Phoenix (15 page)

The door opened and shut behind him. Boucher
said, "I don’t need any more makeup, thank you. I’ll need a spatula
to get this off as it is." He glanced at his watch and saw he still
had twenty minutes before the press conference was supposed to
start. He sat in a chair in front of a rectangular wall-length
mirror, fussing with his hair. "Maybe a little hairspray
though."

"Sorry, Mr. Boucher. I don’t do hair."

Boucher didn’t even have time to ask the man
standing behind him what the hell he was doing there before cold
metal bit into his throat. The last two things he noticed, before
losing consciousness, were the purple rubber gloves his murderer
was wearing, and how dark his blood looked as it sprayed across the
mirror.

* * *

Sam held his hands under one of those air
dryers so many public restrooms still possessed, and decided the
process would go much faster if he just wiped his hands on his
pants.

"Rub hands briskly. Riiiight," he said,
reading the instructions stamped on the front of the machine. He
did so, eyes closed and head tilted back, humming.

Something washed over him that made the hairs
on his body stand on end and his teeth grind together. He burst
from the bathroom and ran into a cleaning cart. The woman pushing
it dropped her iPhone and started yelling profanities at him. Sam
struggled to shove the cart out of his way and ended up knocking it
over, spilling its contents all over the hallway. He caught sight
of a man running from Boucher’s room, and he slipped and stumbled
through the mess trying to catch him. By the time he reached the
room’s door, the stranger was gone. Sam cursed, swiped the key
card, and rushed inside.

"
Shit
."

Sam spun around and let the door shut behind
him. Instead of waiting for the elevator, he raced down the stairs,
jumping two or three at a time. He ran through the lobby and the
man at the desk yelled for him to slow down. A woman pushing a
stroller was trying to navigate through the revolving door.

"Goddammit," he hissed. Sam bounced on the
balls of his feet, waiting for the lady to get outside and free up
the door. As soon as she did, he shoved his way through and darted
out into the parking lot. A bus was pulling out onto the road, but
other than that, there was no one around.

He turned in a circle and threw his hands in
the air. "
Shit
!"

The woman with the stroller shot a
disapproving look over her shoulder on the way to her car.

* * *

Rakburn was preparing to turn off onto the
interstate when his cell phone rang. He cursed, thinking he had
turned it off before starting his trip. He considered throwing it
out the window.

"Rakburn," he answered instead.

"It’s Sam."

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can turn your ass around and get to the
Ramada."

Rakburn paused. "Sir?" He turned on his
blinker and slowed the car.

"You heard me. I need your help with
something before the rest of the Board gets wind of it and goes
apeshit."

He pulled off to the side of the road and
sat, idling. "I am not sure I understand, sir."

"Boucher’s been murdered."

A smile threatened to spread across Rakburn’s
face.

"Thomas, still there?"

"Yes, sir. I will be there in less than an
hour."

"Good. The authorities will be here by then,
but I’ll handle them. As the senior agent, I need you here to help
me figure out who did it."

"You do not need me to figure that out, sir.
You are more than capab—"

"Are you telling me how to do my job?"

Rakburn paused again. He needed to be very
careful. Sam might be a friend, but he was also a Board member. Psi
of that level reached it for a reason. "No, sir. I am merely making
a suggestion."

Sam laughed. "I know what you’re doing. It’s
the same reason I want you here instead of someone else. Don’t
forget who you’re talking to."

The line went dead and Rakburn stared ahead a
full minute before lowering the phone from his cheek. Then he
called his granddaughter and told her that he would be late.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon by the time Brad reached
the bus stop on Mort’s street. He walked with his head down and
barely noticed that there were two other vehicles already there;
one was parked on the street and another parked in front of Mort’s
garage. He recognized the one as belonging to Laura. The other was
new. He had a moment of panic, assuming Mort had already heard of
Boucher’s death and then assumed Brad was the murderer. That moment
passed as quickly as it came on, though. He was pretty sure
PhoenTek would cover this up as long as they possibly could, for
the sake of preventing another round of chaos and fear.

Brad made sure the rubber gloves, wool mask,
and knife were secured in a plastic bag before stuffing it behind
one of Mort’s hedges, then he whistled as he walked up the sidewalk
and to the porch. Brad had practiced presenting an outward sense of
calm and confidence during the ride back. He had done what was
necessary, perhaps the only thing left to be done in order to stop
PhoenTek or, at the very least, postpone them long enough for the
good guys to catch up.

The Club couldn’t find out what he’d done. It
would kill Mort.

Outside the front door, he listened a moment
and checked his internal radar screen. Whoever owned the strange
vehicle wasn’t pinging, so he went inside and heard agitated voices
coming from the kitchen. He made no effort to stay quiet as he took
off his boots. Assuming that mystery cloak was still on him, the
others wouldn’t sense him, and he didn’t want to sneak up and
possibly get punched in the nose.

As if on cue, Mort raised his voice above the
others. "Brad?"

"Yeah, it’s me." He kicked off the other boot
and went straight in. He was surprised to see Adams there.
The
other
car
outside
must
belong
to
him
, he thought. Then out loud he
asked, "What’s going on?"

"Well, right now we’re trying to decide who’s
going to get Izzy," Mort replied.

Brad crept further into the room, still
moving his eyes across the three people gathered around the island.
"And why do we need to go get Izzy?"

"Well, genius, if you had bothered yourself
to stick around and get involved in shit, you’d know that the KF is
here
, the press is covering it up, and now we’re circling
the wagons," said Adams.

Brad raised a brow at Mort. "The KF?"

"Korean Flu."

"It’s not the
flu
," Adams said.

Brad waved a hand at the man. "Yeah it’s not
the flu. Whatever. So it’s officially here, in the US?"

"Yes," Adams answered.

"These two have been picking up bits and
pieces of it all day." Mort indicated Laura and Adams. "Enough to
put two and two together, at least. That’s when they hauled ass
here. We haven’t been able to— Wait. Just where the hell have you
been? I tried calling to tell you all this."

Brad shook his head. "You haven’t been able
to
what
?"

Mort frowned. "Reach Izzy."

"Reach as in…"

"Yes," Mort said, then held up his hands.
"But…"

Brad waited on Mort to finish, and when he
didn’t, he fixed his eyes on Laura.

"We can’t see or feel her."

"Kid’s dead, in other words," Adams
clarified.

The others didn’t speak up to reprimand him,
though several looks were shot his way.

Adams humped his shoulders and threw out his
hands. "What?"

"But you can’t see or feel me, and
I’m
not dead," Brad said.

"You’re obviously cloaked, that’s why," Mort
explained.

"Maybe Izzy is, too."

"No." Mort shook his head. "She’s just a kid.
She wouldn’t know how."

"But you don’t know that for sure. Hell,
I
don’t even know how, yet I’m doing it."

Mort considered Brad for a moment. "Something
we still haven’t figured out, I might add."

Laura intervened. "Gentlemen, can we
please?"

"Right. Okay." Mort swiped a hand over his
forehead. "We know where Izzy lives. Someone needs to go pick her
up."

Brad interrupted, again. "Why would you think
she’s dead? That’s a little drastic, don’t you think?"

"Yes." Adams groaned and left the room. "This
is what happens when someone shows up late to the party," they
heard him say before he turned the corner into the dining room.

"The things you’ve seen, dead people walking
around, your dreams?" Mort said, walking over to stand in front of
Brad. "They’re coming true. Right now. What she’s seen," he hitched
a thumb over his shoulder to Laura, "has been sick people attacking
other people."

Brad laughed. When he noticed the other two
didn’t think it was funny, he swallowed it and focused again on
Mort. "You’re serious?"

Mort answered with a twitch of his bushy
eyebrows.

"C’mon! That can’t be real! What I’ve seen
can’t be real. Metaphors, that’s all. The dreams have been
metaphors."

They could hear Adams laughing from the other
side of the house.

"You’re delusional," Laura said. "You’re just
like
them
."

Brad shook his head, made a face, and waited
for someone to elaborate.

"The media. They aren’t covering it yet,"
Mort offered.

"Because it’s not really happening," Brad
replied.

Laura puffed up her chest. "Are you calling
me a liar?"

Adams came striding back into the room. "I
think he’s calling us both liars."

"No one is calling anyone a liar." Mort
stepped between them. "Everyone calm down, right now." When tempers
had settled a bit, he picked up where he’d left off. "You’re just
like them, meaning you aren’t going to accept what’s happening
until it’s too damn late and you’re dead. Apparently we didn’t stop
PhoenTek or we didn’t do enough. Or we started trying too late.
Whatever. Point is, the time for prevention is over. Now we have to
get our shit together and survive it."

No
, Brad thought.
I
killed
the
guy
.
I
cut
off
the
head
!
That
should
have
done
something.
Was
I
too
late
?
Should
I
have
done
it
sooner
,
instead
of
letting
Mort
talk
me
out
of
it
?

"When did this happen?" Brad’s voice dropped
to just above a whisper.

"Uh," Adams looked to Laura for a little
help, "I got here about an hour ago, and it took a few hours to
drive in."

"And I talked to you maybe half an hour
before you left," Laura finished.

Adams nodded and turned back to Brad. "Yeah,
so something like five, five and half hours ago?"

"Sounds about right," Laura agreed.

The air rushed out of Brad, and he took
several steps backwards.

Right
around
the
time
I
was
cutting
his
throat
…

"So it’s started, then," Brad whispered.

The others nodded.

"And you can’t pick up on Izzy, so…" Brad
finally understood and covered his face with one hand. "So that’s
why she’s probably dead. And why we need to go find out. Now."

"Especially since one of the locations we
honed in on right before things started to get wonky just so
happens to be where she’s going to school," Laura added.

"Wonky?"

Laura and Adams exchanged a look. The redhead
explained, "A few seconds after I found her school, my vision went
blurry. It wasn’t the same as being blocked, like by PhoenTek. This
was more like interference coming across a TV screen. Remember back
when it would go screwy if someone in the house used a hair dryer
or something? Well no, you probably don’t."

"Yes, I do."

"Okay, it was like that. And I can’t
penetrate it, I’ve tried."

Brad turned to Adams. "Is your Magic
Eight-Ball working?"

"Yes." Adams’ eyes went wide. "Wow, I wasn’t
expecting
that
answer."

"Okay," Brad looked around, smiling. "Great.
Okay, do you cheat on your taxes?"

"Yes." Adams blew out a breath.

"Did you and Laura go parking on the way
here?"

"No. Dammit, Brad."

Laura snorted in the background.

Brad grinned. "Ever seen Laura naked?"

"No. Goddammit, knock it off."

"Is Izzy alive?"

"Yes."

"Whoa, it worked?"

"Yes. Asshole."

"Focus, people," Mort said.

"You said it," Adams answered and smacked
Brad’s arm. "Shotgun."

Brad spun around and followed Adams to the
front door.

Mort hurried after and protested as usual.
"You can’t just rush off like this. We need a plan."

Brad pulled on his boots. "The plan is to
find Izzy and get back here. Simple."

"Yes, I’m aware of that." Mort followed them
outside and down the sidewalk. "But it shouldn’t be the two most
impulsive people I’ve ever met, running willy-nilly into who knows
what—"

Brad whirled on him. "I’m just going to stop
you right there. I’ve
never
been willy-nilly, and I
rarely
run." When he failed to bring a smile to Mort’s face,
Brad stepped closer and held the older man’s shoulder. "We’re out
of time. We need to find her." He jerked his chin toward the house.
"Hold down the fort. Find out what you can. When we get back, have
a plan ready. We may not be able to stay here."