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38
The walls of Quint Bodine’s home office were covered with glass-encased tribal masks, spears, and an elaborate ancient headdress. Savich walked quickly to a massive mahogany desk. Behind it were large French doors that gave onto a wide wooden deck with incredible views.
His pulse kicked up when he saw the top-of-the-line iMac. He pushed a jump drive into the USB port and kept his eye on the door as he booted up the computer. He watched the progress as the jump drive transferred its program to the computer’s hard drive. He quickly powered down, plucked the jump drive back out, and left the office, smiling. When the computer was powered up again, the program he’d tweaked himself would hide from view, search for the computer’s passwords, and allow him remote access. Unless Bodine took a great deal of care and was over-the-top paranoid, he would never know.
Done. He was past the bathroom when he heard Sherlock cry out. Then nothing.
He raced to the front entrance hall, his Glock at the ready. He saw the open front door swinging as if pushed by an unseen hand or the wind, only there wasn’t a wind. He saw Sherlock sprawled on her back outside on the porch.
He caught sight of Mrs. Cyndia Bodine on the deck, her back to them, leaning over the railing, staring toward the mountains, seemingly unaware. He ran to Sherlock, heart pounding, went down on his knees, found the pulse in her throat. Her pulse was there, slow and steady. Had she fainted? The trip had been too much for her. It was his fault. He touched his fingers to her face, cupped her chin, leaned down, kissed her, whispered, “Come on, sweetheart, open your eyes. Smile up at me.” He gathered her in his arms. She felt as boneless as a sleeping child, her head lolling back on his arm. He lightly slapped her face, bent close, whispered again, “Sherlock, come on, sweetheart, open your eyes and look at me. Call me an idiot for bringing you to Gaffer’s Ridge, for bringing you here to this cursed mountain.” He felt her move. He waited. He looked over at Mrs. Bodine, who still stood quietly on the deck, her back to them. Hadn’t she heard Sherlock scream? There was no sign of her sister. Where was she?
Sherlock moaned, but didn’t open her eyes. Her fingers clutched his arm. “Thank heaven you’re here. My head, it hurt so bad I thought I was going to die. It wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t get away from it, I couldn’t—” She swallowed.
“How is the pain now?”
She opened her eyes, blinked to clear her vision, and stared up into his hard, sculpted face, his cheekbones high and surely sharp enough to slash ice, and his eyes dark like night—“Are you the Prince of Darkness?”
That’s what she thought, looking at him? He shot another look toward Mrs. Bodine, who still hadn’t moved, and lightly stroked a fingertip over her cheek. “Do you want me to be?”
She raised her hand to touch his face, then dropped it. He caught her hand and laid it over her stomach. “I wish I knew who you were, really knew. I mean, everyone agrees you’re my husband, and that means you’ve seen me brush my teeth and paint my toenails. I guess you’ve seen a lot more, too, but I don’t remember any of that. You told me I don’t snore. Did you say that to make me feel better?”
She was beginning to sound like herself, a huge relief. He wanted to tell her he’d kissed the small birthmark on her left hip a good thousand times over the past six years. “Sometimes you make little snorting sounds, like Sean. I’m not the Prince of Darkness, I’m your husband, and that makes me proud and happy.” He lightly touched his fingertips to her forehead. “I’m in there, locked deep inside your brain, sweetheart, you’re just not ready to let me back out yet. Now tell me, how’s your head—any more pain?”
“No, the pain’s gone, but I still feel weak—” Her voice fell off a cliff.
Savich held her against him, rocked her. Slowly she pulled back. “I think I’m okay now.” She looked at the front door. “It was so strange, Dillon, I felt so good, so normal when I came back toward the house, but suddenly a hammer hit me on the head, and it was worse even than right after the accident. I was nauseated and dizzy, so I grabbed for the door, but I swear to you it began moving away from me. It got smaller and smaller.”
“I heard you scream.”
She stared up at him. “I screamed? I don’t remember making any sound at all.” She dug out a smile. “I had something strange to tell you, but I can’t remember what it was now.” She felt another hit of pain in her head that made her jerk, then held herself very still.
Savich turned to see Mrs. Bodine looking through the glass French door, focused on them. Her lips were moving. He gently laid Sherlock on the deck. “I’ll be right back.” He ran to the glass door, shoved it open, grabbed Mrs. Bodine’s arms, and shook her until her head snapped back on her neck. He yelled in her face, “Stop it! Now!”
She gave a small guttural sound, shoved against him, hitting his chest with her fists. “Stop what? Are you crazy? Get away from me!”
He pinned her arms to her sides, leaned in, and said very quietly, “I’m giving you one warning, Mrs. Bodine, only one. You hurt her again and I will kill you. Do you understand?” He shook her, then pushed her away from him.
She was breathing hard, the pulse leaping in her throat. She looked at him, furious, and he felt a sudden shock of pain in his head. He formed a stark, clear picture in his mind of her holding her own head, and reflected the pain back on her. She didn’t fall, but she did stagger and fetch up against the deck railing, mouth agape, shock clear on her face. She whispered, “You’re very strong.”
“Yes,” he said, “I am. I hope you believe me—I will kill you if you try to hurt her again, Mrs. Bodine. This is your only warning. Tell me you understand me.”
“Of course I understand you. Yes. You’re a violent man from a violent world. You should be in jail, not my innocent son. Listen to me, I didn’t touch her. How could I? She’s outside by the front door, and I’m here, looking at my beautiful view. Go away, Agent Savich, all of you go away. I want you out of my house.”
He left her on the deck and hurried back to his wife.
Sherlock’s head didn’t hurt, nor was she dizzy any longer. In fact, she felt perfectly fine lying on her back and not moving. She saw Dillon coming toward her, saw the wild mix of emotions on his dark face, quickly tamped down when he saw her looking at him. She slowly sat up. She tried to remember exactly what had happened, but there was only that blank white door again. The blasted amnesia. She hated having to pretend to be what everyone believed her to be, when she was no one at all, a one-dimensional being who lived in the present with only an occasional glimpse of someone she knew, or madly enough, of Dillon’s red Porsche. She didn’t flinch when he came down beside her. He cupped her chin in his palm, studied her eyes. “Don’t sugarcoat it, how do you feel?”
The strange words floated through her brain, and she remembered: You couldn’t see what you couldn’t see. She raised her hand to his face. “I’m all right. Really, I feel fine. Why am I on the floor, Dillon? Don’t get me wrong, I’m really comfortable. I remember you laid me on my back and left me here.”
“Yes, but only minutes ago.” Savich wanted to carry her away from this place, but first he had to tell her the truth. “It wasn’t your concussion that made your head hurt so much, made you pass out. It was Cyndia Bodine. I guess what we saw was her ‘shining’ you.”
Sherlock gaped at him. “You mean she attacked me psychically? From clear across the room? But how is that possible? She didn’t get near me.”
“She didn’t need to get near you or touch you. She attacked you psychically because you’re the most vulnerable of the four of us.”
“Because I’m not gifted like the rest of you.”
“Maybe.”
Sherlock licked her dry lips, shot a look toward Mrs. Bodine still standing on the deck staring at them, rubbing her arms up and down, as if she were cold. But why would Cyndia Bodine attack her? Then she remembered the words again and repeated them aloud. “?‘You couldn’t see what you couldn’t see.’ She said those words to me because she was worried I’d see something she didn’t want me to see. But what is it, Dillon? I walked around the garage, checked the outbuildings, the guest house, but I didn’t see anything that set off an alarm.”
They saw Griffin and Carson approaching the house. She let Dillon help her to her feet, steadied herself.
Carson called out, “Why were you lying on the porch? Are you all right?”
Savich nodded toward Cyndia Bodine. “She’s fine now. Cyndia Bodine attacked her, shined her. But she won’t do it again.”
Griffin said, “Where is her sister? Where is Jessalyn Bodine?”
Carson said, “She’s probably in the basement, stirring a cauldron.”
