Hostage

by Kay Hooper

  Okay, now she’d gone beyond lying by omission; now she was posing a possibility she knew very well hadn’t happened.

  “So why didn’t Cesar lead you in that direction?”

  Because he knew what was there. Because he knew we couldn’t help her, that no one could.

  Luther knew she didn’t want to answer, and that was one of the reasons he was pressing the matter. That and a certain evasiveness he had heard in her voice when she had first told him about finding the blood. She was holding back, and he didn’t like it. Granted she barely knew him, and granted she could be following orders, but, dammit, they were both in this now, and he needed to know what she knew.

  Plus, he was feeling generally irritable because he was a grown man and not accustomed to needing help getting his damned pants on, a procedure made more annoying (for some reason) because she had been utterly matter-of-fact and efficient getting him into the borrowed jeans and flannel shirt while he was barely able to stand upright.

  After a long moment and a thoughtful stare, Callie said, “Cesar didn’t want to go in any direction except back here. He made that very clear. Not up or down the mountain, and not toward Jacoby’s cabin.”

  “I gather that’s unusual?”

  “First time he’s done it here. At other times in other places . . . it was always his way of protecting either me or someone else. Sensing something potentially bad and guiding us away from it.”

  “He wouldn’t have had a reason to protect me; you were the one out there with the blood.”

  “True enough.” She went to top off her coffee, sent him an inquiring look, and then hung the pot back on its hook in the fireplace. She didn’t sit down, but wandered rather aimlessly toward the kitchen and leaned against the counter, frowning.

  “What?” Luther asked.

  “I could feel it too,” she said finally. “Out there with Cesar. Pushing at me, like wind but . . . not. Pressure. I felt the edge of that darkness, that energy, that I felt before around Jacoby’s cabin.”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Because,” Callie said, “the last time I felt it, it was weaker, less defined—and it was much closer to Jacoby’s cabin. A good three or even four hundred yards closer.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t be sure, because my instincts as well as Cesar’s were telling us to get back here and not stop to probe, but that feeling, that sensation of dark energy, isn’t something easily forgotten. It was the same thing. Stronger, darker, but the same thing.”

  “Then . . . it’s what? Expanding?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe he was close out there and we just couldn’t see him. Maybe he carries it with him. Maybe he always did.”

  Luther watched her, absently rubbing his wounded thigh. “I have a strong hunch your background info on Jacoby is a lot more extensive than mine, especially when it comes to possible psychic abilities. Was he ever examined by anyone in the SCU? Before he escaped?”

  Callie shook her head slowly. “There was never a reason. The SCU generally doesn’t deal with bank robbers. Until Jacoby escaped the way he did, there was no reported indication he might have a paranormal ability.”

  “He was given psych evals, right?”

  “Several times, as a juvenile and as an adult. This most recent robbery wasn’t his first rodeo; he has quite the rap sheet. Starting with petty theft and boosting cars when he was around twelve and ending up eventually with both armed and unarmed robbery by his late teens. But no real sign of violence. His psych evaluations were pretty standard. Not a psychopath or a sociopath, just on the antisocial end of the scale, like a lot of small-time criminals. He could make casual friends, he could hold down a job, he could talk to people with fair ease and even charm when he wanted, but most considered him a loner. Good with puzzles, with numbers, tested a bit above average in intelligence.

  “He didn’t come from an abusive background, but he was orphaned young thanks to a car accident that took both his parents, and since there were no other relatives located, he went into the system. Decent foster home, from all accounts; he was in the same one until the judge got tired of making allowances for a poor orphan who couldn’t stay out of trouble and sent him to a juvenile facility when he was fifteen.”

  “And he was on his way.”

  “Yeah. Not so much rehabilitated as educated; he pulled his first successful major robbery not six months after he got out. Managed to stay ahead of the cops for a couple of years before they got their hands on him again, and that judge in that particular jurisdiction was dealing with homicides, gang wars, drug crimes. Wasn’t much concerned by a young thief who hadn’t used a gun in that particular robbery and who promised with great sincerity to go straight.”

  “So . . . time served?”

  Callie nodded. “Time served. After that, he got more careful, and he got good at robbery, good at getting away with it. He got very good, and for years. Never did time again until they caught him after he pulled this last heist. Probably wouldn’t have caught him then if he’d stuck to his usual type of robbery, netting himself a few hundred grand at most and then laying low and living simply.”

  “But ten million draws a lot of attention,” Luther finished. “A lot of resources.”

  “Yeah. Bishop believes Jacoby had no idea that payrolls for several major corporations were sitting in that vault. From the tools he left behind, he was going after the lockboxes—which were supposed to be in a secondary vault, not one connected to the cash safe. He shouldn’t have been able to get that safe open, and nobody is sure even now how he managed it. Maybe he had time to spare and was curious to try his skills. The alarm was down, though no one seems to be sure how he managed that or how he disabled it in such a way as to avoid an automatic secondary alarm. No way to be sure. But once that safe was open, with millions in cash just sitting there . . .”

  “Who’d blame him for taking the easy route.”

  Callie nodded again. “He dumped his tools and presumably filled the bag that had held them. Everybody was surprised that he managed the break-in alone, but there was never a shred of evidence to suggest he had an accomplice, or that anyone on the inside helped. It was almost as if . . . everything just fell into place for him. A glitch in the security system of the building itself that made access a lot easier than it should have been; a security guard who was supposed to be watching the monitors happened to be taking cold medicine and fell asleep—”

  “Or maybe was put to sleep,” Luther offered.

  Callie nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought, but maybe so. Maybe even then he could do that much.”

  “The cold medicine could have made it easier,” Luther said thoughtfully. “Unless the guard lied about that to cover his ass.”

  “Yeah. But either way, Jacoby got in with amazing ease. The disk storing the camera feeds was faulty and nobody knew until afterward. Even the vault lock itself was just days away from being upgraded because there was some kind of issue with the electronics of the locking mechanism. Just a whole string of glitches that helped Jacoby get in and out way too easily.”

  Luther frowned. “Does Bishop think Jacoby might have used some paranormal ability? Even then?”

  “I’m not sure what Bishop knew or suspected about the robbery; he didn’t say. But, looking back, it’s certainly possible. At the time, the SCU wasn’t called and knew nothing about it, which means we were never able to inspect the actual vault and safe or talk to employees, when it might have mattered, right after, with a secured crime scene. I think Bishop knew or suspected something before Jacoby was transferred months later, but, well, it’s Bishop. Whatever he knew or suspected, he didn’t say.”

  Luther glanced absently toward Cesar, then said to Callie, “Maybe it’s time to report in and talk to Bishop about the situation. I know there’s no cell service here, but is there service anywhere nearby?”

>   “Five hundred yards higher up the mountain is a sweet spot where cell reception is crystal clear because of the tower on the next mountain to the north. There are a few spots like that one, scattered around, but none are close and the terrain is hellish.”

  Luther realized he was looking at Cesar again, frowned, and returned his gaze to Callie. “You’re saying you’ll have to hike up the mountain to make a call?”

  “No, actually, I don’t need to do that. As I said, Bishop and Miranda are right on my frequency, so I can communicate with them telepathically and as clearly as I can talk to you here.”

  “Dammit, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

  Honest, she said, “I wasn’t ready to report in. You were okay, we were safe here, and I hadn’t yet done my job. Still haven’t.”

  Luther sighed but wasn’t angry because he completely understood her attitude. It was typical of those who were accustomed to working alone, or virtually so. “Are they close by?”

  “No. Bishop is outside Boston, and Miranda is in California. Distance doesn’t seem to matter, as long as I can focus. Luther, do you realize you keep looking at Cesar?”

  “Just realized,” he admitted. Then added slowly, “Also just realized I’m feeling profoundly uneasy.”

  That was when Cesar suddenly got up—and they heard the frantic scratching at the cabin’s door.

  Outside.

  * * *

  COLE JACOBY THOUGHT breakfast would make him feel better. And then he thought lunch would.

  Neither helped.

  But what really bothered him was that he had no memory of the time between breakfast and lunch. It was just . . . blank. When he tried to remember, there was only a dark nothing.

  At first, realizing that, he was grateful at least that he didn’t have blood on him. But then he realized that he was not wearing the same clothes he had dressed himself in that morning.

  He found those in the washtub with the other set he had stripped off that morning. Soaking in reddish water that smelled strongly of bleach.

  He was almost afraid to look at the dogs, and when he did, he was surprised at first. Ace’s bed was empty. Cleo’s. Lucy’s. But if they weren’t in their beds . . .

  It nearly broke his heart when he found them huddled against the back door, all three trembling. And as he watched, Cleo began frantically scratching at the floor while the other two stared at him fearfully.

  They wanted nothing but to get away from him.

  “You know, don’t you?” he murmured. “You know what’s happening. You know I’m not . . . safe anymore.”

  He could feel the darkness then, not just at the edge of his awareness, but creeping inward, like some smothering black sludge that would swallow everything in his path.

  Even him.

  Especially him.

  Cole didn’t know how much time he had left, but he knew he had to use it to save the only beings in the world he had ever truly loved.

  He went to the front door of the cabin and opened it wide, then stepped back. “Here,” he called to them, holding his voice steady and calm with what he suspected was the last of his control. “Let’s go, guys. Out.”

  They hesitated for only a moment, and then all three scrambled for the door, and out.

  This time, Jacoby gave them no command—except one. He stood in the doorway and watched the dogs race away, calling after them in a voice that wasn’t steady anymore, “Stay away from me. Away. Find somebody to take care of you. And don’t come back. Don’t ever come back . . .”

  * * *

  LUTHER WAS STARTLED by how fast Callie moved, setting her coffee cup down, getting her weapon from the table near the door—and then halting suddenly and for a long moment to look at Cesar.

  The Rottweiler, still on his feet, was looking at the door but didn’t seem at all disturbed. He lifted his gaze to Callie, and if a dog designed by nature to look fearsome could look serene, he did.

  “Huh,” Callie murmured. She kept her gun in her hand but didn’t hesitate to open the cabin’s door.

  They pushed it wider open, the three large dogs, rushing inside so close together they nearly tangled in the doorway, and they would have run over Cesar if he hadn’t backed up several quick steps. And they didn’t stop until they had wedged themselves into the farthest corner of the main room of the cabin, beside the couch where Luther sat. All three were shaking visibly.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  “They’re terrified.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. You don’t have to know much about dogs to see that. But terrified of what?”

  Callie looked outside for only a moment, then closed the door and returned her weapon to its accustomed place. She came over to where Luther was and sat down on the end of the coffee table near his propped foot, facing the dogs. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and hands linked loosely between them.

  “Hey, Cleo,” she said quietly. “Remember me?”

  All three of the dogs had been avoiding eye contact, but when Callie spoke, the largest of them finally looked at her and gradually stopped trembling.

  “The one you met out hiking?” Luther guessed, keeping his voice low and casual.

  “Yeah. Her name’s on her tag. I’m guessing the other two as well. It’s okay, Cleo. It’s okay now.” Her voice was, somehow, infinitely reassuring, something even Luther felt.

  The dog took a step toward her, then another. And finally laid her head on Callie’s knee. The other two dogs watched, their trembling finally easing as Callie stroked Cleo’s head.

  “Think Jacoby drove them away?” Luther asked.

  “Maybe. Or maybe they ran away.”

  “Because he was cruel?”

  Callie frowned, then shook her head a little and said, “Wait.”

  She continued to stroke Cleo, gradually working her way over the big dog until she’d completed a pretty thorough examination. By then, the other dogs had ventured closer, and she went through the same routine with each. Calm and gentle, but thorough. By the time she was done, the dogs were relaxed, two of them lying on a rug near the fireplace and the one male sitting at the end of the coffee table having his ears gently rubbed by Callie.

  “This is Ace,” she told Luther after examining the tag on the dog’s collar. “The one beside Cleo is Lucy. I’m guessing they’re littermates, obviously mixed breeds. And I can’t find a single sign that any one of them has ever been abused.”

  “Could be verbal,” he noted.

  But Callie was shaking her head. “These dogs have been cared for, and I mean really cared for. They’ve been well fed, well groomed, and obviously socialized. Whatever terrified them, it didn’t have anything to do with people. At least . . . nothing to do with how people have treated them in the past.”

  “Then what?”

  “Maybe . . . the negative energy. Cesar was sensitive to it. If they are too, and they’ve been with Jacoby since he got here . . .”

  “Would negative energy affect dogs? I mean—negatively?”

  “No idea. Their brainwaves are different, so I’m guessing if there was an effect, it wouldn’t be the same as with us.”

  “You said the dog—Cleo—acted friendly and normal when you and Cesar met her before.”

  “So what’s happened since then?” Callie finished slowly. “What’s different now? Just that energy that we know of. Stronger. Darker. Maybe the dogs were okay as long as Jacoby was. As long as he was able to fight off whatever the negative effects have been.”

  “Like shooting at people?”

  “You said the dogs chased you for a bit, and I heard them; when did he send them after you? While he was still shooting?”

  Thinking back, Luther said, “No. I’d managed to get at least a hundred yards away before I heard the dogs barking
. Now that I think about it, they didn’t come very far after me. I think—I remember a whistle. He must have called them back.”

  Callie nodded. “The hunters said he did that, whistled his dogs back before they were out of sight of the cabin.”

  “So he was just making a point.”

  “Probably. But my point is that the dogs were still obeying him then, still willing to return to him. I’d bet next year’s pay they won’t go anywhere near him now.”

  “You’re basing that on the idea that the energy you sense is strong enough, you believe, to completely overpower him?”

  “I think it’s a reasonable assumption. My only question, still, is whether the energy is centered around that cabin—or around Jacoby. Until today, I was hoping it was the cabin, the area.”

  “Because we could have gotten him away from it.”

  Callie nodded. “But if it’s centered around the cabin, and that’s what I felt hundreds of yards away from the cabin, then it’s way the hell too big to be anything we could deal with, so now I’m hoping Jacoby is at the center, that rather than find it here, he somehow brought it here with him.”

  “And lost control?”

  “That fits his behavior. Okay at first, not social but not violent. Puts his fed handlers to sleep and escapes. Takes his time, gets his beloved dogs, makes his way to the cabin he’s made arrangements for earlier, the cabin he believes is safe, losing almost everyone trying to track him in the process. Settling in. Then the fairly rapid escalation, shooting at hunters, at you—and finally scaring off his own dogs. Everything changed, and in less than two weeks.”

  Luther let that sink in for a few moments, then said, “Do you think he’ll come after his dogs?”

  “No. I think he let them go or drove them off to save them. From himself. And if I’m right about that, then some part of Cole Jacoby realized he was becoming dangerous, that there was something in him he could no longer control, or couldn’t control for much longer.”