Powerhouse

by Rebecca York

  And what was she going to do? Matt had reminded her that she couldn’t use her cell phone. How was she going to hook up with him again?

  Although the two cars had disappeared, she stayed at the window, searching the distance and the parking lot. But neither of the vehicles reappeared, which gave her only temporary safety. If the men didn’t find Matt, they might come back here looking for her. She couldn’t stay in this room.

  Or in the motel?

  Matt had stowed their luggage in the car. She had only her purse with her. After taking one more look out the window, she crossed to the sitting area then stepped into the hall. When she closed the door behind her, she realized she couldn’t get back inside because Matt had taken the only key. And he’d checked out, anyway.

  She hurried down the stairs and out into the frigid morning air, thinking that she was up the creek without a paddle.

  Matt had the number of the FBI. He also had Jack’s number, which she could get from the Web, she supposed, if she had access to a computer.

  Struggling against the trapped feeling compressing her chest, she headed back into the lobby, but she couldn’t just wait where anyone who came in could see her. Matt had come down here for breakfast. Was that room still open?

  MATT SHOT DOWN the road, scrambling for a way to thwart the guys following him. Last night they’d passed a section of town that was crawling with fast-food restaurants. That meant tons of parking lots with people getting in and out of cars. A good place to lose the tail.

  He turned in at a well-known chain with a playground out in front, craning his neck as he passed the drive-through. There was only one lane, so he couldn’t get around the building that way.

  With the bad guys close behind him, he plowed through the parking lot, barely missing a man and woman coming out with bags of food.

  They jumped back onto the curb as he and the other car roared past.

  What were the odds of getting away? Could he use his talent to send the other car in the wrong direction?

  He tried giving the driver behind him a silent message, but the other vehicle stayed with him, and he assumed that the car chase was interfering with his concentration.

  After rounding a pile of snow between two parking areas, he whipped around another building.

  This one had a wider drive-through lane and he turned in there, listening to horns honk as people assumed he was trying to cut in line.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw the driver of a pickup truck pull out, presumably with his order, cutting off the car pursuing Matt. He took the opportunity to plunge into the next parking lot, then around another building.

  When he looked behind him, he saw that he’d lost the pursuers. Was it safe to take the highway back to the motel? Or did he need to keep up this game of hide and seek for a while longer?

  As his thoughts turned to Shelley, his throat clogged. She’d been looking for him out the window, and she must have seen him drive away with the other car right behind him. She had to be terrified.

  Dammit, she didn’t even have a phone. Well, when they hooked up again, he’d remedy that.

  If they hooked up again. No, cancel that. He was going to go back there and get her.

  WALKING SWIFTLY past the front desk, Shelley followed the signs to the room where breakfast had been served.

  A blond woman in a maid’s uniform shook her head. “I’m sorry, honey. We closed a half hour ago, but you can get coffee down by the pool.”

  “Thank you,” she answered and kept walking, down the hall toward the weight room and indoor pool.

  After stepping into the exercise area, she opened the door a crack and looked back. The maid was still standing there, so she made a circuit of the room, inspecting the various machines. It wasn’t bad for a motel facility. When she opened the door to the pool area, a blast of heated, chlorine-scented air hit her, and she dodged back.

  How long would she have to wait for Matt? And what should she do if he didn’t come back?

  If she called the FBI in Washington, would they admit that they had agents stationed at the Facility? Maybe if she told them she’d spoken to Perry Owens? Unfortunately, he wouldn’t confirm that, because she’d stayed silent on the phone while Matt had done the talking.

  Feeling as though she was wandering through the hedgerows of a maze with no exit, she walked back down the hall toward the breakfast room. When she didn’t see the maid who had warned her away, she turned the door knob.

  The door wasn’t locked, and she was able to slip inside. After her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she inspected her surroundings. The room was about thirty feet long and fifteen feet wide with about twenty tables—some for two and some for four.

  Along one wall was a serving counter that was mostly empty except for stacks of trays. Beside the counter was a refrigerator case and at the end of the counter was another door. Hoping to find a closet where she could hide or another exit, she pulled the door open and found a storage area lined with shelves for paper goods and other supplies.

  The only way out of here was where she’d come in. Unless she could get a window open.

  When she tried one, she found it was fixed in place with no opening mechanism.

  And this room wasn’t at the front of the building, so she wouldn’t be able to see Matt drive up if he was able to come back for her.

  She struggled to stay calm as she considered her options.

  She could call the local police, but then she might end up in jail for disturbing the peace, since there was only her word for it that she and Matt hadn’t been the ones shooting up the parking lot at the other motel. And was shooting a gun in a populated area more serious than just disturbing the peace?

  Her mind continued to spin. Could she get to the Facility on her own? She’d listened to Owens giving them directions, but she hadn’t written them down. And probably she wasn’t going to be able to take a cab there.

  She ground her teeth. Every alternative she thought of ended in a blank wall—or disaster.

  Pulling the blinds aside so she’d have a little light, she dug into her purse to find her wallet.

  How much cash did she have?

  Not much more than a hundred dollars, which wasn’t going to get her very far. And Matt hadn’t used an ATM, which meant she shouldn’t do that, either.

  DON CAMPBELL slapped the steering wheel with his palms. “You see if you can scoop her up. I’ll go back to the fast-food joints.”

  “I don’t like splitting up.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “No,” Bobby Savage answered as he climbed out of the car and turned toward the main entrance of the hotel. He took a deep breath and let it out before walking into the lobby. The clerk who’d been on duty here last night had been cooperative. But there was another guy on the desk this morning. Would he give out information about guests?

  And which was the best approach to take? Pretending to be a cop or pretending to be a friend of Whitlock and Young?

  He’d make that decision when he walked up to the desk and got a closer look at the clerk.

  SHELLEY FELT like a mouse huddled in a hole. Or was it more like being a sitting duck?

  What if she left the breakfast room? Could she tell one of the staff that she was waiting for Matt?

  They’d probably direct her to the bar, which was more exposed than she was now.

  Out in the lobby, she heard someone speaking in a loud voice.

  Quietly she tiptoed across the room and eased the door open. A man was standing at the front desk, talking with the clerk.

  She froze as she realized he was one of the men she’d seen last night.

  Chapter Nine

  “Certainly you can look around, detective,” the clerk said.

  Before he could turn, Shelley eased the door closed and looked wildly around the darkened breakfast area for something to use as a weapon and somewhere to hide. The best she could do was race to other side of the room, grab some of the metal
trays from the counter and duck down behind one of the tables.

  Seconds after she’d lowered herself to the floor, someone yanked open the door.

  She couldn’t be sure it was the man who was pretending to be a detective, but that was an excellent guess.

  As she waited with her heart pounding, she prayed that he would go away. Instead he turned on the light and took several steps into the room.

  Slowly he began to walk around the tables, his footsteps coming closer and closer.

  With the light on, her hiding place didn’t give her much shelter, and she wasn’t surprised to hear a gruff voice say,

  “Get up.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I said, get up.”

  She knew that if he got his hands on her, there would be no one to save her son, but as he moved rapidly toward her, she saw that he had a gun in his hand, and that changed everything.

  She’d thought she could throw the trays at him, Frisbee style, and get out of the room. That wasn’t such a hot idea when he was pointing a weapon at her.

  Could she throw the tray across the floor so he’d think there was someone else in here? Or what if she pretended to faint from fear? He’d have to bend down, and then she could whack his gun hand with the tray.

  She was desperate enough to try it. Before she could act, the door burst open again and another figure barreled inside.

  It was Matt.

  When he heard the door, the man turned quickly. But Shelley was just as quick.

  She threw the tray with a flick of her wrist, catching the man in the back of the neck with the edge. He cried out as he went down.

  “Watch out, he’s got a pistol,” she shouted.

  Matt leaped on the gunman, trying to grab the weapon, but the thug had recovered from the blow to his neck and started wrestling with Matt.

  Her heart wedged into her throat as they rolled across the floor, grunting and growling as each of them struggled for control of the weapon.

  With her gaze fixed on them, she wove through the tables, raising the tray above her head, trying to time her assault on the bad guy.

  When the assailant rolled on top of Matt, she held the tray so that the edge was facing downward, them rammed it onto the top of the thug’s head.

  He went still, and Matt grabbed the gun, shoving it into his coat pocket before scrambling up.

  “Come on.”

  They were almost to the door when the manager and the desk clerk charged into the room.

  “What’s going on?” the manager demanded.

  “Call the police,” Matt shouted. “That man attacked us.”

  “He said he was a detective,” the desk clerk answered.

  “He’s lying,” Matt shot back.

  As the staffers started toward the guy on the floor, Matt grabbed Shelley’s hand.

  He led her out of the room, through the door, and to the car, which he’d pulled up under the marquee at the front entrance. Opening the door, he practically shoved her inside, then sprinted around to the driver’s side and got in.

  The desk clerk was running toward them now.

  “Stop. You have to wait for the police.”

  Matt didn’t bother answering as he sped away from the building.

  In the distance she could hear a police siren. But they were out of the parking lot before they spotted a patrol car.

  She watched out the back window for several minutes, making sure they weren’t being followed, then turned in her seat, surprised at the view. They’d left the urban area behind, and all around them were pine forests and mountains, with big rock formations rising out of the trees.

  “Are you okay?” Matt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

  “You didn’t have a choice. I saw that car pull up behind you. How did you get away from them?”

  “There’s a whole bunch of fast-food restaurants down the street from the motel. I headed there and zipped in and out of parking lots, dodging pedestrians. Probably the other guy’s still there, looking for me.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “The maid. She saw you go into the breakfast room after she’d told you it was closed, and she was getting ready to inform the manager.”

  “I thought I’d given her the slip. I guess she was still keeping tabs on me.”

  Matt turned left onto a two-lane highway. “I was terrified I wasn’t going to find you,” he said in a rough voice.

  “I didn’t know what to do after you left.”

  “You did the right thing, staying at the motel.”

  “Except that the guy came back looking for me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.”

  “I should have been more careful when I went outside. But they were parked between two cars in the lot, and I didn’t see them until it was too late.”

  “How did they find us?”

  “I guess they were asking around—and somebody gave them a tip. Maybe the clerk who checked us in.”

  “Will they come after us again?”

  “I hope not,” Matt said, but she could tell by his tone that they shouldn’t count on being in the clear.

  MATT REACHED for her hand and gripped it tightly. Now that they were out of danger, Shelley had started to shake, and frankly he wasn’t doing much better.

  He’d been scared spitless when he’d started thinking about how she would react to the unexpected change in plans. It was a miracle that they were back in the car together. Or maybe it was a sign that their luck had changed.

  Pulling off the road onto the shoulder, he reached for her across the console and gathered her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, reassuring himself as well as her. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She closed her eyes and leaned into him, and they clung together for long moments.

  “I don’t want that to happen again. We need phones,” she said when she finally spoke.

  “We won’t get separated again. And we don’t have time to stop now. We’re already late.”

  She closed her eyes, hanging on to him fiercely. “That was awful.”

  “I know. It was awful for me, too,” he admitted in a gritty voice. “I kept worrying about where you were going to be. And worrying about what I was going to do if I couldn’t find you.” He stroked her arm. “Then I charged into the breakfast room and that goon had gotten there first. Are you okay?”

  “As okay as I can be. Under the circumstances.”

  “Yeah. I guess I mean—are you ready to go to the Facility?”

  “That was the plan.”

  He looked at the directions the FBI agent had given him, then pulled back out onto the highway. “Watch for a small sign at a crossroads that says 250,” he said. “It will be on the right.”

  She kept her gaze trained to the right of the shoulder and pointed to the sign after a couple of miles.

  “There.”

  He turned onto a gravel road that had been kept plowed. It was wide enough for only one vehicle at a time. Looming ahead of them was a mountain rising out of the forest.

  When they came to a chain-link fence with a gatehouse, he slowed. A man in heavy coat, knit cap and jeans tucked into high boots met them as they came to a stop.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Matt Whitlock and Shelley Young to see Special Agent Owens.”

  “Can I see some identification please?”

  They both fished their drivers’ licenses out of their wallets and handed them to the guard who looked at them for several moments before handing them back.

  “Would you open the trunk?”

  Matt sprang the latch, and the guard ducked his head under the door, presumably looking through their luggage.

  When he returned to the guardhouse, he picked up a telephone and pressed a sequence of numbers. After a brief conversation, he opened the automatic gate.r />
  “I guess they don’t want anyone wandering in here,” Shelley murmured.

  “Apparently.”

  As Matt drove through and continued along the road leading toward the mountain, his heart was pounding. He had to assume that he’d been here before. For three months. But none of it looked familiar.

  The road ended in a larger, plowed gravel area where several cars were parked. Beyond it was a door built into what looked like solid rock.

  “Fortress America,” Shelley whispered.

  “Yeah. And you can bet that every inch of the way from the time we drove through the gate is under video surveillance.”

  She nodded in the direction they’d come. “And probably cameras in the trees leading up to the gate, too.”

  They climbed out of the car and approached the door. Before they reached it, a man stepped out.

  Since he wasn’t dressed for the South Dakota winter, they followed him quickly inside.

  When the door shut automatically behind them, Matt had to fight a trapped sensation.

  He’d been held here against his will, but this was different, he told himself. Crazy scientists had been running the place back then. Now the FBI was in charge.

  “Special Agent Perry Owens,” the man said, holding out his hand.

  “Matt Whitlock.”

  “And Shelley Young.”

  Each of them shook hands with the agent.

  As they followed him through another door, Matt sized him up. He was a big man, six feet tall and well muscled, with prematurely gray hair. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, he was dressed in a crisp white shirt, suit and tie.

  “This is a natural cave,” he said. “It was a Cold War secure facility.”

  “A fallout shelter?” Matt asked, struggling to hold his voice steady. He’d known that coming back here would affect him, but he hadn’t wanted to admit—even to himself—how bad it would be.

  “Yeah. But then it was decommissioned, and the government lost track of it. How much do you know about what went on here?”

  Matt related what Jack and Claudia had told them. As Matt spoke, Owens kept his gaze fixed on him. “And you were one of the test subjects?”