She lunged for the phone, then dropped to the floor, scooting backward, away from the window, wondering if the man had seen her, or if he’d just been aiming for the single front window.
If she called 9-1-1, Westover would take his sweet time in getting here. Alec was closer. She hit the Call button as another banger sounded.
His voice was groggy. “I hope this is a booty call and not an emergency, Iz.”
“There’s someone in the meadow shooting bear bangers again.”
He didn’t respond, and she wondered if he didn’t believe her. He never had before, why should this be any different?
“I saw him—” Before she could finish, the window shattered. “Oh my God! The front window—”
Pain exploded in her head. Had she been hit by whatever shattered the window? She groaned as nausea settled in her belly.
“Iz, are you okay? What’s happening?”
“H-hh-hurts. S-s-ooo much…”
Isabel let out another groan—the kind Alec had heard in combat, when a soldier was in serious pain. Infrasound again? He pulled on his jeans as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “I’m coming, honey. Hold on. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Gonna be s-s-ick.”
“I know. Hang on. Stay with me. Keep talking if you can.”
“W-wh-what’s that?” She gasped, and the next sound wasn’t a high-pitched screech. It was a low wail of torture.
A crashing boom sounded; then he heard nothing at all.
Hurled by an explosion, Isabel flew backward as a scream erupted from her throat. She slammed into the rear door of the cabin. Pain shot from her wrist, along her arm, and across her shoulder. She grunted and twisted to see the devastation that had been her living room and was stunned to see the room wasn’t filled with smoke.
There was no shrapnel, no smell of gunpowder. Not even a wisp of flame. However, some sort of shock wave had upended her furniture—a 9.0 earthquake confined to her living room.
What the hell was that? First she’d been struck by pain that made her think her head would burst, and then her cabin was hit with a flameless explosion? Indoor windstorm?
Again, her head started to throb. Just like right before the shock wave, pain shot down her spine. She dropped to the floor, doubled over with nausea. Cold sweat broke out on her skin. She couldn’t breathe.
She was going to die.
Alec drove far too fast on the rutted dirt road and arrived at Isabel’s cabin less than twenty minutes after their call had abruptly cut off. After he lost connection with her, he’d dialed Nicole and instructed her to rouse Falcon and send them to Isabel’s. He estimated the team was five minutes behind him.
The night was still and quiet at her cabin. The only indication something had occurred was the shattered front window. A breeze stirred the wildflowers as he climbed out of the vehicle, causing them to ripple in a shadowed, sepia-hued wave. The calm normalness of it set his nerves on edge.
He scanned the area, then decided to approach the cabin head-on. With his pistol in a two-handed grip, he darted for the front door. He should wait for backup but feared Isabel didn’t have that sort of time. “Isabel?” he shouted through the shattered window.
No hurled rock had broken the double-pane window. The glass had fractured across the entire surface—just like his car windshield. A high-pitched sound wave had probably shattered it—similar to infrasound but a different frequency.
With his back to the wall, he twisted the knob on the front door—it was unlocked—and shoved it open. He entered, gun out, shifting from target to target until he was certain the room was clear.
There was no sign of Isabel, but the room was a wreck. The couch was on its side, lodged in the archway between living room and kitchen. Bookshelves lay facedown on the floor, with the contents scattered beneath.
What the hell?
“Isabel?” he called out again.
An eerie screech came from the corner, behind an overturned end table. Alec crouched down and saw wide, glowing eyes. Gandalf. Cowering. Was he injured?
He reached toward the cat, slowly, tentatively. “Where’s Isabel?” he asked the cat, feeling foolish even as he said the words. Gandalf didn’t hiss or strike out, and Alec stroked the soft fur. The cat mewed in a way that seemed to signal Alec’s touch was okay. He wanted to pull the creature out and check for injuries, but he needed to find Isabel first.
He stood and hit the Redial button on his cell, hoping to hell she’d answer this time. He startled when the tinny notes of a muffled song—he recognized the tune as “Call Me Maybe”—filled the cabin. The chorus repeated. The song was a ringtone.
She’d had the phone for only a few hours, and she’d downloaded “Call Me Maybe” for his ringtone. He was fairly certain he knew what that meant. He’d celebrate that little victory as soon as he knew she was okay.
He followed the music, but it cut out before he could find the phone. He dialed again and searched the kitchen, which looked normal in comparison to the overturned living room.
The sound came from under the range.
He plucked out the phone. The screen was cracked. It must have taken a fall before it slid beneath the appliance.
Where the hell was Isabel?
11
Isabel jolted awake, unsure what had pulled her from sleep. Then she heard it again. The song was playing again. Someone was calling her. Not just someone. Alec. That was his ringtone.
She groaned and rolled over in her bed, then yelped at a sharp pain that shot up her wrist. What the hell? Her wrist throbbed. She was bleary and her head hurt as if she’d had too much to drink, and she couldn’t remember how she’d injured her wrist. Her stomach rolled. Had she vomited?
How much did I drink?
She’d had half a beer at the Roadhouse. Given the pain in her head, she felt like she’d had several. Maybe she’d opened a bottle of wine after Alec left? It seemed like she’d remember that.
“Isabel?” someone shouted from the living room.
She pulled her pillow over her head and groaned. Bad enough he’d called and woken her, but he was here?
Was it morning already? The gray light through the window hadn’t given much hint as to time, and she wasn’t a fan of opening her eyes to check the clock.
No way could she hike out with him today. All she wanted to do was stay in bed and sleep off the worst hangover of her life. “Go away,” she muttered into the mattress.
“Jesus, Iz. I was scared to death. What happened?”
“Leave me alone. I just need sleep.”
“You need to tell me what happened. I heard the explosion.”
He could hear her head exploding? That made no sense. “Nothing happened. I just have a hangover. Go away.” She curled into a ball, then whimpered when she again put her weight on her wrist. “Why does my wrist hurt?” she whispered. She turned over and met Alec’s concerned gaze. “Did I drink too much last night?”
Oh God. What if she’d had too much to drink and slept with Alec? She glanced at her alarm clock. It was just after one in the morning. Why else would he be here this time of night?
Alec swore and sat on the edge of the bed, which bounced under his weight, causing a spike of pain in her miserable head. “No, honey. Unless you tied one on after I left, but somehow I doubt it. You called me less than a half hour ago. Someone was shooting bear bangers outside the cabin. Then the window shattered, and you were in pain. Our call cut out right after I heard an explosion.” He took her hand and gently probed her wrist. “I drove straight here. Falcon team will be here any second. I just found your phone under the range.”
“I called you?” She shook her head, but that was a mistake. Her stomach lurched again.
He brushed a loose curl from her forehead. “I think you were hit by infrasound. I suspect it’s how I was attacked yesterday, and may be what happened to Vin.”
She closed her eyes and tried to remember. Bear bangers, pain, and an explosion?
The pain part sounded right.
Noise in the front room indicated Falcon had arrived. Alec left her alone to get dressed and met with his team.
She could hear the low hum of intense conversation through the door, but her head hurt too much to make sense of it. Was this how Alec had felt Thursday evening when he came to? If so, no wonder he’d been disoriented and attacked her. If anything, he had to have felt even worse, given the blow to the head on top of general malaise.
And she’d really like to know what had happened to her wrist.
She drank a large glass of water, popped two ibuprofen, and entered her tiny living room, which was overrun by Raptor operatives rearranging her furniture. Even Nicole was here. The only member of Falcon missing was Ted Godfrey.
Could Ted be the man who’d shot the bear bangers? She tried to remember, but the whole event felt just beyond her reach.
Alec hung back as Nicole checked out Isabel’s wrist and demanded an ice pack, which Nate Sifuentes—who’d been one of Vin’s closest friends—promptly provided.
“Thanks, Nate,” Isabel said. Through it all, she felt Alec’s gaze, watching her interact with his team. Until he saw her talking with Brad at the tavern, he’d likely been oblivious to how well she knew everyone, and she wondered what he thought now that he knew his own people hadn’t vilified her for her crusade, or declared her crazy—at least, not to her face.
“Where’s Gandalf?” she asked.
“He was hiding in the corner, behind the table, when I arrived,” Alec said. “But he took off through the pet door as soon as everyone showed up.”
That made sense. Gandalf didn’t like strangers. She’d been surprised he’d tolerated Alec earlier, but then, she’d been gone overnight, and he was late getting fed. “He was okay?”
“He was scared, but when he ran out, he didn’t seem to be injured,” Alec said.
That was a relief, but she would worry until she saw him for herself. She settled into the couch, listening to the operatives discuss what might have happened. Slowly, the nasty hangover feeling lifted—far faster than it would have if she’d really had too many drinks.
She rubbed her head and closed her eyes, trying desperately to remember the call she’d made to Alec. Flashes of memory returned, as he filled in his side of the conversation. The bear bangers sounded familiar—but then, it had happened a few other times—she could be remembering another night.
Her living room window was gone, now a puddle of glass that glistened in the glow of the sconce gaslights, and her furniture was all skewed, the bookshelf next to the mantle overturned. She paused, her gaze on the lights. Between the wall-mounted gaslights and her stark furnishing, there wasn’t a lot that would be damaged if there’d been an explosion outside that caused the earth to shake. There were no lamps to smash or bric-a-brac to shatter. She wasn’t a bric-a-brac sort of person.
In her mind, she had a déjà vu-type image of her couch mid-tumble, the shelf toppling. She’d witnessed a massive earthquake in her living room.
She slowly rose and crossed the short distance to the mantle. Conversation and speculation around her stopped as she bent down to retrieve the photo of her and Vin, which lay on the floor. She turned it to the dim light and saw the hairline crack that split the glass, a rift between siblings that hadn’t been there hours ago when Alec studied the photo.
She couldn’t help it; her eyes teared at the symbolic but all too real fracture. She closed them against the burn and again saw her furniture in flight. She’d slammed into the back door, her wrist taking the brunt of impact. She’d twisted to see the damage, viewing the living room through the kitchen archway. The coffee table had rolled left, the couch right.
“My computer was on the coffee table before the earthquake.”
“Earthquake?” Alec asked.
“For lack of a better word. The explosion that upended the room… There was no fire. No smoke. But it wrecked the room like an earthquake. It’s why the furniture was jumbled.” She glanced around the room. “But where is my computer?”
12
Alec found the news article on his cell phone and recited the web address for everyone so they too could load it on their phones. He then settled next to Isabel so she could read along with him.
Pentagon Eyes Nonexplosive Airwave Weapon as Nonlethal Solution
Simon Barstow, the CEO of Apex, a private security and nonlethal weapons manufacturing company based in Oregon, was in Virginia yesterday showing the Pentagon his company’s latest innovation: Airwave®, a nonlethal—if used at a safe distance—weapon Barstow claims is ideal for crowd control.
Airwave, a pulsed energy projectile, shoots a plasma beam, which heats air so quickly it causes the air to “explode” without fire or spark. The exploding air is felt as a shock wave, which contains enough force to upend people and objects in its path. In a demonstration presented to military officials, a midsize sedan targeted from twenty-five feet away rocked heavily, while test dummies ten feet away were lifted and hurled up to five feet.
“I received a briefing on Wednesday, right before the Pentagon demonstration,” Alec said after he finished reading. “And saw the article Thursday morning. I’d planned to discuss Barstow’s experimentation with nonlethals during today’s meeting with Keith Hatcher.”
“If Barstow is playing with nonlethals, maybe he’s working with infrasound too,” Sifuentes said.
“This proves it, then, doesn’t it?” Kalla added. “Barstow set off Airwave in Isabel’s living room.”
“Unfortunately, we have proof of nothing,” Alec said. “A missing computer and overturned furniture are hardly evidence Airwave was used here. I don’t even know if there’s a test that would show plasma-beam superheated air particles.”
“I don’t understand, sir,” Johnston said. “Why would Simon Barstow go after an archaeologist?” The rookie operative cast a glance in Isabel’s direction, then looked down, his face flushed, making Alec wonder why. “Because she saved your life?”
“Maybe he thinks Isabel witnessed the assault on Rav,” Sifuentes suggested.
“But that still doesn’t make sense,” Nicole said. “Why would Barstow go after Rav to begin with? He’s already got Airwave in his pocket. He’s hired away fifteen operatives in the last year—seven from Falcon alone—and Rav is about to step down from the company. What does Barstow have to gain?”
“I have no idea.” Alec glanced at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning. Isabel looked a lot less green but no less exhausted. Hell, they were all beat after the previous night added to this one. He knew his operatives could handle it, but Isabel wasn’t trained for it, and there was no need to push themselves when nothing would be solved right then. “Let’s pack it in, head to the compound, get some sleep.” He turned to Isabel, feeling a pleasant rush as he met her wide green eyes. “Pack a bag. You’re coming with us.”
Isabel could hardly believe she was going to the compound as Alec Ravissant’s guest, but then, she could hardly believe anything that had happened in the last two days. She was alone with him in one car, while Falcon team and Nicole were in the vehicles in front and behind as they drove down the perimeter road that connected her rented property to the compound. “You know bringing me onto Raptor land will void the restraining order. I’m like a vampire. You’re only safe if you don’t invite me in.”
Alec laughed. “Screw the restraining order. It was in place to prevent you from walking into another live-fire training. Which you’ll never do again, right?”
“I didn’t mean to do it the first time,” she said dryly. It was time to fess up. He’d already guessed anyway. “You were right. I was looking for the cave.”
“Tomorrow, you and I are going for a hike.”
“Back to where I found you. I know.”
“No. I’m taking you to where Vin disappeared and where Vin was found. We’re going to find that damn cave and figure out what the hell is going on.”
She
couldn’t help it and threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Alec grunted. “Figures you’d finally put your hands on me when I’m driving and can’t do anything about it.”
She laughed, feeling a strange joy bubble up inside her. Finally. At last. She might actually get the answers she needed so desperately. She would grieve the loss of Vin every day for the rest of her life, but at least there was the possibility for a small piece of closure. She could move forward with her life, start living again, knowing Vin’s murder hadn’t gone unnoticed. Unpunished.
She was tempted to say something suggestive. Inviting. And then, like a bucket of ice water, exactly who the man sitting beside her was came crashing down and chilled her to the bone.
She trusted him at least seventy-two percent more than she’d trusted him yesterday, but that meant she trusted him only seventy-three percent.
The attraction she felt for him made her uncomfortable. A betrayal. He owned the company that had killed Vin.
She didn’t understand it, really. She knew plenty of handsome Raptor operatives who didn’t entice her in the least. Take Brad, for example. He was as good-looking as any man she knew. He made her laugh and was nice to Mothman. But she wasn’t interested. She didn’t mind looking at him. But had no desire to kiss him, no strange, fluttery feeling in her belly when she met his gaze.
It must be some sort of Florence Nightingale effect. Alec had been her patient, dependent on her to survive, and now she felt some sort of twisted affection for him.
It was the only possible explanation, because wanting Alec Ravissant was just plain wrong. “I don’t think I’ll feel any safer inside the compound than in my cabin,” she admitted.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 247