Chapter Five
Reid McFadden was always grateful that Olberman insisted his people travel in comfort. No cheap-ass motel for him or Bonner. Instead they were registered at a semiluxury hotel with spacious bedrooms opening off the living room of their suite and top-quality restaurants serving excellent food. He leaned back in the comfortable chair in his hotel room and stretched out his legs. The meeting with Gayle Hauser had gone exactly as he’d expected. Under other circumstances, she would have been more suspicious and less open to his proposal. But Olberman had done his research very well, as usual, and knew the woman was in a desperate situation.
Reid pulled out his business cell phone and pressed speed dial for his boss.
“Well?” Olberman seldom bothered with the pleasantries of conversation.
“She bit, just as you predicted,” Reid told him. “I told her to wait a couple of days before calling. The media’s still camped out at the Cahill woman’s place, and I don’t think she’d take a call right now. But I’m keeping tabs on both of them.”
“Good. Excellent. I’ve been making low-key overtures to people I know who could use her services and would pay exorbitantly for them. I want to get her here as soon as possible, but not until I know she’s the real deal.”
“I understand. By the way, I don’t know if it means anything, but the Cahill woman has a man staying with her. And a couple of others who’ve come and gone. Don’t know her relationship with the one man, but the others seem like friends.”
“See if you can get any shots of them. Send them to me, and I’ll run them through the computer. Let’s see whose playing around in our swimming pool.”
“Will do. I’ll keep you updated.”
“As I expect you to.” The man disconnected without any further words.
Reid didn’t care. Olberman paid extremely well, and tonight Reid would enjoy the perks of his situation—a good meal and some excellent wine—and perhaps in the hotel’s elegant bar, he would find an equally elegant female to help him pass the time.
Summer was dreaming. She stood alone on the top of a mountain, while below her an angry crowd rushed up the craggy outcroppings. She kept trying to back away from them, but something was holding her firmly in place.
No! Keep away! Please!
As the mob drew closer, she held out her hands, trying to push them away, but someone was wrapping her in cloth so she couldn’t move. As the mob drew closer, the cloth drew tighter.
“Summer. Summer, it’s me.”
Hands trapped her, pulling at the tight fabric, and she couldn’t get away.
“Summer, baby. Wake up.”
Someone was shaking her, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—
“Come on, Summer. It’s okay.”
The voice was warm and familiar, the sound of it piercing the fog of her brain. She forced her eyes open and found herself looking directly into Troy’s eyes.
“Troy?” She blinked. “What—how . . .” She looked at herself and realized she’d wound the top bedsheet around herself, trapping her body in its folds. She tried to unwind herself from it but only made it worse. She realized she was shivering. Yet her body was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration, and she was having trouble catching her breath.
Another damn nightmare.
She hadn’t had them for a long time. Had hoped, in fact, that they were finally a thing of the past.
Apparently not.
“Easy, baby.” Troy’s hands were steady on her shoulders. “Jesus, Summer, you scared the crap out of me. Take a deep breath and let me help you.”
Summer’s stomach was pitching like the deck of a ship in a storm, but she did her best to remain still while Troy carefully undid the sheet that she’d somehow wrapped around herself like a mummy. When the air cooled by the fan overhead hit her bare skin, goose bumps popped out everywhere.
“Everything’s okay,” Troy murmured as he eased her back down onto her pillow. “Let’s get you warmed up.”
“Are you sure no one can get into the house?” That had always been her greatest fear. It was the reason for all the deadbolts and the safety locks on the windows. For the alarm system, which until Mark had looked at it she hadn’t realized was inadequate.
“Positive. The house is safer than a bank vault.”
Sliding back in beside her, he pulled the covers up and curled his body around hers, wrapping her in his warmth.
“Bad dream?” he asked, stroking her hair, holding her tightly against his body.
“Yes.” Bits and pieces of it came back to her. “It was terrible.”
“Tell me about it.” His hand moved from her hair to caress her body, a soothing rather than a sexual touch.
“I’d rather just forget it.” A shudder sliced over her as the memory of it came back, sharp and vivid.
“I think you’d feel better if you got it off your mind. Come on, Summer. Let it loose.”
Eyes closed, her head pressed against his shoulder, her hands resting on his chest, she gave him the bits and pieces of the dream that had nearly—and almost literally—strangled her. His hand never stopped stroking her, touching her, giving her a contact point of safety. Settling her nerves.
“You know I’ll never let that happen,” he assured her.
“I do.” And she meant it. “But what if you’re not here? What if—”
But he pressed two fingers against her mouth. “No what-ifs. I will be here with you. Count on it. I think what you need to do is something to take your mind off the dream. Think you can manage that?”
The tension eased from her body, replaced by a slowly rising need.
She smiled, “Maybe. What do you suggest?”
“How about this for starters?”
He rolled her to her back and bent his head over her, his kiss a tender touch, his tongue tracing the outline of her mouth. The light caress sent tremors of anticipation racing over her skin. He kept the kiss light and gentle, teasing and tempting, until her arms came up to wrap around his neck. When she opened her mouth slightly, his tongue swept in possessively, licking and tasting and coaxing.
He explored every inch of her mouth before moving to her cheek and then that tender spot behind her ear. His mouth trailed down her neck with little nips and licks, while one warm palm cradled a breast. Using his thumb and forefinger, he lightly squeezed the already hardened nipple, drawing another soft sound of pleasure from her. She arched into his touch, eyes closed, feeling desire spread slowly through her and flooding her.
He took his time, working the one breast until she whimpered for more, then paying as much attention to the other. When he took her nipples into his hot mouth, each in turn, pulling hard on them, the pulse in her womb beat heavily. She squeezed her legs together against the need throbbing there.
Troy was a careful, sensitive lover, both highly passionate and considerate, attending to her needs while making his own well known. His mouth never left hers, kissing and nibbling even as his hands moved farther down her body. One finger traced the line of the crease between hip and thigh while the hot, hard length of his cock imprinted itself against her body.
His mouth slid over her cheek, his teeth tugging at her earlobe, his tongue tracing a line along the side of her neck. His fingertips drifted in a soft line across her body, just above the nest of pubic curls. He sifted lightly through the curls themselves. Eased over the surface of her mound. She rocked her hips at him, silently urging him to touch more. Touch deeper. She parted her legs, and he opened her wet lips, humming as he touched the slickness of them. His busy thumb rasped over her clit as he slipped two fingers inside her waiting body. Her muscles gripped around him, her hips moving as she rode him.
As he shifted his body, his cock pressed harder against her. She wanted to wrap her fingers around it, slide them along its length. Take him into her mouth. At the same time, she didn’t want him to stop the clever and wonderful things he was doing. The tips of his curled fingers scraped her hot spot again and again, each time sending heat through her body and making the muscles of her core tighten.
The nightmare, the fear, the shivering all slipped away as he fed her arousal. Lust coiled low in her belly, unwinding slowly as his fingers thrust in and out of her. She felt liquid, pliable, yet at the same time taut as a well-strung bow. Troy put his mouth to one breast’s nipple, sucking it deeply into his mouth and swirling the tip of his tongue around the hardened bud.
But as she clung to him more tightly, her body reaching for the peak, his lips moved to hers. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, capturing her cries as she flew over the top and tumbled into a space of erotic fireworks.
She barely had time to catch her breath before he rolled on a condom, hooked one leg over his arm to open her to him, and slid into her with one smooth thrust. He filled her so completely it took her breath away. He held himself still, his gaze locked on hers.
“Trust me, Summer. I’ll keep you safe. Always.”
Then he began to move, slow languid strokes at first that brought a surge of heat sweeping through her. His eyes never left hers as he rocked into her, the head of his cock dragging against her sensitive hot spot. She gripped his shoulders, her body moving in rhythm with his. Everything fell away—the dream, the danger—and nothing existed except her and this incredible man.
The orgasm came over her so slowly she was caught in it’s grip before she even realized it. Her body shook with the force of it yet her gaze never left Troy’s. Her eyes never left his face. As the spasms swept through her, muscles clenching over and over, she had the sensation of falling into those astonishing eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Then he stiffened, and in moments he was pulsing inside her, filling the condom, filling her body.
Afterward he held her, his touch a soothing caress, his mouth brushing lightly over hers with incredible tenderness.
“Think that chased the bad dreams away?” His breath was a warm breeze against her cheek.
“Yes.” She sighed. “Most definitely.”
“Good. Be right back.”
He left her only long enough to dispose of the condom, then slipped back under the covers and curled his body around her. Summer closed her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she was sure no dreams would come to disturb her sleep.
Kurt Olberman stood on the balcony outside his bedroom and contemplated the clear Colorado night and the vastness of the sky. He never tired of the view. Every day he congratulated himself on the decision to build his fortress here. To breach the security someone would have to drop in out of the sky, and the men who stood watch at night would spot them and kill them before they reached the ground. This was the only place in the world where he felt truly safe.
He’d done a lot of thinking since Reid McFadden’s earlier call. He had to work to tamp down the thread of excitement wriggling its way through him. The calls he’d made to prospective clients, checking on members of their families who were devastatingly ill, had only reinforced his belief. These people would pay any sum of money for a cure.
Olberman had already moved forward with the decorating of a suite for Summer Cahill. He’d had Vivian research every personal scrap of information about her, so he knew she liked soothing colors like earth tones and pale sea colors. He would have McFadden or Bonner trail her on her next trip to the grocery store to see what kind of food she bought. While one of them tailed her, the other would get inside her house and take shots of her bookshelves and the interiors of her rooms. He wanted her to be as relaxed and comfortable as possible.
He knew what the drawbacks would be. She’d resist him. Insist on being returned to her home. Refuse to do as he asked. But he knew she was close to her family—at least her brother and his wife—and she would not want any harm to come to them. As long as she did his bidding, they would be safe.
Of course, he expected a furor when she disappeared. There would be a hunt on for her. The FBI would be called in. But his fortress was impenetrable. They might trace her here, but they’d never be able to retrieve her.
He was always jazzed at the beginning of a new venture. He thrived on new experiences and new opportunities to increase his already vast fortune. This would be the icing on the cake.
All in all, he was pretty pleased with himself.
The Cleaner paced his small apartment, really just two tiny rooms with the kitchen stuff along one wall. Pacing was a habit he’d picked up in that place where they’d sent him to stay when he wouldn’t buckle under to their rules and demands. But he’d shown them all. He’d fooled everyone, and when he was back home again, he’d flown just far enough under the radar that they’d left him alone; besides, they had their precious patient to deal with. Even when she was no longer ill, she was still the focus of their attention. As long as he didn’t do anything outrageous, they pretty much ignored him.
Were they looking for him now? Did they worry about where he’d disappeared to? Or had they breathed a collective sigh of relief that he was out of their orbit? He supposed as long as he didn’t create embarrassing headlines for them, they’d be more than happy to pretend he didn’t exist.
Why was he thinking about them now, anyway? He’d finally realized how much they hated him, so he couldn’t waste time letting them into his brain. It was Summer Cahill who needed to be at the center of his thoughts. If only his head would stop pounding. He wouldn’t be surprised if somehow she’d caused that, too, devil that she was. Hadn’t she brushed up against him that one time he’d been in her presence? Maybe she had cast one of her evil spells on him, and his brain was now disintegrating.
He knew one thing. It was time to take the final step. He knew as soon as the current furor died down, another patient would come that she-devil’s way, and someone else would be a victim of her spells. No, he’d have to finish his campaign now.
Swallowing a handful of acetaminophen, he lay down on the sagging couch and began to run ideas and possibilities through his head.
Dan Romeo sat with his laptop open, listening to Andy on his Bluetooth cell-phone connection and typing on his laptop.
“This is still a lot of people,” he told his very talented computer programmer.
“We narrowed the patient list down,” Andy reminded him, “but you wanted me to check for immediate family members, close friends, anyone in the so-called immediate circle.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He was just irritated that the list of people didn’t seem to shrink significantly.
“So what’s next, Big Dan?”
“Let’s do this one group at a time. We won’t go beyond the definition of each group unless we start hitting dead ends. Jesus. I hope we hit it soon, because I have a feeling this guy is rapidly escalating.”
“I sent you all the files so you can review them yourself. I’ll get to work refining the groups right away. See ya later.”
Dan opened the email and watched the files download on his secure laptop. Then he opened the first one and scanned it. The patient’s name was Jenny Hardin. Both parents were living, and she had a sister, a brother, and a fiancée. Her brother was married, the sister single. Two very close friends who had spent hours with her during her illness. Both married. So at the very least there were ten people in Jenny’s circle to check out. Not all of them would be candidates. The parents had called Summer in, so it wouldn’t be either of them. Not with the success of the healing.
Was there jealousy in the family? With the friends? Or the friends’ husbands? Did they resent the time their wives spent with a critically ill woman? He checked their addresses on Google maps. All lived in nice, middle-class neighborhoods, most of which he was familiar with. He could do a drive-by, scope out the locations himself. But that wouldn’t tell him whether anyone harbored resentments or downright anger. Yes, the anger was the key. This was more than just sibling rivalry or irritated husbands.
Well, Andy would do an in-depth on everyone and see what was out there.
He’d just opened the second file when Mia came into the room, carrying two glasses of wine.
“I think you need to take a minute to unwind.” She handed him one of the glasses. “You’ve been at the computer or on the phone with Andy since you came home today. I didn’t think this was such a complicated case.”
“Neither did I.” He swallowed some of the wine, enjoying the pleasant taste of it. “I figured it was just a friend of Mark’s getting hassled a little by the media. But she’s got real problems over there.”
He described the situation with the media, which made Mia frown, but when he got to the telephone calls from the stalker, her expression changed.
“Dan, that’s a dangerous situation. I’m sure you and Mark have done everything possible, and I’m glad Troy’s staying there. But I’m afraid for her.”
Dan felt a prickle on his neck. “You’d tell me if you had any visions that you thought related to this, right?”
“Oh, honey, of course. I never keep any of those from you.”
“I know, I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to wipe away the itch. “I guess we’re just looking for anything that can give us a clue in this situation.”
She nodded at the laptop. “Those the files you asked Andy for?”
“Yeah, but we’re no closer than we were before.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I know the answer’s here someplace. We just need to find it before something bad happens.”
Mia studied him a moment. “Would it be all right if I met her?”
He raised his eyebrows. “To see if you get any vibes?”
“Yes. When you and I first met, it was over the dustup with Chase Carpenter’s secret electronic gadget. I had a vision about you even before we met. I even had snippets of ones about the Carpenter project. I think it was because somehow I had signals that our paths were going to cross. And since then every vision I’ve had has related to someone I know or someone connected to them.”
Dan shrugged. “It’s certainly worth a try.”
“Just as long as you tell them up front there’s no guarantee. I might not get anything from this.”
“Understood. I’ll call Troy first thing in the morning. What’s your schedule look like tomorrow?”
When they first met, Mia was the resident art historian for a museum. After their marriage, she’d resigned and now worked as a freelance consultant. It left her free to travel with him much of the time, and they’d kept her home in San Antonio as well as his condo in Baltimore. That way he had a base on the East Coast when he needed to be in the Phoenix office.
“I have an appointment in the afternoon, but otherwise I’m free.”
“Okay, then. I’ll set it up.” He smiled at her. “And thanks.”
Gayle Hauser sat in the hospital room next to her husband’s bed. It seemed to her she’d been occupying this chair forever, but it had only been three weeks. Ever since the night Clark took a turn for the worse. She was using her sick days from her job, but those had nearly run out. Then their major source of income would dry up. At fifty-five, Clark was too young to retire, so he also had taken sick days, but he’d used up what he had weeks ago.
He looked so pale and fragile, lying there in the bed, one machine dripping saline fluid and antibiotics into his body, another monitoring his heart rate. A pulse oxymeter was clipped to one index finger, measuring the amount of oxygen in his blood. His breathing was uneven. The result, according to the doctors, of the fluid collecting in his lungs. They were doing everything they could to isolate and contain the source of the infection in his body, but nothing seemed to work.
She knew they were considering putting him on a ventilator, and that scared her almost more than anything else. She knew of people who’d been put on the machine and never been taken off. It had signaled the last of the downward spiral.
“Clark.” She said his name softly. “I don’t even know if you can hear me.” She slid her hand into his and laced their fingers together. “If you can hear, just squeeze my hand a little.”
Was that a weak squeeze or just a contraction of the muscles?
She wiped away a tear with her free hand and let out a slow breath. “I’m going to think you’re listening, because I have some news to tell you. Something astonishing has happened. You’ll hardly believe it.”
A soft little sound escaped his lips. Was he acknowledging her? If only he’d open his eyes.
“A man called me out of the blue, Clark. A man I’d never met. He said he represented a very wealthy individual who got pleasure out of helping people like us. Can you believe it? I didn’t think there were people like that left these days.”
Gayle had to stop and gather herself because she still had trouble believing what the man had said. She squeezed her husband’s hand gently. Wait! Was that an answering pressure? No, she was probably just deluding herself.
“Anyway, this man said his boss knew of a woman who could help you get better. A psychic healer. Can you imagine such a thing? You know I don’t believe in all that stuff, but honey, if she can help you I’ll try anything.”
She let out another slow breath and swallowed against the tightness in her throat.
“And not only that, he’s going to give us money. Oh, Clark, he said five hundred thousand dollars. Can you even imagine it? I’m afraid I’m dreaming, and when I wake up, this will all be a cruel hoax. But I’m going to get in touch with this woman and get her to come and see you. Then I can call the phone number I have, and the money goes into our bank account.”
She paused and studied his face, so pale and gaunt-looking. He was no longer the robust male he’d been not so very long ago.
“I know you’d tell me this is probably some kind of hoax,” she went on. “I mean, who would give us this kind of money right out of the blue. Right? But I’ll tell you, I’d make a bargain with the devil right now if it meant you’d get well.”
She stopped talking as the nurse on duty came in. The woman smiled at Gayle, the practiced professional smile that was becoming all too familiar. She checked the machines monitoring Clark then injected medicine into one of the IV lines. At the door she turned and smiled at Gayle.
“We’re all praying for him, Mrs. Hauser.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “Hoping for a miracle. We just think the two of you are so nice. Something good’s bound to happen.”
“Thank you,” Gayle told her. “I hope your prayers are being heard.”
When the door closed and they were alone again, Gayle lifted Clark’s hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing here. I just wish I knew if you heard me.”
As she lowered his hand to the bed, again she felt what might have been an unconscious muscle spasm, but she preferred to believe he was actually squeezing her hand. Her heart beat just a little faster.
“Oh, Clark. You heard me. You heard me. I just know things are going to be all right.”
She reached into her pocket and touched the slip of paper with Summer Cahill’s phone number on it. Waiting until the media lost interest before he called her was going to be the hardest thing she’d had to do yet.
“Did you get the photos I sent?” Reid McFadden asked his boss.
“I did,” Olberman told hm.
“I want you to know I played hell getting them. The guy in the house is very cagey about being seen. That house is shut up like a fortress, plus they’ve got a guard sitting in a car down the street.”
“I hope you were careful.” Olberman’s tone was sharp.
“I know the score. Don’t worry. I got lucky. I was doing my usual once-a-day drive-by just at the moment he came out to toss some idiot off the porch.” Reid took a sip of smooth Scotch. The day had been a real bitch, and Olberman was getting on his nerves. “Haven’t got the others yet, though. Can’t hang around too long. But I figured if you found out who one of them was it might tell us who her friends are.”
“You were right about that. The man in the house is Troy Arsenault. He’s a partner in the Phoenix Agency.”
Reid wrinkled his forehead in thought. “I don’t think I know them.”
“All ex-military. They do corporate security and hostage negotiations and rescue. They’re really a security-and-paramilitary firm. I’m assuming the others are some of his partners. Two of them live in San Antonio.”
“That doesn’t sound so good.”
“Oh, I don’t think they’ll be a problem.” Olberman’s voice was thick with confidence. “I’ve got people who can chew them up and spit them out. You just get that woman to the hospital. I’ll do the rest.”
Reid disconnected and sat for a moment staring into his glass. And wondering why he had a sudden uneasy feeling that things were going to get far more complicated than anyone expected.