Line Of Sight Part 3

A hand reached down from somewhere above in the darkness and grabbed the first girl's hair, yanking it painfully up and pulling her to her knees. She was breathing hard through her nose and trying not to cry. If her nose clogged up, she'd smother. The duct tape on her mouth wasn't giving, no matter how she tried to work her jaw to loosen it.

"Hey," said a rough male voice. "I told you not to move, get it? Don't move. I can always drug you if you give me trouble. You want to avoid that, you stay still. We need one of you, not both. Either one of you gets cute, you get to watch the other one get hurt. Bad. Understood? Nod."

The girl nodded, breathing hard. On the floor, the blonde nodded, too, eyes leaking furious tears.

The pressure on the girl's hair released, and she overbalanced and fell hard, banging into the floor face-first. The impact stunned her, and she tasted blood, coppery and hot....

Stefan jerked out of the vision, swallowed, and could still taste the blood. He felt like vomiting. Whoever the girl was, she was controlling her fear, but it was real and immediate. Either one of you gets cute, you get to watch the other one get hurt. He hadn't been able to sense her thoughts at all, only visuals and sensations, but that was enough. More than enough.

He still didn't know where she was, or even if the visions were real time; it could have been something that happened hours ago, or would happen an hour into the future. No time sense to any of it. The van was dark in the interior, and the girl hadn't been able to see....

Wait.

He realized he was still hunched over, clutching the police barricade in both hands, and forced himself to let go and straighten up. He felt sweat trickling down his face, despite the cool night breeze, and wiped his forehead with shaking hands.

As her abductor had jerked the girl up to her knees by the hair, she'd been able to get a brief glimpse out of the front window. The headlights had spilled over a dark empty road, a brilliant yellow line...

...and a road sign.

"She's on Highway 347," he said to himself. "She's there now." Because the view had still been washed with a faint tint of sunset, the far horizon not yet completely dark.

He needed to tell somebody. Anybody.

Stefan pushed through the crowd of bored reporters to the edge of the crime scene, where the uniformed officers were looking even more bored. Forensics was packing up, and the floodlights were going off. They were leaving.

No sign of the brunette detective and her girl; long gone, he guessed. Out the other side, where there were fewer reporters.

"Sir," he said, and then louder, "Officer!"

The nearest cop, who'd been speaking with two others, turned to look at him with a dead-eyed stare. "Stay behind the tape, sir," he said.

"I am behind the tape. I have-"

"You're leaning over."

"This is important, I know where they are! The girls!"

He had all their attention now, an uncomfortable weight of it. "How do you know that, sir?"

"I saw them."

"Where, sir?"

"In a van, traveling on Highway 347. I don't know if they're going north or south..."

"Back up, sir. How exactly did you see inside the van?"

Oh boy. "I just know, okay? I know. You need to look for them on Highway 347, and hurry. They probably won't be there long, and those girls are in danger. They're going to get hurt."

He didn't have to be a psychic to get the sense that the cops were not pleased with his explanation, although they dutifully took down all his contact information-home address, cell phone, everything but his brand of underwear. The male cop stepped forward and looked at Stefan from a height well above six feet. "You just know," he said. "As in, what? You had a dream?"

"A vision, actually," he said. "Look, I need to talk to the detectives. I can help!"

The cop nodded, but his face had shut down into an expressionless mask. "I see. I've got your name and contact information, sir. I'll make sure it gets to the detectives."

"Highway 347-"

"Yes, sir. We'll follow that up."

The cop was humoring him. No question about it. Stefan felt a hot burn of rage, but it wouldn't do any good to let it out; he'd get to talk to the detectives, all right, in handcuffs. Not so much a talk as an interrogation, probably.

He needed to talk to Agent Rush.

"Fine," Stefan said and held up his hands in surrender. "Just check Highway 347. You know how to find me if you need more information."

Not that he had any more information, really. The glimpse of the road sign had been a pure gift of luck. It wasn't exactly breaking news that the girl was terrified, or that she was in a van. Or that her friend had purple-streaked hair.

Or that they were in real trouble.

Stefan moved away, furious and frustrated, and tried to decide on his next move. He had no idea where Agent Rush had gone, and had no way to track her down. And he needed to talk to her, he just sensed it. She would listen to what he had to say, if he could just get past that thick defensive sh.e.l.l.

And to do that, she had to want to talk to him.

"Cops giving you a hard time?" asked a cool female voice at his elbow. He turned and saw a pet.i.te blonde dressed from the waist up in an expensive silk shirt and tailored jacket, and from the waist down in blue jeans and flats. She looked styled and coiffed and perfectly made-up.

Television reporter, beyond any doubt.

"A little," he said.

"I'm sorry, but I overheard what you said to him. You said you had information about the missing girls...? Something about Highway 347?"

He smiled at her. She smiled back. It was purely a professional exchange; there was something about her that put him on his guard, maybe the slightly harsh glitter in her eyes, or the ambition he sensed coming off her in waves. Not a bad person, he sensed, but a driven one. Compulsively needing to win.

He had no idea what game she was playing, but she clearly saw him as some kind of p.a.w.n.

"How do you know I'm not one of the kidnappers?" he asked. Her eyebrows rose, and those brown eyes sparkled even more.

"Are you? Because that would be one h.e.l.l of a story." She hastily tamped down her excitement. "Provided the girls were returned unharmed, of course."

"Of course." He tried to keep the irony out of his voice. "I heard they're both students at a local girls' school."

"Private school," the reporter said. "What do you know about the AthenaAcademy?"

"AthenaAcademy?" he repeated blankly. He'd never heard of it. He knew about the G.o.ddess Athena, of course-"Nothing."

"You weren't called in? Maybe by one of the alumni to help with the investigation?" She seemed to be fishing for something, dangling bait, but he had no idea what she meant.

He shrugged. "I'm a private citizen. Not called in by anybody. How about you?"

She gave him a knowing smile. "I have my sources. I got a tip early in the investigation." Some of the light went out of her eyes. Too bad. They'd been quite pretty for a while, and now they were narrowing and hardening again. "But you're just a guy who listens to the police band and hangs around crime scenes? Wastes the time of the police with false leads?" She was in pursuit of a completely different story now, one potentially damaging to him both personally and professionally. He needed to establish credentials, quickly.

"No," he said and stepped forward, forcing her to meet his eyes. "My name is Stefan Blackman, and I'm a psychic well known in Los Angeles, and if you want to put me on the air, I'll tell you everything I know about the abduction of these girls. Including where the van was as of five minutes ago."

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, then smiled. She held out her hand to him, and when he automatically took it, shook briskly. "Shannon Connor, ABS. I've certainly heard of you, Mr. Blackman. Don't they call you the Network Psychic?"

He hated that idiotic name, but he nodded. "I work for the broadcast networks, but not as a psychic. What I do for them really doesn't involve psychic ability," he said. "I just read the concepts for the shows and pick the ones I think will be most successful."

"But everybody says that your track record is extraordinary. Something like ninety-five percent, right?"

He shrugged. "That part's not visions. It's just good sense."

"I like that. Save that for the camera, okay?" Shannon turned and waved at someone in the crowd, then made a pointing gesture toward a large panel van decorated with the ABS logo. A broadcast van. Stefan recognized the heavy extendable antenna mounted to the top of it. "Ten minutes to get set up, then we can tape. I can't promise when it will air, though. Probably in rotation at the next news break. We're in luck that Tory Patton's off on maternity leave-I'm getting premium time, thanks to her getting knocked up. Next thing you know, I'll be the anchor." She winked, letting him know it was all in fun. Sort of. "Sound okay to you?"

He hadn't expected to land a full interview, not so quickly, but time was ticking away, and if he didn't attract the attention of that cool, dismissive FBI agent soon, it would-he knew-be too late.

"Ready when you are," he said and gave her a full, charming smile to seal the deal.

Chapter 5.

C oming back to the AthenaAcademy was like coming home for Katie-but a home that had new occupants. The buildings all looked gracious and eternal, but there were signs of subtle changes: different paint on the trim of the outbuildings, new trees here and there. Hardy, drought-resistant native plants where she remembered an English herb garden. And had the driveway always been this long?

Her headlights swept a new building, adorned with a bra.s.s plaque, and she remembered that a new science wing had been dedicated to Rainy Miller. She hadn't been able to attend the ceremony, but Kayla had told her about it.

There were a few older students outside, dressed in casual clothes since the school day was over. Casual clothes far more fashionable than those Katie had worn during her school days. Or wore now, for that matter. Most were studying, nodding their heads in time with the music on their iPods, but a few were talking. One group was playing soccer in the fading light, squealing and laughing. If you didn't know what the AthenaAcademy was, you wouldn't have much of a clue to look at the scene. Maybe, if you were very observant, she thought, you'd notice the advanced nature of the texts the girls were studying. Or the fluid speed and grace of the ones playing soccer.

Even as she thought it, one girl slid feetfirst across the gra.s.s and executed a devastating sideways kick. The goalie deflected the shot, but it rebounded with force, hit a tree and caromed into Katie's unmarked police car as she pulled it to a stop.

"Sorry!" the goalie yelled, and jogged over to grab the ball and send it back into play. Katie watched her with a strange mixture of affection and dread-the affection was for the girl; the dread was for herself. Dread that she wouldn't do what everyone expected from her-that she wouldn't be able to find the girls, or save them. It was a dread she always felt, every time, and she mastered it with a few moments of concentration. Focus on the facts, Katie. Facts and procedure were what got you through the tough emotional moments in a job like this. And she had no doubt that there would be a tough emotional moment coming soon; the women she was about to sit down with were formidable, to say the least, and it was entirely possible that she was going to have to suggest-maybe more than suggest-that someone they knew and most likely trusted was involved in the abduction of two students.

She delayed for only a minute or so, thinking over what she would say, and how, and then stepped out into the cool, thin air.

And into memories.

The steps. She remembered walking up these steps so many times, sometimes trudging in exhaustion, sometimes skipping up so lightly it felt as though she floated on air. Around her, the girls of her group-the Graces-had chatted and quarreled and generally acted like the closest of sisters. Which they'd been, and still were, although the relationships had matured along with their ages. All AthenaAcademy graduates were siblings, in a sense; some were just closer than others.

Some were closer than family.

As she entered the open front door, she saw a tall, straight-backed figure standing on the stairs with one elegant hand on the railing. The lights in the foyer were dimmed, but still bright enough to show Katie the grave, composed expression on Rebecca Claussen's face. Rebecca still looked just the same to Katie's eyes; maybe a bit more gray in the shoulder-length hair, a few more lines at the corners of her eyes. But a welcoming smile and an extended hand, nonetheless. "Katie," she said. "Thank you for coming. I know this wasn't easy for you, to drop everything and rush to our aid."

It wasn't anything more than any other Athena graduate would have done, Katie was tempted to say, but she only nodded and shook the strong, dry hand, then followed Rebecca up the wide, sweeping staircase to the second floor.

"Are their parents here?" Katie asked. Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at her and nodded. "May I speak with them?"

"Of course. But I don't think you'll find many leads there-Teal and Lena were exemplary students, and they had permission to leave campus."

"Permission? So someone knew where they were going?"

"We log in destinations for any student who leaves the campus grounds, Katie. Here. We'll discuss this in private." Rebecca swung open a set of double doors and revealed her office, a Spartan kind of place with a few mementos and photographs of her husband. He'd died, Katie remembered, about eight years ago. Rebecca still wore the wedding ring. "Please, have a seat." She closed the doors after Katie and, instead of taking the chair behind the large wooden desk, pulled up a smaller visitor's chair to sit almost knee to knee with Katie.

"Where were they going? According to the official record?" Katie asked.

Rebecca's dark eyebrows rose. "Official record? Why would there be any discrepancy?"

"Because they're teenage girls, and I have an idea from Jazz Ryan that they weren't exactly lying, but they weren't telling the whole truth, either. May I see the records?"

Rebecca reached for a folder on her desk and flipped it open before handing it over. Katie scanned it quickly. It was a simple log of students, time and date out, destination, time and date back in. Completely routine. Teal and Lena had signed out together, and Jazz had signed out just afterward, which supported Jazz's statement that she'd tagged along without an invitation. Destination for Teal and Lena was listed as "movies," and the address of the mall theater in Glendale. Jazz had copied the same information.

Katie handed it back and said, "Jazz told me that they were planning on going to the movies, but they had something else to do first. Has anybody made any reference to it? Any student?"

"No, Katie. We would have informed the police immediately if we'd had any additional information. All we know is that the girls left campus and didn't return." Rebecca's hazel eyes a.s.sessed her coolly. She was a tough woman, and she'd always been able to at least appear to see a student's innermost secrets with a single glance. But Katie wasn't a student anymore, and she held the stare without flinching. "You think there's some kind of information here at the school. Some lead."

Katie didn't deny it. "I'd like to speak with their parents, and then with the girls in Lena and Teal's group. If anybody here knows, they would." Both of them knew how close the bonds were within those groups, a.s.signed during the girls' first year. "Can you make them available for interviews?"

"So long as either Ms. Evans or I can be present during the conversations."

"Of course." She'd rather not, actually, but it seemed unlikely she'd get that much cooperation. The women in charge of AthenaAcademy were protective of their students. "How many are available tonight?"

"All of them. Naturally, we understand the urgency and time pressures you face. We've already gathered the girls. Do you want to speak with them individually?"

"Together first," she said. In her experience, adults weren't great at hiding things from authority figures, but kids were even worse.

And she needed to save time. Individual interviews would take too long.

Rebecca nodded. "If you'll wait here a moment, I'll get the girls together in a common area." She moved quickly, with confidence, and Katie was left alone in her office. She rose and paced restlessly, thinking through what was coming and trying not to think about what might be happening to the missing girls.

"Katie."

A voice behind her. She turned, hands clasped behind her back, and saw Christine Evans standing in the doorway. Christine was a striking figure, just as Katie remembered her-maybe a little more silver in the short gray hair, but it didn't so much soften her as add another touch of metal. Christine was solid. Katie was an active woman, fit as an FBI agent generally had to be, but Christine had always looked exactly like what she was: a war veteran. Tough, competent and perfectly capable of sending a drill sergeant in full retreat when she cared to do so.

"Ms. Evans," Katie said, and then corrected herself before she could be reminded. "Christine."

"I'm so glad you were brought into this. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have looking for the girls." Christine crossed the room toward her, and if Katie hadn't been well aware that she was blind in her left eye-had been since anyone Katie's age knew her-she'd never have suspected that the slight gesture of Christine's left hand at her side was designed to warn her of any obstacles in her path. Christine offered her hand-a large, square, capable hand, with meticulously clean French manicured fingernails-and Katie shook it. She knew she had a strong grip, but Christine's was always an order of magnitude greater-not out of any desire to intimidate, just because that was Christine's level.

Katie couldn't forget how things had been when Marion Gracelyn, the founder of AthenaAcademy, had met her death. Things could have so easily fallen apart. It had taken a strong personality to step into that hurricane and make order from chaos...and a gentle one. The girls had needed comfort and a sense of security, and Christine had been the perfect one to do it.

Still, that didn't make the strength of Christine's handshake any less painful. Katie smiled and reclaimed her tingling fingers as fast as she could. "It's good to see you, ma'am."

Christine snorted. "Ma'am. The next thing you know, you'll be saluting, Katie. How have you been?"

"Fine." She had no idea how to make small talk with someone who loomed as large in her personal cosmology as Christine Evans.

"As I recall," Christine said, "you always were a private person. I hope you've worked through that somewhat-I hear you are exceptional at your job, of course. But I know all too well that the type of work you've chosen isolates you. You're happy?"