Don't Look Now (22 page)

Noa could feel the temperature in the room rising, a shimmer in the air. “Not a great plan, I have to say. Personally, I’d have gotten out of the house after setting the fires.”

“Actually Matt set them. He’s quite the little firebug,” Taylor said, a note of pride in her voice.

“So you were plants,” Noa said. “You’re working for Project Persephone.” Which meant that the Phoenix raid had been a setup all along.

“We both were.” Taylor looked smug. “Awfully sweet of you to break in and rescue us, though.”

Noa shot a glance at Zeke, but he was avoiding her eyes. If Taylor was telling the truth, they’d led their enemies straight to the Forsythes’ doorstep. That realization filled her with rage. She had to warn the others. The woods surrounding the property might already be swarming with mercenaries.

“But why help them?” Zeke asked, sounding perplexed. “They’re killing kids.”

A shadow flitted across Taylor’s face, and her smile faltered. She tossed her hair and said, “I don’t have to tell you anything. I just have to keep you here for a few more minutes until they take care of the others.”

“What are they going to do to them?” Noa asked, dread blooming in her stomach.

“Well, they’re not really useful anymore, are they?” Taylor said sweetly.

“So they’re going to kill them? And you’re okay with that?” Zeke took a menacing step forward. Taylor lifted the gun higher, although Noa noticed her hands shaking. Seeing that, her eyes narrowed; it was unlikely that Taylor had much shooting experience. She wasn’t exactly one of Mason’s trained commandos. Probably just a kid they’d threatened, or offered money to. She took a step forward, too.

Taylor jerked the gun toward her, then back at Zeke, trying to cover them both simultaneously. “Stand still!” she warned shrilly. Apparently she’d just realized that the cavalry was running late. And that covering two people with a gun was no mean feat if you didn’t know what you were doing.

Zeke took a step away from her, toward the windows. Noa moved in the opposite direction. “What are you doing?” Taylor demanded. “Stay together!”

“Where’s Matt now?” Noa asked, edging forward another step. “I didn’t see him outside.”

Another flicker of uncertainty in Taylor’s eyes. “You didn’t?”

“Nope.”

Taylor was clearly fighting to recover her bravado. “He probably went off to wait for them in the woods.”

“Them? So you know how many are coming?” Zeke asked casually. He was also moving incrementally, widening the gap between them.

“Stop moving!” Taylor’s eyes darted back and forth as she slowly backed up. Noa watched carefully, gauging the distance between her and the bed.

Zeke was almost at the windows. Noa was flanking her on the other side. The back of Taylor’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and she glanced over her shoulder, her face a mask of shock, as if she hadn’t even been aware of moving.

Noa seized on her momentary distraction and lunged forward, arms extended. But instead of reaching for Taylor’s hands, she knocked her hard in the right shoulder, sending her spinning toward the bed.

The gun went off, with a bang so loud it set her ear drums reverberating. Out of the corner of her eye Noa saw Zeke vault across the room, covering the distance to the bed in three long strides. She was struggling to pin Taylor down; what the girl lacked in size and strength she more than made up for in unadulterated rage. She snarled and kicked as Noa pressed her face into the comforter. The room was slowly filling with smoke. Noa’s nostrils twitched and burned. She could feel the heat along the length of her back.

Taylor swung her arm wildly, trying to take another shot with the gun. She bucked hard, and Noa’s grasp on her right arm slipped. She lunged for it again, but too late.

Bang!
Another shot. Noa looked up in time to catch the look of surprise on Zeke’s face. He pressed a hand to his side; it came away bloody.

CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN

A
manda had completely lost all sense of time. She’d drifted in and out of consciousness for what could have been days, weeks, or even months. The older nurse came and went, and sometimes other people dressed in scrubs wandered through. But she had a hard time focusing; as soon as they left, their faces slipped from her mind.

In a small corner of her brain, she understood what was happening; they were keeping her sedated, so that she’d be easy to manage. Yet the drugs had Amanda so removed from herself that she couldn’t muster the energy to care. It was disarmingly pleasant, being turned into a sort of oversized rag doll. She was being fed through an IV line, and occasionally the nurses would fluff her pillows or slip ice chips into her mouth. Amanda placidly wondered if her parents had any idea that she was being kept here against her will. At the thought, she tried to summon some indignation, but that required too much energy.

Until suddenly, it didn’t. Maybe they’d gotten her dose wrong, or forgot to replenish the IV drip. But Amanda finally opened her eyes, blinked, and knew exactly where she was, and what was happening. Close on the heels of that realization came a groundswell of rage.

Followed by elation, because not only was she fully conscious, but the straps that had been restraining her were inexplicably gone.

Amanda sat bolt upright, then clasped her head in both hands, nearly overcome by a wave of dizziness. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few deep breaths, fighting back nausea. Cautiously opening her eyes again, she saw with relief that the room had stopped spinning, although it still swayed noticeably. She groped under her gown, checking her chest, belly, and lower back. Her panic ebbed slightly when she didn’t encounter any bandages. Maybe they hadn’t had time to experiment on her yet. Which gave her all the more reason to get out before they strapped her down again.

Moving slowly, Amanda carefully swung her legs off the bed one at a time. She flexed her feet and wiggled her toes: Everything seemed to be working, which was a relief.

The privacy curtains were still drawn, leaving a narrow passage of a few feet around her bed. Amanda eased the IV out of her arm, wincing. She pressed the surgical tape back down, clamping her hand on it to stop the bleeding.

She drew a deep breath, steeling herself, then pushed off the bed and stumbled toward the gap in the curtains. Amanda drew back a corner and peered out.

And frowned. Another set of curtains hung two feet away. She stepped out and drew them back. What she saw made her choke back a gasp.

A young boy lay on a bed. His eyes were closed, and an IV line led from his right arm. He was restrained the same way she had been.

Amanda slid the curtain shut again. This must be what Peter had told her about; one of those illegal labs where they treated kids like guinea pigs. And she’d been dumped here as a punishment. Mrs. Latimar must have told Mason that she’d stolen those files. Or maybe they’d snatched her to punish Peter.

Either way, Amanda realized this was her chance. Now she would be the one on the front lines, saving kids from terrible fates. She had to act quickly, though. First she needed to find a way out.

Amanda stepped as quietly as possible along the narrow corridor created by the curtains, the floor icy under her bare feet. Right past the edge of her bed, the passage opened up. Her jaw dropped. There was a wider corridor, nearly fifty feet long. The floor was composed of plain white tiles, matching the bland fiberboard drop ceiling that hung low overhead. And a dozen curtained areas lined both sides. She padded silently to the section opposite hers, and drew back a curtain to discover yet another girl tied down and hooked up.

Were all of these beds occupied? If so, this was a much bigger operation than anything Peter had told her about.

In spite of everything, that thought gave Amanda a rush. She quelled it, telling herself that this wasn’t about showing up Noa; it was about saving as many kids as possible. Although a small part of her could already picture the expression on Peter’s face when he found out. This gave her a chance to prove she could accomplish anything Noa had, even if she was just a spoiled upper-middle-class girl from the suburbs.

Amanda slid along the main corridor as quickly as possible. It ended in a set of metal double doors. The entire room was eerily silent and still, although she could sense the presence of kids behind the curtains. It was as if they were holding their breath along with her.

Amanda said a silent prayer that the doors wouldn’t be locked, then pushed on the right side: It swung open easily, and she broke into a grin. This was going to be easier than she thought.

Easing through the gap, Amanda found herself in another hallway. It was wide, with the same ceiling and floor tiles, but the walls were painted a cheery yellow and broken at regular intervals by doors. Amanda frowned. She’d been expecting something a little more ad hoc, like the warehouse Peter had described. But maybe because of the raids, Pike & Dolan were using a different type of facility now.

An illuminated sign at the end of the hall read
EXIT
. Amanda trotted to it and opened the door: a stairwell! And a few flights down, she could see a door rimmed by light.

Now she just had to start shuttling kids out of here. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too hard to wake up.

She eased the exit door closed, flinching at the audible
click
. She’d have to prop it open with something.

On the way back to the double doors, she worked through the most efficient way to approach the problem: start with the kids closest to the door, unhook their IVs, and try to revive them. Two at a time was probably all she’d be able to manage.

She was so preoccupied with the planning that she didn’t hear the footsteps until they were almost on top of her. Amanda spun at the squeak of a shoe against tile. The wizened elderly nurse was blinking up at her, hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face.

“Miss Amanda,” she snapped. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Peter hunched down in the darkness outside the building. He’d never been so terrified. Mason had directed him to this deserted corner of the city, not far from the piers. As they pulled up in his Prius, Peter wondered if they were close to where Noa had been experimented on; that warehouse had been located in South Boston, the area they were in now.

No boatyard nearby, though, and these buildings appeared to be falling down. It definitely didn’t look like the kind of place where a corporation would store vital servers; but then, that was probably the point. The streets were deserted. Peter tucked his head more deeply into his jacket, wishing for a hat and gloves. If he’d known that he’d be hanging out in a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night, he would’ve come better prepared.

Had Luke received his message? Even if he had, it was doubtful that the Northeast unit could have gotten to Mason’s in time. Peter hadn’t seen any sign of them as they left the building. Which meant that he was probably on his own. “How are we getting in?” he asked in a low voice.

Mason was leaning against the side of the building. He’d changed into black jeans and a turtleneck, and wore a sleek leather jacket over them. Despite the cold, he was pale as ever. And he appeared remarkably relaxed, which should’ve made Peter feel better, but didn’t. “The server is on the second floor of that building,” Mason said, indicating a dilapidated structure in the middle of a row of three.

“So, what? We just waltz right in?” Peter clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. The temperature was in the low teens, but it felt even colder thanks to the wind.

“In a manner of speaking,” Mason said in a low voice. “Ah, there he is.”

Peter followed his line of sight. A man had emerged from the building. He was dressed just like the goons who had broken into Peter’s house on that first night, except he wasn’t carrying a gun, at least not visibly. The guy looked in both directions, then dropped a backpack on the ground at his feet. Leaning back against the closed door, he bent his head and lit a cigarette.

“Filthy habit,” Mason said with disgust. “I never tolerated it when I was in charge.”

Peter watched as the guy took a deep drag. “How many are in there?”

“I have no idea,” Mason said blithely. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What?” Peter turned and stared at him. “Are you nuts? There could be fifty of them inside.”

Mason didn’t answer. He pulled back his sleeve to check a Rolex. “Almost time,” he said softly.

“Time for what?” Peter felt like throttling him. This whole thing was insane. What were they even doing here? Mason didn’t seriously expect him to go into a building filled with armed, trained men, did he?

As usual, Mason behaved as if he hadn’t spoken. Peter gritted his teeth. He should just go back to the car. There was no guarantee that if he went through with this, Mason would let Amanda go, anyway. All he’d done was play right into his hands.

A muffled sound inside the building.

“What was that?” Peter asked, leaning forward to see.

“That was our cue.” Mason pushed off the wall and started walking purposefully toward the guard manning the door. Peter’s jaw dropped, and he hunched lower. Maybe Mason really was insane.

Mason stopped ten feet away, then turned and said impatiently, “Come along, Peter. We don’t have all night.”

Peter slowly got to his feet. Swallowing hard, he followed Mason. The guy was approaching the door like he owned the place.

The guard glanced up, spotting them. He hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette and grabbed the backpack off the ground by his feet.

Peter froze, waiting for him to pull a gun and start shooting. But the guy just stood there holding the bag. Almost like he was expecting them.

From a few feet away, Mason called out, “Any problems?”

The guard shook his head vigorously. “None, Mr. Mason.”

“Excellent.” Mason held out his hand for the bag. Peter watched, dumbfounded, as he unzipped it and extracted two gas masks. He handed one to Peter, saying, “Put this on.”

Peter’s hands automatically closed around the straps. The mask was heavier than it looked. He turned it over, staring at the thick eye lenses. “What the hell is this for?”

“For the gas, of course.” Mason was already pulling it over his head. “Trust me when I say you won’t want to breathe it in.”

“Gas?” Peter said dumbly.

“A fentanyl derivative.” Mason’s voice became muffled as he adjusted the mask over the lower half of his face and secured the straps. “Nasty stuff. The Russians used it in a hostage situation more than a decade ago, but unfortunately it ended up killing more than just the terrorists. Ready?”

“Um, no, not really,” Peter shot back, still holding the mask in both hands. “No way in hell I’m going in there.”

“Of course you are. Otherwise, what will happen to poor Amanda?” The mask made him look and sound even more sinister than usual.

Peter swallowed hard and yanked his mask on. Immediately, he felt a wave of claustrophobia. He could hear his own breath, abnormally loud, like Darth Vader on steroids. The goggles shrank his field of vision to the size of a fishbowl.

“Stay with me,” Mason said, then he nodded for the guard to open the door.

Teo and Daisy spilled out of the small cabin. A few hundred yards away, the house was burning.

“Oh my God! What happened?” Daisy shrieked.

Teo was no expert, but this didn’t look like an accident. For one thing, two completely different sections of the house were in flames. Plus, the fire was raging hard, like it had been going for hours already. Or like someone had deliberately set it.

He flashed back on Taylor, the guilty look on her face at the gas station. He should have recognized it for what it was, probably would’ve if he hadn’t been so goofy over kissing Daisy.

Daisy was frozen, both hands clamped over her mouth as if trying to force back a scream. Oddly, Teo felt calm. Like something had clicked in place inside him, and he knew exactly what had to be done.

He raced back inside, grabbed his jeans off the chair, and hurriedly pulled them on. Yanked a heavy wool sweater over his head and thrust his feet into a pair of sneakers. In less than a minute, he was back outside. He grabbed Daisy by the shoulders, turning her to face him. She’d gone full deer-in-headlights again, face pale, eyes wide with fear. As gently as possible, he said, “Daisy, you need to get dressed, fast. I’m going over there to help.”

She blinked at him dazedly. “Should . . . Do I . . .”

“Stay here,” he said firmly. In her state, she’d end up doing more harm than good if she got closer to the action. “I’ll send everyone to you, okay? Just wait right here.”

She nodded, a look of relief flitting across her features.

Teo squeezed her shoulders, then swiftly bent and kissed her hard on the lips. Then he raced toward the flames.

He didn’t have a plan, really, beyond trying to help. Roy, Noa, and Zeke were probably already managing the situation, maybe manning hoses or something.

A figure darted out of the woods to his left, sweeping him off his feet with a flying tackle.

He struggled for a minute, flailing and punching. But his attacker was heavier, pinning him to the ground. Teo fought to twist out from under him.

It took a minute to realize that his assailant was fighting just as hard to get away from him.

“Danny?” he asked, managing to get him at arm’s length.

“Teo, man, you gotta run!” Danny said hoarsely, his eyes panicked. “They’re everywhere!”

“Who?”

But Danny had already struggled back to his feet and was tearing headlong toward the trees. Within seconds, he vanished into the fog.

Teo slowly got up. The calm had utterly dissipated, leaving behind a cold, hard core of terror. Danny had looked like a trapped animal, all wild eyes and flashing teeth. What could have put him in such a state?

Teo turned in a slow circle, conflicted. Should he still head for the house? Or follow Danny?

Daisy
, he thought. He should go back to her.