Chosen (Second Sight) (3 page)

“And did she?” he asked.

Does he look worried?

Isabelle watched Mac and, for an instant, she visualized reading him–just a quick one, like when they’d first met. Though she looked down at her gloved hands, it wasn’t a reading she remembered. It was her and Mac together in her apartment earlier. She’d forgotten to take off the gloves. Of course there’d hardly been time but… She glanced up at him. Not long ago, he would have insisted. His gaze met hers, waiting for an answer.

“No,” Isabelle finally said. “She didn’t do a reading.”

She watched the tension in his lips relax even as the tension in her stomach tightened.

He
was
worried.

“And this…eco-commune in…” Mac said.

“Topanga Canyon,” Isabelle said, trying to focus on the conversation. “It’s up in the hills. I haven’t been there in years.”

“And an eco-commune? Is that common here?”

Isabelle shook her head.

“Not that I know of. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Well, it should be interesting,” Mac said lightly.

But Isabelle could care less now.
 

Is he
hiding
something? And what if he is? Isn’t he entitled to his privacy? How could she even
think
of reading him without his knowing?

For a moment, Isabelle felt nauseous.

Maybe Yolanda is right. Maybe psychic and non-psychic aren’t meant to be.

Mac raised his eyebrows as he dipped a french fry.

“You knew Susan’s daughter?” he said.

Isabelle took a deep breath and tried to concentrate.

“Kayla,” she said. “We were friends.”

“
Were
,” Mac said.

The memory of how that friendship had ended brought her fully back to the moment. She picked up her fork.

“
My
boyfriend,” Isabelle said quietly, “became
Kayla’s
boyfriend.”

“I see,” Mac said, not missing a beat. “And does this fool have a name?”

Isabelle couldn’t help but smile a little.

“Daniel,” she said. “His name is Daniel.” She paused. “You know, I didn’t even think to ask Yolanda if she saw him.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters. Susan will pick me up tomorrow morning and we’re going to pay a visit.”

“Just be careful,” Mac said, all seriousness now.
 

He took her hand in his and she gazed up into his eyes. The intensity there startled her.

“It’s just a bunch of hippies,” Isabelle said. “I’m not sure there’s anything to be worried about.”

“Not the commune,” Mac said. “I mean Kayla. It sounds like maybe there are some old wounds there.”
 

She shook her head a little.

“All in the past,” she said.

And it was. She hadn’t thought of Daniel or Kayla in years.

“Okay,” Mac said quietly. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

That’s what Yolanda had said.

• • • • •

Though Mac hadn’t been entirely sure of his welcome, Ben clapped him on the back as they shook hands.

“
Mac
,” Ben said, smiling. “Good to see you.”

Mac gave him a hug.

“I’m glad you think so,” Mac said. “It’s good to see you too.”

Ben Olivos, Assistant Director of the Los Angeles FBI headquarters, was in his late fifties, balding, and carrying a spare tire around his middle that stretched his long-sleeve, white shirt.

“About that,” Ben said, letting him go and motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

Mac took a seat and waited.

There’d obviously been no formal charges.
 

Otherwise I’d be looking for an entirely new line of work instead of a transfer.

When Isabelle had been abducted by the serial killer, Mac had not only pulled in every favor owed to him but he’d also pulled every string he could find–not all of which were his to pull. He’d used Ben’s name to prioritize lab tests in Quantico
without
asking Ben.

“I signed the lab order,” Ben said, plopping down in the rolling chair.
 

“Look Ben,” Mac said. “I want to apologize for that–”

“I don’t want your apology,” Ben said, but then he smiled. “I owed you that much. At least that much.”

Mac and Isabelle had been key in finding Ben’s daughter Esme before the serial killer had enacted his deadly ritual.
 

“Thank you, Ben,” Mac said, as he exhaled with relief. “And you didn’t owe me
anything
.”

But it wasn’t the fact that Ben had covered for him that let Mac relax a bit. He was just glad their relationship was still solid. Ben was more than just the guy in charge in L.A. He was also Mac’s mentor and the man who’d steered him toward profiling early in his career. Ben and his wife Anita had been like parents to him.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ben warned.
 

Ben wasn’t through
, Mac thought.
And rightly so
.
I should never have abused our friendship the way I did.
 

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Ben said, “but she’s not good for you. Not for you
or
your career.”

Mac stiffened and jerked his head back.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “
What?
”

“You heard me,” Ben said, leaning forward. “She’s not good for you and this is a bad move.”

Mac clenched his jaw and felt his shoulders tighten.

“By
she
I assume you mean Isabelle,” Mac said.

“You know very well who I mean.”

“Well
she
has a name.”

“
Stop
,” Ben said. “Stop for just one second and look at yourself.”

“If you–”

“Stop!” Ben said as he held out his hand and stood up behind his desk. “Just be quiet for ten seconds.”

Mac shut his mouth and stared at Ben. This was something Ben had done in their early days in profiling. Often the profiler’s dilemma wasn’t having enough information, it was being inundated with too much–data that wasn’t relevant and yet took up your time. The key was separating out what was important and what wasn’t. Mac had learned from Ben that the subconscious mind could sort it out,
if
you could just give it room to breathe. Ben did that with a ten second silence.

But it wasn’t working for Mac. Not this time.

From the beginning, Ben had been antagonistic toward Isabelle, his wife Anita’s psychic. He was a skeptic and Mac understood that. Mac had been a skeptic too once. But Ben never seemed to get past it.

“Look–” Mac started.

Ben threw his hands in the air and sat down.

“Do you
see?
” he said, slowly shaking his head. “You can’t even do that.”

“I’m not here to practice profiling,” Mac said.

“No, you’re here to ruin your career,” Ben said, glaring at him.

“Is that how you see it?”

“It’s been coming for some time,” Ben said. “I’ve been watching this train wreck from day one.”

Train wreck?

Mac didn’t trust his own voice, ready to shout with every decibel his chest would muster.

“Before Isabelle,” Ben said. “You’d have got your head into the serial killer’s mind during Esme’s case, not Isabelle’s.” Mac stared hard at him. Ben had skipped Angela, the young medical student who’d been killed. Was Ben
blaming
him for that? “You’d have been digging deep, casting wide, and not depending on some…
supposed
psychic ability.” Ben sat back. “Then, you go off the rails. I know what Sharon did for you. You risked
her
career as well as yours.” He shook his head again. “Analyzing security videos with the Homeland Security computer network? Are you insane?” Mac froze for a moment. He
had
put Sharon’s career at risk. “You put your fist through my wall. You used
my
name,” Ben continued. “And now this.” Ben pushed a piece of paper forward on his desk. Mac already knew what it had to be. “You want to interview here.” Ben pursed his lips. “In L.A. You want to leave Quantico, give up an elite position, one that you’re ideally suited for, and come
here
.” Though Mac ground his teeth, he could hardly argue. It
wasn’t
a good career move. He already knew that. “I get it,” Ben said, softening his tone. “You’re young. She’s pretty. But we’re talking about your career here.
Years
in the making. The higher-ups have their eye on you. And this,” Ben moved the piece of paper sideways on his desk, pushing it to the left edge. “This is a move backwards. Backwards and down.” He left the paper. “Have her move to Quantico.”

Mac slowly inhaled through his nose.

It sounded so simple.
 

But Isabelle’s apartment, everything she’d accumulated, had been years in the making. Everything there had been factory made, untouched by human hands, or handled by people with gloves. It was her refuge, built slowly and carefully over time. Objects with readings had been discarded. Fixtures and handles had been replaced. It only took one touch to know what she could live with and what she couldn’t.

But as Mac gazed at Ben’s face, he knew there was no way Ben would understand.

“I appreciate what you’re saying,” Mac finally said. “And I hope you know how much I respect you, Ben.” He paused but then plunged on. “But I also hope you can understand what I need to do.” Ben’s face fell. “I’m going to interview here.”

The drive with Susan had been like a trip back in time, right down to the Volvo hatchback. Though Susan had to be graying, her dyed blonde hair didn’t show it. In fact, virtually nothing belied her age and, again, it seemed like the old days. During the windy drive up the canyon, Isabelle had remembered that Susan had sometimes been mistaken for Kayla's sister and how much Susan had enjoyed that.

But Susan’s relationship with her daughter had been strained ever since Isabelle had first met them. Isabelle and Kayla had become roommates in their sophomore year. Isabelle had been struggling with her second sight ability and Kayla was doing her best to get away from her mother.
The control freak
. That’s what Kayla had called her.

Though she and Kayla hadn’t had much in common except for a psychology major, they’d gotten along well–until Daniel.

“I thought they were going to get married,” Susan said, as the Volvo leaned into yet another tight turn. “Didn’t you?”

Isabelle wasn’t sure how much Susan knew of Isabelle’s past with Daniel. At one point, Isabelle had thought she and Daniel might get married. But the readings had driven them apart–the way they did for every relationship.
 

Before Mac
, she thought.

“We didn’t stay in touch,” Isabelle said, holding on to the seat. “After graduation I mean.”

The GPS unit attached to the windshield spoke.

“Turn left in five-hundred feet,” the woman’s voice said.

“Isabelle,” Susan said. “Can you see what it says on the screen? What street are we turning on? It never says until it’s too late.”

“Summerhill Canyon,” Isabelle said.
 

“Thanks, sweetie,” Susan said, navigating the car around a steep, hairpin turn.
 

As they pulled out of it, there was a view off to the left of the sprawl filling the San Fernando Valley. It spread so far east and west that it disappeared into the smoggy haze.

“Turn left in two-hundred feet,” said the GPS as the view disappeared.

“Thank you for coming,” Susan said, glancing at her. “I can’t tell you how shocked I was that Yolanda saw you.”

“I’m glad to help,” Isabelle said. “But I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do when we see Kayla.”

“
If
we see her,” Susan said. “I’ve written. I’ve called. The last time I was here, they said she wouldn’t see me. Honestly, Isabelle, I’m not even sure she’s here anymore. That’s why I went to Yolanda.”
 

“Turn left,” said the GPS.

Though she waited for the opposing traffic to pass, Susan followed the directions off the main road. After less than a mile, the smooth pavement gave way to cracked and uneven asphalt. Then it turned to gravel. It crunched under the tires and, as the Volvo maintained speed, it pinged on the underside of the car.

“Arrive at your destination in half-a-mile.”

Rolling hills of golden grass were dotted with giant, spreading oaks. The further they got from the main road, the thicker the trees became, congregating in huge stands until the narrow gravel road seemed to enter a forest.

“Arrive at your destination in five-hundred feet.”

There wasn’t the slightest sign that anyone lived back here. Isabelle glimpsed acres of empty landscape through the massive trunks. The rocky Santa Monica mountains, through which the canyon ran all the way to the ocean, jutted up in the mid-distance.

“Arrive at your destination in two-hundred feet.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?” Isabelle asked.

“Six months ago,” Susan said. “But I haven’t seen her since last year.” The Volvo slowed a little. “They weren’t particularly welcoming the last time I was here.”

Really
, thought Isabelle.
A rude commune?

Finally, it came into view.
 

It was lovely and not at all what Isabelle had expected. The grey, gravel-lined road ran under a wide, metal arch with the words “GreenEarthCommune.org” fanning out across it. As they drove under, Isabelle gazed at the idyllic community that spread out in front of them. Several white, one-story buildings with green roofs topped with weather vanes and solar panels were organized in a checkerboard pattern, vibrant green grass spreading between them. A single two-story building occupied the center and it reminded Isabelle of something out of the antebellum South. Ringed with a wide porch on the ground floor, the second story was surrounded by an equally wide balcony. It was a mansion by any measure.

Behind the house were clearly fields of vegetables. Isabelle was no gardener but she at least recognized corn stalks. Someone was exiting one of the rows with a wheelbarrow full of green plants that looked as though they had big, dirty roots attached. She saw a small flash of orange. Carrots?