Chapter Thirteen

 

 

Seth abruptly appeared beside Nick, summoned telepathically by Aidan, no doubt.

Nick rose and stared up at him, panic making his heart race.

Seth’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“They have Kayla and Oliver.”

His frown deepened. “Who does?”

“Whoever sent those men to attack me.” Nick quickly filled Seth in.

The Immortal Guardians leader vanished, then reappeared with Henderson, head of the Midwest division of the network. “Bring him up to speed.” He vanished again.

Henderson eyed them expectantly.

Aidan did the talking this time, one hand still clasping Nick’s shoulder while Nick’s stomach twisted itself into knots.

Seth reappeared, his hand on the shoulder of a tall, imposing immortal with obsidian skin.

Imhotep, an Egyptian immortal so ancient he even predated Aidan.

Seth addressed Imhotep. “Nick’s mortal girlfriend and his Second have been taken. This is her car. Tell me what you can.”

Nodding, the silent immortal touched the car.

Henderson drew out a cell phone and began to make some calls, but Nick kept his gaze on the ancient Egyptian.

Imhotep backed away a few steps, then turned in a slow circle. “They weren’t followed,” he murmured. “The ones who took them arrived after they did, then waited until the woman and the Second returned to their vehicle. They shot the Second with a tranquilizer dart. He drew his weapon but lost consciousness before he could fire it. They tranqed the woman next, then loaded both into a van. They tossed the woman’s purse into the rubbish bin and confiscated the Second’s phone and disabled the GPS. Then they restrained them both and left.”

Seth looked toward the street, packed with rush hour traffic. “Can you tell us where they took them?”

The ancient warrior eyed the bumper-to-bumper cars. “I’ll try.” In the next instant, he darted off in a blur of preternatural speed the drivers wouldn’t even notice.

Seth caught Nick’s gaze. “Imhotep has strong postcognitive abilities that allow him to see events that transpired in the past.”

Nick motioned to the garage around him. “So he actually saw what happened here?”

Seth nodded. “As clearly as though he replayed a scene on a DVD.”

Hope rose. “So he can just follow them and tell us where they are?”

“Ideally, yes. But there are limits to his ability. Had this happened early on a Sunday morning with less traffic to muddy the waters, I would have more confidence. But the more time that passes and the more activity that takes place in the interim, the more difficult it becomes for him to follow the clues. It’s sort of like trying to gather evidence at a crime scene after a crowd tramps through it.”

And there went the brief flare of hope.

A van pulled into the parking lot.

Nick stiffened.

Henderson held up a hand. “They’re from the network. One of our forensic teams. Let me see your phone.”

Nick handed it over, trying to stay calm.

Staring at the screen, Henderson swiped and tapped until he pulled up an app Nick hadn’t even realized was on there. A map appeared on the screen, indicating their current position with a blue circle. Several colorful icons appeared, one by the blue circle, the rest some distance away. Two devices were blacked out.

Henderson swore.

“What?” Nick asked, having no idea what any of it meant.

“All Seconds wear smart watches now so we can use this app to locate them if something foul goes down and they lose their phones. But Oliver’s appears to have been taken offline. It isn’t showing up.” He handed the phone back to Nick.

Seth nodded toward the stairwell. “Let’s get you out of the sun.”

Nick and Aidan followed Seth into the shadows of the stairwell. Tense silence embraced the three of them as they watched the forensic team work.

Nick had never seen such a group in action. He’d seen cleaners. Vampire hunting could be a messy business, and he wasn’t always successful at driving the battles that ensued into areas where they would go unnoticed. So he sometimes had to call in a network cleaning crew to help him dispose of the vampires’ belongings, eliminate the blood spilled on the pavement, and take care of any footage that might have been captured by surveillance cameras.

But forensic teams?

No. He had never needed one of those before.

The men and women in this one reminded him of those he sometimes saw on British television shows. They pulled on white jumpsuits with hoods, donned masks, and even covered their shoes with white booties to avoid contaminating any evidence they might find.

Nick fervently hoped he and Aidan hadn’t done too much damage. The small parking garage was bereft of surveillance cameras that could’ve aided them. If Imhotep didn’t find Kayla and Oliver, the only clues they would have to go on were whatever this forensic team could dig up.

The doors to the building swung open. A man and woman emerged. Both appeared to be professionals whose office or offices had just closed for the day.

The network van blocked their view of Kayla’s car and the individuals in white who studied the pavement around it.

The woman bid the man goodbye and ducked into a parked SUV. Seconds later, she backed out and drove away. The man continued walking in Nick’s direction. He was so busy staring at his phone that he didn’t notice anything amiss until he passed the network van. He glanced at the figures in white, then at his phone, did a double take, halted, looked at Seth, Nick, and Aidan—all tall, imposing figures clad in black—and blanched.

He opened his mouth to speak, paused, and closed it again. His expression went blank. Seconds later, he returned his attention to his cell phone and casually continued forward as if he’d never seen them. He raised the phone to his ear. “Hey, babe. I’m done for the day. You need me to pick anything up on my way home?” His voice echoed loudly in the empty garage.

The three Immortal Guardians, Henderson, and the forensic team watched him silently.

A woman on the other end of the conversation rambled off a short list Nick couldn’t care less about. His mind was too focused on Kayla and Oliver.

Unlocking the door of his SUV, the man tossed his briefcase inside. “Are those the ones in the pink box or the blue box?” He settled himself behind the wheel. “Nah, I don’t mind.” He closed his door and drew his seat belt across his chest with his free hand. “Hey, you want me to pick up some dinner, too?” He started the engine. “Okay. See you soon. Love you.”

A moment later, he backed out of his parking space and drove away without so much as giving them a second glance.

The forensic team went back to work.

Henderson looked at Seth. “My job would be so much easier if I were telepathic and had your mind-control ability.”

Seth’s lips twitched. “I’m sure it would.”

One of the white-clad investigators approached Henderson and held something out. “We found this on her car.”

Nick stared at the small device but couldn’t guess its use. “What is it?”

Henderson studied it. “A GPS tracker.” He accompanied the man back to the forensic team and consulted them.

Nick looked up at the Immortal Guardians leader. “Who are these guys, Seth? Could they be connected to the base Gershom commandeered?”

Seth shook his head. “There’s no way the two could be related. We tied up all the loose ends with the base. We’ve even located the last missing gifted one.”

The forensic team began to pack up their tools and whatever samples they’d found to study.

Henderson rejoined the immortals. “We’re going to identify the sedative and confirm it’s the same one used on you, Nick, when they attacked you in your home.”

“It is.” Nick didn’t want them wasting time confirming what he already knew.

Henderson nodded. “My guys tell me it’s an animal tranquilizer. We’ve identified the company that produces it and are tracing all recent shipments to Houston and surrounding areas. But it’s a big damn city with a lot of veterinarians.”

“Why the hell would a veterinarian attack me and kidnap Kayla and Oliver?” Nick blurted.

Henderson shook his head. “We’re looking for purchases that didn’t ship to clinics. If we don’t find any, then we’ll look into any police reports made by veterinary clinics who reported stolen drugs.”

That sounded like it could take a long time.

A blur raced toward them from the other end of the parking lot.

Imhotep stopped before them, his face grim. “I lost them on I-45 North.”

Nick took a step forward. “Where on I-45?”

“Close to Beltway 8,” the ancient Egyptian immortal replied.

That familiar feeling of panic gripped Nick again as he looked at Seth. “Do you think they’re heading for the airport?”

Henderson answered. “I think it more likely they’re heading for Brightwood Industries.”

Nick frowned. “What’s Brightwood Industries?”

“One of the companies owned by Richard Roubal.”

Nick stared at him. “You think this was Richard Roubal’s doing?”

“I do.” Henderson’s words carried complete confidence. “Roubal recognizes you at the hospital, shows up at your house. You get attacked shortly thereafter. Now this?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences. That’s why I fully expect my team to be able to link the animal tranquilizer to him or one of his subsidiaries.”

“How would that even be possible? When Roubal showed up at my house, Seth erased his memory of it.”

“I did,” Seth acknowledged. “I even erased his memory of running into you at the hospital and erased his son’s memory of the brief encounter. I’m as puzzled as you are.”

Nick thought furiously. “Could he have told someone else? One of his doctors or something?”

Seth shook his head. “I found nothing in his memories to indicate he did, but…”

“But what?”

“He suffers from dementia. And his memory and cognitive issues have been exacerbated by either the cancer he’s fighting or the treatment he’s undergoing. It’s very difficult to negotiate a mind so afflicted. I don’t think I missed anything, but it’s possible he could have spoken with someone and lost the memory of it before I could find it.”

Nick consulted Henderson. “So this is all because Roubal refuses to believe that I’m my own grandson? What the hell? That shit has always worked in the past.”

Henderson lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “He doesn’t believe it because he doesn’t want to believe it. I checked him out after Seth told me about your encounter with him at the hospital. Roubal is dying. Oncologists have given him three months to live, but they’re being generous. I had some of our network doctors look over copies of his medical files, and they unanimously agreed he probably won’t live another month. He’s desperate. And the vultures are circling. He has three greedy sons he doesn’t give a shit about who are already squabbling over their impending inheritance while they basically sit around and wait for him to die.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’m too far off the mark in guessing that he thinks you are the key to not only beating the cancer and dementia but regaining his youth and thwarting his money-grubbing children.”

It sounded frightfully plausible. “Where is Brightwood Industries? We’ll head there now.”

Henderson shook his head. “You don’t even know for sure that’s where they’re taking Oliver and Kayla.”

“No. But it’s a damn good place to start.” He had to do something.

Henderson glanced at Seth before answering. “Brightwood Industries has eight different campuses—six large and two small. I’ll get you the addresses.”

Aidan spoke. “We should bring Dana and Eliana into the loop so they can help us search the campuses.”

Imhotep stepped forward. “I will search as well.”

Henderson held up a cautionary hand. “These places are going to have tight security. Lots of cameras. Hundreds—if not thousands—of employees.”

Nick ground his teeth. “Most of whom will have left for the night. It’s after six. We’re going.”

“Look,” Henderson said, visibly striving for patience, “I know you’re worried. But you don’t want to rush into this half-cocked. If they catch you doing immortal shit on camera and leak it or live-stream it to the internet, we’re going to have a hell of a time trying to silence it… if we can silence it. Sometimes we have to just discredit it instead and hope it takes.”

Seth sent Nick a warning look. “We will exercise extreme caution.”

Of course he would. He didn’t want to do anything that might cost Kayla or Oliver their lives. “Agreed.”

The network crew piled into the van. Henderson stepped away to speak with them for a moment.

Seth caught Nick’s gaze. “Be calm. Kayla is still alive.”

“How do you know?” They really had no idea what they were dealing with here, if immortality was really Roubal’s endgame, or how much he was willing to sacrifice to obtain it.

“She’s a gifted one,” Seth said. “Now that Gershom is no longer distracting me with his chaos, I would feel it if they killed her.”

Nick had heard that Seth sensed it whenever an Immortal Guardian was killed. But he hadn’t realized the powerful immortal leader could also sense it when gifted ones died. “What about Oliver?”

Regret entered Seth’s eyes, which were so dark a brown they were almost black. “He’s human. I’m afraid I wouldn’t sense it if he came to harm.”

The network van drove away.

As soon as Henderson rejoined them, Seth clasped his and Imhotep’s shoulders and teleported away. Aidan followed, taking Nick with him.

Dana and Eliana rose as soon as the four of them appeared in Nick’s living room.

Seth, Aidan, and Henderson quickly filled them in while Imhotep stood silently by and Nick fretted over every minute that ticked past.

“Nick,” Aidan said.

Blinking, he realized it wasn’t the first time the Celt had called his name. “Yeah?”

“Do you have a recording of Kayla’s or Oliver’s voice? We may be able to determine where they’re being held simply by lingering outside and listening once we reach the campuses.”

“Yes. I have voice mails.”

The first he played was from Oliver. “Hey, man. Where the hell are you? The sun will rise in a few minutes and I don’t want your ass to fry in it.”

He played it a couple more times so they could get a feel for Oliver’s voice, then played a longer one from Kayla: “Hi, Nick. I just got a very unusual call from Becca. Apparently her A-hole, always-a-bitch roommate is now acting just as sweet as sweet can be. And when I say sweet, I mean I heard you just won the mega millions lotto and am hoping you’ll spread some of that money love my way if I’m nice to you sweet. She’s even keeping the other A-holes at bay and shutting them down. You didn’t by any chance have something to do with that, did you?” Her voice was both teasing and suspicious. “Call me.”

Everyone stared at him.

Seth arched a brow.

“What?” Nick asked defensively.

Eliana grinned. “You had Lisette talk to her, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

She thrust a fist in the air. “Yes! I knew it! I so wish I could’ve been there.”

Dana smiled. “Becca is Kayla’s daughter?”

He nodded.

She leaned into Aidan’s side. “Awww. That’s so sweet.”

Nick frowned. “Could we just get back to business?”

Henderson cleared his throat. “I’ll have my contacts at Bush Intercontinental and the smaller airports to the north keep an eye out for Roubal and the others in case they aren’t heading to Brightwood Industries. If Kayla and Oliver are unconscious, Roubal will use a private plane to transport them.” He paused. “Actually, he’d probably use a private plane to transport them even if they weren’t. So my guys will alert me if that happens.”

If Roubal forced Kayla and Oliver onto a plane, Nick and Seth could shape-shift and chase it through the air. Even in bird form, they retained their preternatural speed and would be able to overtake them. Then Seth could teleport them both inside the plane so Nick could kill the bastards and save Kayla and Oliver.

And Nick did intend to kill the bastards. Roubal had orchestrated the kidnapping after Seth had wiped his memories. They couldn’t risk a repeat of this.

“I’ll also trace any calls or texts that go to your phone,” Henderson continued, “in case Roubal or one of his men tries to contact you.” He set a laptop Nick hadn’t even noticed him holding on the ottoman, then seated himself on the sofa and began typing away on the keyboard.

Seth caught Nick’s eye. “I’m going to bring Roland and Marcus in on this. If there are eight of us, we can each search a campus.”

“Okay.”

Seth closed his eyes.

A moment later, Roland and Marcus appeared, geared up for battle.

Marcus frowned at Nick. “What happened?”

“Kayla and Oliver have been taken.”

Both Marcus and Roland swore.

Nick let Seth and the others bring the two British immortals up to speed while he paced back and forth, his gut churning.

What if Kayla and Oliver weren’t at any Brightwood Industries campuses? What if they weren’t at any of Roubal’s homes? What if Nick and the others didn’t find them tonight?

Was Kayla okay?

She must be so afraid. She wasn’t accustomed to all this violence.

Had the bastards hurt her? Would they hurt her? Or worse… kill her?

Did they think that—because of her association with him—she was different, too? That somehow being with him had changed her? Would they cut her? Bleed her? Study her like a lab rat? Or did they plan to torture her in order to gain his cooperation? Because he was the one Roubal really wanted, not Kayla.

And what of Oliver? Nick loved him like a brother. More than he had loved his own brothers. Oliver hadn’t tried to stab him in the back multiple times the way his siblings had. Was he okay? Had they hurt him? Maimed him to keep him from trying to escape? Because Oliver would try to escape. He had served in the military before the network recruited him. And he had the skills to get his ass out of just about any situation. Right now he was probably fuming over his capture, mentally castigating himself for not keeping Kayla out of their enemy’s clutches, and plotting to kill every man he came into contact with and get Kayla to safety.

But if Henderson was right and Brightwood Industries’ security was tight, an escape attempt could endanger them even more.

“Are we going to do this or what?” he snapped, the wait killing him.

Everyone quieted.

Seth spoke. “We’re going to do this.”

Relief and anxiety warring within him, Nick nodded.

“You’re making a mistake.”

A deep voice penetrated the fog that enveloped Kayla. There was something familiar about it.

Thud. Thud.

A wheeze of a cough filled the air.

Her head felt thick, her thoughts fuzzy. A weird taste filled her mouth, which was as dry as though she had just jogged across a desert.

“You live with him,” another man said with some disgust. His voice was weaker… with age perhaps. “You know his secret.”

“What secret?”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

More wheezing coughs. “Fucking cowards! Why don’t you take these cuffs off and try that shit?”

She tried to kick her mind into gear. Was that Oliver? Where were they? Why was it so hard to open her eyes?

She tried to raise a hand to her face and couldn’t.

Shuffling footsteps sounded, accompanied by a faint, rhythmic thump.

The elderly man spoke again. “I want to know how Nicolas has stayed young all these years.”

“All what years?” Oliver countered, his voice pained. “He’s thirty-six fucking years old!”

“Bullshit! He’s my age if he’s a day!”

“You’re insane.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Ragged breathing broke the silence that followed.

Someone spat.

“What is he?” the old man demanded.

“A security guard,” Oliver answered.

Thud. Thud.

“What is he?”

“An artist.”

Thud. Thud.

“What is he?”

“A Canadian with dual citizenship.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Fuck!” Oliver shouted. “What the hell do you want me to say?”

“That he’s immortal!” the elderly man bellowed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Oliver wheezed.

Kayla finally managed to pry her eyes open and stared down at her lap.

She blinked. Blinked again. Her hair hung down around her face in a mahogany curtain. Her head ached as though someone was pounding away at it with a sledgehammer. Just shifting her eyes from side to side to gain a better understanding of her position hurt, but she did it.

She was sitting—or rather slumping—in a chair. Her chin nearly touched her chest. A zip tie bound her right wrist to the chair arm. Her left arm was similarly bound.

She tried to move her legs and was a little surprised to find she could. Her ankles must not be bound.

When she raised her head just enough to unobtrusively survey her surroundings, pain shot through her neck.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored it.

The chair that held her captive graced the center of a cavernous room full of large crates and bulky, dark gray plastic containers the size of footlockers. Oliver sat in an armless chair several yards away. Clearly they perceived him as more of a threat, because his wrists were bound behind his back, his ankles were zip-tied together, and thick rope crossed his chest, securing his torso to the back of the chair.

Her heart sank.

His mouth and nose bled. The left side of his face was red and swollen and sported multiple abrasions painted with blood. His left eye was discolored and had begun to swell.

A big bruiser of a guy wearing dark olive cargo pants and a pale gray T-shirt drew his right fist back and slammed it into Oliver’s stomach, then followed it with an uppercut to Oliver’s chin.

Thud. Thud.

How long had they been beating him? Who were they? How long had she been out? And what the hell had happened? How had they even come to be here? The last thing she remembered was going to the dentist.

“Nicolas Belanger hasn’t aged since I saw him in Vietnam shortly before the official police action began.”

Her gaze shifted to the speaker.

A frail old man leaned on a cane a few feet away from Oliver and the bruiser. He stood about five feet eight inches tall and looked like he didn’t weigh much more than Kayla’s hundred and five pounds. Thin white hair cropped short allowed glimpses of the age spots that decorated his scalp.

Oliver shook his head. “Nick wasn’t even alive during the Vietnam War. That was his grandfather, you psychotic bastard.”

“Bullshit!” The old man motioned to the bruiser.

The bruiser delivered several more punches.

Oliver’s head snapped back. Glaring up at his attacker, Oliver spat blood in the man’s face.

The bruiser stumbled back and quickly drew the tail of his T-shirt up to wipe his face clean, revealing a jagged scar on his muscled abs. Then he roared and hit Oliver in the side and in the stomach.

Oliver coughed and wheezed and glared up at the man.

Wow. If looks could kill…

The old man took a step closer. “We both know it was Nicolas. He’s immortal. And I want you to tell me how he came to be that way.”

Oliver shook his head. “You’re delusional.” He looked up at the bruiser. “Your boss is delusional. He’s sick, and it’s fucking with his head.” He looked beyond the old man.

Kayla followed his gaze.

Four more men wearing olive cargo pants and gray T-shirts stood some distance away, their arms crossed over their chests as they watched.

“Your boss is delusional!” Oliver called to them, his voice echoing a bit in the large chamber. “An insanity plea might keep his sorry ass out of jail, but it won’t do shit for you. You’re all in full possession of your faculties and will go down as willing accomplices if you don’t put an end to this.”

The bruiser delivered a right hook.

Oliver swore, then laughed. “If you don’t believe me, ask his son. This man suffers from dementia and his cancer treatments have muddled his thoughts even more. His own son said so the first time this asshole mistook Nick for his grandfather.”

Kayla saw one of the men look uncertainly at the others. When the rest remained resolute, he clenched his jaw and glared at Oliver.

Great. They all were either sheep incapable of thinking for themselves or were simply too greedy to pass up whatever paycheck they would receive for being here.

The bruiser hit Oliver again, so hard his chair nearly tipped over.

Oliver grunted. A muscle in his swollen jaw tensed. “You can hit me all damn night,” he gritted. “It isn’t going to change the fact that Nick is just an ordinary guy.”

The old man looked over at Kayla. “What of the woman?”

Oliver tensed. “What about her?”

“She’s not ordinary,” the old man said. And the gleam in his pale blue eyes as they met hers sent a chill coursing through her.

Oliver snorted. “How do you figure that?”

The old man moved in her direction, his steps slow and careful. The knobby knuckles on his hand whitened as he gripped the head of his cane. “I saw pictures of her car in the aftermath of her accident. They had to use the Jaws of Life to extract her. And I saw the blood on the sheet that draped her in the hospital as Nicolas and the others rolled her out of the elevator. There’s no way in hell she came away from that with just a broken arm and a few bruises.”

Kayla held his gaze, unable to look away from the avarice it reflected.

Oliver snorted. “Ever hear of airbags?”

“She isn’t even wearing the cast.” The old man gave her a greedy once-over. “So she clearly heals quickly.” He stopped before her. And though he spoke to Oliver, he didn’t look away from Kayla. “If you won’t tell me what I want to know, she will.”

Kayla clamped her lips together in a mutinous line.

The old man smiled. “One way or another.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Send Marcy in.”

One of the men spoke into a walkie attached to his shoulder.

Kayla shared an uneasy look with Oliver.

A door on one side of the room—the only entrance and exit she could see—opened, admitting a stern-faced, heavyset woman carrying a kit.

The door swung shut behind her. The thick heels of her shoes clunked on the floor as she crossed to stand beside the old man.

She nodded at Kayla. “Is this her?”

“Yes.”

She crouched down, set her kit on the floor, and opened it.

Kayla’s nerves rattled when the woman drew on vinyl gloves.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked.

The bruiser hit him. “That’s none of your concern.”

The woman wrapped a rubber tie tightly around Kayla’s upper arm.

Kayla strained against her wrist restraints. “What are you doing?”

The woman said nothing as she tore open a moist towelette and swabbed the bend of Kayla’s elbow. She didn’t meet Kayla’s gaze when she drew out the kind of needle used to draw blood.

Kayla moved her elbow from side to side, avoiding the needle. When that seemed unlikely to deter the woman, she braced her feet on the floor and shoved her chair back.

The old man swore. “Nelson!”

One of the four silent men in the distance strode forward and moved around to stand behind Kayla. Leaning down over her, he gripped her forearm and biceps to hold her arm still. His body kept the chair from moving, his grasp on her arm so tight it would leave bruises.

The woman palpated the bend of Kayla’s arm with two fingers, then inserted the needle. As soon as she connected a vial to the tubing attached to it, blood slithered through the needle and down the tubing to collect in it.

Kayla’s doctor’s office drew blood for routine tests every year during her annual physical exam. But they never filled more than five vials.

This woman took more, then filled a bag as if Kayla were donating blood.

All the while, Oliver cursed and threatened and suffered more punishing blows from the bruiser.

The old man smiled, revealing slightly crooked teeth. “Whatever’s different about her, whatever Nick has passed on to her, we’ll find in her blood.”

“You aren’t going to find anything, you crazy fuck!” Oliver shouted, then shifted his gaze to the woman. “And any medical personnel who work for you will lose their licenses and face criminal charges once their part becomes known.”

The woman glanced at the old man.

He shook his head. “It’s all bullshit. Go ahead.”

The woman drew out a large self-adhesive bandage about the size of the knee bandages Kayla had kept on hand when Becca used to spend hours running around on the playground, learning to skate, or riding her bike. Carefully removing the paper backing, she applied it to the bend of Kayla’s arm above the puncture. Then she packed everything away in her kit, rose, and left.