Double Vision (14 page)

The realization triggered a recollection. Twenty-two years ago, shortly after she had regained consciousness after the car accident, Cesar had spent an entire afternoon beside her bed. The first thing he had wanted to know wasn't how she felt, but what she remembered. For weeks she had been questioned, by Cesar and a number of therapists, but always with the slant that remembering would help her regain her sight.

The reason the tactic had failed was textbook. Traumatic amnesia was a little-understood but well-researched phenomenon. There were recorded instances of people who had shut down so completely after being traumatized that they had forgotten their identities, their families, even their careers—anything and everything that might open up a pathway to remembering what had traumatized them. In several documented cases, years later something had triggered the subjects to remember. In more than one case it had been the emergence of an unexplained ability or knowledge or a language or skill they had no memory of learning. In others it had been an event that in some way duplicated the trauma.

Rina registered faint scuffing sounds as the bureau was repositioned against the wall. “Who are you?”

“James Thompson. I had a meeting with your husband, but apparently he's gone out. I thought the house was empty until I saw you through the French doors.”

The voice was curt, nicely masculine with a hint of a Southern drawl. She realized she recognized it from earlier in the day. He had been the last of Alex's “business associates” to leave. For him to be here at all—even at night—meant he had to have an appointment. The security around the house was very tight. No one gained admittance, or left, without passing through gate security.

“Keep still and I'll clean that cut up.” She felt the touch of a handkerchief on her cheek.

Blood.
Her throat tightened. She had almost forgotten. She could feel it now, congealed on the side of her face and in her hair. It would be on the carpet as well.

Inconsequentially, she thought of Therese. The old Hispanic woman would go crazy. The carpet was an antique silk runner that Alex had paid a fortune for on one of his trips abroad. Once Rina had gotten her to describe it and had spent hours trying to remember exactly what claret-red, royal-blue and turquoise looked like.

“I'm going to apply some pressure. Tell me if it hurts.”

He gripped her chin and tilted her head slightly. Rina winced as the handkerchief was pressed firmly against the side of her face. The bare skin of a forearm brushed the top of her arm as he worked. She froze at the contact. She had expected him to be in a suit jacket, not a short-sleeved shirt or T-shirt.

His fingers closed around her wrist.

She tensed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking your pulse.”

Heart pounding, she jerked free of his hold. She had taken his offer of first aid on trust, but she was over letting him help her. He was a stranger, in her house without her knowledge, and she couldn't forget he was tied up with Alex. “My pulse is fine. It's my head I'm worried about. My eyes are history, but I really would like to hang on to my brain.”

She sensed his surprise at the humor, but she was more interested in the fact that he moved away a step and took the blood-soaked handkerchief with him.

“Your pupils look okay, but you could have a slight concussion.”

“Just what I need to complete another perfect day.”

“Looks like you've had your share of accidents. Stay there. I'm going to find some ice.”

She heard him walking in the direction of the kitchen and turned her head enough that she caught a glimpse of deep blue tinged with bright turquoise around his head. She stared, for long seconds. Unlike any of the other auras she'd seen, the colors were bright and distinct and utterly clear.

When he came back he had ice cubes, which he'd wrapped in what felt like a kitchen towel. She set the ice against the side of her head, clenching her jaw against the shaft of pain the change in temperature caused.

“I've put a glass of water on the table to the right of you. Drink it all, the fluids will help ease off the shock. When was the last time you ate?”

“I'm not going to pass out again.” Now that she had the ice, all she wanted was for him to leave.

Rina blinked, distracted by the blurry grayness. She felt distinctly shaky. The pain in her head had increased and her skin felt acutely sensitive.

“I've called an ambulance. Is there anyone else you want me to call?”

“No one…thank you. I've got a cell phone, I can make my own calls.” She noticed Thompson hadn't offered to escort her to the hospital or call any of the security staff. Neither had he mentioned contacting the police, but then he wouldn't. Alex was involved with drugs and murder; by association, so was Thompson. He would be as averse to contact with the police as her husband.

And that brought her back to the appointment he had mentioned. Alex was meticulous about business. If he had arranged to meet Thompson, he would have been here, and it was highly unlikely he would have staged this “accident” with a business associate in the house. Which meant Thompson was lying.

As he left the room, Rina stared after him, transfixed, but the shimmer of color around James Thompson was eclipsed by something far brighter in the corner. The shape was regular and defined and nothing like the colors she saw around people: the light was clear and bright enough to hurt.

Her chest tightened, the pain in her head grew, and for a moment she thought she was going to pass out again.

She was looking at a window.

T
he curtains of the cubicle Rina was occupying in Winton General's ER twitched aside.

A woman stepped into the room. “Damn, you
are
hurt.”

Baby whined in welcome. Rina dropped a hand on his head, where he lay beside her chair. His tail thumped the floor.

Taylor's gaze skimmed the cubicle. “I've had enough of this. I'm getting you out of Winton now.”

Rina stared at Taylor through eyes that were painfully sensitive. She was tall, with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, smooth, tanned skin and dark eyes. She was dressed in black track pants and a plain white tank, and she was wearing running shoes. Despite the fact that Rina had been blind for most of her life, even she could recognize that Taylor made no concession to fashion or style. With Taylor, what you saw had always been what you got. “How did you find out?”

“JT called me.”

Rina frowned at the unfamiliar name. “James Thompson?”

“That's him.”

Comprehension dawned. Apart from the clear colors around Thompson, that was what had been different about him. “He's an agent.”

“He's been in place for months. Thanks to JT, we're finally reeling in Lopez and a big chunk of his network. He broke cover because he was worried about you.”

The fact that James Thompson was an agent explained why he had been in the house when Alex wasn't there.

Taylor's brows jerked together. “Something's happened. You're looking at me.”

Rina lifted a hand to the bandage on the side of her face. She still felt wobbly, and now that the shock of what had happened had mostly worn off, she felt even sorer. It had taken a few minutes for the ambulance to arrive and, once it was established that she didn't have any serious injuries, a further half hour to see a doctor. She had examined the swollen areas and the butterfly dressing the medic had applied to the cut and checked her for concussion, of which Rina did have a mild case. One concussion was bad, two in as many weeks was evidently very bad. After trying to convince her to check into the hospital for the rest of the night as a precaution, she had reluctantly prescribed a few quiet days at home and had gone to get painkillers from the dispensary.

Rina stared at Taylor, and resisted the urge to close her eyes. Her head was on fire and her eyes were burning. She was having trouble with the light and focusing, and difficulty with perception and balance. On top of the pain and disorientation, the bewildering speed with which people and vehicles moved and the brashness of the colors was unnerving. After years of craving light and color, all she wanted to do was crawl back into the dark shell she'd lived in for so many years and hide. “I can see. When I hit my head, it must have done something.”

Taylor's face lit up. She crouched down and pulled her into a brief, fierce hug. “I can hardly believe it. I'd almost given up hope.”

Emotion pushed past Rina's rigid control. Until Taylor had hugged her she hadn't realized how much she needed the contact. “It wasn't an accident. Alex set it up. I saw him.” She met Taylor's gaze. “Why am I still alive? What does he want?”

“My boss will have my badge if he finds out I've given you any details, but you're going to find out soon enough. Lopez wants money.”

Finally, something that made sense.

“Esther stole from Lopez. He thinks that before she died she gave you an access code for an offshore account that contains a very large sum of money.” Taylor stated a figure. “Don't quote me on it. That's just in the ballpark.”

The numbers on the notepad.
Now it made sense. Esther had found out what Alex Lopez was and cut him off at the knees by taking his money. There was no other explanation. Her mother had had rigid principles and values; she wasn't a thief. Rina frowned. “If that was the case, why wasn't the theft, and Alex, investigated twenty-two years ago?”

Taylor checked the corridor. “Lopez used his influence to cover it up. No crime was ever reported. Indirectly, about a year ago, we received information through a South American source. The information fitted with Esther's death and a few other events that happened at the time. The FBI's been gathering the threads of Lopez's operation and chasing the money ever since.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. “We don't have much time. You can't go back to the house. Let them keep you in for observation for the night. We'll put twenty-four-hour protection around you. That's as believable a way as any to take you out of the equation, with the added bonus that Alex won't be suspicious, since he was the one who put you here. Does the doctor know you can see?”

“I didn't tell her. I haven't told anyone.”

At first she hadn't been able to believe it. Like the auric sight, she had waited for the vision to go. Then, when the ambulance had arrived and one of Alex's security staff had come in to see what was wrong, an innate caution had kicked in. Alex's attempts to stimulate her memory had been brutal. If he knew that she had regained her vision and that she was beginning to remember, he wouldn't let her out of his sight. It was even possible he would attempt to remove her to some place where Taylor and the FBI couldn't reach her.

Taylor checked her watch again. “Time to go.”

“No. I'm going back to the house. I need one more day.” Esther had entrusted her with the account numbers because she had known she wouldn't survive and she had wanted Lopez stopped. It was now the FBI's job to stop Alex, but making sure Alex never recovered the money was her responsibility. She was beginning to remember, bits and pieces—fragments. She knew what she needed to remember. With the right stimulus she could get it all back.

“You can't go back. It's not safe and, as a witness for the prosecution, we don't want you there. We can recover any physical evidence when we move on the house.”

“It makes sense for me to go home. The concussion is minor and Alex knows I hate hospitals. If I elect to stay in, he will be suspicious. The second he finds out, he could insist on having me removed to a private clinic. Besides, I'm safe. He's not hitting me or pointing a gun at me.”

Given the last interval between “accidents,” the way she saw it, she had a week before he rigged another. By then, he would be behind bars.

“The answer's still no. You're not supposed to know this, and I wasn't going to tell you because it's damned scary. If Bayard finds out, I
will
lose my job. Lopez isn't Alex's real name. It's Chavez, Rina.
Alejandro Chavez.
”

The Chavez cartel.

Her stomach turned.

Colombia. Brutal killings. Mass graves.

The Chavez cartel was Colombia's preeminent drug operation. For years Marco Chavez had run the family business like a dictator. After his death his son, Alejandro, had been just as efficient, but much more secretive. A killer at age twelve and despised in his own country, Alejandro had been labeled a dangerous psychotic.

And she had married him.

The room spun, the sick feeling turning to raw panic. She had let him touch her, kiss her. She had let him inside her.

Revulsion shuddered through her. No wonder Esther had run, no wonder she had gone against the principles of a lifetime and stolen from Lopez. She had known
who
he was. She had been desperate to stop him, desperate to get them both away. “How long have you known?”

“Don't look at me like that.” Taylor shook her head. “A few weeks. I wanted to tell you.”

“I understand why you couldn't.” Cesar had known all along. He had introduced her to Alex; he had agreed to the marriage. The betrayal was incomprehensible. “Cesar—” Her voice sounded thick, her head was pounding.

Taylor was crouching down again, gripping her arms. “Don't go there. I promise you, it doesn't look good. I've been studying reports and profiles for weeks, looking for an out. I couldn't believe it, either.”

“Alex is blackmailing him.”

“He gets a hold over everyone, but they still take his money, and they still commit the crimes. It's called selling out.”

“To protect
me.
” She had to hold on to that; no matter what, Cesar was her father. She understood him in a way no one else could. Cesar was brilliant, but only at business. Without Esther in the equation, the Chavez cartel would have swallowed him whole.

Alex had held her hostage for more than twenty years. He had formulated a plan to contain and control her and extract her memories. The scope of the deception and the passage of time that had passed were almost incomprehensible, but one thing was clear. He wanted the money. He would never stop until he had it. Once he had it, he would kill her.

Another salient fact registered. It was cartel money. Even if Alex were imprisoned or killed, the cartel would remain. The missing thirteen billion dollars couldn't be erased by a prison sentence or one death, no matter how significant; they would still want their money.

Esther had died trying to get free of the cartel. Regardless if Alex were caught or not, the only way out for Rina was to remember the account numbers and do what Esther had intended: turn the money over to the authorities.

She pushed to her feet and found her handbag. The movement sent stabbing pain through her skull. She needed to go back. She needed to remember the numbers and get rid of the money. It was the only way. Once she was safe the horror would recede; she would stop remembering. She needed to capitalize on the fear and adrenaline, keep pushing—

“What are you doing?”

“I have to go back. I've started to remember.”

“Rina,
no.
”

Rina gritted her teeth. Once she had pills she would feel better. A few more minutes, then she could leave. All she wanted was to sit somewhere quietly—in the dark. “I need to get into Alex's study. He has things, things that disappeared from the crash site. There's a tape. It could vindicate Cesar.”

“It's too dangerous. He's a killer. His father was a mass murderer.”

Weariness swept her. “I was safe enough before. I'm safe enough now, as long as he doesn't find out I've recovered my sight. Even then, Alex won't kill me. I'm no use to him dead. He's trying to make me remember. He wants the account numbers.”

“Numbers. That's plural.”

“Two accounts, and, no, I don't know what they are. Yet.”

Taylor went still. “Oh, shoot. So that's what's been happening.”

Baby was on his feet, aware they were leaving. Rina gripped his harness. The smooth leather, Baby's warmth against her leg was an anchor. “Taylor, he doesn't know I can see.”

The possibilities inherent in the situation were huge, and Taylor was adding them up. No one was closer to Alex than Rina. She lived with him; she had free access to his study.

The curtain swished aside. The doctor stepped into the cubicle, a carton of painkillers in her hand. Her gaze zeroed in on Taylor. “Are you with Mrs. Lopez?”

“No,” Rina cut in, before Taylor could reply. “She's not.”

The doctor directed a cool glance at Taylor. “Then you shouldn't be in here.”

Taylor held up her hands and backed out of the cubicle. Rina could see she wanted to argue, but she didn't want the scene Rina was threatening when she was supposed to be undercover.

“Tomorrow night,” Taylor said flatly. “That's your deadline. Keep in touch.”