Clawing at the table, she breathed deeply, scrunching her eyes closed until the nausea passed. Her vision cleared, but a dull hum droned through her mind, as if a dense fog hung in the kitchen, forcing all sound inward.
Whatever this was, she shouldn’t be alone. She needed help. Fast.
Focusing on the landline beside the refrigerator, Tracy drew herself up slowly, continuing her steady breaths. She could make it to the phone if she…
The front door opened with a squeak.
“What the hell?” Laini’s voice carried from the foyer.
Thank God she was finally home!
“Laini?” Tracy’s call came out in a whisper as the pounding behind her eyes deepened. She rubbed her forehead, trying to stop the pain, but it only got worse. Forcing herself from the kitchen, she stumbled down the hallway.
Laini stood by the front door, staring at Tracy’s jacket on the ground.
“Laini?”
Her roommate stepped back, eyes wide. A Starbuck’s cup fell from her grasp and crashed to the floor. The contents spilled across the hardwood. Her lips formed an ‘O’ as she stood, frozen and staring.
Tracy clutched the wall behind her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Her roommate’s lips contorted, forming several words, but no sound left her mouth. Her cheeks paled.
Tracy slipped to the ground. Her hand fell on her leg, landing on a foot-long tear in her pants with a matching crusted scab beneath. “W-what?” She stared at the grime still coating her hands. “What happened to me?”
“Tracy?” Laini took short, clipped breaths. Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re… not… but you…”
Slipping the rest of the way to the floor, Tracy reached out to her friend. The pounding intensified, blocking all other sound. The world pressed in, making it hard to breathe. Why didn’t Laini help her?
The door crashed open and Laini ducked, holding her head as three men in riot gear stormed into the foyer. She screamed as one of them pointed a gun at her before centering the weapon on Tracy.
“Wh-what?” Tracy held her head down as the men shouted to each other. Black boots stopped inches from Tracy’s face before a firm grip hauled her up like a rag doll. Pain lanced her skin from all angles.
One of the men talked into his shoulder. “We’ve secured the P.A.C. Prepare for transport.” He handed a syringe to someone standing behind her.
Transport? “Wait,” Tracy whispered.
Something pinched her neck and a burn crept through her skin. “What? Why? Who are you?”
“That’s my friend!” Laini jumped to her feet. “Where are you taking her?”
Two men dragged Tracy out the door and carried her toward a black van.
“What do you mean she’s been exposed to something?” Laini’s voice blared through the evening sky as Tracy’s world faded to nothing.
3
John perused the morning headline as he walked toward the municipal building: Government Coffers Picked Clean.
Yeah, he bet they were picked clean. Dirty politicians will do that to a state. He tucked the paper under his arm and ripped the Office Space for Rent sign from the front entrance.
Were they serious? This building wasn’t scheduled to close for another twelve weeks. There was no way he was working with real estate agents walking through his office all day.
Consolidating the precincts was bullshit. The majority of John’s team was already staffed with volunteer labor. They had to draw the line somewhere.
“You still killing trees?” Art pointed to the newspaper as John passed.
“News isn’t news if you have to read it on a computer screen.” John dropped the paper on his desk. “We need to reevaluate the search regimen. Seavers is about to turn up. I can feel it.”
More like he knew it. Seavers must be awake by now. She was probably wandering around, bewildered. He remembered those first few hours. The panic, the confusion, the pain. No one should go through that alone.
His stomach twitched and cooled as if he’d just chugged a Slushie. He’d find her. He wasn’t giving up.
The news had sensationalized Tracy Seavers’s disappearance for the first week, which helped rally troops for volunteer search parties. But now that political corruption had taken center stage, the plight of a single missing girl was no longer the community’s top concern. They were losing search volunteers every day. Soon, it would be just him and Art again.
Staff Sergeant Biggs opened his door. “Peters, Commings. My office.” He disappeared inside.
Art groaned as he stood. John pulled the door closed behind them as his partner sat in one of the two chairs in front of the sergeant’s desk.
“Tracy Seavers has been found,” Biggs announced. “Alive, believe it or not.”
“What?” A ball lodged in John’s throat. “Where? When?”
“Last night in her house. She showed up out of nowhere.”
The swirl in John’s gut tightened. “Can I talk to her?”
Not that the sergeant’s answer mattered. John needed to get to Seavers before the FBI dragged her to a containment center.
“I wish I could say yes.” Biggs twisted his lip in distaste. “We expended a lot of manpower on this case. I’d like some answers, myself.” He threw a pencil across the desk. “The Feds already picked her up and took her to a hospital for observation.”
A hospital? Yeah, right. It was probably more like a cage.
John dragged his nails through his hair. He’d stopped watching the house after the first week. What an idiot he’d been. He could have been there, helped her, explained what was going on. Instead, he’d let the government swoop in and grab her right out from under him.
Now Tracy Seavers was alone with doctors who knew too much, and nowhere near enough. She’d have been better off alone in the woods.
John dropped into the other chair and pounded his fist on the desk. “Dammit!”
Biggs raised a brow. Art failed to cover his grin.
“Sorry,” John muttered. He breathed slowly, forcing a calm to run through him.
It was okay. He still had her address. The Feds would have to let her go sooner or later. An unofficial visit from the local police wouldn’t be out of the question.
Biggs dropped a manila file and a flash drive on the desk. “New case: Diana Worth, twenty-six, from Haddon Township. Single mother of two. Found dead outside a pizza shop.”
John’s gaze shifted from the folder to Biggs. “Haddon? That’s Schnell’s and Anderson’s precinct.”
“Haddon laid off its detectives and ten patrol cops yesterday.”
“You gotta be shitting me,” Art said.
Biggs lowered into his chair. “I wish I was. Right now, you two should be thankful you have such a good track record.” He pushed the folder toward them. “Let’s make short work of this, gentlemen. I have a feeling this is going to be a long week.”
4
Tracy blinked, but darkness surrounded her. An odd sense of openness churned in the air, as if the space would have dwarfed her bedroom.
Someone moved beside her. “She’s awake,” a man’s voice said.
“Proceed,” said another.
“Hello?” Tracy said. “Hello? I can’t see anything.”
Someone touched her arm. She tried to pull away, but some sort of clamps kept her tight against a soft surface. Oh God, she was tied down!
She pulled against the bindings. “Where am I? What’s going on?” Something cold covered her arm. A shriek wrenched from her throat.
A woman’s voice: “Relax. Just breathe through it. You’ll be fine.”
Tracy gulped. Her heartbeat thumped in her ears. “Why can’t I see?”
“It’s only drops. It’s for everyone’s protection. We need you to relax.” The woman tapped her shoulder.
The second man’s voice: “Enough talk. Let’s see if we can draw it out.”
Draw it out? Draw what out of where?
“Clea
r!” A third voice shouted, and a buzzing surge thundered through Tracy’s body. Her back arched, lifting her from the bed before she fell back down.
“Again,” the second man’s voice said.
Tracy tried to cry out, but another sizzling torrent coursed through her. She fell back to the bed, shaking. Tears streamed from her eyes.
Her world shrank, lost in a dark prison of pain and uncertainty as the next jolt riddled her body. Nothing existed outside the excruciating bubble that coursed, prodded, and burned her from within. Each jolt created its own eternity of dark madness, until she fell to the bed again, gasping.
She panted, gripped her bindings, and waited for the next surge to flood her. They’d listened to her scream, but they hadn’t stopped. Where was she, and why were they doing this? No. The why of it didn’t matter anymore. She only needed to survive. And she would survive.
Sweat ran from her forehead and down the sides of her face. Her heavy breaths drowned out any other sound as a cool cloth covered her forehead.
“Please make it stop,” Tracy whispered.
“You’re doing fine.” The woman pushed damp hair from Tracy’s face.
“Negative reaction from the Ambient,” the third voice intoned. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
“I’ll decide when we’re in the clear,” the second man’s voice said. “This is not our typical scenario. I want the same phase two prod we’d administer if we’d stimulated aggression with the shocks.”
Shocks. Is that what they were doing, shocking her as if her heart had stopped beating?
“That’s not our protocol,” the woman said. “There’s no precedent to put the patient through phase two.”
Tracy cringed as someone took three steps along what sounded like a tiled floor. The bindings bit into her wrists as she tried to shrink away, sensing the man stood closer to her.
“We have no precedent of an entity mobilizing a class five host within minutes of death, either.” Another step. “I’m not clearing this one until I’m completely sure.”
Entity? Class five?
“Please,” Tracy whispered, “would someone please tell me what’s going on? Why are you doing this?”
The hand lifted from Tracy’s forehead. “How many rounds of tests will make you sure?” the woman asked. “There’s just so much the human body can take.”
The man snorted. “She’s already dead. We’ll take this as far as it needs to go until I’m satisfied that thing inside her is not a threat.”
“Thing inside me?” Tracy sniffed, holding back a sob. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”
A light touch cupped her cheek. “Hold tight,” the woman said. “This is going to be a very long day.”
5
Diana Worth’s eyes pleaded to John from the photograph pinned to the corkboard. There was nothing he could do for her, of course, but he could give her family closure by nailing the asshole who took the twenty-six-year-old mother from her two young children.
Dammit, what had happened to those kids? Were they still with their grandparents?
Not that they were his problem, but he’d gone with the social workers to pick the Worth children up from daycare. He and Art had stayed in the parking lot, invisible but present, in case the killer made a second appearance. The red, puffy eyes on those kids had nearly killed him.
John gulped down a burning swig of coffee, then another. What he needed was a solid lead, not erroneous conjectures.
His gaze drew to the second photo, to the lines outlining Diana Worth’s body in front of the pizza shop. No harsh angles, no apparent impact from a quick dump of the corpse. Her killer had even placed her hands over her heart.
John tapped his fingers on the table. “The perpetrator cared about her. I’d stake anything on it.”
Art slumped into the chair beside him. “Forensics said the examination was conclusive. This was a random mark.”
Then why take the time to bring her back to the exact place she’d last been seen alive, especially a place so public? “I don’t buy that. You shouldn’t, either.”
“I don’t buy it because you don’t buy it.” Art leaned closer to the pictures. “But I don’t see what you’re seeing.”
“At a bare minimum, he’s imprinting…using her as a substitute for someone else.”
Art twisted his lip skeptically. Nothing new.
“Call it a sixth sense.” John took another sip of coffee as his actual sixth sense swirled down from his lungs and wrapped around his stomach.
John blocked out the ethereal movement. Diana Worth was a woman with no known enemies. He’d failed to uncover an obvious motive, and they had no leads.
“Everyone in this case had an alibi,” John said. “It’s almost too perfect.”
Art folded his arms. “Too perfect is right. Almost planned.”
Nodding, John continued to stare into the photo. Diana was smiling, but there was just a touch of sadness in her eyes. Something wasn’t right…something she kept from everyone.
What was it, Diana?
What could be so far removed that no one else was aware of it?
John leaned back in his seat. “The ex-husband.”
Art looked up from his coffee. “His alibi is rock solid. He was at a dinner party with his neighbor in California.”
“Don’t care,” John said. “I want to talk to him again.”
6
Searing light burned through Tracy’s eyelids. A wave of nausea swept over her before sinking into the background.
The sound of male voices carried through her fog. She tensed. God no! She couldn’t take any more!
Gripping the cold bars beside her bed, she peeked through her lashes. The rush of joy from being able to see dissipated as she took in the pock-marked, tiled ceiling above, and the large double window to her left. A vase of peach carnations sat on the sill, casting a shadow across the white blanket covering her chest. To her right, a tacky brown striped curtain hung a foot away from the bed.
A hospital?
Tracy shifted her weight and grunted, unable to move. Gray belts with buckles connected her wrists to the rails alongside the mattress. She stared at the thick bindings as the last foggy dregs of slumber left her. Sweat beaded at her temples. Part of her had hoped the last several days had been a bad dream.
The last few days… Were they even days, or were they months? Years?
But she could see again. That was good. At least she hoped it was good. Maybe they wanted to watch her reaction when she saw them coming for her.
God, this was insanity! She had to get out of here.
“Help!” She yanked at the restraints. “Someone, please, help me!”
A man in a tan khaki uniform whipped around the curtain and pointed a gun at her, steadying the weapon with both hands. “Calm down, ma’am.”
Her eyes widened. “Calm down? You’re pointing a gun at me!”
“I told you to calm down, ma’am.”
This guy thought intimidation would work? The sight of a gun was nothing compared to the living hell she’d been through. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You can’t do this to me.”
Another man rounded the corner, tucking a pen into the inner pocket of his oversized black suit jacket. “At ease, lieutenant,” he said. “She’s been through enough.”
The lieutenant didn’t falter. “Not until we call an all-clear, sir.”
Suit-guy pursed his lips, running his fingers through spiky, blond bangs. Tracy might have considered him attractive if she weren’t his prisoner.
“I’m glad you’re awake.” Suit-guy took a step closer. “Do you know your name?”
He had to be kidding. She was tied up, and he had the gall to ask her questions? “Who are you? Where am I?”
The man with the gun re-set his footing.
Suit-guy stiffened before a smile formed on his lips that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “All in good time. What I need right now is your name.”
; Tracy tried to blink away the haze coating her thoughts. Yes, she knew her name. She just couldn’t recall it at the moment.
She yanked at the bindings again. The bed shifted, but the bands seemed to tighten. “Why am I tied up? What’s going on?”
“The restraints are for your protection.” Another man walked around the curtain. Same suit, same haircut except for a scattering of gray at the temple and deep lines around his eyes. He moved with a sense of precision that made Tracy’s skin crawl.
“Protection from what?” The rasp in her voice startled her. “Who are you people?”
Suit number one flipped a badge out of his back pocket.
Number two did likewise but shoved it back in his jacket before she got a good look. Not that she would know what she was seeing, anyway.
“I am Special Agent Clark. This is Agent Green,” the older man said. “Can you remember your name?”
That voice. Tracy’s stomach twisted, and she fought the need to shrink away. She’d probably have nightmares about his voice for the rest of her life. The voice of the man in the dark, the one demanding test after painful test.
Was that why he was here now? To administer more pain? To see how she reacted when she could see what was coming?
But he didn’t move toward her. He simply stood, staring in her direction, expressionless.
“Your name,” he repeated.
Could that really be all he wanted?
She could tell him her name. That shouldn’t hurt anything.
Her name. Yes. This was an easy question. Everyone has a name. Her lungs tightened and she gasped for breath. Her heart started to throttle. Why the hell couldn’t she remember her name?
Agent Green held up his hands. “Calm down, Miss. There’s no reason to panic.”
“No reason to panic?” She pulled and the bed shifted toward the right this time. “Do you have any idea what this man has put me through? And now I’m staring him in the face, I’m still tied down, and you expect me not to panic?”
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