Intuition (32 page)

Giselle paces a little more. “That is where they took her,” she says in a measured tone. “You were right, and that's probably all this guy knew. Once the others found out we had him, they must have changed their plans.”

“There's nothing else we can do,” Christophe says.

“There's got to be!” I say. I look at them desperately. “We can't just stand around here doing nothing! Didn't any of you
get a license-plate number? Can't we call the police? Rayne's been kidnapped, for God's sake!”

Giselle stops pacing. “We did get a license number, but it was a fake. Trust me, that was the first avenue we tried. The police are no good to us in this situation, and the attention will only make it worse.”

Christophe takes a sip of his water. “Janine and the other Sekhem are going to come back and we'll regroup, see if there is something else we can try. Once you calm down, maybe you can try to read him again—see if you can identify any of the people he was with.”

“It's not your fault,” Giselle says. “You did what you needed to do.” She looks at the guy, whose eyes are still wide on us. “You told us what he knew. It's just too bad it wasn't enough.” Giselle heads for the door. “I'm going to see what's happening upstairs. Make sure our guests are doing okay.” I know that she's as frustrated as I am. I'm sure she just wants to get out of here.

“I'll come with you,” I say. Part of me doesn't want to see Drew and Peter right now. I don't know if I'll be able to explain to them what's happening. That I failed. But I'm not sure I can stay in this room any longer.

“Stay here with Christophe,” she says. “We have a rule to never leave a prisoner alone with just one person. When I come back, you can go.” The door shuts behind her with a tight seal.

Christophe finishes a text and looks up at me. “Why don't you just relax? You can't function if you're agitated. Calm down and you can try again.”

I shake my hands out. “I'm okay. I want to see if I can get
anything else from him before everyone gets back. We don't have a lot of time to waste.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” Christophe says. “You said yourself that you needed time to recover.” He smiles at me, but I can tell it's not sincere. Something passes over his features, and I can see that he doesn't want me to read the guy again. But why? It can't all be out of concern for me.

“I feel fine,” I say, walking over to the chair. Christophe reaches out to stop me by grabbing my left hand. He's stronger than he looks. “Ow!” I cry, yanking my arm away.

“I'm sorry,” Christophe says. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” He looks down at the scar that runs the length of my forearm. “What happened?”

I rub the spot where he twisted my wrist. “Veronique,” I say. “And a broken window. That's what happened.” I'm suddenly wary of him.

He tilts his head as if he's interested in the story. “Veronique caused that? Looks like a nasty scar.”

“It is,” I admit, watching him carefully. “Ended my cello career.” I flex my left hand. “There was some nerve damage that will probably never heal.”

Christophe nods slowly. “That must have really pissed you off,” he says. He raises his eyes to mine. “Enough to make you want to get back at her.”

The tone in his voice is vaguely accusatory, and now I'm on total alert. “What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” he says, holding up both hands. “All I meant was that permanent physical damage would be enough motive to want someone gone from this lifetime.”

I take a step toward him. I don't like where this is going. “Are you saying that you think I had something to do with Veronique's death? Are you crazy? Rayne's my best friend. I'd never do anything to put her in danger.”

Christophe's eyes widen. “You have to admit, that would be a good cover. Having your best friend kidnapped. It would totally throw the scent off of you.” He sniffs the air as if to demonstrate.

“Do you honestly think I could kill someone?” I ask.

I can almost feel his eyes on me as he scans my dress. “I don't think you'd get your hands dirty, no. But there are other means to the same end, aren't there?”

I can feel my hands clenching into fists. “I had nothing to do with any of this. I'm just here to try to help, that's all.”

“Fine,” he says, but I can tell he doesn't believe me. “Janine may trust you, but in situations like this, nobody is above suspicion.” He gives a little nod. “You understand.”

“Right.” I slump into one of the empty chairs and stare into space, my mind whirling with possibilities. My eyes are half-closed when some movement in the room makes me suddenly alert. I keep perfectly still, but watch both Christophe and the guy in the chair until I see it again. There's nothing I can pinpoint directly, just something in the way they make eye contact, but I'm as sure of it as if they'd been speaking out loud. Christophe and this guy know each other, and not just from tonight.

I get a cold chill down my spine as I watch them through half-closed lids. I've never really paid that much attention to Christophe before—he's just a guy who came from Switzerland to work with Griffon on the lab, but he's always been there in the background. He's had access to all of the information about
Veronique, about the formula and about Rayne, and I'm sure Griffon didn't hesitate to tell him anything he didn't already know. They're friends, and he's a trusted member of the Sekhem. But like he said, in situations like these, no one is above suspicion.

Stretching in my chair, I pretend to stifle a yawn.

“Tired?” Christophe asks, apparently under the impression that we've got a truce.

“A little bit,” I lie. I get up and walk over to him. If he is what I think he is, I'm going to have to make physical contact to find out. And Christophe isn't under a nerve block, so I have to do it so that he doesn't suspect anything. “Connecting as an empath does take a lot out of me.” He's leaning against the wall, one hand hanging down, the other in his pocket. I lean against the wall next to him, as close as possible.

“I'm sorry about getting angry with you,” I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes. Good thing I've watched Kat do this a million times. “This whole situation is just so stressful. I know you're only doing your job.” Just getting the words out requires effort, when what I want to do is spit in his face.

I can see him relax. Amazing what a few words can do that fists can't. “I'm glad you understand. We have to rule out all of the possibilities.”

“I do,” I say. “I just hope you know that I'm not one of them.”

Christophe grunts in reply and bends over a text again.

“So, what do you think they're going to do with him?” I ask, nodding to the guy in the chair, who has his eyes trained on us. He may not know what we're saying, but he knows he's being discussed.

“They won't kill him,” Christophe says, looking up briefly. “So in a way, he's safer here than he is out there.”

“The Sekhem don't kill prisoners?” I inch my arm along the wall to get closer to his, but he must sense it, because he moves just a tiny bit to the left.

“No. Not anymore.” Christophe grins. “Not like in the old days, when we could pretty much do whatever we wanted.”

We're only about two inches apart now. I think about pulling the falling trick like I did on the bridge, but I have a feeling that would only make him suspicious. Christophe's got one leg bent against the wall, so I casually bend mine the same way, tilting my body just the slightest bit so that I can make contact with his leg, hoping that I don't fall off these heels at the same time.

Making contact and conversation at the same time is tricky, so I focus on the last words that he said in an effort to keep him talking. “What was it like back then?” I ask.

“Easier,” Christophe says. I can still see his lips moving, but all my concentration has gone to the point where our bodies connect. I feel a surge of overwhelming confidence rush through me, almost a euphoria that something he's been working on is going really, really well. I also feel a split; loyalties are divided, and there's a hesitation to cross over a line completely. I close my eyes, still aware that Christophe is talking, and try to let my mind go, to allow any images that are in his consciousness flow over to me. I get flashes of airplanes and the long empty space of a runway.

My eyes fly open as I hear a crash. The kidnapper has fallen over—he's still tied to the chair, but he's moving now and shouting something in a language I can't understand. Christophe
rushes toward him, breaking the connection between us, speaking quickly in the same language. I may not understand their words, but I get what he's saying by the way he's staring at me. The nerve block has worn off, and the kidnapper knows I've been reading Christophe.

I run for the door, but I'm exhausted from the effort of reading him, and in seconds, Christophe's on me, grabbing me around the neck and smashing my head into the wall. My vision fades for a moment and pain rushes through my brain. I can feel a warm wetness trickle down my neck, and my arms flail as my hands grab for anything I can find to get him off me.

Christophe's face is just inches from my own, and I can see flecks of spit fly as he speaks. “You think you can use your empath skills to read
me
?” he asks, his voice a harsh whisper. “I'm not going to let someone like you destroy all of the work we've put into this.” He tightens his grip around my throat and I can hear myself choking, even as shadows creep in around the edges of my vision. With the last bit of energy I have left, I bring one knee up into his groin as hard as I can. His hands loosen enough for me to pull away as he shouts in agony, and I stumble for the door, gasping for air. I push on it hard before I remember that it opens inward, but only manage to give it a small tug before Christophe jumps up behind me and slams it shut again, twisting an oversized lock that will keep anyone out.

I look around frantically for anything to defend myself with. The kidnapper is moving on the ground, but he's still secured to the chair, so I focus on Christophe. He's coming at me, slowly this time, like he's going to make sure he enjoys every second of whatever's going to happen next.

“Even if they hear you,” he says in a ragged voice, glancing upstairs with a grin, “it doesn't matter.”

I push myself against the wall, as far from him as I can get in the small room. “But they'll know you did it,” I say, trying to buy some time. “They'll know you're not one of us.”

He looks at me like I'm stupid. “I may not be Sekhem, but I'm still Akhet.” He glances down at the guy on the floor. “Good thing he's here to take the blame.”

I can feel cold sweat running down my back as I frantically look for a way out. Christophe's reflexes are lightning fast, and he has my left hand bent painfully behind my back before I can even move. I close my eyes and reach for one end of the tall metal shelving against the wall and pull with everything I've got, bringing them crashing down onto the floor. Canned food and bottles of water spill out all over the room and the heavy shelf catches Christophe's leg, knocking him to the ground as I twist out of his grip.

I race for the door, clawing at the lock until I can finally turn the knob and wrench it open enough to slip through it. I manage to scream for Giselle just as Christophe bursts through the door and throws me to the floor. Christophe's knees are on my legs, pinning me down on the ground as he looms over me, and I know that this time he'll finish me. His hands go around my throat again, tighter this time, his face red and distorted from the effort. I'm trying to grab at his arms, but he's so much bigger than I am that I'm just clawing at the air. I'm starting to lose consciousness when I suddenly feel the weight lifted off of me, and I roll onto my side with gasping, coughing breaths.
Someone pulls at my shoulder and I'm on my back, looking up at Giselle. Her face is a mask of concern as she shakes me gently.

“He's one of them,” I gasp, stopped by a fit of coughing. “I saw airplanes. A runway.” I can't manage any more words. Her face is swimming in front of me and my ears are rushing with static. Christophe knows where they've taken Rayne; she's got to get it out of him.

“It's okay,” Giselle says, her breathing hard and quick. She gently checks the lump on my head before pulling herself up off the floor. I can barely hear her last words as the room fades around me. “It's all in Christophe's phone.”

I hear voices, but it's so nice and comfortable where I am, I don't want to open my eyes.

“She's coming around,” I hear someone say, and I force myself into consciousness, everything that's happened in the past few hours rushing back to me in a flood of images and emotions.

“Where's Rayne?” I sit up quickly as my vision fragments into stars and my head pounds.