Relentless (15 page)

Just as the second door slid open, the van shot past the car lot like a bullet, police cars and more security vehicles right behind.

‘‘Stand by, Julie . . .
There
.’’

A rock face on the side of the mountain was ahead on the left, at least a hundred feet from the nearest buildings.

‘‘You ready?!’’ Grant shouted.

‘‘No,’’ the blond woman replied, ‘‘but go on and do it anyway!’’

Grant jammed the pedal all the way down and swerved the car just enough so that it would aim for the rock face. When they were three hundred feet away, he turned off the car’s headlights, jumped out of his seat, and shouted, ‘‘Now!’’

She jumped out of the van’s right side, and he followed suit on the left, hitting the ground with a hard crack and rolling at an impossible speed. He came to a rest against a wooden road barrier.

Grant looked up just in time to watch the van ram straight into the mountain, generating sparks, fire, and the loudest crash he had ever heard.

Twenty minutes later, Grant was driving the Corvette, the barely conscious blond woman riding shotgun and Julie in the backseat. Grant and his companion were scraped and bruised, but they’d both managed to escape with no broken bones.

‘‘You’re insane,’’ Julie huffed. ‘‘If I had known what you were going to do—’’

‘‘Why do you think I didn’t tell you?’’ he cut her off.

She pouted in the backseat.

His blond companion stirred awake and watched him drive for a very long time before speaking up.

‘‘So what’s your name?’’ she asked in a tired, raspy voice.

‘‘Grant,’’ he replied. ‘‘Grant Borrows.’’

‘‘Well, Grant Borrows,’’ she replied slowly. ‘‘I’m Hannah.’’ She held her hand out to him. ‘‘And I am very pleased to meet you.’’

He took her hand and held it. She seemed to take strength from it. She sat up taller in the seat.

They let go and she studied her hand for a moment, lost in thought.

‘‘Grant, I need to ask you something . . . And it might sound a little odd.’’

She sat back in her seat, relaxing, and began peeling off her gloves.

‘‘Okay . . .’’ he said, curious, but still watching the road, nervously checking the rear-view for signs of the Inveo security or the police.

Hannah looked down for a moment, and then back up at him.

‘‘You used to be someone else, didn’t you?’’

His head snapped around. ‘‘How do you know that?’’

She pulled the glove off from her right hand and lifted it for him to see. Resting there was a gold ring with an inset burgundy gemstone.

‘‘Because
I
used to be someone else.’’

The Corvette’s tires screeched to a halt in the middle of the road.

He took her hand and pulled it closer, biting off his own glove with his teeth. Julie leaned forward from the backseat. Grant compared the two rings. Hers was slightly smaller, and it had none of the etchings or markings on the sides that his had. Otherwise, the two rings were identical.

Grant let go and sat back in the driver’s seat, his mind spinning. Hannah and Julie both watched him silently.

‘‘I’m not the only one,’’ Hannah broke the silence. ‘‘There’re others.’’

He looked her in the eye and tried to speak, but found himself breathless.

‘‘How many?’’ he got out.

‘‘I don’t know. I know a place where some of them live, or
hide
. . . It’s a sort of a . . . commune. People like us, who live . . .
away
. From the rest of the world. A friend of mine runs the place; the same friend who sent me to Inveo to help you. They’re the only ones that I know of myself. But I’m told there are many more . . . out there.’’ She gazed out the front window.

Grant put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it. His eyes darted all around, lost in thought.

Suddenly he sat upright and focused his eyes on the road ahead.

He began driving.

‘‘Where?’’

‘‘I don’t know—’’

‘‘No, this group—the commune or whatever. Where are
they
?’’

Hannah nodded, exhaling slowly. ‘‘Right, I’ll let ’em know you’d like to meet—’’

‘‘No,
now
. How do I get there?’’

‘‘Grant,’’ she hesitated, ‘‘these people live in total seclusion from the outside world. And they don’t like visitors . . .’’

‘‘I don’t care!’’ he shouted. ‘‘If this friend of yours knows about me, he might have answers. If he can tell me
anything
about what’s happened to me and why . . . And just knowing that I’m not alone, I’m not the only one . . .’’

He shook his head.

‘‘
No!
’’ he cried. His gaze was set dead ahead. ‘‘We’re going there
now
.’’

18

An old road snaking deep into a canyon miles outside of Thousand Oaks led Grant, Julie, and Hannah to a paved driveway. Cracked and broken cement made the way tough for the Corvette, but eventually they pulled up to a sturdy-looking gate and a ten-foot-high electric fence. In the distance stood a large, single-story brick complex.

Being this close to answers raised goosebumps on Grant’s arms. Would this bleak, uninviting place reveal to him all that he longed to know?

At the edge of the gate nearest the driveway, a surprisingly modern keycard entry system was mostly obscured from external view by overhanging brush. Grant hadn’t noticed the high-tech machine until they were right beside it.

But he was more interested in the building that had just emerged into sight.

‘‘Is that . . . what I think it is?’’

‘‘It used to be a . . .
facility
,’’ Hannah replied uneasily, still sporting reddened skin and fatigue from her ordeal. ‘‘Government abandoned it and sold the property after the ‘deinstitutionalization’ of the early ’60s. ‘Community care’ became all the rage afterwards, as I’ve been told. Many times.’’

‘‘What kind of facility?’’

‘‘I believe the preferred term is ‘mental health institution’,’’ she replied.

‘‘So it’s an insane asylum,’’ he concluded.

‘‘Pretty much. They thought the foliage would soothe the patients.’’

It was so different than what he was expecting. Grant’s eyes searched the front of the edifice for any signs of life, any evidence that this was a place to be excited about visiting. But the doors were solid and what few windows there were, were high off the ground, with iron bars over them. The brick walls were chipping away slowly, entire bricks missing from a few spots.

‘‘You said this friend of yours would be expecting us,’’ Grant prodded.

‘‘Yep,’’ Hannah replied.

‘‘I didn’t see you make any calls. How does he know we’re coming?’’

‘‘Been expecting you, from what I understand, for a long while now. Before you ask, I don’t know how that’s possible. And by the by—my friend’s a ‘she’, not a ‘he’.’’

‘‘Duly noted.’’

He parked the Corvette in front of the decaying facility and helped Hannah out of the car. She kept telling him she was fine, but he practically had to carry her up the five or six steps that led to the front door. Julie pulled up the rear, watching both of them warily.

‘‘Dr. Cossick?’’

‘‘Yeah,’’ Daniel said absentmindedly, poring over computations on his laptop.

‘‘Detective Drexel is here to see you,’’ Lisa said formally. Then, lowering her voice and scrunching her face, she added, ‘‘Guess we didn’t pacify him enough the last time?’’

Daniel grimaced.
Great
. He quickly shut his laptop.

Lisa showed their guest into Daniel’s office, and Daniel rose to shake the man’s hand.

Drexel removed his fedora while offering half a haggard smile. The heavyset man had a few days’ worth of stubble, and his clothes and trench coat looked like they hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in years.

Daniel took in all of this in less than a second but decided to politely ignore it.

‘‘How can I help you today, Detective?’’

‘‘Well, I’m not sure you can,’’ Drexel began, forcing a cordial smile, ‘‘but I hope so.’’ He noticed the business card holder on Daniel’s desk and picked one up, pocketing it. ‘‘I have this problem.’’

Daniel returned to his chair, listening. ‘‘Related to the Boyd case?’’

Drexel nodded. ‘‘Boyd’s sister was kidnapped not long before the arson on his apartment, you see. And I believe the kidnapper may be the same man who started the fire.’’

Whoa
.

‘‘As you can imagine,’’ the detective continued, ‘‘I’ve been trying to find out who this man is, but I haven’t been having much luck.’’

‘‘I’m sorry to hear that, Detective, but I’m not sure how I can help.’’

‘‘The name ‘Grant Borrows’ ring a bell with you?’’

Daniel blinked. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘Hmm,’’ Drexel said slowly, showing an exaggerated confusion on his face. ‘‘Now that’s very odd.’’ He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, his eyes moved back and forth, skimming the document as he continued to speak.

‘‘See, I followed the trail from Mr. Boyd’s most recent bank statement to a mobile phone, which is now being paid for by this ‘Grant Borrows’. Then I talked to his wireless provider, and a gentleman there was kind enough to run a trace on all of Borrows’ recent calls on that phone.’’

A trickle of sweat formed on the back of Daniel’s neck and wiggled its way south.

‘‘Now here’s my favorite part,’’ Drexel said, relishing his tale. ‘‘The phone has only been used one time since the kidnapping. It was an
incoming
call, and it took place just about three hours ago, much to my surprise.’’

Daniel tried not to react, but he could feel the blood draining from his face.

‘‘Would you like to know who called him?’’ Drexel said with complete sincerity.

Daniel sat back in his chair and did his best to stare blankly at the detective.

But instead of reading from the document, Drexel folded the paper and put it back inside his coat. ‘‘I think we both know the answer to that question.’’

Daniel cleared his throat, squared his shoulders. ‘‘Detective, are you accusing me of doing something unlawful?’’

Drexel smiled. ‘‘Right now, I’d say it qualifies as circumstantial. But I
know
you know who this man is. And based on what I’ve seen of your ‘scientific research facility’ out there’’—he nodded his head in the direction of the lab—‘‘I suspect you’re just as interested in finding him as I am. What I can’t figure out is
why
.’’

‘‘And if I
am
looking for this ‘Grant Borrows’?’’

‘‘Then you and I are destined to be best friends.’’

‘‘Detective, I don’t know this man. I can assure you I have absolutely no information on him, whoever he is.’’ Daniel sat up straight in his chair. ‘‘
If
we dialed his phone from the lab, then it must’ve been an accident.’’

‘‘Well,’’ Drexel said, still smiling, ‘‘you might want to take some time to give that statement some careful consideration, Doctor. You see, you may not know Borrows, and you may not know me, but I know
you
. I checked you out. And I found out about some very interesting things you’ve been involved with in the past—downright
appalling
things, if you want to know the truth—that I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone else to know. Like maybe that pretty young assistant of yours.’’

An exaggerated gagging sound resembling a cat with a hairball was heard coming from the outer office.

‘‘I don’t have anything to hide, Detective,’’ he said. ‘‘We all do things in life we’re not proud of. I’m not ashamed of my past. Are you?’’

Drexel stood, his wide frame casting a shadow over the entire wall behind him. ‘‘You may not be ashamed of your past, but I
know
you’re hiding from it. Or maybe someone in it.’’ He put his hat back on his head and moved to go. ‘‘Think it over, Doc. That lab o’ yours down the hall has a lot of specialized equipment in it. Pretty delicate stuff from the look of it. Nothing you’d want anyone else messing with, I’m guessing. You know, we got a
whole
bunch of science geeks in our forensics unit who’d just
love
to get in there and take all that stuff apart to find out what it does.’’

Drexel opened the office door. ‘‘I’ll be in touch,’’ he said, pulling out Daniel’s business card and waving it at him.

Daniel stood. ‘‘You won’t be allowed back in here without a search warrant.’’

‘‘Don’t tempt me,’’ Drexel said, the smug grin still on his face, as he turned and walked out.

Lisa gave Drexel the evil eye as he strolled out of the outer office and down the hall to the exit. When he was safely gone, she wheeled around and burst into Daniel’s office.

‘‘He’s dirty,’’ she said. Daniel was still standing exactly where Drexel had left him, fuming.

‘‘Oh, I got the feeling he wasn’t threatening us for the common good,’’ he replied.

‘‘No,’’ she said, crinkling her nose, ‘‘didn’t you smell him? He’s
dirty
.’’

‘‘He’s got nothing and he knows it. We’re not doing anything even
remotely
illegal here. How were
we
supposed to know the man we’re investigating is involved in a kidnapping?’’ He sat back down, mind racing, and then looked back up at her. ‘‘We’d better double-check our permits, make sure they’re all up-to-date.’’

She nodded.

‘‘And that file you started on Borrows? Get rid of it.’’

After Hannah inserted her keycard in the scanner beside the main entrance, Grant pushed open the double doors and was greeted by the dry, musty smell of books. A long hallway stretched before them, but instead of white-painted walls, the hall was crammed floor to ceiling with books. Every shape, every size. Some thick, some as narrow and flimsy as magazines. One stack after another after another, completely covering the walls, as if the building were being supported by the numerous volumes. So many of them . . . Thousands, tens of thousands, that he could see and far more than he could count.

A few of the stacks leaned precariously inward toward the long hallway he now traversed, and Grant was struck by an odd sense of claustrophobia. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls had sprouted long fingers made of hardbacks and paperbacks that were trying to reach out and touch him.