by Rebecca York
“Now we just have to decide which one of them is our best bet.” He looked at her. “Do you have any psychic insights?”
“I think Violet Goodell was the doctor’s most trusted assistant.”
“Why do you think so?”
“She was just out of nursing school when she took a job with him. I think she worshipped him.”
“Why?”
“She thought he was brilliant. She was willing to work overtime when the rest of the staff went home.”
“Which might mean she wouldn’t want to talk about him.” Luke pursed his lips. “But we won’t know unless we ask her. Is she married?”
“If she is, she kept her professional name.”
They headed for the neighborhood on the outskirts of town where Ms. Goodell lived.
Up a long driveway in an area screened off by trees and shrubs set a brick colonial with a wide portico in front. Everything was well tended.
“Very elegant,” Luke said as he pulled into a parking area.
“She’s got a garage and room for another couple of cars outside,” he said as he cut the engine. “This place is big enough to be a bed-and-breakfast.”
“Maybe she likes to impress the ladies’ bridge club when she has them over.”
“Maybe. But the house is certainly on the high end of Houma residences.”
Should I do the talking this time? Gabriella asked.
That makes sense.
Luke squeezed her hand, feeling her tension. “Nothing bad happened back at the nursing home. Maybe our luck will hold.”
“I hope so.”
He climbed out and led the way to the portico.
A few moments after they’d rung the doorbell, a woman in a peach-colored sweater set came to the door. She looked to be in her late fifties, well kept and pampered, with clear brown eyes and soft blond hair done in an expensively casual style.
“Ms. Goodell?” Gabriella asked.
She eyed them with interest. “Why, yes. May I help you?”
“I hope so. Can we come in?”
“What is this about?”
Beside him, Gabriella dragged in a breath and let it out. This was it. “We’d like to talk to you about the Solomon Clinic.”
Her brown eyes widened. “The Solomon Clinic? Goodness. Why, I haven’t worked there in years. It burned down, you know.”
“Yes, we do know. Can we come in?”
“I suppose so. But there’s not much I can tell you. What is your interest in the clinic?”
Gabriella couldn’t quite hold her voice steady. “I believe I was conceived as the result of treatments Dr. Solomon gave my mother.”
“Interesting. What is your name, dear?”
“Gabriella Boudreaux.”
The woman smiled. “Oh, yes, your mother was Marian, and I do remember you. Our children used to come back to the clinic for physical exams.”
“You remember me?” Gabriella asked.
“Of course. You were such a sweet girl.” She led the way to a formal living room done in pastels.
“You make yourselves comfortable,” she said. “I’ll just go and get you some homemade cookies and lemonade.”
“No need,” Luke said quickly.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all for one of the doctor’s children. I’ll be right back.”
After she hurried out of the room, Luke and Gabriella exchanged glances.
Does that reception seem a bit off? Luke asked.
Yes.
I wonder if she left to call Dr. Solomon.
But he’s dead. Or dropped out of sight.
Luke shrugged. She might know where he is.
“Maybe I ought to offer to help her in the kitchen,” Gabriella murmured.
“I’ll go with you.”
They both stood and had started toward the hall when the front door opened. Luke stopped in his tracks as two men stepped into view.
It was the two mobsters who had caught up with him outside the New Orleans apartment, then marched him inside to kill him and Gabriella.
They were both holding guns, and they looked mad as hell.
Chapter Sixteen
Gabriella stared at the two men in horror.
The bald one gave her a triumphant grin. “You thought you gave us the slip.”
“How…how did you find us?” she managed to say, hoping to play for time.
“We went back to that cottage at the plantation. Turns out some of your mom’s papers got caught under the chair. We came to Houma looking for you—and saw you driving around.”
The guy’s voice was low and controlled. But underneath the words she could hear the anger simmering. In New Orleans, she’d gotten the better of him and his buddy, and he didn’t like that. Now he was planning to get even with her.
Beside her, Luke’s body coiled.
“Don’t try anything funny,” the other one warned. “Or we’ll shoot your girlfriend first. We’re all getting out of here. Now,” the bald man continued, “before that nice old lady comes back and gets hurt.”
“Let Gabriella go,” Luke said. “Your beef is with me, not her.”
“She got herself into it by getting mixed up with you. Come on, both of you.”
What are we going to do? Gabriella asked, her silent voice filled with desperation.
You lend me energy. I’ll try getting them to shoot each other.
Can you?
You have a better suggestion?
Gabriella gritted her teeth, and he could feel energy pouring into him. He knew getting the thugs to focus on each other wasn’t going to be easy. But they had no alternative.
Point your guns at each other and shoot, he ordered, then silently chanted the instruction over and over.
The two men, once united in their purpose, grew confused. “What the hell are you doing?” the bald one growled.
“Nothing,”
“You’re lying. Stop it.”
When the thug held firm, Luke knew the technique had backfired. It looked as if they weren’t going to wait to drag him out of here before they shot him.
He could feel Gabriella desperately trying to boost his mental energy, but these men had apparently developed some kind of tolerance for his extrasensory abilities.
His only alternative was to press on. But at that moment a flutter of movement at the door made both men turn.
Ms. Goodell stepped into the room. She was holding a plate of cookies in one hand. The other was covered by a dish towel. “My goodness,” she gasped. “What’s this?”
One of the wiseguys cursed. Then came a hissing sound as a projectile whizzed from under the dish towel and hit the bald mobster.
A look of perplexity crossed his features, and he tried to aim his gun at the older woman, but somehow he couldn’t manage to change the direction of his hand.
As the bald mobster’s knees buckled, a white-haired man stepped in the front door. He was holding a strange little gun, which he fired at the other intruder—who joined his friend on the floor.
The newcomer gave Gabriella and Luke a quizzical look.
They both stared back at him.
“Are you Dr. Solomon?” Gabriella breathed.
“Yes.”
“But I thought…you were dead.”
He chuckled. “If so, the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”
“But you kept a low profile.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you come from?”
“As it happens, I was visiting Violet when you arrived.” He looked at the thugs on the floor. “When I saw these two rough-looking men arrive, I was pretty sure they were up to no good. Who are they?”
“New Jersey mobsters. Sorry I brought trouble to you.”
“No harm done. They’ll be out cold for hours, but I believe we should get them into custody.”
“You mean call the police?”
“Yes. Of course. But for now my private security force will see that they don’t cause any more
trouble.”
“Why do you need security?” Luke asked.
“Like you, I have enemies.” He gestured with his hand toward the back of the house. “Why don’t we go out on the porch where we can be comfortable?”
Luke made no move to follow as he studied the doctor. The famous Douglas Solomon. Was he a crackpot as Bill Wellington had said? Or was he a dangerous genius?
Luke kept his gaze on the doctor. “I’d like to know why you’ve been in hiding all these years.”
“If you want specifics—because a man who now calls himself Bill Wellington has been hunting me.”
“Bill Wellington?” Gabriella dragged in a startled breath.
“You’ve heard that name?” the doctor asked, his tone sharpening.
“Yes.” She glanced at Luke, then back at the doctor. “He sent a thug named George Camden to kidnap me.”
“It looks like you two have had a pretty rough time,” Dr. Solomon said sympathetically. Then his face hardened. “Wellington’s bad news. Once he gets an idea in his head, he won’t leave it alone.”
“Who is he?”
“He used to have hush-hush government connections.” He sighed. “Back when I was desperate to put my ideas into practice, I learned that he was giving out government research grants through the Howell Institute. I went to him for funding, which turned out to be a big mistake.” He looked back at the two men. “You’re sure these men don’t work for Wellington, too?”
Luke sighed. “They mentioned their mob boss.”
Solomon nodded. “We should get comfortable. Why don’t we sit down and talk. I think we have a lot of information to exchange.”
Can we trust him? Gabriella asked.
Luke hesitated. No. But I don’t think we can just walk out—not after what he did to the mobsters. I think we need to play along and find out what he’s up to, he answered, wishing he were doing it alone.
Forget that.
The two of them followed Solomon and Goodell through the dining room and onto a spacious screened porch. Luke and Gabriella sat together on a love seat where they could keep their power concentrated together if they needed it. The doctor took a comfortable wicker chair.
“Excuse me for a minute,” Ms. Goodell said. “I’ll go and get that lemonade.”
“Please don’t bother,” Gabriella answered.
“No bother at all. I think we all need some refreshments.”
When she returned from the kitchen, she was carrying a tray with the pitcher of lemonade and four glasses, which she set on a wicker buffet at the side of the room.
After pouring everyone a glass, she took a wicker chair opposite the doctor.
“Please, I’m sure you’re parched after that little rumpus in the hall,” she said, lifting a glass to her lips.
Gabriella and Luke each took a few sips.
The doctor smiled at Gabriella. “I already know your name. Gabriella Boudreaux.” He looked at Luke. “And you are?”
He hesitated for a moment then said, “Liam Bridges.”
“Liam Bridges!” The doctor’s face lit up as he exclaimed. “Young man, you’re on a very short list.”
“What kind of list?” Luke asked, instantly wary.
“We had an agreement with the women who came to us for fertility treatments. After they delivered, they were supposed to bring their children back to us for testing.”
“Testing for what?”
“As you may have gathered, the main purpose of the clinic was not fertility research. We were running a program designed to create super-intelligent children.”
Luke’s reporter’s instincts began to tingle. It sounded as if the doctor had been less than truthful with his patients.
“Did you get the results you wanted?” he asked with an edge in his voice.
“The children had a normal intelligence distribution. Which was why Wellington withdrew the funding and had the clinic burned down.”
“That’s a pretty extreme response.”
“He’s an extreme kind of guy. Well, one of his operatives did it. Yes. I said he was ruthless.”
Luke wanted to hear more about that, but it seemed the doctor wasn’t planning to elaborate at the moment. He kept his gaze on Luke. “Let’s get back to you. Your mother was one of the few patients who broke her contract. She moved out of the area, taking you with her.”
Luke stared at the man, trying to work his way through the implications. “You’re saying I was a product of the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“So both of us…” Gabriella’s voice trailed off.
“Do you know a couple named Rachel Gregory and Jake Harper?” Solomon asked.
Gabriella’s brow wrinkled. “Not personally. Doesn’t Jake Harper own a restaurant in New Orleans? And other businesses?”
“Yes, but he’s been in hiding recently.”
“Why?” Luke asked. He was beginning to feel a little sick, probably from the strain of the past few days.
“Wellington was after him and Ms. Gregory. They’re also products of the clinic.”
Luke nodded. His mind had started to turn fuzzy, and he could feel his face flushing. If it hadn’t been impolite, he would have asked to lie down.
He blinked, trying to clear his vision.
I don’t feel so well. He heard the words in his mind and turned toward Gabriella. Her face looked as hot as he felt, and suddenly he knew that it wasn’t from the bullet wound or the strain.
“What did…you…do to us?” he asked, struggling to get the words out.
“It was for your own protection,” the doctor murmured.
“Why?” Luke gasped.
“Something’s going on with Wellington. Apparently he’s desperate to get his hands on some of the clinic’s children. I gather he suspects you may have some unusual mental abilities.”
Luke’s mouth was so dry he could barely speak. “No,” he denied.
The doctor’s voice warmed. “All these years, I thought I failed. But I didn’t, did I?”
Luke grabbed Gabriella’s hand. They had to get out of here before…
He didn’t know what. But when he pushed himself to a standing position, he wavered on his feet, then toppled over, dragging Gabriella down with him.
The doctor crouched over him. “You’ll feel better in a while,” he said. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
Luke struggled to focus on Dr. Solomon but his vision was too blurred. Finally it went black.
FIFTY MILES AWAY, Rachel gasped. I felt them again. They’re in bad trouble.
The other couple?
Yes. I think…I think Dr. Solomon’s got them.
Jake dragged in a startled breath.
“Solomon? You’re saying he’s alive after all?”
“I think so. And I think he’s going to experiment on the man and woman. Luke and Gabriella. Those are their names.” She paused. “That may not be his real name.”
“Where are they?”
She made a low sound. “I don’t know. But I think they were trying to find out about the Solomon Clinic.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think Solomon is still hanging around Houma?”
“That’s the place to start.”
He gestured toward his computer. “We’ve got the names of other nurses who worked at the clinic. We can ask them some questions.”
Rachel swallowed. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“First—the obvious reason. The Badger could be watching the place. Then there’s…” She stopped and started again. “Wait a minute. Maybe we do know he’s in Houma. I saw a flash. Luke and Gabriella. Solomon and one of his nurses. She’s still working with him.”
“Doing what?”
“Knowing him, probably some kind of unsavory research.”
Chapter Seventeen
Fighting a fierce headache and a terrible thirst, Luke opened his eyes. Without moving, he looked around and found he was in a bedroom he’d never seen
before. It could have been a three-star motel with a dresser, a table and chairs and a door leading to a small bathroom. The entrance door was closed, and there was something funny about the drapes. They were closed tightly and hugged the wall, making him think that perhaps there was no window behind them.
He struggled to hold back a spurt of panic, then calmed a little when he saw Gabriella was lying next to him on the queen-size bed. Her eyes were closed. He wanted to push himself up and wake her, but his muscles weren’t cooperating.
Instead, he slid his hand toward hers and touched her fingers as he tried to reach her mind.
Gabriella, wake up. Gabriella.
She made a small sound and turned her head toward him.
Luke.
Are you all right?
He felt her taking a physical inventory. Not exactly. What happened?
Did you feel sick and dizzy at Ms. Goodell’s house?
Yes.
I think Solomon drugged us and took us somewhere.
Where? Why?
I guess we’ll find out, he answered, twining his fingers with hers, fighting panic. The doctor had taken them captive. That couldn’t be good. And he obviously hadn’t gotten this room ready on the spur of the moment.
He knew Gabriella had these same thoughts and emotions when she drew in a sharp breath.
What does he want with us?
He was experimenting on our mothers. Experimenting on his clients’ kids. But he thought he didn’t accomplish anything special. Now he’s changed his mind. He wants to find out what he created, but I think it would be a very bad idea to let him find out.
Gabriella nodded against his shoulder. He said you were from the clinic, too.
Yes. I kept wondering why I came to your mom’s plantation looking for a room. I must have somehow been drawn there. He swallowed again. To complete myself.
Her hand tightened on his. Thank God you did. Otherwise I might have ended up here—on my own.
Even as she silently said the words, he felt panic rising inside her.
We have to stay calm, he soothed, trying to set an example. Too bad his head was still fuzzy. He’d like to be thinking clearly in this situation.
We have to figure out how to get away, Gabriella said.
Yes. But maybe first we have to convince him that we’re willing to work with him.