Chosen (Second Sight) (7 page)

Isabelle noticed a man at the back entrance to the house who quickly disappeared. Probably security. He’d realized that Susan hadn’t returned. But what really held Isabelle’s attention were the children. Though she hadn’t noticed it yesterday, she couldn’t help but see the resemblance today.

“I see you’re interested in the young ones,” Geoffrey said. Isabelle quickly averted her eyes. “I am too,” Geoffrey said, patting her gloved hand on his arm. “I am too. They’re our future you know.”

“I’ve come to see Kayla,” Isabelle said, trying to sound as smooth as him. “Hear more about your wonderful commune from her.”

“Oh,” Geoffrey said, pouting a little. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. But I’d be glad to tell you everything you need to know.”

Isabelle slowed a little.

“Why won’t that be possible?” she asked, forcing herself to smile. “I just saw her yesterday in the kitchen.”

“Because she left,” Geoffrey said, nonchalant, as though they were talking about a passing cloud. “Yesterday evening.”

Isabelle stopped and Geoffrey had to stop as well–either that or tug her arm out of the socket.

“She
left?
”

“Yes,” Geoffrey said, nodding. “Yesterday evening,” he repeated.

“Why?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “I didn’t speak to her.” He shrugged a little. “Sometimes it happens. People move on in life or want to take what we do here and spread it elsewhere.” But then he frowned. “Honestly, though, I think it had more than a little to do with her mother’s visit. She seemed deeply upset by that when she came back to the house.”

Isabelle glanced at the main house and then the others.
 

Geoffrey was lying.
 

It might be that Kayla wasn’t here but she hadn’t read that Kayla was thinking of leaving. In fact, her last words had been that she hoped to see her again. Geoffrey was waiting patiently and looking down at her. Isabelle took in a deep breath.

“Well,” she said, trying not to let her voice show the tension she felt. “That’s too bad because I thought that, if I joined, I might have a friend here.”

Geoffrey laughed out loud, a deeply musical and resonant sound.

“Oh you’ll have friends,” he said, beaming at her. “No doubt of that.”

She glanced at the buildings to the left and right of the main house.
 

“And, if one were to join,” she said, teasingly. “Where would one sleep?”

“Well,” he said, conspiratorially, leaning closer. “It depends on whether you’re a man or a woman.”

Isabelle felt her skin crawl.

“Just for the sake of argument,” she said. “Let’s say I’m a woman.”

Geoffrey grinned like a schoolboy.

“In
that
case,” he said. “In the women’s dorm.”
 

He nodded at the building on the right.

“Do you think I might be able to get a tour?”

He virtually raced along the branching, gray gravel path as an answer. Unlike the main house, it was only one story but it had the same bright, white paint and green, shingled roof. It was a long building and narrow and, as Geoffrey held the door for her and she stepped inside, she could see why. Though it was well lit and the beds were covered with beautiful quilts, it was more like a barracks than a dormitory. Two rows of beds lined each wall. At the foot of each was a wood chest as wide as the narrow bed. Two of the beds near the far end were occupied–possibly women who weren’t feeling well. But as Isabelle looked more closely, she realized they were both pregnant. Maybe they’d needed bed rest. As Geoffrey escorted her down the middle, he lowered his voice.

“We emphasize a life of minimalism,” he whispered. “Our members give up most of their worldly possessions when they join. The commune takes care of its own.”

I’ll bet they do
, Isabelle thought.

“Where did Kayla sleep?” Isabelle asked.

“Oh,” said Geoffrey, waving his hand in the air. “I have no idea. Honestly, men aren’t generally permitted in here. I don’t know that I ever saw where she slept.”

Isabelle frowned at the two long rows of beds. There were simply too many to read, not that she could with Geoffrey’s hand clamped over hers.

But as they crossed the midpoint of the building where two doors on either side separated the two halves, one of the women called out.

“Geoffrey,” she said, smiling weakly. “Is that you?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, he stopped. He glanced from Isabelle to her and back again. Then he patted Isabelle’s hand.

“Would you be a dear and wait here?” he said. “I’ll just be a moment.”

“Of course,” Isabelle said, sounding too cheery. “Take your time,” she said more calmly.

As Geoffrey hurried over to the woman, Isabelle frantically looked around for any clue about Kayla. Though the patterns of the quilts changed from bed to bed, the arrangements were are all similar. Some of the nightstands held small picture frames or cell phones but there were no lamps or books. Various types of sandals and shoes were stored under the bed frames. But every bed was neatly made. The wood floors gleamed with a high polish. And not a single item seemed to be out of place.
 

Nor any sign of Kayla.

Isabelle moved slowly along the side of the last bed in the first section and saw a trash can near the door. She glanced quickly back the way they’d come. With a quick check on Geoffrey, who’d seated himself on the edge of the woman’s bed, Isabelle strolled casually toward the trash can without looking at it. She checked Geoffrey again as he leaned down over the woman. Quickly, she glanced down into the trash. It was a large, wooden receptacle but lined with a white plastic bag. Used facial tissue, an empty bottle of shampoo. A few Q-tips. Isabelle checked Geoffrey, who seemed not to have moved. She strolled to the other side of the bin. Something near the bottom glinted. She did a quick double-take just as she realized what it was. It was a small picture frame but it was empty and the glass was cracked. She’d been about to look away when she realized what was next to it–a photo. Isabelle’s breath caught. Even at this distance, she’d know that face anywhere. It was Daniel.

With a fast and sweeping view of the entire room, Isabelle quickly stooped and grabbed the frame and photo. In her haste, she’d grabbed a folded tissue as well. She quickly dumped the frame and photo in her purse. As she peered back down into the trash, she didn’t have to wonder why Kayla would throw away a picture of Daniel–because she
wouldn’t
. Someone else had thrown it away.
 

Maybe there’s something else of Kayla’s in there.

Isabelle was just reaching back down to move the shampoo bottle out of the way when Geoffrey’s voice came from directly behind her.

“Something I can help you with?” he asked.

Isabelle jumped at the nearness, her hand flying to her chest as she straightened up. She turned to see Geoffrey staring at her hand. Abruptly, she followed his gaze and realized she was still holding the tissue. Quickly, she raised it to her nose and blew, loud and long.

Trying not to think of what might have been on the tissue, she wiped her nose and tossed it into the bin.

“Allergies,” she said.

“Oh,” he said, frowning a little. “Not bad, I hope?”

“No, no,” she stammered, blood pounding in her ears. Had he seen her take the photo? “Just once or twice a year. It’s really not bad.”

Geoffrey smiled broadly.

“Good,” he said, sounding relieved. “
Excellent
.” He indicated the door behind her. “Shall we?”

• • • • •

Cyber Division had to be a geek’s dream come true. Mac walked into the darkened lab, following Scanlon, who held the door for him.
 

“You’d better be right about this, MacMillan,” Scanlon said under his breath.

Although every law enforcement agency had its turf issues, both external and internal, it turned out that Mac had managed to step directly onto a land mine his first day. Scanlon had been less than pleased to be working with Cyber Division. Apparently Assistant Director Cassandra Martinez, who headed it up, felt the same about Scanlon.

Every other agent in the room was seated at a computer but Martinez stood. She wore a dark business suit, knee length skirt, white blouse, and dark heels. In her fifties, like Scanlon, and trim, her short, brown hair was not yet gray. At least Mac couldn’t see any in this lightning. What Mac could see was her body language–arms crossed over chest, torso turned at an angle.

She was watching them.

“Director Martinez?” Mac asked, extending his hand. “I’m Special Agent MacMillan.”

She smiled politely if cooly and shook hands. He didn’t bother to introduce Scanlon.

“Director,” she said, nodding at Scanlon as she looked away.

“Director,” he said, the word a near echo of hers.

“Green Earth Commune,” she said to Mac. “What’s your interest there?”

“I’ve come across some data that suggests it’s a cult,” Mac said. “A cult of personality. I couldn’t say anything more specific until I’ve had a chance to do some interviews but it seems the man who is the head of it has fathered possibly dozens of children who reside there.”

At that, a couple of the agents seated at monitors looked over.
 

“And how have you come across that information?”

“Kayla Massen,” Mac said. “One of the members. She’s pregnant but not by the leader and wants to leave. I think she might be our way in. Her mother made contact with her.”
 

Mac left out the part that involved Isabelle.
 

His gut wrenched a bit at the thought of her. The look on her face when he’d said he wanted to move in–he couldn’t get it out of his head. He should have just stopped at the transfer. She’d seemed genuinely happy to hear about that.
 

Was it just the psychic ability that worried her? Or did it have to do with him?

He’d lain awake asking himself those two questions over and over without any answers.

Then again, maybe the answers didn’t matter.

He’d already made his choice clear. Now it was up to her.

Martinez nodded at him and Mac was jolted back to the present.

“They’re already on our radar,” she said. She turned to the closest agent. “Tim, pull up Green Earth’s file.”

As she, Scanlon, and Mac gathered behind Tim, a young agent who looked in his early twenties, the file and FBI logo popped up on the screen.
 

“Suspected of fraud in 2006 but the investigation turned up nothing,” Tim read. “Geoffrey Girod is the man on the web site. Visitors to it are mostly young women, single. Donations of all types are accepted by the non-profit. Whole bank accounts are transferred. Some estates. Vehicles. Most of it’s sold and the cash goes into the commune.” Tim scrolled down. “The books say they operate at a loss.” He leaned forward and scrutinized the screen. “Yeah, right,” he muttered. “Not with the kind of digital fortress they’ve got.”

“Digital fortress?” Mac asked.

“Someone there has some computer savvy,” Tim said. “They have their own internet servers.”

“They’re their own ISP,” Martinez explained. “We can’t get to their email, what’s behind their web site, nothing. They’ve taken great pains to hide their finances. We haven’t been able to link them to onshore accounts let alone offshore ones.” Martinez turned to Mac. “But my instincts say they’re there. Nobody does this without a reason. I think it’s the tip of an iceberg. The cult spin?” She shrugged, arms still crossed. “That hardly comes as a surprise.”

“I think I can get in there,” Mac said. “But I’m going to need some help.”

“Ya think?” Tim said under his breath.

“Fake identity,” said Scanlon, either not hearing Tim or ignoring him.

“When?” Martinez asked Mac, ignoring Scanlon.

“Today,” Scanlon said.

Tim turned to look at him, an incredulous look on his face.

“Impossible,” he said. “It takes at least–”

“I have a window,” Mac said. “And it’s closing as we speak.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Well that doesn’t change the fact that–”

“We’ll handle it,” Martinez said, cutting Tim off. He began to turn to her but she took the back of his chair and turned him to face the screen. “It’ll be done by midnight.”

Though Mac wasn’t quite sure what was going on in this turf war, it’d just worked to his advantage.

“Fine,” Scanlon said, as he turned to leave.

“Fine,” Martinez said, as she did the same.

“
Great
,” Tim muttered at the screen but Mac was the only one who heard.

• • • • •

As soon as Susan’s doorbell rang, Isabelle raced to answer it.

“He’s
here
,” she called out. “I’ll get it.”

Mac was just taking off the aviator sunglasses when she snatched up his hand and tugged him inside. She hadn’t tried to explain in her text.

“Kayla is missing,” she said, closing the door.

Quickly, she led him past the sunken living room, through a small family room, and up a half-flight of stairs into the kitchen. Susan was standing behind the tile counter, next to the sink, a cell phone clutched in her hand. Her eyes were puffy and red from the crying.

“Susan called the police and filed a missing person report but they said they don’t have the manpower to pursue it and that most missing adults return in forty-eight hours.”

“Missing,” Mac said, stowing the sunglasses in the chest pocket of his jacket. “All right,” he said as Isabelle watched him switch gears. “Tell me about what happened at the commune.”

Isabelle could have hugged him–for more than one reason.
 

The way they’d left things had bothered her all day. They needed to talk. She knew they did–and she wanted to–but not now.

She recounted everything, as fast as she could. She’d had to tour the entire place this time, complete with viewing the promotional DVD. It’d taken her all afternoon to finally get away.

“Kayla wouldn’t just leave,” Susan said, sniffing. “Even when she moved there, she said goodbye. It’s just not
like
her.”

Mac checked Isabelle and she nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like Kayla, at least not the Kayla she knew.