Looks like Loring left town in a hurry,” Sierra said. “There are still a lot of clothes in his closet and there are dirty dishes in the sink.”
It was after midnight and it was raining again. Another wave of storms had moved in off the Pacific. She and North were standing in the second bedroom of the rustic cabin that Loring had rented from the owner of the town’s small grocery store. It was obvious the doctor had used the room as a home office. There was a desk near the window. A couple of file cabinets stood against one wall.
North had been right about one thing, she reflected. The locals were only too happy to talk about the creepy doctor who worked at the insane asylum a couple of miles out of town. The owner of the inn had been especially informative.
It turned out that everyone in the area had been shocked and alarmed when the Riverview Psychiatric Hospital had opened a year earlier. But there was nothing the town could do to prevent the trust that owned the mansion from selling it to the shadowy medical corporation headed by Dr. Garraway. When the first patients arrived, everyone in town had purchased new locks for their doors. Those who didn’t already own guns bought them and kept them handy.
The innkeeper admitted that there had been no problems from the patients at Riverview, although there had been rumors that a few had escaped. It’s the orderlies who make people nervous around here. Tough-looking bunch. Keep to themselves for the most part, though. They sleep at the hospital.
“You start on the file cabinets,” North said. “I’ll take the desk.”
Sierra glanced at him. His mood had undergone a distinct change after the phone call from Victor Arganbright informing him that Allegra Raines had stabilized Chandler Chastain’s aura. In doing so she had bought everyone involved some time. North was still focused, intense and determined to move as quickly as possible, but she sensed he was able to think more coolly and logically now that he knew his father was no longer deteriorating.
She crossed the room to the nearest file drawer. “It’s locked. Needs a key.”
“Yeah?”
North took three strides to the file cabinet, grabbed the metal handle and yanked. Hard. Sierra heard something metallic snap. The drawer popped open.
“Okay, that works,” she said.
North went back to the desk.
She started flipping through folders.
“What have you got there?” North asked. “Patient records, by any chance?”
“Yes, but the names on the folders appear to be coded,” she said. “The sex and age of the individual are on each label, though. I’ll concentrate on the files for female subjects. What are you finding?”
“A lot of charts and graphs.” North whistled softly. “Loring was conducting experiments involving crystal-generated paranormal light.”
“Light is everywhere in this case.”
“Yes. Judging by these scientific logs, Loring knows a lot about the subject.”
“We are seeing a pattern, aren’t we?” Sierra said.
“Yeah.”
“You know this is illegal as hell.”
“So is conducting experiments on people like Marge.”
“True. On another topic, do you think it’s weird that Loring kept so many files in paper form instead of on a computer?”
“No. People who are conducting unauthorized paranormal research are usually paranoid about keeping their records in digital form,” North said. “Sooner or later they end up online.”
“And the Foundation is always watching?”
“Yes, but it’s not just the Foundation that makes them nervous. They’re afraid of the Puppets, too. Those conspiracy crazies are always combing the Internet looking for hints of secret paranormal research.”
“Those of us in the go-between business try to be careful not to leave footprints online, too,” she said. “Lot of weirdos out there.”
North looked up, frowning. “You’re in a dangerous line of work.”
“You’re a cleaner. You have no room to talk.”
“I’ve had training. I’ve got the Foundation behind me. That’s a lot of backup. Go-betweens operate alone. All it takes is one bad client and you find yourself in real trouble.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Famous last words,” North said. “Are you planning to work as a go-between for the rest of your life?”
“You want to know my five-year plan?”
“Got one?”
“No, unfortunately. Still trying to hear my calling.”
“I’ll be looking for a new career soon, too.” There was a grim edge to the words.
“Think you’ll stay with the Foundation?” she asked.
“Victor and Lucas will find a place for me if I want it. Maybe training cleaners in the basics of investigation techniques. But I won’t feel comfortable there after I lose my talent. You want to know the truth? I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do next and I don’t like to think about it.”
“Believe me, I understand. You’re talking to someone who has screwed up every job she’s ever had.”
“Yeah, there was a note about the auction house scandal in your file.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in a Foundation file,” Sierra said.
“I don’t. And for the record, you haven’t screwed up your current job. According to Victor you’re one of the Vault’s best agents.”
“That’s nice to hear, but I don’t get a lot of satisfaction out of delivering hot objects to obsessive collectors. It’s just a job. I’ll admit it gets exciting once in a while. The night before I met you, a client pulled a gun on me.”
“Shit.” North looked up, mirrored glasses glinting in the shadows. “Are you serious?”
She flipped through the file she had removed from the drawer. “I don’t make jokes when it comes to guns. Here’s the conclusion I have recently arrived at: I am willing to risk my neck for a really good cause, but damned if I want to do it just to deliver hot artifacts to collectors.”
“Sounds like a sensible career decision.” North paused. “I can’t help but remember that last night someone tried to blast our senses with some kind of light grenade. You could have been seriously injured or killed.”
“But for a good cause. We’re trying to save your dad’s life here.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“So what?”
“Sierra—”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get my bill.” She scanned the handwritten notes in the file she was examining. Excitement shot through her. “I think I may have something here. Listen to this. ‘Female patient. Homeless. No known family. Strong aura reader. She is clearly delusional. Convinced she is the subject of experiments conducted by extraterrestrials. Refuses to cooperate in the experiments. I am convinced she has enough talent to operate the devices, but she pretends she can’t sense the energy. Will try the new hypnotic drug.’”
“Think that’s Marge’s file?” North asked.
“There’s no photo and no name but the age and gender are right. Also the nature of her delusions.” Sierra flipped to the final page of notes. “Yes, this must be Marge’s file. Here’s the final note. ‘Subject escaped her cell during the night. A search of the grounds was conducted but no trace of her was found. Garraway is convinced that she hiked out through the woods and either fell off the cliffs or caught a ride from a passing car. Regardless, she doesn’t know enough to do any damage. No one will believe her story.’”
“Could be Marge, all right,” North said. “I found an interesting file, too. Bring those records over here and spread them out on the desk. I’m going to take photos of everything and send them to Victor and Lucas.”
Sierra crossed the room and arranged the papers from Marge’s file on the desk. North put several printouts down, too. She glanced at them.
“Newspaper articles?” she said. “Why are they important? Oh, wow.” She read the first paragraph of one of the pieces. “‘Stenson Rancourt, director of a private foundation headquartered in the Los Angeles area, and his son, Harlan, were killed in an explosion early this morning. The cause of the blast is under investigation, but authorities suspect a gas leak.’”
The rest of the printouts were obituary notices and business articles detailing the abrupt closure of the Los Angeles–based headquarters of a vaguely described charitable foundation. The date was five years earlier.
North took out his phone and began snapping photos of the printouts. “Dr. Loring was not only conducting paranormal experiments on unwilling subjects but also appears to be at least slightly obsessed with the Rancourts.”
Sierra caught her breath. “The family that ran the Foundation before Victor Arganbright took over.”
“Victor and Lucas are going to be very interested in this.”
“Why would Loring keep information about the Rancourts in his desk drawer?”
North tucked his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “Victor took control of the Foundation in what a lot of people politely refer to as a hostile takeover.”
“Got news for you—that’s common knowledge among those of us in the paranormal community. My parents told me the Rancourts made millions while they were in charge of the Foundation. People who got in their way had a habit of turning up dead or disappearing. Stenson Rancourt and his son would not have stepped down willingly.”
“No,” North said.
Sierra cleared her throat. “You know, there have always been rumors that the takeover engineered by Victor Arganbright and Lucas Pine was a lot more hostile than the average corporate takeover.”
“Uh-huh.”
“In fact,” Sierra said, injecting some emphasis into the words, “there are those in the community who are convinced the explosion that killed Stenson Rancourt and his son was not an accident.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard those rumors.”
Sierra took a deep breath. “Do you think Arganbright and Pine were behind the explosion?”
“Most people at headquarters are careful not to voice that theory aloud,” North said. “But the assumption is that there was some sort of violent confrontation between Victor and Lucas and the Rancourts. Victor and Lucas survived. The Rancourts did not. No one seems to think that was a bad outcome.”
“Okay, I get that. But why would Loring care about the Rancourts?”
“Good question.” North looked at her. “Remember that one small, interesting detail about the explosion that I mentioned?”
“Only one body was recovered—Stenson Rancourt’s. Harlan’s body was never found.”
“If Harlan were alive he would be about Loring’s age. Let’s get out of here. We’ve got another stop to make tonight.”
“Where is that?”
“The Riverview Psychiatric Hospital.”
Sierra followed him to the door. “We’re going to break into the hospital? That sounds awfully risky.”
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. I told you, the security there is decent but not exactly state of the art. It’s not like there are a lot of armed guards around the place.”
“Just some really big orderlies.”
“Who will probably be asleep.”
They moved outside and paused under the eaves. The storm was at full throttle. It charged the night with energy that spanned the spectrum from normal to paranormal. The wind-driven rain caused the limbs of the trees to creak and moan.
“We’ll stick to the center of the driveway,” North said. “We don’t want to risk getting struck by a falling branch. I’ll go first. Stay close.”
Sierra pulled up the hood of her parka. She had to hold it in place with one hand because the stiff wind threatened to blow it off. The rain lashed her face. North settled a baseball cap on his head and went down the steps. He headed off into the wet darkness, using the narrow beam of a penlight to navigate.
At least they didn’t have far to go, Sierra reflected. The SUV was parked in the trees a short distance down the road. North had chosen the location because the vehicle wouldn’t be seen by a passing motorist—not that there were many of those out at this hour.
The violent energy of the storm excited all of her senses but it also distracted them. She did not pick up the vibe of the man who leaped out from the cover of the side of the house until he wrapped an arm around her throat. He hauled her back against his big body.
“I got her,” he shouted.
Sierra fought a wave of nausea. The heavy jacket her captor wore offered a lot of protection but she could feel his unwholesome vibe all the way through the fabric.
“I really do not like to be touched by strangers,” she said.
“Tough, bitch,” the man growled.
She felt something sharp at her throat and realized he had a knife in one hand.
The beam of a flashlight suddenly speared the night.
“That’s far enough, Chastain,” Ralph said. “One more move and Joe will slit her throat.”