coming easily off his tongue because he’d mentally rehearsed it on the drive over. “If we can get her in to see Rakev’s man, I think she can get something out of him.”

“No way,” Ken said. “I can’t let either of you in to see Ivanovich, and you’ve seen too many TV shows if you think we would. It’s an interrogation, not a cocktail party. It’s not happening.”

Soren was afraid of this. He’d hoped Sara might convince Ken to make an exception, but one look at her proved she wasn’t going to help. And could he blame her? From her point of view, he’d effectively gone AWOL at the worst possible time. Moreover, despite supposedly chasing leads, he didn’t actually have new intelligence about Rakev or his motives. He couldn’t convince her he’d been working the case.

Still, that just meant he would have to move to plan B. “Ken, can Carla and I see you for a moment? Alone?” Soren asked. “We have some information that could at least help in the interrogation.”

“You aren’t going to hypnotize me, Chase, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Ken replied. “Why can’t you tell all of us?”

“If you see us bring out any shiny objects, you can start screaming,” Soren said. “Some of the information I have is . . . delicate. I’d rather Sara didn’t have to hear it unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“If it’s relevant to saving Alex, I want to hear it,” Sara insisted.

But Soren met Ken’s eyes and could see he’d gotten through.

“We’re running out of time,” Soren said. “Come on, Detective, what can it hurt to hear us out?”

“No,” Sara said. “No way. Ken, whatever he has to say, he should say it to the both of us.”

Soren wished he could tell her the truth. But if she knew what he really was, she would never trust him again.

“Ken, please,” Soren said. “Just a couple minutes.”

Ken cocked his head to the door.

“You get two minutes,” he said. “And this had better be good.”

He opened the door and walked out with Sara still objecting. Friday trailed after him as Soren shut the door. As he did, he saw Glen give him a warning look.

The three of them weaved among several cops back to another small conference room with a round table and several chairs. And no windows.

“Spill it,” Ken said. “I don’t know where you’ve been or if you’re really helping here, Chase. I’d like to think you are, but I don’t have time for any games.”

He shut the door behind him.

Soren’s mouth was suddenly dry, worried this wouldn’t work. He was taking a massive risk here, one that would likely expose his real identity to Ken and Sara. But Alex’s life was on the line, and he didn’t have time to come up with a better plan.

“I need you to come look at something,” Soren said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Ken gave Friday a brief look, and then stepped forward to see what Soren was showing him. Friday fell in behind Ken.

“This had better be worth—” Ken started.

He never got the chance to say more. Friday jabbed her hand into the back of Ken’s neck, and his body immediately went rigid.

“I’m sorry about this, Ken,” Soren said, though he knew he couldn’t hear him. “I really am.”

He watched in sick fascination as Ken fell to his knees, his eyes wide and unfocused. After a moment, spit dribbled over his chin, and his body began shaking. It took everything in Soren not to tear Friday off him. He didn’t exactly like the detective, but he respected him.

Friday abruptly withdrew her arm, and Soren grabbed Ken as he fell forward, saving him from landing on his face. His eyes were open but there was no response when Soren waved a hand in front of his face.

Ken looked catatonic, but when Soren checked his pulse, it was slow but steady. He was alive, at least. Soren shut Ken’s eyes, and dragged him under the conference room table. He just had to hope nobody else would need to use the room. When Soren looked up after stashing Ken, Friday had morphed into the detective. The fake Ken was glaring at him.

“I hate you,” Friday said. “You think you can just walk back into Sara’s life after the hell you’ve put her through?”

“Not really, no,” Soren replied. “What I want is to get down that hallway and go see Rakev’s henchman.”

“I told you—I can’t do that,” Friday said. “You’re a civilian.”

Soren sighed.

“Friday, snap the fuck out of it,” he said, trying not to raise his voice. “This is the plan. Get me into that goddamn room.”

Friday looked confused. Soren watched the cop’s mouth open as if to say something and then shut again.

Finally, Friday nodded at Soren, apparently remembering the plan. The false detective opened the conference room door. Soren carefully closed it behind him as he left. With any luck, the real Ken Sharpe would sleep undisturbed for a couple hours.

Friday started walking back into the room where Sara had been. Soren rushed to put a hand on the detective’s arm.

“Not that way,” he whispered.

Friday turned back to him. “We need to put Sara at ease, or she’ll raise unholy hell when I don’t return.”

“Okay, fine.”

Before Friday could open it, Soren saw Sara open the door and start to come out. Friday raised a hand to stop her.

“It’s okay, Sara,” he said. “Soren’s got some screwball theory that I’m going to try.”

“You’re letting them hypnotize him?” she asked, standing in the doorway.

“Not exactly,” Ken said. “But I’m going to let Soren and his friend watch from the interrogation room.”

“I want to be there, too,” Sara said.

Friday put a hand on her arm.

“Please just trust me, Sara,” he said. “It wouldn’t be a good idea to let you back there. Just give us an hour. We’ll break this case open.”

Sara’s face betrayed her conflict over what to do next. Soren could see her wanting to object, but also the fear that a prolonged argument would only delay finding Alex. “Fine,” she said reluctantly.

“Time’s wasting, Ken,” Soren said. “We gotta go.”

Friday turned around, and Sara looked at Soren. The look she gave him was inscrutable. Did she already know what he was? It didn’t matter. He needed to do this to save her son. She shut the door slowly, and Soren hurried after Friday.

They walked through several hallways, making so many turns that Soren didn’t try to keep track. Friday occasionally nodded to other police officers that they passed. Finally, they came to a heavy door, and Friday looked back at Soren in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Soren asked.

“There’s supposed to be a guard here.”

Friday quickly opened it to reveal a fresh horror. A cop lay dead on the floor, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. And Gregory Ivanovich lay twitching in a pool of blood, his eyes panicked. Over him stood a gaunt, whose head snapped in their direction when they entered—and the creature began moving in to attack.

Soren and Friday stepped through the door and shut it quickly behind them. Soren barely had time to think before the gaunt leaped at him, knocking him to the ground.

The creature’s claws extended toward his face, but Soren grabbed its hand before the monster could tear out his eyes. He forced the gaunt’s clawed hand back into the creature’s own face, making it a blunt object to beat the thing with.

Friday kicked the creature a second later, knocking it off Soren and sending it crashing into the wall.

Soren looked over at Gregory Ivanovich, who looked like he was having a seizure.

“You deal with the gaunt,” he said to Friday. “I’ll get him.”

But Friday grabbed his arm.

“You can’t. He’s dying. If you try to take his place, you’ll die, too.”

Soren ripped himself free of Friday’s grasp.

“Trust me,” Soren said. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

Friday didn’t get another chance to object as the gaunt attacked again.

Ignoring the fight, Soren ran toward Gregory, trying to remember what to do. There was no thought of trying to save him. Gregory’s throat had been sliced open, and he was losing blood at a rapid pace. Soren estimated he had less than a minute before he bled out. He had already lost consciousness.

It was an ironic twist that now he finally knew a way to kill himself and was presented with a golden opportunity to take it—but couldn’t. Alex would die, and Soren couldn’t allow that.

Soren rammed his hand into Gregory’s chest. He had only a few seconds to watch as it melted into Gregory’s flesh—and then Soren felt like he was pulled inside.

The interrogation room around him vanished, and Soren once again stood inside someone’s consciousness. With Ron Davis, it had been a vast football field. But now he looked around to find himself standing in a beaten-up, rusty trailer. The paint was peeling, and the windows around him were broken.

Soren saw a dirty boy who couldn’t be more than four years old standing in the corner, watching him with big, round eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the boy said.

Soren saw a couch with its springs showing, two broken chairs, and dozens of cockroaches scurrying around the floor. The trailer door swung open and shut, as if it was being blown by the wind. Outside it was sunny, but there were dark clouds moving in. Soren heard a deep rumble of thunder. It sounded close.

He looked back at the boy.

“You’re Gregory Ivanovich, aren’t you?” Soren asked.

The boy nodded slowly. Soren strode forward, intending to knock the kid out like he’d done with Ron Davis. Then he could find whatever hidden object the kid had on him.

Instead, the boy disappeared and Soren found empty air where he’d been. Soren turned to find the boy standing behind him. When he moved forward, the kid disappeared again. It reminded him of dealing with Rakev, which Soren supposed was purposeful.

“He taught you this, didn’t he?” Soren asked, finding the boy standing near the door. “He taught you how to fight my kind.”

“Can’t fight,” the boy said. “Just told me to stay away.”

At the moment, Soren knew nothing about Gregory’s life, and that wasn’t going to change unless he could get the kid’s talisman. Making it worse, he knew he had only a few seconds. If Soren was still inside Gregory’s consciousness when he died, he’d die, too.