Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(95)

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Excellent, sir. Perfect.” Fawning murmurs swept the room.

Anabel could not bring herself to say anything. Her throat felt like a tube of concrete.

Silva piped up. “He has the McClouds and his other associates to serve as alibis, and to testify about the rescue from the facility at Kolita Springs,” he reminded them.

“An excellent observation, Silva, but I think that once their children start to die of inexplicable organ failure, they may rethink their story on what happened at Kolita Springs,” Greaves said. “They do not strike me as stupid people.”

Silva subsided, and Greaves clapped his hands briskly. “Make it happen, people. Set the bots to sift for Davenport’s face, in addition to Lara’s, Miranda. Silva, bring me the latest statistical analyses of the prison populations. I haven’t looked them over properly yet.”

“Right away, sir.”

Anabel approached Greaves. “Sir,” she said. “A request.”

“Now is not a good time to ask for favors, Anabel.” Greaves did not look up from the sheaf of documents that he was flipping through.

“I just want to go on record as saying I’m ready to pay the price.”

Greaves frowned up at her. “What price?” he snapped. “Are you still concussed, Anabel? You’re not making sense.”

“No, sir.” Her jaw throbbed from clamping her teeth. “I’m talking about the old-fashioned technique for releasing latent psi. The kind they used on you. I don’t care how much it hurts. I’m willing to do it.”

“Are you indeed?” Greaves was expressionless.

“I’m not afraid of pain,” Anabel said.

“Hmmph.” Greaves’ blue eyes narrowed, speculative.

Anabel shuddered as she tried to relax into the sudden telepathic probe. He flung open door after door, peering into her darkness. Each stab of inquiry jogged loose memories that hurt, like being shocked with electricity. But she was stronger now. She could take it.

Finally, the probe withdrew. Anabel waited, bruised and shaken.

“No,” Greaves said. “I think not.”

Anabel stared at him blankly. “But . . . but sir, I—”

“You don’t have the right character,” Greaves said. “Too much damage at an early age. That bad business in your preadolescence, the confinement, the sexual abuse, brrr. Terrible. Such a shame, with your amazing potential. Parts of your brain function are suppressed, other parts are overcompensating, there are chemical imbalances of all kinds, a general state of imbalance and chaos. You’re a mess, Anabel. If I stressed you that hard, you’d almost certainly go mad. Or die.”

“But I’m not afraid of pain,” she said. “Or death.”

“You should be,” he said, with what looked almost like sympathy. “That’s part of the problem. Can you imagine, if I were to give tremendous, irrevocable psychic abilities to someone, and then find that person had gone insane? It would be so irresponsible.”

Anabel kept shaking her head. “But I . . but I’m not—”

“A wise person knows her limitations. To be honest, if I had been the one screening you before you first dosed, I would never have chosen to enhance you at all. Too unstable, too many issues. But there it is, so let’s just make the best of it. With the psi-max, you’re a very strong telepath, and your other psi talent was entertaining, too, as I recall. The sexual magnetism. You seem to have lost interest in it. I haven’t seen your beautiful glow for quite some time.”

“Haven’t been in the mood lately,” she said, woodenly.

“Just so. Can’t say as I blame you. Oh, wait.” His eyes widened. “I just had a thought. You are the perfect choice to head up the team that will prepare Davenport’s cabin! The chains, the shackles! It’s ideal, see? Use your own personal experience! This is a perfect opportunity for you to take your disadvantage and turn it into an advantage!”

Anabel stared, blank and baffled. “Sir?”

“Don’t you see?” he encouraged. “Who better than you can make the scenario of Lara’s imprisonment and sexual slavery watertight and convincing for the forensics experts and the psychologists? After this, anything Lara Kirk might say in Davenport’s defense will sound like the results of brainwashing. We will have killed so many birds with one stone. It has to happen fast, though, because I want to tip the police off first thing tomorrow. Before daybreak, understand? So get to it.”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was hollow.

“Oh, why the long face?” He patted her back. “It might help you, doing a sort of re-enactment. Lance the boil, eh? It’s worth a try!”

She cleared her throat. “Of course, sir.”

“No time to waste. Be careful to leave no signs of yourselves. All evidence must point to him. And now, if you will excuse me.”

He walked away. She was already forgotten.

She stood like a statue, as the wind swirled in through the open doors, bringing with it the icy threat of snow.





Margot McCloud ran her fingers through the springy mop of red ringlets on her daughter’s head. “You sure you don’t want to go back to the hotel?” she asked gently. “Auntie Erin’s heading back with Kevvie. She’s got movies, and she’s going to order some pizza.”