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Mason paused to listen.
“Yeah. I figured you’d have your guy on that. Let me know if anything pans out.”
Mason hung up and looked at Talia, giving it to her right away. “Somebody disabled the cameras in the hallway outside of Fleet’s room, as well as the ones in the stairwell and the pair that cover the back lot.”
“Shit!” Talia exclaimed. “I knew it. Somebody took him.” Her anger knew no bounds.
“Quint’s having his guy check all the other cameras in and out, to see if there’s anyone who looks like they don’t belong. But that’s a long shot.”
Talia knew that. Whoever kidnapped Fleet might have been hiding out for hours before grabbing him, or…perhaps it was a staff member who actually belonged in the hospital. They’d have to approach things another way.
She set her brain in motion.
First off, why would someone kidnap Fleet?
Granted, she didn’t know all that much about his background, but shedidknow he’d been in Orono for years, and seemed to fit right in with the community. He’d moved to the area when he was eighteen, he’d said, coming right from his hometown in Alabama. He’d attended four years at UMO, then opened his studio. How much more straightforward could a life be? Still…
“We’re going to have to run a background check on him,” Talia told Mason with her jaw clenched. “We need to see if there are any red flags in his past that might point to someone who’s had a problem with him.”
“I agree.” Mason nodded. “Sandrine is our research specialist. She can pass off Squad C to her lieutenant while she works her magic.”
Damn.Talia wasn’t happy about this. She hated to invade Fleet’s privacy, but what choice did they have? If information about his history would help find him, it was necessary to uncover it.
“Conide?” Mason keyed his mic and called for his squad leader.
“Conide, up,” Sandrine answered immediately.
“We need you at the command bus, ASAP,” he barked.
“Roger that,” Sandrine replied, and didn’t ask any questions. She knew whatever Mason required of her, she’d get the explanation when she showed up.
* * *
Fleet woke for a second time,becoming aware of his surroundings more quickly this time.
He was…not in his hospital bed. Everything seemed wrong for that; the noises, the smells. But he had no clue exactly where he was. What was even more disturbing was that he didn’t have control of his body. As much as he concentrated hard on his fingers; picturing himself dexterously working the buttons and slide switches on his soundboard, he couldn’t get anything to move.
He didn’t know how much time passed while he concentrated on that simple exercise, but eventually he became frustrated and gave up. It was clearly useless. Whatever he’d done, maybe damaging his brain with some ill-conceived flight, he was completely unable to move.
Sleep descended again, and this time he didn’t fight it.
* * *
Sandrine’s fingersflew over her keyboard as accolades galore—regarding Fleet and his work—popped up on her screen. Talia hovered because Mason had ordered her to stay put while he’d gone out to interface with the various squads, and for once she wasn’t sorry to be the one confined to the bus.
What she read over Sandrine’s shoulder was amazing.
She’d had no idea Fleet was so revered in the recording world. The man, in the course of his fifteen-year career, had worked with several extremely famous bands, had won awards for movie and television scores, and was a highly sought-after consultant. That he’d stayed in tiny Orono was a puzzle, when it was clear he could be gleaning so much more fame and fortune if he worked, say, on the West Coast, or in New York City.
That in itself was a conundrum, but the other thing that had Talia puzzled? For a gregarious and handsome man, there were no pictures of him at award ceremonies, galas, industry fêtes of any sort. It was almost as if…
“I can hear your brain cooking, Talia,” Sandrine snorted. “And yeah, mine is, too. Why would a guy who has the talent to do everything Fleet does, never go where the action is? I understand people come to him because they know he’s so good, but he could be cleaning up if he wasn’t hidden away in his tiny studio in small-town America. It’s almost as if—”
“He’s hiding,” Talia finished, then quickly amended. “Not exactly hiding, maybe. Just laying low; not making any kind of splash to bring himself to anyone’s attention.”
Sandrine shrugged. “Which isn’t the worst thing, I guess. Maybe he loves his work but hates the limelight?”
“Possibly,” Talia scowled. “But there’s got to be something more. He’s so…involved with his artists. I could see that after being with him for just one evening. He’s far from a hermit type. He loves talking and mentoring here… Can you dig a little deeper? Maybe something spooked him before he came to Maine?”
