Hostage

by Kay Hooper

  “And now it’s got him.”

  “Probably.”

  “Negative energy?”

  “I know how it sounds, believe me. But . . . I felt it, Luther. Some energy is just power. Force. But some energy is more than that. I can’t explain it. I don’t know if anyone could. But I know what I felt.”

  He waited, looking at her.

  “Purpose. Strength contained and intensifying, for a reason. Building up to something. Whatever that energy is, wherever it came from, it has a purpose, an end game, a goal. And I can guarantee you we won’t like whatever it wants to do.”

  “Okay,” he said finally. “In that case, I think we have two options. We call in major backup, or we get the hell out of here.” He held up a hand when she would have spoken. “I know, your job was to figure out the energy. But I can’t help you do that and, no offense, I don’t think you can do it alone. Not if this stuff is as deadly as you feel it is. Shield or not, you may be even more vulnerable to the energy because you’re a born psychic.”

  “It’s a point,” she conceded. “Though I’ve been able to deflect negative energy in the past.”

  “But you can’t be sure about this negative energy. That you’d be able to do the same thing. Every energy has a unique signature. And this one could very easily be one that could punch a hole through your shield or otherwise disable or hurt you.”

  “It’s possible,” she agreed.

  Luther nodded. “The other point is a lot more positive. Jacoby has, so far, shown no signs of wanting to leave the area. Hunters have been warned to avoid him. The area is practically deserted otherwise. So we can be fairly certain no one else is in immediate danger. We can alert the sheriff down in Devil’s Gap, if you think we should, especially after finding that blood. But Jacoby’s here, relatively contained, if only by the isolation and geography of this place. We have no reason to believe he’s going to move out of the area, at least in the short term, so we have no reason to believe we’d be putting anyone else in danger by getting out of here until we can get some help. We need backup, Callie. At the very least, I say you contact Bishop and let him know what’s going on.”

  She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then said, “Well, there’s a danger in that. Up here, I can only reach out to contact Bishop if I drop my shields. Completely. You may not have noticed, but they’ve been up since this morning.”

  He was a bit surprised that he hadn’t noticed.

  And a bit worried about that, even though he reminded himself that he was new at this telepathic stuff.

  “I don’t feel that energy now, here, Cesar doesn’t feel it, and Jacoby’s dogs are calm now, so they don’t feel it either. That tells me that Jacoby isn’t close, and/or that the energy field around him isn’t expanding.”

  “Or hasn’t expanded this far.”

  She nodded. “But if I drop my shields and reach out to Bishop, no matter how narrow my focus is, I’m not only opening myself up to attack, but sending out positive energy. And positive energy can attract negative energy.”

  “He’d know you were here.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he already knows I’m here. What he may not know so far is that I’m here because of him and that I’m psychic. Not that I’m certain my shields have kept him out, especially since I haven’t kept them up consistently while I’ve been here. But I think I would have known if that negativity touched my mind, and I think Jacoby simply hasn’t been paying enough attention to consider who or what I am.”

  “Seriously?”

  “He’s had a lot to deal with, remember. I’d bet he fought as hard as he could to maintain control, and probably lost it a few times for minutes or hours. Until, finally, he lost it for good. Which probably happened just about the time he got his dogs away from the cabin.”

  “What happened when he lost control?”

  “I don’t know. But my guess is something bad. Negative energy needs something to feed off if it’s to grow more intense. The darkest energy comes from evil acts.” I should tell him. I really should.

  “That blood.”

  “No way to know for sure. I doubt Jacoby could have caught himself a hunter, and there aren’t many other people up here. Usually hikers, but the weather’s been colder this season, so that’s less likely.”

  “But possible. He could have killed someone.”

  Why does it seem so wrong to tell him the truth? Because I’m afraid he won’t believe me if I tell him we can’t help her now?

  “That’s a big leap to take from a few drops of blood we don’t even know is human.”

  “Blood plus increased negative energy I say makes it less of a leap.”

  “Point,” she conceded. “If and when he lost control, he could have done almost anything. If the energy has taken or is about to take him over completely, then he’s likely capable of evil acts, even if he isn’t aware of committing them and doesn’t remember them afterward.”

  “So you believe whatever personality made Jacoby who and what he was is . . . gone.”

  “For good? I don’t know. I’d probably know if I met him face-to-face, but given all the negative energy surrounding him, possibly controlling him, I’m considering that a last-resort confrontation. Until we know what the ultimate agenda is, what’s driving that negative energy and whether it’s feeding off Jacoby or is actually dictating his actions, I don’t think we can be sure of much of anything.”

  Luther nodded slowly. “Okay. Well, I made my suggestions. What are yours?”

  “Given just the possibilities we know of, pretty much the same. Starting with contacting Bishop.”

  “In spite of the risks?”

  “I’d rather risk it up here than get down to town first. I don’t want to come down off this mountain without letting Bishop know what the situation is. The potential for danger to the public might be low, but that’s been an assumption based on his past actions, not the current state of Jacoby’s mind. Too many variables now for me even to make an educated guess about what level of threat he poses. To the public. And to us. At the very least, Bishop needs to know for sure that we’re dealing with a hell of a lot more than a bank robber.”

  “Agreed. Anything I can do to help?”

  To his surprise, Callie nodded. She went over to a cabinet where she kept her first-aid kit and carried it to the kitchen island. She had her back to Luther, and he was surprised again when she returned to sit again on the coffee table and hand him a syringe. There was a clear liquid inside.

  “What the hell?”

  Soberly, she said, “I want you to watch Cesar. If you see him start to react in any negative way, give me that shot.”

  “Callie—”

  “If he growls, if the hair stands up along his spine, if he’s staring at me as if I pose a threat, give me the shot. He’ll react before the other dogs will, because he knows me.”

  Keep a close eye on me, boy.

  Yes. Always.

  Luther looked at the syringe in his hand and once again felt a profound sense of unease. “Is this a sedative?”

  “No. The last thing I want to do if that negative energy finds mine is go to sleep. That’s leaving a door wide open for it to come in.”

  “Then what is this?”

  Callie pushed up the loose sleeve of her sweater to expose her upper arm, and pointed to a specific spot. “Just pop it in right here, and hit the plunger. Full dose.”

  “Callie—”

  “It’s a . . . stimulant. It’ll break the connection with Bishop, slam my shields back into place.”

  Surprised, Luther said, “There’s a med that’ll do that? First I’ve ever heard of it.”

  “Experimental. The lab people have been testing it, and so far I’m one of the few showing a . . . useful . . . reaction.”

  Uneasy, he said, “Are you sure it won’t hurt
you?”

  “I’m sure that negative energy could hurt me a lot more. I’m trusting you, Luther. If Cesar reacts, give me the shot.”

  “Listen, can’t we talk about this?”

  “We already have.” She closed her eyes. “Watch Cesar. You’ll know if something bad is happening.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Callie was silent. And so Luther fixed his gaze on her attentive Rottweiler.

  And hoped to hell nothing bad would happen.

  * * *

  YOU KNOW WHAT to do. What you have to do. You understand, Luther, don’t you?

  “Luther.”

  Something was growling. It sounded mean.

  It’s very simple. And easy. You’ve done it before, during your tours of duty. Just one quick movement, and it’s done.

  “Luther. Listen to me. To me.”

  Don’t. Don’t let her stop you. Stop us. We have to do this. You know we do. It feels right, doesn’t it? All the strength? All the power surging through you? Making you invincible? And it’s all yours. You’ll be able to do amazing things, Luther. You’ll be able to do anything you want. Anything.

  “Luther, you have to listen to me.”

  Growling. What was growling?

  “Luther, concentrate. Listen to me. Ignore everything else.”

  No, don’t listen to the bitch. She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know us. Doesn’t know what we’re capable of. Do it, Luther. Kill her.

  Kill the bitch.

  “Luther!”

  He snapped out of it with something between a gasp and a grunt, his mind abruptly clear, that dark, dark voice gone, shoved out of him with a strength he hadn’t known he possessed and wasn’t even sure had been entirely his own.

  And found himself in another kind of nightmare.

  They were outside. In the woods.

  He had her pinned up against a tree, his greater size and weight holding her there. That—and the big hunting knife he usually carried while in the outdoors pressed to her throat. A thin line of red showed that he had already cut her.

  Luther realized that in an instant. He also realized that she had her weapon in hand, and that it was between them, snugged up just below his rib cage, pressing hard upward, inward. Aimed at his heart.

  She could have killed him at any time.

  As he stumbled backward, he saw as well that her free hand was extended down and to her left, fingers wide in a holding gesture. Holding in place the exceptionally well-trained Rottweiler standing about three feet from them. A hundred and twenty pounds of straining, trembling muscle desperate to leap to the defense of his mistress, Cesar kept his eyes fixed on Luther. And both the exposed and gleaming fangs and the deep, guttural growl promised that if he was given the command or even the chance, he could and would tear the throat out of the man threatening Callie.

  Quietly, as though nothing had happened, she said, “It’s okay, Cesar. Break. Sit.”

  The Rottweiler stopped snarling and sat down, but he was still trembling visibly and never took his eyes off Luther.

  For his part, Luther took another stumbling step backward until he came up hard against another tree. He stared at the knife in his hand, then let it fall to the ground.

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered hoarsely. “What the hell happened?”

  Callie drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “The dark energy got in. Into you.”

  NINE

  Hollis said, “Okay, I’m beginning to see the appeal of this place as a vacation spot. It’s a little quiet for my taste, but it definitely looks like they go out of their way to provide either rest or recreation for their guests.”

  “That’s for sure,” DeMarco agreed.

  They had been wandering over the estate for nearly two hours, leisurely, and had wound up here and now, standing on a low rise just behind the house, looking down on a huge and beautifully designed pool—currently covered for the coming winter—with what were clearly rock slides and waterfalls. There was a beautifully designed pool house nearby, and a small building at one end of the pool that clearly housed a swim-up bar, judging by the stone countertop jutting out from the closed building and over the edge of a section of the covered pool.

  All around the entire area were flagstone paths, meticulously maintained, that wound lazily through what was undoubtedly acres of a stunning garden in spring and summer. There were benches and chairs here and there for sitting, and tables with closed umbrellas scattered about.

  Off to the right of the pool and at some distance were the tennis courts, also meticulously maintained, and in the distance straight out beyond the pool they could see what they had visited an hour or so before, which was a sprawling complex of stables, paddocks, and riding rings that was truly impressive.

  “The whole place is impressive,” Hollis conceded.

  “You sound disgruntled,” DeMarco noted as they turned in step and began making their way back toward the house.

  “What, it doesn’t strike you as strange? This place, in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Not really. In today’s bustling world, peace and quiet are at a premium, and the wealthy are always willing to pay for what they want. Besides, what else are you going to do with a place like this in these modern times with resident family having come down to only two people. Turn it into a museum or a hotel were probably the only real choices, and it’s too far off the beaten track to attract many customers to a museum, even if it had more than antiques and extensive gardens to offer.”

  “Makes sense,” she agreed.

  DeMarco shrugged. “It also wouldn’t surprise me if Alexander House hadn’t hosted in past decades some impressive guest lists from all up and down the East Coast for society fund-raisers, political events, even gatherings of people who prefer to get together out of the public eye.”

  “Secret societies?” she asked, only half-seriously.

  “Not in the conspiratorial sense. You can want to keep your business private without having some kind of creepy agenda.”

  “Says the man who was undercover in a very secretive and very creepy society.”

  “Well, that was a cult. Bit different.”

  He hadn’t said much about that experience, and Hollis hadn’t asked, assuming he’d share what he wanted when he was ready. She also assumed that since he’d been undercover for a very long time in an extremely dangerous situation, it could easily take a while before he was ready to talk about it.

  Since Hollis had been there briefly, she at least knew how it had all ended, and that was enough for her.

  As for the time he’d spent there, his assignment, she knew the facts of it, just as he undoubtedly knew the facts of her own . . . experience. But she doubted he’d picked up much about that telepathically, because the horrific details of what had triggered her psychic abilities were not something she thought about consciously, and they were details she tended to keep buried pretty deep.

  According to Bishop, and he’d know.

  “Hollis?”

  With a sigh, she said, “I suppose you’re right.” Hollis glanced to her left, nearly stopped, then continued on. “But I wouldn’t completely rule out secret societies.”

  “Why? Seeing spirits?”

  “Oh, I’ve been seeing them all morning. And if what I’m seeing comes from over a hundred years of history . . . then something’s definitely not right. There are a lot of spirits attached to this place, Reese. And that means a lot of people died here, or are or were connected to people here. At least, that’s true if I understand the spirit realm at all.”

  “Can you tell the living from the dead now?”

  “No, except for huge neon signs like clothing way, way out of fashion. But I imagine you would have commented more than once if you’d seen someone out here with us in the last couple of hours. I mean, I know you saw the maintenan
ce people at the stables because we both spoke to them, so they were obviously alive, but . . . You didn’t see people sitting in the gardens as we walked through, did you? Maybe a dozen people, plus as many maids and waiters serving them drinks and stuff, and that’s not counting all the gardeners working at a discreet distance so as not to disturb anyone.”

  “No,” DeMarco said. “I saw no one in the gardens.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Or people swimming in the pool and being served on swim-up underwater seats at that counter?”

  “Hollis, the pool is covered. The pool house and bar closed up.”

  “I know. When I looked at it just now, that’s what I saw. But an hour or so ago when we walked past, the pool was open and a bunch of people were swimming. Even some kids, a few little ones. Going down the slides, splashing and laughing with their parents. People swimming laps. Sitting at the bar drinking out of glasses with little paper umbrellas. More laughing. I could hear them. I could smell the chlorine in the pool water.”

  DeMarco reached out and took her hand. “So you not only saw spirits, but parts of this place as they were . . . at another time.”

  “Apparently. There were flowers blooming, and some shrubbery, so it looked like late spring or summer. I have no idea if I was seeing this place during a single season, or just this place as all these spirits saw it in their living visits.” She shook her head. “Almost like it all . . . blended together for me. A glimpse into Alexander House as a hotel. Except that some of the clothing I’ve seen marks at least some of these guests—or family—as being here during a time before the house was a hotel.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “And it’s not the kind of thing you’ve ever seen before?”

  “So not. Until now, I just saw spirits, and they were definitely moving through our time, our dimension. This is different.” She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “A new tool in my psychic bag of tricks. Oh, joy.”

  He stopped them, still yards short of the conservatory that served as one of the rear entrances to the sprawling house, and half turned so that he could look down at her gravely. “We will figure this out, you know.”