Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(91)
“What’re we lookin’ at?” asks Ryan. “It’s all pixelated.”
“Zoom out a little,” suggests Chan.
I use the roller ball on the mouse to pull back slightly. Now we’re looking at a vast forest of pine trees at the edge of a rocky, snow-tipped mountain range. I say, “There’s nothing there. It looks completely uninhabited. The nearest town is hundreds of miles away.”
Chan points at the screen. “There’s a hot springs.”
Ryan says, “So all the moose can go skinny-dipping? Wait, is it moose? Mooses? Moosii? What’s the plural of the word?”
“Hold on. What’s that?” I mouse over to the left a bit, zoom in another bit, and when I see what I’ve found, my heart stops beating and then takes off like a rocket.
Chan leans in, squinting at the screen. “That appears to be…”
“A cat.” I pound my fist on the desk so hard, the mouse jumps. “A motherf*cking little white cartoon kitty cat with a bow in her hair.”
We found her. Somehow she left us a trail of crumbs, and we found her.
“But that’s literally the middle of the wilderness,” says Chan. “There’s a tree right beneath the cat. There aren’t any structures. There are no roads. There’s nothing.”
“Except the hot springs,” corrects Ryan.
“The hot springs,” I repeat, thinking hard. “Which would produce massive amounts of geothermal heat throughout the surrounding bedrock.”
Chan picks up my train of thought right away. “Which means if there are any natural caves in the area, they’d be nice and toasty warm.”
We look at each other. Chan breathes, “Holy guacamole. She’s underground.”
Ryan chimes in, “You think Megamind is operating his evil empire from a bat cave? What about electricity? Lights? All his computers?”
“Geothermal energy produces electricity. He’d have to convert it with generators, but that’s easily done.” My mind is working faster and faster, keeping time with the accelerated beat of my heart. “There’s no telling how old this satellite image is. It’s probably been altered. But even if it hasn’t, he’d know to camouflage anything on the ground that could be identified from above. There might be outbuildings, a landing strip, a bunch of things he’s disguised. But he can’t camouflage this.”
I point at the series of numbers on the bottom left of the screen. “Those are her coordinates.” I look over and meet Ryan’s eyes. He’s nodding, grinning, knowing what I’m about to say next.
“It’s Hammer time.”
He hoots and pumps his fist in the air as I turn my gaze back to the little white cat on the computer screen.
“Hold on, princess. I’m on my way.”
Within hours, Ryan and I are locked and loaded in the belly of a C-130 en route to Alaska.
We’re sharing space with a team of four Marines from the Quick Response Force at Camp Pendleton, the nearest military base to the studio. We took off from there after gearing up, getting an action brief, and fine-tuning logistics.
Turns out the top dogs from all those different agencies worked together like a well-oiled machine once I presented them with a plan.
Thirty-Three
Tabby
I come awake in stages. The first thing I’m aware of is my pounding head. There’s a jackhammer inside my skull, breaking it into pieces. My mouth is dry and tastes like ashes. The contents of my stomach are set to a rolling boil.
Where am I?
Fighting the urge to retch, I keep my eyes closed. I swallow several times. My thoughts are foggy. Scattered. I gingerly touch the tender spot on the side of my neck where the needle pierced the skin. Whatever drug was in the syringe his mercs plunged into my jugular when they came for me, it took effect within seconds. Since then, I remember only dreamlike snatches of sensation. Cold wind in my face. The muffled roar of jet engines. The murmur of male voices. The smell of water, faintly sulphurous like rotten eggs.
I slowly lift my lids. Gravity drags them back down. I gather my strength and fight to lift them again, and this time I’m able to keep them open.
I’m lying on my back in an elaborate four-poster bed. Each carved wood post sports a fat white silk tassel around its finial. A white silk duvet is spread beneath me. Above me, sheer white fabric is draped in billowing folds that hang over the sides, long enough to brush the floor.
I’m fully clothed with the exception of my feet, which are bare. My Hello Kitty watch has been removed so I have no idea if I’ve been out for two hours or two days.
I drop my head against the pillow and force myself to concentrate, force myself to breathe to try to get rid of the fog layer muffling my thoughts.
In a few minutes, my head clears a little, and I manage to sit up. The nausea worsens, a hot churn of pure nastiness deep in my gut. I bite the inside of my mouth, hard, and eventually the bile recedes. When I’m fairly confident I can stay upright without vomiting, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, swat the hanging fabric away from my face, and survey my surroundings.
The room is roughly oblong in shape, furnished with an eye for austere luxury that stands in stark contrast to the bare stone walls, the natural rock ceiling. It appears I’m in a cave, or a room made to look like one. Underfoot lies thick white carpeting. On either side of the bed are two plain white side tables. A chest of drawers and an armoire, both simple in style but with the subtle sheen and finish of expensive craftsmanship, sit opposite the bed. A full-length mirror leans against the rock wall to my left. To my right is a floor lamp, which provides the only light.