Preying Game (Decorah Security Series, Book #15): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel

by Rebecca York

  There was no use protesting that she’d probably throw up the meal she’d just eaten, even after a half hour of “relaxing.” Instead she pushed back her chair, turned, and headed for the corridor that led to her cell.

  Chapter 5

  Grant had asked if Jonah could get in touch with Alice during the day. He’d only connected with her once, and that had been at night. But he supposed it was worth a try now.

  Instead of heading for the Decorah office, he drove to the garage where he could reproduce the conditions under which he’d first contacted her.

  After slipping into the driver’s seat of the old Chevy, he turned on the radio. Leaning back, he reached for the tuning knob, then closed his eyes. He told himself it would be better if he relaxed, but his heart was thumping like a native drum, betraying his state of mind. As he turned the radio knob, he was greeted by static, the same as when last night’s transmission had cut off.

  “Alice?” he asked; “Are you there?” He spoke aloud and also projected the words in his mind, reaching out toward her, using the description she’d given him so that he could picture her. Dark blond hair. Blue eyes. A small nose. A sensual bottom lip. At least that was how he interpreted what she’d told him. She was five five. In his mind he made her slender and well proportioned.

  He waited for endless minutes, keeping the image in his mind.

  When he realized his free hand was clamped around the steering wheel, he made an effort to unlock it.

  “Alice,” he tried again.

  She didn’t answer, and he felt a terrible tightness inside his chest. Either she wasn’t there or . . .

  Or what?

  They’d talked at night the last time. He imagined she’d been in her bed. Maybe there was something she had to do during the day. Maybe she was even with the guy, and she wouldn’t be able to focus on a mental connection that had been heartbreakingly brief.

  He gave it a couple more tries, but he suspected it wasn’t going to do any good. He’d have to wait until she had some quiet time. Then she’d be able to reach out to him again. Or not.

  A wave of cold swept over him. She’d done it once. There was no reason to think that she couldn’t repeat it. Unless it had something to do with atmospheric conditions and radio waves.

  After a few more minutes of trying to reach out, he gave it up. Disappointment was like a damp, heavy blanket weighing down his whole body. With a sigh he turned off the radio and levered himself out of the car. Unable to stop himself, he slammed the wide door in frustration. Maybe he should go over to the Decorah medical facility and make himself useful.

  oOo

  By the end of the day, Alice was staggering around like a drunken nightclub patrol. Hayward had worked her so hard that she could barely change into her nightgown and carry her dinner tray to the table in her cell. The meal looked particularly unappealing tonight, but sending the food back untouched was not an option. This was all she was going to get, and she knew she had to eat while she could. Doggedly, she forced herself to chew and swallow the vegetables and chicken that had the texture of rubber.

  After she finished the meal, she put the tray in the slot and fell into bed.

  She lay in the dark, somewhere between sleeping and waking. In her present state, it was almost impossible to believe that Jonah Ranger was real. It made sense that she’d conjured him up because she desperately needed some shred of hope in her awful existence.

  But he had given her a connection outside her prison, and as she lay in her bed, she gathered her strength to reach out to him.

  This time it was the other way around. She heard his voice ringing out in her head.

  Alice?

  In the dark, she blinked. Was that really him?

  She wanted to call his name out loud. But that would be a mistake. Probably Hayward was listening to her, and he’d want to know who she was talking to.

  Instead, she kept the answer in her mind. Jonah?

  Yes

  Thank God.

  That’s what I was going to say. I tried to reach you at lunchtime, but it was a total bust.

  She thought back to her own lunch. Hayward made me eat with him in the formal dining room. I had to focus on the conversation. We were talking about literature and history. Something I said made him angry, and he worked me so hard I almost fell over.

  Angry about what?

  About you.

  He felt a surge of alarm. You didn’t talk about me, did you?

  No. I wouldn’t do that. She gave a mirthless laugh. But I thought of you, and he said my expression had changed. He said I looked hopeful. And when I tried to pretend I was thinking about something else—that didn’t work out so well either.

  Jonah answered with a curse on the other end of the line. Sorry.

  That’s okay. I agree completely.

  What was the other thing you said?

  Hemingway popped into my head. I, uh, said I was thinking about how he felt emasculated after the Spanish Civil War—and that came out in his writing.

  Interesting. You think the guy’s impotent? That could be a reason he gets his kicks from keeping you captive.

  I don’t know. But he did flush when I said it.

  I’ll file that away. But we’d better get back to work, in case we lose the connection again.

  That made her heart pound. Oh Lord, I hope not.

  I have to ask you something.

  The urgency in his voice grated against her nerve endings as she tried not to focus on her fear. Okay.

  Is Alice Davenport your real name?

  Yes.

  I can’t find any record of your having gotten killed.

  You can’t?

  Jonah hesitated for a moment, then asked, Is there some reason you don’t want me to know your real name?

  Of course not.

  She sounded sincere. But he supposed she would if she had a reason to keep her identity secret. He wanted to press her on that, but he thought it would be a mistake. What if he scared her, and she cut off the communication? But why would she? She was the one who had begged for his help in the first place.

  He put the puzzle of her name aside and focused on the verbal picture she’d given him. On her dark blond hair, her blue eyes, her pale skin.

  He’d been unconsciously leaning toward the radio. He forced himself to relax in the seat. Screw the identity part. The important thing was to get her out of there. Unless this was some kind of con. Too bad he couldn’t record this conversation and let the other Decorah agents listen to it. But it was all in his head. There was nothing to record.

  You say he’s going to kill you.

  Yes!

  How do you know?

  He told me.

  He could be lying.

  He told me he’s killed five other women.

  Jesus!

  You said I’ve been here two months.

  Yes. Has he hurt you, he asked, dreading the answer.

  No. What he’s doing is giving me physical training. Running. Climbing. Stuff like shooting baskets. Climbing a net. Once he thinks I’m ready, he’s going to turn me loose outside—at least I think it’s outside—and hunt me. We’re in a big house. I’m assuming it’s on a big estate. And I guess it’s in an isolated location.

  What? he gasped. Just to make sure he’d heard her right, he repeated what she’d said. He’s going to hunt you and kill you?

  Yes, she answered again.

  That’s . . . inhuman.

  Yes. Like I told you, nobody knows I’m here. He says they think I died in a freak rock slide and I’m under thousands of tons of rubble.

  Christ!

  I get meals in my cell. Someone cooks them, but maybe it’s him. They’re awful. No salt. No seasoning. No frying. I suppose it’s what you’d call healthy food.

  Is there anything you can tell me that would help me find you?

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and his pulse pounded in his temple. Last time the conversation had cut
off abruptly. Was she still there?

  Alice?

  I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything. He sensed her dragging in a breath and letting it out. Okay, well, it’s an old house, I think. Or made to look old. In the dining room the furnishings are antique. Or they’re good reproductions.

  What can you see out the window?

  Nothing. The shutters are closed.

  Damn. Do you know when he’s planning the hunt?

  No, but like I said, he implied he might move it up.

  We’ll figure out how to get you away from him. He wanted to believe it. He knew she did too.

  Her mental voice turned tentative. I asked you a little about it last night. How is it that I’m able to talk to you like this?

  He cleared his throat, then realized he was only stalling for time. This may sound weird, but I work for a security agency where a lot of the agents have . . . he tried to think of how to put it. Special powers.

  You mean superpowers? Like Superman or something?

  Now he heard the skepticism in her inner voice.

  Not like superheroes, he answered quickly. Frank Decorah, the man who runs the agency, recognizes people with unusual talents. There are several of us who can communicate mind to mind. I’m not the best at it. I’ve used the talent to help find kidnap victims. But in the past, it was always over short distances. He sighed in frustration. I don’t even know where you are.

  Right. But how did we . . . make contact? I mean, I was sending out a message in my mind, hoping against hope that someone would hear me.

  And I did. I was working on a car. I kept getting static on the radio. And then I heard your voice. I don’t know how it happened, he added quickly. But somehow it was the reverse of what I’ve done in the past. You reached out to me.

  Not to you, she put in quickly. I was desperate for someone to help me. And you were there. Thank God, she added.

  Yes, thank God.

  When he’d found kidnap victims before, he’d done it by lying down in a dark room with his eyes closed and sending his mind out to a victim that Decorah Security was trying to find. The link might not be strong. But he could strengthen it by getting physically closer, usually in a van—with someone else driving. He had always been the active agent in reaching out. And sometimes he’d established a rapport with the victim. But he’d never felt as personally connected as with Alice. He wanted to keep talking to her now. But when he looked at his watch, he was shocked at the time.

  It’s after 1:00am he said.

  That’s late. I have no way to tell time here.

  If you’re going to be doing physical stuff all day, you have to get some sleep.

  I know, but I don’t want to stop talking to you. You’re the only human contact I’ve had since I got here . . . except with him. Please, can you stay a little longer?

  Feeling her desperation, he could only say yes. And he didn’t want to break the connection either.

  Tell me about yourself, she said.

  He thought about what to say. You know I work for a security company. I have a degree in criminal justice from the University of Maryland.

  Why didn’t you go into the police force?

  I did. Then I met Frank Decorah, and his agency seemed like a better fit.

  Tell me something fun about yourself.

  The first thing that came into his head was, I’m really good at Monopoly. We had a club at my school.

  Oh, me too. My brothers and sister and I loved to play. Do you have siblings?

  No. I was an only child. My Mom was a teacher in Baltimore. My dad worked for the Social Security Administration. They’re both gone.

  I’m sorry.

  Decorah Security is like my family now, he answered, thinking how lucky he was that Frank had sought him out. Tell me about yourself.

  I’m pretty ordinary.

  I don’t think so. He must have picked you for a reason.

  Maybe because I’m athletic. I grew up on a farm.

  You did?

  Uh huh. I had two brothers and a sister. My dad probably wished more of us were boys, but we all had to pitch in with the chores. I milked cows, fed chickens, collected eggs.

  Sounds like fun.

  Anything sounds like fun if you don’t have to do it every day.

  He was about to ask another question, when he heard her gasp.

  What?

  I think he knows I’m awake. Oh Lord, I have to go.

  Before he could say more, she broke off the conversation, and he felt like one of his arteries had been severed.

  Chapter 6

  “Alice,” Jonah shouted. Something had happened. Something bad.

  She’d said the guy knew she was awake. And what? He was angry? He was going to hurt her? He was hurting her now.

  Jonah called her name into the darkness.

  He had to get back there. Or was he wrong? Maybe, under the circumstances, trying to reconnect was worse than leaving her alone. And maybe he couldn’t do it by himself anyway. Not if Alice was blocking him. Or unconscious or something else bad.

  He didn’t know.

  But he couldn’t do nothing.

  Trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart, he struggled to reach out to her again. Now it was like there was no substance to grab onto. She was gone.

  For twenty panicked minutes, he kept trying to get to her again. By the time he knew it wasn’t going to work, his body was dripping with sweat, and his blood pressure was probably in the stratosphere.

  Heaving himself up, he pulled on running shoes and shorts, pounded down the steps, and stepped into the chilly night air. He started running, as hard and as fast as he could, striving to empty his consciousness of everything but the pounding of his feet and the breath gasping in and out of his lungs. He had never pushed himself so hard. When he was reduced to staggering, he turned and made his slow way back to the old garage.

  Inside, he dragged himself up the steps, took a hot shower, then flopped into bed where he slept like a drugged mental patient, too exhausted to let his mind keep churning.

  He woke with a start a few hours later, remembering everything and ordering himself not to go crazy again. Turning his head, he looked out the window and saw the gray light that comes before the sun is up.

  He’d tried to reach out to her in a panic and failed.

  Was there any use trying again?

  “Don’t force the connection,” he ordered himself. “Picture her instead.”

  This early, she would still be lying in bed—if the guy hadn’t dragged her off somewhere.

  Gritting his teeth to slash away that last thought, he went back to picturing Alice. He dressed her in a modest nightgown and imagined she was in a small, whitewashed room, her eyes closed, her blond hair tousled on the pillow.

  Once he had gotten that far, he allowed himself to hope for more. If her mind was closed to him, what if he could make a different connection?

  He knew that Grant had been able to join Jenny in her bedroom when she’d been abducted. Not with his body but in a sort of spectral form—the next step after contacting her telepathically. At first he’d had no real substance in the room where she was being held, a ghost only she could see. But he was able to make himself more solid, and finally it was like he was really there.

  Of course, Grant had had a big advantage. He’d known Jenny a lot better than Jonah knew Alice. Probably he’d already made love with her, Jonah thought with a pang, which would give him a strong physical link. Plus, he knew her location because he’d had a tracker on her car and been able to drive within a few miles of the estate where she was being held. Outside the grounds, he met with Decorah agents who had rented a house where he could lie in bed and reach out to her.

  That was before Jonah had joined Decorah Security. But Grant had told him about the experience when he’d helped Jonah learn to use his psychic talent.

  Now the whole idea sounded impossible. He never would have considered it in a million years, unless
he knew someone who’d already done it. Luckily he had Grant’s success to use as a model.

  Jonah might not have the advantages of knowing Alice’s location or having been intimate with her. But he was as desperate to contact her as Grant had been with Jenny.

  He gathered up a fist full of sheet and squeezed it in his hand.

  Was he crazy enough to think he could do something so outside the realm of normal human experience?

  Yes. Because his conversations with Alice fell into the same category. And what did he have to lose by trying?

  He laughed and unclenched the sheet. If he really thought he could go where she was, maybe he should put on some clothes.

  He got up and pulled on a pair of comfortably soft, faded jeans over his boxers and got back into bed. When he was ready, he took a deep breath and let it out, then squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his muscles tense.

  “Stop it,” he muttered to himself. “Tension isn’t going to help. Loosen up.”

  He made a conscious effort to relax and went back to picturing Alice lying in her cell.

  He could bring up the scene, but he couldn’t get any farther. He was still lying in his own bed.

  He swung his head toward the clock on the bedside table. 6:00 am. It was tempting to call Grant and ask for advice. But he was pretty sure his friend couldn’t tell him how to do this. He’d have to figure it out for himself.

  Suddenly he had an inspiration. He’d taken some courses in self-hypnosis. When he was in the hypnotic state, he’d travel to a private place where he could veg out.

  Could he extend that trip to Alice’s location?

  Recalling the techniques he’d learned, he opened his eyes and looked up to the line where the ceiling and the wall met.

  “Relax now . . . relax now . . . relax now,” he told himself, feeling the phrase trigger the familiar weightless sensation of going into a trance. It came with a kind of buzzing in his brain that extended to his body.

  It was as if his physical self was no longer as important as his mind. Which meant he could leave that part of himself lying in bed. Usually he went to a quiet beach where he could lie in the sun and listen to the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. He landed on the beach now and stayed there for a few minutes, lounging on a comfortable chaise, enjoying the breeze, the waves, and the feel of the warmth on his skin. It was so peaceful here that he felt sluggish. But he got up and slowly walked into a small beachcomber’s shack that was several yards back from the water, surrounded by leafy vegetation.