Captured (12 page)

I can hear the helicopter, still whirring in the distance. The sounds of a basketball game filtering out of the open windows of the home across the street. The hammering of my own heart.

One hand covers my mouth, an arm firmly circles my waist. “Took you long enough.” I feel the pulse of his whisper against the back of my neck.

I’m tempted to crunch down on his instep and give him an elbow in the gut. I can feel his strength and power wrapped around me. I’m confident my efforts, however trained in self-defense I am, would make no difference. The second he releases me I round on him.

“Was that necessary?” I hiss.

He leans down, his lips brush my ear. “I didn’t want you to yelp.”

“I don’t yelp,” I protest, doing my best to sound pissed and stay quiet at the same time. “Why are you so sure Mason is in this place?” I ask the question because I have to.

There’s a long pause. Then finally, “I’d rather not lie to you. So I’m just gonna ask that you trust me. If I’m wrong, no harm, no foul.”

I can hear officers knocking on other doors down the street. They’ll be at this house soon. “One of the hounds managed to get out of a patrol car earlier. Might that and the T-shirt you brought explain your level of confidence?”

“It might. Or it might be that we were walking by just before sunset and saw a curtain inside move. There’s a for sale sign. No cars in the driveway. We figured it was worth checking out,” he says.

I pull my gun from its holster. “Let’s do it.”

“How about you stay here and watch the front. I’ll go in from the back. If he tries to run this way, you’ll be waiting.”

The voices of some of Charleston’s finest are getting closer. If Zack’s plan takes much longer to execute half of the CPD will be waiting. “Go!”

He turns to leave.

I reach out to grab hold of his sleeve. “Wait!” Instead my fingertips brush the back of his hand.

Zack steps closer. We’re toe to toe. Palm to palm. Separated only by darkness and duty. “Remember, he’s unstable. We don’t know if he’s armed. Be careful.”

I sense more than see his smile. “Nice to know you care, Monroe. Knew I’d grow on you.”

Then he’s off. Swallowed up by the shadows. I listen intently trying to keep track of the path he’s taken. I hear nothing. See nothing. Two minutes pass, then three more. The police are next door at number three Piedmont. My heart is racing. My hands start to sweat. Zack’s obviously much more used to cutting corners and skirting the truth than I am. He’d probably have ten plausible stories for why
he
was lurking in the trees.

The porch light turns on. The front door swings open. I ease out, gun at the ready. But soon see I don’t need it. Zack was right. Mason was in the house. Now he’s in custody. “We’ve got him!” he yells.

Mason looks a little glassy eyed and confused. The cops swarm. Police cars begin to fill the streets, sirens running. Within seconds the helicopter that had been circling the neighborhood floods the area in light. Zack says something to one of the uniformed officers, then strolls on over to me.

“Told ya!” his expression is joyous.

I can’t help but smile. “He wasn’t armed?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t put up a struggle?”

“Didn’t have a chance.”

I frown. Step closer. “What did you do? He looks a little confused.”

“Well, he is psychotic.”

I fold my arms across my chest.

He turns to look back at Mason, who’s now being stuffed into the back seat of one of the patrol cars. “Or it could be the carotid restraint. He went out like a baby. They’re taking him to the station. Let’s get the car. The sooner we start questioning him, the sooner we find Cooper.”

We follow the cruiser with Mason in the back to the two story brick building on Lockwood. The media has managed to beat us there. Brett and Sophie Anderson are out front, being interviewed by none other than CNN’s own blue-eyed darling, Anderson Cooper. Thankfully the CPD had the forethought to set up a barrier, allowing a small measure of safety and privacy. The cruiser is let past. Zack elects not to follow. He parks right out front in the middle of the melee.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I want to get the Andersons off the air. The last thing we need right now is for Mason’s wife to see them and get nervous. If Cooper’s still alive, I want to make sure he stays that way. I say we bring the Andersons in and put them on ice. As long as they’re stashed inside the station, they won’t be on television.”

Reporters crowd around us as soon as we exit the car. But that doesn’t stop Zack from making progress. We walk with purpose, saying nothing. CNN is rolling. As we near I hear Brett say, “I’m sure the FBI can shed more light.”

There’s a flurry of excitement. Lights and camera suddenly turn to us. I skirt around the edge of the crowd, continuing to make progress toward the entrance. The spotlight isn’t someplace I want to be. Zack moves so quickly, I doubt they’re catching anything but his back. He whispers something in Mrs. Anderson’s ear. In a blink of an eye, she’s off her chair.

“Come on!” she calls out to Brett, not pausing to see if he’s following.

He is, of course.

I open the door and follow the three of them inside. As soon as the rest of the world is shut out Mrs. Anderson asks, “What’s happening? Have you found Coop?”

I give her a non-committal answer. “We’re getting closer. We’re going to take you upstairs. We want to keep you in the loop. More importantly, we may need you to answer questions.”

Mrs. Anderson reaches for my hand. “He’s still alive? He’s okay?”

My eyes connect with Zack’s. There’s an almost imperceptible nod.

“We believe he’s still alive. There’s evidence pointing to that as of a few hours ago. But it’s critical that speculation not escalate,” I tell them.

We’re in the elevator now, heading up to the second floor.

“I don’t understand,” says Brett. “You have your guy. Isn’t is just a matter of finding where he stashed Cooper?”

The doors open and we’re greeted by the officer who brought Mason in.

“Simpson,” Zack says, reaching out for the man’s hand. “We’d like to keep the Andersons close by. Is there a free interrogation room you might be able to spare? Maybe get them some coffee?”

The young officer is quick on the uptake.

“Sure, come with me.” Then to Zack and I, “You want to go that way, to interrogation room four. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

The set up of the room is standard. A table bolted to the floor. Some chairs. Four walls, a one-way mirror so those in the room can be observed by those outside. I’ve been in hundreds, thousands, over the years during different times in different places. Mason sits across from us. He’s tall, muscular, with sandy hair, bright blue eyes, and perfect teeth. If we were to set aside the fact that he occasionally blinks, the man hasn’t moved, never mind said a word, in close to six hours. We’ve been on the phone with NCAVC, tried everything they’ve suggested, and still we have nothing.

There’s a knock and the door opens. It’s Simpson. He places a bottle of water in front of Mason. “Can I see the two of you outside for a few minutes?”

I can tell Zack doesn’t want to leave. But what we’re doing isn’t working.

“We’ll be back shortly, Stuart,” I say to Mason before rising. Thankfully, Zack follows my lead.

“What is it?” he asks as soon as we’re outside.

Simpson leads us toward the observation room. “It’s been over three hours since your last break and you spent that on the phone with the guys at Quantico. Give yourself ten minutes.”

He opens the door. I can see Mason through the two-way mirror still staring straight ahead. He hasn’t even bothered to reach for the bottle of water. Inside the room are a few metal folding chairs, nothing fancy. Sitting on one is a large pizza box, a pile of napkins, and two cans of soda.

“I realized listening to you go through the sequence of events earlier that you never got lunch, never mind dinner. Hope neither of you are vegetarian,” he says.

Suddenly, I realize just how famished I am.

“Thanks, man.” Zack pops open one of the sodas and hands the other to me before lifting the lid on the box. Inside is a pie covered with peppers, onions, sausage, and mushrooms.

My mouth is watering.

“The Andersons are getting restless,” he says.

Zack, ever the gentleman, serves me the first slice. The sauce is tangy, the cheese hot and gooey. Most importantly, the crust is thin and crispy on the bottom.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have much of an update for them,” Zack says before taking a slice for himself and folding it in half lengthwise. “I really thought Mason would have given us something by now.” He pauses long enough to take a bite, then washes it down with a swig of soda. “Where’d you get this at three in the morning?”

“There’s a place on King Street that delivers and it’s open until four. We have them on speed dial. I caught them right before they cut off taking orders.” Simpson takes a seat.

I look at the clock on the wall in the observation room. It’s four twenty. In less than three hours the sun will be up. I can end this standstill. I can make Mason talk. Will it come at a price, probably, if Demeter is watching. And, the chances of that are high. A chill runs down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Of course she’s watching. It seems she’s always watching. I look past Zack at Mason. The image of Cooper Anderson floats through my mind. If we can find him and save him, the transgression will be worth it. The tricky part is that I need to do this alone. Zack can’t be a part of it. If he’s in the room with me, he’ll get caught in the wake and that’s something I can’t afford to have happen.

“I just had a thought,” I say, interrupting the guys’ debate about deep dish versus thin crust pizza. As if there’s anything there to debate. “I think I should try to interview Mason alone. You were the one to handcuff him, Zack. It could be he needs a softer touch.”

“It’s worth a try.” He nods toward Mason. “He’s yet to even open the bottle of water.” Zack takes a second slice of pizza and places another in my plate as well.

“Maybe this is where I’ll start,” I tell him, hefting my plate aside. I reach for a napkin, but he stops me.

“If we get a break, we’re going to be on the move again for God knows how many more hours. Take two more minutes and eat.”

“If we’re hungry, he must be, too,” I say, standing up. “I’ll eat later.”

I take a deep breath before stepping back into the interrogation room, aware that Zack and Simpson are watching, aware that I need to proceed carefully. As soon as the door closes behind me I start the process of lowering the dampening spell. It takes control, discipline, beginning with just a slight crack in the armor. Invisible fissures spread out like spider webs, letting the power leak out. The air stirs around me as I approach. Something neither Zack or Simpson would be able to notice. Mason, however, does. I place the pizza in front of him as the magic builds, unleashing a warm, perfumed mist. I lean closer. His eyes, empty and lifeless for hours now, connect with mine. It takes no effort at all. Once our eyes lock, I have him. He’s riveted.

I pull out the chair across from him and sit. “Stuart, it’s been a long night. You’ve got to be hungry and thirsty. Open the bottle of water. Drink. Take a bite of pizza.”

It seems like a casual remark, delivered softly, a whisper into the air.

The suggestion, however, is anything but casual.

It’s a command he’s compelled to fulfill.

A wind starts to rise. A section of my hair loosens and escapes the bun at the nape of my neck. Quickly I tuck it behind my ear. A strand curls over my right eye. I push it back.

Mason unscrews the cap on the water and takes several long swallows before setting the empty bottle back on the table. He picks up the slice of pizza and takes a bite.

“That’s good. I’m worried about you, Stuart. And I’m worried about Stephanie. We haven’t been able to find her. Do you know where she might be?”

For a moment, his eyes go blank again. “With our son, Jason. Stephanie is protecting him.”

My pulse quickens.

“People think Jason is dead,” he continues, “but his soul is alive. He was trapped here without form. The Anderson boy freed him, gave him back to us.”

“And your wife is just trying to keep them safe,” I say.

An expression of confusion passes over Mason’s face. “Them?”

“Your son and Cooper Anderson.”

He shakes his head. “No. The Anderson boy is gone. God took his soul to make room for Jason’s. That’s how it works. If you hold a body underwater long enough the soul leaves and doesn’t come back. It’s tricky though, the timing thing. Stephanie understands that better than I do.”

I’m doing my best to get enough information on record, that we’ll be able to not only find Cooper, but piece together what happened. I’m acutely aware that this may be our only chance.

“I need you to work with me, Stuart. So that we can find Stephanie and Jason and make everyone understand.” I get right to the point. “Do you know where they are?”

“I might.”

I lower the barriers further. The temperature around us rises. The wind subtly picks up, tipping over the empty water bottle. I reach for it, hold it still. “Tell me.” My voice is soft, slow, steady.

Sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead.

Is it from the warmth of my powers, from anxiety, or both?

I hold my breath.

“Stephanie said she was taking Jason to her father’s. He’s out of town. We were going to meet up there. But then the helicopter came and I couldn’t get to her.” He becomes tearful.

We were close and didn’t even know it.

“They’re in Longborough?”

He nods.

“Give me the address.”

There’s no hesitation. “Twenty-seven Devereaux.”

The door to the interrogation room flies open. I have to pull my power in so quickly, Mason actually lurches in his chair.

Zack, however, doesn’t notice. “Let’s roll, Emma,” he says. “We’ll connect with HRT on the way. ”

“They’re sending in the hostage rescue team? We don’t even have confirmation yet.” I’m speaking to his back. I have to walk double time to catch up.