Chaos (Book 4) (The Omega Group) (12 page)

Joy Remson held her cell phone to her ear. After only one
ring, her high priestess answered.

“What is it, Joy?” Tori asked.

“You won’t believe it. I followed Gracey just like you asked.
She and that guy just got in a car accident—”

“Are they dead?” Tori interrupted.

“No. At least I don’t think so. But that’s not why I called.
Two men just shot both of them with tranquilizers and took Gracey’s friend.”
Joy waited for a response, but heard nothing. She thought she’d lost cell
signal, then Tori spoke.

“That’s good news, Joy. But I need you to finish it. Gracey
can’t be allowed to walk away from this. Do you understand?”

Joy swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Just do it. She’d do the same to any of us, and you know
it. We’ve got control of Phoenix, and somebody else has Orano, so Gracey’s the
only one left who can stop us.”

Joy had always known what her coven leader was capable of,
but until that very moment, she hadn’t known her own capabilities. They’d
passed the point of no return long ago. Either Joy followed her leader’s
orders, or she betrayed her entire coven, destroying everything they’d worked
for, and making herself just as much of a target as Gracey. “Okay.”

Leaving her car running on the side of the road, she walked
gingerly to where Gracey lay sprawled on the grass. Joy didn’t carry a weapon
but, considering the state of the overturned car, she really didn’t need one. A
head injury would be expected after an accident of that magnitude.

She knelt down beside her former friend. “I’m sorry about
this,” she whispered. Placing her hands on either side of Gracey’s head, Joy
readied herself to cross a line she’d never imagined herself crossing.
On
the count of three. One … two ….

Sirens pierced the night air, and Joy’s heart skipped a
beat. Without thinking, she jumped to her feet and raced back to her car,
leaving Gracey very much alive. Tori wouldn’t be happy, but Joy felt sure she’d
understand.

As she made a U-turn, heading back the way she’d come and
away from the incoming emergency vehicle, she hit redial.

“Is it done?” Tori asked without preamble.

“No. I heard sirens and had to get out of there.”

Tori took a deep breath before responding. “The accident
just happened. How could police already be on their way?”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Joy. “Maybe it’s an
ambulance.”

“Either way, who called them?” Tori sounded agitated. “On
second thought, it doesn’t matter. Get out of sight. Gracey will be taken to
the hospital soon enough. You can take care of her there.”

********

Mirissa Colson paced the floor, more agitated with every
passing minute. She and Greco had gotten to Virginia Beach less than an hour
after Orano’s call, yet they’d still been too late. Now, not one but two members
of the Omega Group team were missing, and the only person who could give her
any information about what happened, Grace McMillan, was taking a nap.

Okay, so she wasn’t actually taking a nap. The woman
currently occupied a bed in Virginia Beach General Hospital and had yet to wake
up from whatever sedative she’d been given. Either way, Mirissa was done
waiting.

She’d been relegated to the hospital corridor when a nurse
came to check the unconscious woman’s vitals. How much privacy did they need to
get a blood pressure reading? Mirissa, not known for her patience, barged back
into the small room.

The nurse, holding the woman’s head in one hand while
maneuvering a pillow with the other, gasped at the interruption. “I asked you
to wait in the hall.”

“Uh, sorry about that,” Mirissa tried to sound contrite.
“It’s just that Grace is a close personal friend, and I don’t want to leave her
side until she’s awake. Any idea when that might be?”

The nurse finished fluffing the pillow before answering.
“There’s no way to know. I’ll be back soon to check on her.”

Mirissa smiled politely and waited for her to leave. When
the door clicked closed, the smile dropped from her face and she once again
focused on Grace McMillan.

“Hey! Wake up.” Mirissa poked the unconscious woman’s
shoulder. “You need to wake up. Now.”

The redhead groaned and wriggled around a bit but stayed
asleep. Her incoherent mumbling started up again, as though she was in the
midst of some epic dream involving the alphabet, but her eyes remained
maddeningly closed.

“Anything yet?” Greco entered the room with a cup of
steaming coffee in each hand and a bottle of water under his arm.

“Nope. Sleeping beauty here has yet to come out of it. I
don’t understand. She’s barely even injured—a couple of scrapes and bruises.
Why would they sedate her so heavily? Are there internal injuries that we don’t
know about?”

“According to a nurse I just chatted with, the doctors
didn’t give her any medication at all. When the ambulance got to the scene,
she’d already been sedated. Her injuries are all minor.” Greco handed her one
of the coffee cups.

She took a sip and almost spit it out. “Gah! This is awful.”

“What did you expect? It’s from a machine in a hospital.”
Greco sipped from his cup, shrugged his shoulders, and gulped down some more.
“This is where adding cream and sugar helps.”

Mirissa took a swig from the water bottle instead—ice cold,
just the way she liked it. A slightly evil idea formed. “Close the blinds, will
you?”

Judging by the grin on Greco’s face, he knew exactly what
she had in mind.  Once he’d created a bit of privacy, he moved to stand in
front of the door.

“You’re sure she has no real injuries?” Mirissa asked when
she reached the side of the woman’s bed. When he nodded, she poured the
contents of the water bottle onto the patient’s forehead and neck.

The redhead bolted upright, eyes wild. “Orano!” she called
out.

“It’s all right, Grace.” Mirissa tried to sound soothing.
“Take a deep breath. You’re in a hospital and—”

The woman whipped off her sheet and removed the heart rate
monitor from her finger. She hopped down from the bed, but couldn’t seem to
support her own weight and fell into Mirissa’s arms.

“Whoa there, Grace.” Mirissa held the woman’s shoulders,
keeping her upright. “Take a seat for a second.” She sat her on the edge of the
bed and replaced the heart monitor on her index finger.

“You don’t understand,” the redhead said, her eyes darting
from Mirissa to Greco and back again. “My friend’s been kidnapped. I have to
find him.”

Greco stepped forward. “Miss McMillon. My name is Greco
Costa and this is Mirissa Colson. We work with Orano and Phoenix. We’re here to
help.”

The woman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Please,
call me Gracey. Did you just come in from Washington?”

Mirissa crinkled her forehead. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“So you’re the one more powerful than any human Orano’s ever
met.” Her gaze held firm. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Rarely did Mirissa find herself at a loss for words, but all
she could come up with in response was, “You, too.”

Greco seemed to overcome the surprise comment first. “Miss
McMillan.” He corrected himself after she raised her eyebrows. “Gracey, tell us
what you remember about the accident. Any detail might help us figure out who
took Orano.”

“Everything seemed fine, and then I think our tire blew out
and the car flipped over. Two men pulled up behind us. I thought they were
coming to help until one of them shot Orano.” Gracey must have noticed the
horrified expression on Mirissa’s face because she quickly added. “Not with a
bullet. They used some sort of tranquilizer. Then they dragged him into their
car. I tried to stop them. Really I did. But they shot me, too.”

“It’s all right. What do you remember about the men?” Greco
asked.

Gracey closed her eyes as though replaying the entire thing
in her mind. “They were both black. The driver had dark skin, young, maybe
mid-twenties. The other one had lighter, coffee-colored skin, but he was at
least ten years older. He came right up close to me when he took back the
dart.” She absentmindedly rubbed a spot on her chest.

“What about their car?” Greco asked.

Gracey scrunched up her face in thought. “It was a sedan,
silver, but I don’t know what kind.” She paused for a moment, then shot to her
feet. “I got the license plate. At least, I think I did. No, I know I did.
Right before I passed out I remember studying it.” She pushed the palms of her
hands into the sides of her head. “Ah, I can’t remember. I think it started
with an X.”

Mirissa huffed a laugh. “Was it XKF 94?

Gracey’s eyes grew wide. “Yes! That’s it. How did you know?”

“You’ve been mumbling those letters and numbers over and
over again since we got here.” Mirissa looked over to Greco who’d already
pulled out his phone.

“But I didn’t get the last two numbers before they drove
away. I’m sorry.” Gracey’s shoulders slumped at the admission.

“A partial plate is a good start. You did well. Now, why
don’t you climb back in bed and get some rest. We’ll take it from here.”

“Oh hell, no.” Gracey planted her hands firmly on her hips.
“I don’t care how powerful you are”—she tilted her head back, taking in
Mirissa’s full height as though just noticing her six-foot stature—“or, how
tall you are. You’re not going anywhere without me.” The woman pushed past her
and opened the door to the hallway.

Mirissa simply raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms over
her chest, waiting for little Miss Feisty to realize her mistake. It didn’t
take long.

Gracey dropped her gaze to the hospital gown draped round
her. She slowly reached her hand around to her backside, noticed the lack of
material covering it, and let the door close.

Gracey’s cheeks flushed and she cleared her throat. “If you
wouldn’t mind giving me, um, a minute to change ….” She peered around the room
before continuing. “Could you please, maybe, ask an orderly to bring me my
clothes?”

Mirissa couldn’t hold back the laugh she’d been stifling
since first watching the woman strut across the room with her SpongeBob panties
in full view. “I’m pretty sure your clothes were destroyed, but I’ll see if I
can round you up something to wear.”

********

Joy held an empty syringe in the pocket of the nurse’s
scrubs she’d stolen from a locker room. Twice now she’d been moments away from
killing Gracey but gotten interrupted. First by the ambulance, and then by an
unusually tall, and very impatient, young girl.

She’d been lucky the girl barged in when she did. If she’d
waited a minute longer, Joy would have been caught smothering Gracey with a
pillow over her face. That wouldn’t have been an easy situation to talk herself
out of.

If only she’d had time to make a mojo bag, then none of this
crap would have been necessary. Joy could have simply used magic to stop
Gracey’s heart or constrict her airway like Tori did. But nope, she’d been
forced to do it the old-fashioned way.

Third time’s a charm,
she thought. Although she had
absolutely no medical training, Joy had watched enough episodes of
CSI
to know that injecting air into someone’s IV would kill them. It could also be
done very quickly.

Joy strode down the hall toward Gracey’s room. This time,
she’d get the job done no matter what. She could return to Tori as a hero
instead of the weakling everyone thought she was. Yes, this would be her chance
to prove she’d earned her place in the inner circle.

Or not.

Up ahead, the exceptionally tall girl led Gracey and some
blond guy to the elevators. Joy could hear the doctor walking with them trying
to convince them not to leave, but he was getting nowhere. Gracey simply smiled
and shook his hand before disappearing into a waiting elevator with her two
friends.

Crap. Tori’s gonna kill me.

Orano awoke to total darkness, but he didn’t need his
eyesight to know that he was in trouble. His hands were tied across his torso,
palms flat against his chest, and a piece of heavy tape sealed his mouth shut.
If that weren’t enough, he’d been locked inside some sort of box. If the silky
material surrounding him was anything to go by, he’d been placed inside a
coffin. He tried to bend his legs so he could push open the lid with his knees,
but found he couldn’t move. They’d somehow strapped him down, rendering him
immobile.

Gracey! What did they do to Gracey?

His body jerked forward, the top of his head banging against
the end of the coffin. Orano hadn’t even realized he’d been moving until the
sudden stop. Now he recognized the rumbling coming from below as an engine. His
captors, whomever they might be, seemed to be transporting him somewhere.

When the engine ceased, muffled voices could be heard.

“Sorry for the delay, gentlemen. We had a bit of a paperwork
snafu with customs, but it’s all taken care of now. If you’ll just sign here,
we’ll have your comrade loaded into the cargo hold,” said a man, obviously some
kind of official.

I’m being loaded onto an airplane? Is Gracey here, too?

“We would like his body placed in the main cabin, please.
Religious reasons.”

Orano felt his mouth go dry at the familiar accent of the
second man’s voice. He hadn’t heard it in a very long time, but he wouldn’t
soon forget it. His captor sounded almost Caribbean with a slight British
overtone. Exactly the same way as the man who’d tried to kill him on his
sixteenth birthday.

Somehow the religious zealots from his father’s family—the
Ọ
w
ọ
ti
Ọ
l
ọ
run
—had
found out about him.

The top half of his casket rose up before immediately
crashing back down.

“I’m so sorry, gentlemen. We weren’t expecting it to be so
heavy,” the official apologized.

“The casket is lined with lead,” the Nigerian said. “Again,
for religious reasons.”

Orano couldn’t believe the official would actually buy that
crap. Why didn’t he question them about what the casket really held inside? If
they had paperwork from customs, didn’t that mean someone would at least open
the lid to take a look?

They once again lifted the casket, this time bearing the
weight, and placed him onto what must have been some sort of conveyor belt.
Orano’s body lay at almost a forty-five degree angle, moving slowly upward
until his top half tilted down, presumably to the floor of an aircraft.

Orano felt himself getting slightly dizzy, perhaps the aftereffects
of whatever drug they’d used to knock him out. A loud clunking noise signaled
the airplane’s door had been closed. They would soon be on their way.

“Open it,” one of the men said.

“But what if he gets loose?” the other answered, sounding
far less calm.

“He’ll die if we don’t let him have some air. We need to
keep him alive until we arrive home.”

Lack of air. That explains the dizziness.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just perform the ritual.
That’s why we were sent to this country in the first place, isn’t it? Had that
boy in Texas been cursed, you would have freed him from Satan’s slavery
yourself.”

The other man—older, if Orano guessed—paused a beat before
answering. “Our target in Texas was just a boy. If he’d manifested the curse, I
would have freed him before Satan’s hold on him grew strong. This one is a man
who has been under the devil’s care for many, many years. Freeing him will
require more strength than I possess. Bishop Abiola is the only one of us
strong enough to defeat this evil.”

“Do you think the bishop will allow me to observe the
ritual?”

“I believe so. It will most definitely be a better first
experience for you than the young Texan.”

Pinpricks of light began exploding throughout the darkness
surrounding Orano. The lack of oxygen would soon become lethal. He slowed his
breathing but couldn’t stave off the delicious sleep that beckoned him. His
eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Then—

Bright light seared his retinas. Sharp pain had him
clenching his eyes shut, while cool air made him gasp in huge lungfuls. Both
sensations lessened their intensity within a few seconds, and Orano opened his
eyes as soon as he’d gotten himself under complete control. This would not be
the time to lose focus.

Two men stared back at him. The same young man who’d shot
him with the tranquilizer on the road knelt by his side, one hand holding the
lid of the casket open. Another, the older one who seemed to be mentoring the
student, stood slightly behind.

Orano tried to speak, but the tape made that impossible. He
calmly held the gaze of the older one while quietly attempting speech again,
hoping to show the men that he wouldn’t scream should they remove the tape.
Apparently they got the message.

“Go ahead,” the teacher told the young one. “Even if he
yells, there is no one to hear him now.”

“Gracey,” Orano choked out as soon as they uncovered his
mouth.

“Who?” The young trainee looked confused.

“I think he means the woman in the car.” The older man
stepped forward and focused on Orano. “I’m happy to inform you that she has
been rescued from your clutches and taken by ambulance to one of your
hospitals. Your evil cannot hurt her anymore.”

The casket lid closed, enveloping Orano in darkness once
again, yet relief still washed over him at those unexpected words. He’d been
horrified by the thought of Gracey being dragged into this nightmare simply for
being in the same car as him. At least now he could die knowing his team would
pick up where he left off, and make sure she stayed safe.

********

Mirissa’s foot tapped incessantly on the floor of their
rental car as they careened down Interstate 264 on their way to Norfolk
International Airport. Greco weaved in and out of traffic at almost double the
posted speed limit, while Gracey chewed on her fingernails in the back seat.
She’d tried scrying for Orano’s location, using some crystal on a chain, but had
given up after several failed attempts. She said something had him cloaked, but
she didn’t know what or how.

Julian had been the one to work magic. He’d successfully
traced the partial license plate they’d given him to a rental company. When he
hacked their system, he found that the car had been reserved by the Consulate
General of Nigeria in Atlanta. A little more snooping, and probably several
broken international laws, and he’d hit pay dirt.

The Nigerian Ambassador had scheduled a diplomatic flight to
carry the body of a vacationing Consulate employee home for burial. In and of
itself, that wasn’t entirely uncommon. The fact that there were no hospital
records for the man they claimed died of a heart attack thirty-six hours ago,
coupled with the incredibly quick turnaround time for that type of flight, made
the odds too good to ignore that Orano would be on board. Gracey’s story of Orano’s
lunatic family back in Nigeria sealed the deal, and they’d set off to the
airport.

They didn’t, however, have any chance of making it there
before the flight’s scheduled departure time. That’s where the CIA Director
came into play. It turned out that he was Gracey’s godfather, a weirdness
Mirissa really didn’t want to think about yet. Director Finley couldn’t
actually stop a diplomatic flight from taking off, nor could he have it
searched without setting off an international incident. What he could do, however,
was slow down the departure process with bureaucratic bumbling.

They were less than six minutes away and more than ten
minutes past the scheduled departure, when Gracey’s phone rang. “It’s Uncle
Robert,” she said before answering.

The silence that followed lasted far too long. When Gracey
finally pressed end, her glistening eyes said the news wouldn’t be good.

“They delayed the flight as long as they could, but it’s
taxiing to the runway now,” she said, a single tear escaping over her lower
lashes.

 Mirissa once again considered trying to teleport. She’d
pretty much mastered the ability in the months since acquiring it but still
couldn’t travel distances greater than about a mile or so. Being more than
three miles from the airport, she couldn’t ensure a successful attempt. But if
she didn’t at least try, they’d lose Orano—maybe forever.

“Don’t even think about it.” Greco grabbed her chin and
turned her face toward his. “We’re too far away and you know it.”

“I have to do something.” There were few things Mirissa
hated more fervently than being useless.

“I have an idea.” Greco pulled out his phone and pressed the
speed dial.

********

“Got it.” Myrine Colson, leader of the Omega Group, allowed
a mischievous smile to tug at her lips as she shoved her phone back in her
pocket. She rose from her seat near the back of their private jet and strode to
the cockpit door.

“Not again.” The groaned comment came from Han Li. He pushed
himself up from his chair, his body travelling through his buckled seatbelt as
though made of air. “Has someone taken control of our jet again? Weird red
clouds out there or, I don’t know, flying monkeys perhaps?”

Myrine understood his concerns. Their track record while
flying hadn’t been all that great lately, and each episode had been preceded by
her getting up from her seat and heading to the cockpit. The other members of
the team seemed to share Han’s worry.

“Not today,” she said, as she opened the door on their pilot.
“Today, we’re going to play a little game of chicken. If you’re up for it, of
course.”

The pilot smiled. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”

Myrine called Julian. “I need to know what runway that
diplomatic flight is using for departure.” She heard his fingers tapping
furiously on the Cray computer he’d nicknamed Big Duck. His response came
within seconds of her request.

“Captain? Change of plans. We’ll need to land on runway five.
Any chance you can do that without notifying the tower?”

He nodded his response while switching the radio comms from
his headphones to speaker. The tinny voice filled the small space. “Bombardier
700 this is Norfolk Tower, intercept the localizer runway two-three, cleared
for approach.”

“Norfolk Tower, Bombardier 700 with you on the localizer
two-three,” the pilot lied.

“Bombardier 700, roger, cleared to land two-three.”

Myrine watched out the window as the pilot lined up their
approach to what she assumed was runway five. The harried voice coming through
the speaker confirmed it.

“Bombardier 700, turn immediate left to zero-six-zero for
approach. Repeat, turn left to zero-six-zero.”

“Norfolk Tower, confirm left to zero-six-zero.” The pilot
let out a bit of a laugh as the tower responded to his complete lack of
cooperation. He turned down the volume just as the controller began yelling at
him about a departing flight gearing up to take off on a collision course.

As though he made landings like this on a daily basis, the
Omega Group pilot touched down without so much as a bump and brought the jet to
a stop partway down the runway. The nose of the departing jet sat only a couple
hundred yards ahead of them, the pilot, bathed in the lights from his control
panel and clearly visible through the cockpit window, having a conniption fit.

“Norfolk Ground this is Bombardier 700. We’ll be hanging out
here for a bit.” The captain turned his radio off and powered down the engines.

Myrine turned to the rest of her team. “Let’s go break a few
diplomatic protocols, shall we?”