Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(118)

“But what am I supposed to do about it?” she wailed.

As she watched, he seemed to get smaller, going from five to maybe four. Eyes so wide and sad, sucking his thumb, hugging his bear. Like he had done his part, and she was supposed to be the grown-up now and make this all better. It was breaking her heart, it was driving her crazy. She wanted to hug him, scream at him. Save him.

Beyond the boy was an area that, some long time past, had been an upscale pedestrian mall. Beautiful wrought-iron benches, fancy art deco lampposts. An old-time shopping district. One of the faded signs, carved from wood, read BLAINE GENERAL STORE.

A loud squawk made her jump, spinning. It was the crow, still perched on the camera, but as she watched, it shook its black, ragged wings and dove right at her face. She cried out, ducked—

And fell right onto her back. Jolted back into her body again, heart racing, dragging in air. Oh, God, she’d fallen right onto her injured wrist. It hurt so badly, she almost vomited.

She rolled onto her side, keening with pain, and tried once again to type onto the interface. This time, she could visualize. miles?

WTF? WHERE HAVE U BEEN WHAT HAPPENED?

nabbed at portland bus depot dont know where I am now

ur in blaine, greaves’ house. me 2. i saw anabel haul u in thru my scope oh baby

god im sorry I ruined everything she typed in, appalled.

not ur fault. im the 1 who should b sorry. where r u in the house?

blind room 15 ft squ metal, like a bank vault. he keeps the sculpture collection here. Miles. my vision! it was of blaine!

He didn’t reply for a moment, baffled. huh?

i saw the statue, remember the statue, covered with birdshit? it’s greaves! they’re dedicating it tomorrow! it’s here! the vision, something horrible is going to happen here!

A brief pause, and then, horrible? really? i’ll tell u whats horrible. mthrfckers abduct my girlfriend and lock her in a vault.

its here miles! greaves is going to do smthing terrible here in Blaine and it starts right HERE AND NOW

one. thing. at. a. time. Miles typed in, sternly. 1) get lara out of the vault. 2) save the rest of the fckng universe. ok?

ur not getting it, she responded desperately. this is huge

At that moment, bolts started to grind and slide in the massive door. they’re coming 4 m L8r love u

me 2 listening waiting always ready yrs 4ever

Oh, man. This rush of sentimental tears was so poorly timed.

She snorted them back as the door sighed open, and Anabel and another man walked in. He was tall, well-dressed, Latino. He stared down at her, frowning in concentration, and shook his head.

“It’s true,” he said, disgruntled. “It’s like she’s not even there.”

“What, Silva, you didn’t believe us?” Anabel mocked. “Even Greaves couldn’t get through that shield, and you thought you could crack her and show us all up? Asshole.”

“Shut it,” the guy snarled. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

They each grabbed her by an armpit, and hauled her to her feet. The pressure on her swollen wrist wrenched a shriek of agony from her throat, but they didn’t seem to hear it. They hustled her out into a long corridor with a window at the end. The light from the window was a few shades lighter than true black. Dawn was breaking.

Through some double doors, into a large living room. Lavishly decorated, perfectly clean, but it had a chilly air of abandonment.

They passed out of the room and into a hall that served as a gallery of photographs. Anabel and the man that she had called Silva both stopped short as Lara jerked them back, rooted to the spot.

The photos.

The blond boy, in all his many incarnations. There he was as a twelve-year-old, smiling, the arm of a lovely blond woman flung over his shoulders. There was the little four-year-old boy she’d seen in the last vision, but here he was smiling and clean, well dressed, well fed, hair cut. A beautiful, happy little boy. Him as an eight-year-old in a baseball uniform. Him in a suit, holding a violin.

“Move it,” Anabel hissed.

“Who are these people?” Lara asked.

“What do you care, bitch? Move it!” Anabel jerked on her arm, provoking another flash of nauseating pain, but she held firm. “Who are they?” she demanded. “Who’s the boy?”

Silva made an impatient sound. “This is the boss’s house from years ago, when his wife and son lived here. That’s his son.”

“Otherwise known as, ‘the turnip,’ ” Anabel muttered.

“You know you’d die on the spot if he heard you say that, right?” Silva scolded. Anabel snorted, unimpressed.

Greaves’ son? She was so surprised, she tripped, stumbled almost to her knees. A painful jerk got her moving forward again.

Greaves’ son. The one who had led her to Miles, who conducted her to her visions, who had helped her hide from Anabel. Why . . . ?

They dragged her into a large room that opened onto a terrace that overlooked the lake. The sky was starting to lighten. Greaves stood there, arms clasped behind his back. His shock of hair glowed.

Anabel and Silva escorted her to where Greaves stood, and stepped back. Lara’s eyes skittered around the room. A snarl of medical machines was behind Greaves, and in the midst of them, a skeletal figure barely made a bump under the blanket. It reminded her, horribly, of the cadavers in her visions, like bundles of dry twigs in their rotting clothing. He took up about that much space.