When he severed them all, Reese’s limp body tumbled down toward the treacherous beach boulders before he could grab her. He lunged head first toward her, caught her when she temporarily snagged herself on another tentacled plant, and slipped his arm around her waist. Together, they rode the muddy slope down to the raging ocean. Noah steered them away from the deadly rocks, and they landed with a teeth-rattling jolt on a narrow strip of sand. Wave after kamikaze wave crashed and perished on the enormous boulders protecting the island from erosion. The towering, drenching plumes washed the mud and blood off them in minutes. Both sputtered and coughed from the briny cascade as they staggered to a higher position among the boulders, but out of range of the killer tentacles.
They sat in a large crevice between jagged rocks and gasped for air. Noah tore strips from the bottom edge of the T-shirt he’d given Reese earlier and wrapped them around the worst of her wounds. She whimpered as the salt water in the fabric touched and burned the bleeding sucker punctures.
Once he finished his task, Noah and Reese fell into troubled sleeps until the grim gray dawn penetrated their eyelids and awakened them. He inspected her bandaged wounds and was glad to see the nasty looking puckers had shrunk a little. But they still were red raw. Were they infected? They certainly looked like it, but he wasn’t sure. After all, he wasn’t a medical doctor. But it wouldn’t hurt to soak them with antiseptic cream and have her swallow some antibiotics. But those supplies were a long way off. On the other side of the island, in Oracle’s rented boat.
Gently clutching her hand, he told her about the supplies on the docked boat.
“But what about the island we saw last night? Aren’t we going to swim over there?” Reese asked weakly.
“You wouldn’t make it in your condition,” he said softly. “First we get you the antibiotics, then we swim to the island.”
She wasn’t aware the carnivorous plants had not only drained a lot of her blood, but had sapped her energy as well. During their trek to the other side of Terror Island, her body would rapidly deplete what little strength was held in reserve and leave her enervated.
Noah lifted her to her feet, and they warily made their way between the putrid monster corpses toward the island’s southern tip. His curiosity got the best of him, and he paused to examine one of the battered rhino creatures. Birds had picked at its meat just after daybreak, and the frayed, bloody purple meat dangled like ragged laundry from its massive skeleton.
He quickly backed away from the grisly carcass. Even in death, it gave him the creeps.
Noah wordlessly assisted Reese along the treacherous rocky shoreline because she didn’t appear to have enough stamina left to hold a conversation. So that left him a lot of time to think. To worry. Would their journey be in vain? Would the antibiotic supplies still be on the boat?
He tried to push those nagging concerns out of his mind but failed.
There were only two possible responses to those irksome trepidations.
Yes, and Reese was saved and perhaps they escaped this horrible island on the boat.
No, and … game over.
9
Nick phoned Crow at their NNC headquarters back in Ohio and repeated the Mercedes and Camaro’s license plate numbers for Geronimo to trace. Gabriella pulled away from their parking spot and headed for Oracle’s Network offices as Crow promised to text him the owners’ personal information as soon as possible. Nick disconnected the call, leaned back in the generous seat, and visualized himself wearing a light gray suit, dark gray shirt, no tie, and gray leather slip-ons. Within seconds, he was clothed in the imagined outfit. This skill was yet another one of his innate mystic abilities, thanks to the plethora of strange genes his father had stirred into his alien and human DNA soup.
“You look much better,” Gabriella smiled. “And we’re on time.”
He threw his head back and laughed. It felt good to let his hair down, if only for a few moments. Gabriella emailed him the Wentworth appointment particulars earlier, so he revisited the information on his Apple computer watch. “You’re right. We have an hour to spare.”
She glanced at him at one of the frequent red lights between the hospital and the Oracle Network offices. “Okay, Nick, fill me in on your plan and where I fit in.”
He quickly outlined his scheme, emphasizing that timing was critical for her role.
Gabriella listened carefully on the trip to the Oracle Studios Torrance, California, corporate office and nodded when he finished. Nick was impressed by the modernistic architecture of the studio’s white stucco offices as they pulled into the parking lot and stopped near the entrance. The afternoon sun reflected off the four stories of tinted mirrored glass, but his awe was short-lived. His focus reverted to Noah and Natalie’s plights. Somehow, he thought, the sudden Terror Island communications breakdown and Natalie’s transformation into the murderous Wicker person were connected, and he believed Margaret Wentworth could clear up some or all of that mystery.
Nick clenched his teeth after kissing Gabriella and exiting the SUV. He straightened his suitcoat. Oh yes, there was one other thing he wanted to clear up. What in hell was Oracle hiding by refusing to release the Final Scream—Terror Island video?
Nick watched Gabriella drive off, and his lips tightened to a taut line. If Geronimo discovered the Mercedes driver who picked up Natalie behind the hospital was an Oracle employee, Maggie Wentworth would wish she had never been born when he finished with her. Sending the two cops to Alaska had been child’s play compared to what he could do to the Oracle president.
The expansive open lobby was comfortably cool and well-appointed with expensive paintings, replicas of ancient statues, leather furniture, and grass green carpeting that projected the feel of walking in a meadow. Nick approached the guard station, introduced himself and the purpose of his visit, and signed the guest register. One of the two guards phoned Wentworth’s secretary to announce Nick’s arrival, while the other insisted Nick empty his pockets before walking through the metal detector.
When he checked out fine, the man gave him a stick-on name badge and pointed toward the mirrored elevator doors fifty feet behind the guard station. One of the elevator doors slid aside, and Nick walked inside and pressed the fourth floor button. Wentworth’s aloof secretary escorted him into her boss’ office without uttering a single word. She shut the door behind him, and Nick glanced around the over-the-top extravagant interior before acknowledging the president’s presence. Who was she trying to impress with such gaudy furnishings? Certainly not anyone with genuine taste.
Margaret “Maggie” Wentworth stood, stepped forward, and firmly pumped his hand. Nick immediately pegged her as one of those corn-cob-up-the-ass administrators with an ego the size of Los Angeles.
“Maggie Wentworth,” she offered coolly. She wore a black pant suit, frilly white blouse, and high-heeled pumps.
“Nick Bellamy,” he replied and eased himself into one of the two plush burgundy chairs fronting her whitewashed wood desk. He noted an array of switches, speakers, and security monitors built in the desk’s surface. One of them displayed a full view of the parking lot, and he was glad that Gabriella drove away. The last thing he wanted was to arouse her suspicion.
The fortyish Oracle CEO had a tall, graceful frame with wide, rounded shoulders. Her lips were firm and thin, her cheeks high and pink, and her round hazel eyes sharp and assessing. Wentworth’s tapered jaw, oblong face, and stony expression reminded him of Cruella de Vil from the movie 101 Dalmatians. A wealth of auburn hair streaked with ruby highlights tumbled over her shoulders as she returned to her high-backed leather desk chair.
“So what can I do for you, Mr. Bellamy?” she demanded, coming straight to the point.
“First of all, call me Nick. And to answer your question, I believe my secretary spelled out why I’m here. I need to gather as much information as possible for the president’s inquiry concerning your doomed reality show, Final Scream—Terror Island.”
It took
several tries before she cleared an obstinate frog from her throat. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than I’ve already told the press, except we finally established contact with our Terror Island crew an hour ago, and they’ve repaired the technical issues,” she said evenly.
Nick leaned forward and swept a few stray hairs from his crinkled forehead. “Nice try, Ms. Wentworth, but you’re lying through your teeth,” he argued. “My government sources updated me minutes before I entered your parking lot, and there has definitely been no contact with Terror Island by anyone, much less your studios, since the night the communications were severed. President Hanover and I want to know what’s really going on here, and don’t try lying again, or you’ll find yourself in a federal lock-up before you can call your lawyer.”
She shifted awkwardly in her chair. “I am not lying about the crew contacting us,” she argued, standing abruptly and gesturing toward the door. “Our meeting is over. Good day.”
Nick stood. “It’s over when I say it’s over.” On cue, his drop-dead gorgeous fiancée materialized out of thin air beside him. Her stern, translucent indigo gaze was fixed on Wentworth’s amazed countenance.
Gabriella pecked Nick lightly on the lips. “How’s this for timing?” she asked him.
“Perfect, as always.”
She glanced at Wentworth again. “I suppose she’s been lying to you, like you expected.”
Nick threw his head back and laughed. “I’m afraid so. I hate being right so often, but scumbags are so predictable.”
Maggie glanced at Nick. “Who the hell is this woman?”
Gabriella answered for him. “I’m your worst nightmare if you don’t start telling us the truth.”
Maggie Wentworth reached for the security call toggle on the desk, but the entire bank of switches vanished before she could flick it. She yanked her hand away like there was a poisonous viper on her desk. “How … how did you do that?” she demanded, although her tone was anything but hostile now.
“Gabriella’s the name.” The witch leaned on the side of the table and glared at the network president. “Don’t try summoning help again. It’s useless.”
Wentworth propped her elbows on the desk blotter and cradled her chin with her hands. “I don’t give a shit what kind of magic mumbo-jumbo you claim to have, this is my office, and I call the shots here! As I said before, this meeting is over. Now get out, both of you!” she shrieked.
Gabriella pumped her shoulders at Nick, who shrugged in return.
Gabriella waved her hands in front of Wentworth’s angry face. “Have it your way, sister.”
The president’s pant suit vanished, exposing her expensive black bra and panties. Wentworth leaped out of her chair and awkwardly tried to conceal her bra and panties with her hands and arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but three tan and green moths fluttered out instead of words. Her eyes bulged, and she moved her hand from her bra to her closed mouth. She stormed around the desk toward Gabriella, but when she was a yard from her target, Wentworth’s progress slowed, as if she were mired in quicksand. Nick’s forearm smothered his smile—he was absolutely enjoying Gabriella’s tortuous performance.
“If I were you, I’d reconsider adjourning our meeting,” Nick advised her. “Gabriella’s spells can be permanent, you know? The choice is yours.”
Wentworth wilted, and her face reflected defeat. She looked down and gawked at her orange webbed feet. She waddled back to her chair and plopped down into it. She grunted what sounded like a question, but only dozens of moths emerged again.
Gabriella waved her hands again, temporarily removing the spell.
The network president tentatively moved her mouth to speak, and this time she spoke words, not moths. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll cooperate with you both. Please, sit down.”
Once Gabriella and Nick complied, she added, “I’ll tell you everything I know, but you two can’t repeat it to anyone. As far as the outside world is concerned, we never even met today. Agreed?”
“Why the need for secrecy?” Nick asked before approving her stipulations.
Wentworth swiveled her chair toward the wall of glass behind the desk and hunkered down in her chair. “Because if a certain person learns I told you what actually happened on Terror Island that evening, I’m dead.”
She shivered. “Or worse than dead.”
10
Gabriella shot Nick a can-you-believe-this-bullshit glance, and he nodded knowingly. Whatever story Maggie Wentworth was about to tell them wasn’t going to be the truth. So why lie again?
Then the answer struck home.
She was stalling.
But stalling for what?
The only motive that made a lick of sense was she was expecting help to arrive.
Nick’s senses went on High Alert status as he restarted his interrogation. His expression telegraphed the news to Gabriella. “Whose bright idea was it to produce this year’s Final Scream on Terror Island?”
Maggie’s fingers nervously tapped the ink blotter. “Uh, it was my idea.”
“Why’d you select Terror Island? I mean, there are thousands of islands in the South Pacific to choose from,” he pressed.
“That particular island had the perfect mountain backdrop we were looking for,” she claimed. “The jungle was breathtaking, and its name was too intriguing to pass up!”
“I see,” he responded, but she still wasn’t telling them the truth. He wasn’t any smarter than when he walked into her office earlier.
Gabriella entered the conversation. “Were there any indications during pre-planning that communications between the island and the satellite would be a problem?”
“None whatsoever. The uplink and downlink performed flawlessly,” Maggie replied defensively, as if her veracity was being attacked. “So I have no idea what went technically wrong at the beginning of the show’s broadcast. Afterward, we hired two rescue groups to check out the island, but as you are no doubt aware, we lost contact with both of them.”
Nick was skeptical. There obviously was something on Terror Island that posed a risk to people in general since both rescue groups vanished as well. What he couldn’t figure out was what was so valuable on the island that made all those lives expendable?
“Have you petitioned the Defense Department to become involved? You know, send in troops?” Nick posed.
“Yes, and frankly they refused our request.”
Nick was bewildered. “Why in God’s name would they turn you down?”
“The colonel I spoke with said the military didn’t want to set a precedent for getting mixed up in private corporate affairs. He went on to say his budget doesn’t contain funds appropriated for rescuing reckless corporate ventures on foreign soil,” she explained curtly. “He was adamant on that point.”
That Nick believed.
“Well, we’re getting involved,” Gabriella snapped crossly. “Nick’s cousin was one of the Final Scream—Terror Island contestants, and we’re going to get to the bottom of your so-called communications failure come hell or high water.”
Wentworth shrugged. “More power to you. Of course, I can’t officially give you any monetary or manpower assistance. If I did, our insurance carrier would drop us like a hot potato. We’re on thin ice with them as it is. You understand, of course.”
Nick and Gabriella nodded as they both caught wind of an intruder arriving in the attached conference room. The door was slightly open, leaving too narrow a breach to observe the approaching enemy. Nick signaled Gabriella to let the scenario play out. He was curious to learn if Maggie’s help was there to kill Gabriella and him, or all three of them.
The couple continued the meeting as if they didn’t suspect a thing, but they were nevertheless prepared to react to the impending attack.
“Yes, we understand. We’ve had disagreements with our own insurance companies,” Nick said softly. His hand slipped beneath his suit coat and smoothly removed his Glock. “So who wants you dead?”
“I don’t know—we only spoke on the phone. She cautioned me about disclosing any details from the horrible video we received from Terror Island that night. Let me say, the footage was graphic. And frightening. And that’s all I’ll tell you about it.”
“What would happen to you if you did tell us more about what you saw?” Gabriella asked.
“If I didn’t cooperate, she told me I wouldn’t live long enough to make the same mistake twice.”
“Do you know what her relationship is with the show?” Gabriella hastily asked to draw Maggie’s attention away from Nick as he moved his Glock to his hip.
“I … I don’t know. None that I’m aware of.”
“Liar!” Gabriella shouted as she sprang out of her chair and vanished.
The conference room door flew open, and an Asian man in his twenties fired at Nick with his automatic rifle. However, the bullet spray didn’t travel any farther than a few feet before the bullets ricocheted back at the shooter. Nick grinned. Before Gabriella left, she cast a protective barrier between the conference room and the office.
A one-way barrier.
The assassin scowled as Nick raised his Glock and shot out both the man’s kneecaps. The Asian yelled in agony, dropped his weapon, and immediately collapsed to the carpeted floor. He thrashed about like a man possessed by the devil.
Maggie Wentworth yanked open a desk drawer and extracted a long syringe filled with amber fluid. Before Nick could stop her, she jammed the needle into her upper thigh and fell back in her leather chair. She appeared unconscious, so he shifted his focus to the wounded assassin.
Final Scream Page 6