Charmed (Second Sight) Page 5

  Daniel nearly rolled his eyes but stopped himself.

  Upstairs, the floor squeaked and they all heard the distinct sound of footsteps.

  “Yeah,” Daniel said. “I mean sure. Of course. I’ll give her a call.” He looked from Isabelle to Mac. “Is that all?”

  •••••

  From the passenger seat, Isabelle looked down the driveway to Daniel’s front door as Mac started the engine. Daniel could hardly get them out of there fast enough.

  “He’s lying,” Isabelle said, just as Mac said the same thing.

  As they pulled away from the driveway and onto the road, Isabelle began to realize how much she’d wanted their suspicions to be false. For Kayla’s sake, but also for her–so that she hadn’t been involved with someone she obviously hadn’t really understood.

  Daniel had been to the commune, touched the photo after Kayla had left. He must have known she’d left and that the baby had been born by now. Isabelle slowly shook her head. Even though she’d been in love with him, even read him, she’d never have predicted this.

  As Mac navigated onto Pacific Coast Highway, the traffic slowed. Cars, vans and the occasional motorhome were parked next to the beach. Surfers were changing into and out of wet suits from the trunks of their cars and fathers were carrying coolers, chairs, and big umbrellas as they trudged through the sand to the water.

  “I know it’s not what you were hoping for,” Mac said, taking her hand.

  His eyes lingered on hers for a moment before returning to the road. He settled both their hands onto her thigh and his fingers gently squeezed hers. Isabelle focused on the traffic ahead of them.

  She was going to have to tell Kayla. It’d be hurtful and hard to believe but she had to know. Isolated on the commune, someone had told her that Daniel was dead. Who had that been? Geoffrey? Maurice? Had the rest of the people there played along? Let Kayla suffer? Or maybe they hadn’t even met him. He said he’d never wanted it. That at least appeared true. He was obviously no minimalist. Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

  “How does he afford to live there?” she said, leaning forward and glancing up the cliffs to their left. “What kind of computer work could he be doing?”

  For an answer, Mac squeezed her hand again.

  “You’ve done what Kayla asked you to do,” he finally said.

  “If he was at the commune only seven months ago, how did he…”

  With traffic stopped at a red light, Mac was looking directly at her. His face was serious–a little too serious.

  Wait.

  “You’ve done what you promised,” he said. Oh, no, no, no. He can’t be serious. The light changed. “It’s a matter for the FBI,” he said, his tone soft. “It really is.”

  Though she’d nearly been ready to get angry, something in Mac’s voice stopped her. He hadn’t actually told her not to interfere. He hadn’t ordered her to butt out. In fact, he’d purposely avoided anything like that.

  He doesn’t want to argue.

  Her anger quickly evaporated and her stomach tightened at the memory of how she’d felt after she’d been so curt. It’d been awful. The results had been even worse. She realized she was sitting forward in her seat and slowly sat back.

  She didn’t want to argue either.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS MAC APPROACHED, it was clear that neither Scanlon nor Martinez had heard. They’d all been summoned here by Tim and it made sense that Tim’s boss and Mac’s boss would be present but, as the two FBI Assistant Directors paused outside the Cyber Division Lab, Mac watched in fascination. It was only the slightest of movements. Scanlon held the door for Cassandra Martinez and, as she passed, Lee Scanlon’s hand went to the small of her back for a brief moment.

  They have a relationship.

  Mac slowed his pace and kept his footsteps quiet, but he needn’t have. Scanlon had been completely focused on Martinez. As the door automatically closed, Mac thought back to the strained first meeting he’d had with the two of them. The tension had been thick enough to slice. And now he knew it hadn’t been turf wars. They’d overcompensated.

  Mac paused for a few seconds, then pulled open the door.

  As usual, the lab was dark. Tim had just turned to see his boss and Scanlon but as Mac approached, he couldn’t get his headset off fast enough.

  “It’s the same firewall,” he gushed. “Look!”

  Though Mac had no idea what Tim was talking about, he bent down and looked.

  Tim turned back to the monitor and brought up two windows, side by side.

  He pointed at one and then the other.

  Mac read the command lines, directory listings, and file sizes and though he could see that the two screens seemed identical, he had no idea what he was reading.

  “How about some English subtitles,” Scanlon said.

  He had his arms crossed over his chest and was standing on the other side of Tim with Martinez, who nodded.

  “When Mac had us track down Daniel Allmand,” she said. “We found him through his social security number and credit reports. But, what we also found, was his reported income and employer.”

  “The Green Earth Commune,” Mac said.

  Scanlon scowled at him but Martinez nodded.

  Daniel’s computer background and the room full of towers upstairs in the mansion at the commune clicked. Someone had to be administering all those machines, hiding them from prying eyes. Mac remembered Daniel looking at Isabelle’s gloves, worried about a reading.

  Mac looked at Tim’s screen.

  “Daniel has a firewall too,” Mac said. “And it’s the same as the commune’s.”

  “Bingo,” Tim said.

  Daniel was in up to his eyeballs. But into what? Where did all this money come from?

  “And where does that get us?” Scanlon asked.

  “Next we prove the connection,” Martinez replied and nodded at Tim.

  “Packets,” he said. “Packets through routers. If I know the two end points, it’s only a matter of time before I can find the routers they’re using to pass information.”

  “If they’re passing information,” Mac said. “The similar firewalls doesn’t prove anything.”

  “True,” said Martinez, “but it’s more than a coincidence.”

  “Oh I believe it,” Mac said. “I don’t need convincing. It’s a judge that’s going to need convincing before we can execute a search warrant.”

  “Agreed,” said Scanlon.

  “I’ll get him,” Tim said. “I’ll find the connection. You’ll see.”

  He stretched the headphones wide and let them go over his ears.

  “Let him work,” Martinez said. “If there’s a tie-in, Tim will find it.”

  •••••

  Daniel sat down with a thud and a huff at his computer. His head sank into his hands.

  “Shit,” he muttered. It’d been his new favorite word since the FBI agent had left. “Shit.”

  Kayla had obviously called Isabelle for help.

  “Shit!” he yelled and pounded the computer desk in front of him.

  “Danny,” came a woman’s voice from upstairs. “Are you okay?”

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Go back to bed!” he yelled.

  And just stay there.

  The computer monitor flared to life. The mouse must have moved and turned it on. He ignored it.

  I’ll be damned if I visit the baby. I never wanted the thing in the first place.

  That’s when everything had started to fall apart. Kayla had gotten pregnant, fought with her mother, eaten everything in sight, and lost her figure. If he never saw her again, that’d be fine. Daniel had quickly agreed to Maurice telling her that he had died. It was supposedly a simple cremation, his family only, no ceremony. She’d bought it. And he’d never visited Green Earth again–not while she was there. He’d worked from his new home.

  If only she’d just stayed at the commune.

  “Oh my god,” he muttered.

 
; This was really going to screw up the queue. Maurice must be having fits.

  Quickly, he looked over his shoulder then typed in his password. His virtual desktop appeared and he clicked on the web browser and brought up the Coming Home group. He drilled down into the infant adoption forum and scanned through the threads.

  Oh dammit. There it is. No one’s even updated the post. The baby is still up for adoption.

  But of course it was. If he didn’t update the post, who would?

  Maurice had been very clear. Daniel and only Daniel knew the connection between the commune the adoption web site. And that was only because he had to know. Only someone with the computer savvy to keep the data secure could do this. And it took someone with the mindset as well. He could give a rat’s ass about selling babies. It wasn’t even illegal. All of those women that Geoffrey had impregnated had signed over their rights to the biological father. All Geoffrey had to do to sell them was use a simple power of attorney. On the other side of the equation, the desperate couples got to cut several months and tens of thousands of dollars off the adoption process.

  It was like printing money.

  But now the queue was screwed up and his bonus. Kayla’s baby had gone missing.

  But as Daniel glared at the screen, a wild thought began to germinate.

  Does the queue have to be screwed up?

  Isn’t Kayla’s baby also his?

  “Yeah it is,” he muttered.

  I’m the biological father and I have rights.

  Can’t I just sell–or rather give it up for adoption?

  The queue would be preserved. His bonus would be on time. He would be within his rights. And maybe there would be perks–he glanced up at the ceiling toward his bedroom–and not like the ones he was already enjoying. Maybe a cut of the business.

  Yeah, maybe it’s about time.

  “Danny?” she called down again.

  “Be right there,” he yelled.

  Maybe he’d visit the hospital after all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ISABELLE GAVE THE boiling pot a stir with the large plastic pasta fork. Though she’d prefer wood, the plastic was always a safer bet when it came to readings. She didn’t cook with the gloves on. Not even latex if she could help it.

  On the back burner the pesto sauce was warming. Mac had texted and ought to be home any minute.

  For a moment, she wondered what was going on with the commune and Daniel and–

  She stopped herself, for probably the tenth time since she’d gotten home.

  Mac is right. I’ve done what Kayla had wanted me to do.

  The phone conversation had gone about as well as could be expected. Kayla had hung up sobbing. At first she’d been relieved but when she’d asked when Daniel was going to come visit, Isabelle had told her the truth. Daniel had only said he would call. And apparently he hadn’t yet.

  Isabelle heard the key in the front door and turned to see Mac. He already had his jacket off and was smiling.

  This was something she could used to.

  “Honey,” he said calling to her as though she were far away. “I’m hooome.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh but she kept stirring the pasta.

  “I’m in the kiiiitchen,” she called back. It was silly but she didn’t care. “Did you have a good day at the office?”

  She didn’t actually know if couples ever really talked like that but she giggled.

  “Actually,” Mac said from behind her. “I did. Tim had a breakthrough with Daniel’s computer. He–“

  Isabelle quickly turned her head to look at him.

  “I don’t want to know,” she said, suddenly serious.

  Mac had been about to put his arms around her waist but he stopped and backed up, his face an open question.

  “Okay,” he said slowly.

  “I can’t just know and then not know,” Isabelle said. “Be a part of things and then not.”

  A sizzling and popping noise came from the stove.

  Isabelle whipped her head around to see the pasta boiling over.

  “Oh no,” she muttered, immediately grabbing the handle of the saucepan. But as she moved it to another burner, the churning and frothing liquid sloshed onto the back of her hand. “Ow,” she said, setting it down hard.

  Mac reached around her and turned off the burner as Isabelle clutched her hand and backed into his chest.

  “Did you burn yourself?” Mac said. “Let me see.”

  Without thinking, Isabelle held out the painful hand, the top of her knuckles turning pink. Mac immediately took her hand in his–and the reading began. The world blinked out in a screen of gray.

  Mac’s worry for her compounded the pain. His boss was having an affair. Daniel had to be the commune’s administrator.

  Isabelle tried to tug her hand away but Mac held on, pulling her forward.

  “No,” she breathed.

  “You need to–”

  “My hand,” Isabelle gasped. “Mac, let go.”

  Suddenly, he let it go. She felt his hands around her shoulders.

  “Isabelle, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, breathing hard. “I wasn’t either.”

  “Here,” he said. She heard the faucet start and he guided her forward. “You need to run cold water over that while I get a first aid kit.”

  •••••

  Mac bounded back up the apartment stairs with the first aid kit from the SUV and charged through the still open front door. Isabelle was dabbing her hand with a dish towel and had obviously regained her sight. Quickly, he set the first aid pouch on the kitchen counter and donned the latex gloves he’d grabbed from the crime scene kit.

  “Let’s see,” he said.

  “It’s fine,” Isabelle said, turning away from him.

  He caught her lightly by the arm.

  “Isabelle,” he said quietly. “I’ve got gloves on. It’ll be all right. Let me just take a look.”

  She hesitated, seemed to waver, but then turned back to him, holding out her hand.

  Her knuckles were a pale pink but the burn didn’t seem to have penetrated the skin. Gently, he turned her hand over in his and then back again, looking for other areas the boiling water might have hit.

  “The cold water helped,” he said, as they both looked down between them.

  He ran his thumb over the untouched part of the back of her hand and realized that holding hands was something they never did, even though she wore gloves.

  “So,” Isabelle said quietly. “Daniel is the commune’s system administrator.” Mac cocked his head at her as she looked up into his eyes. “I couldn’t help but see it.”

  “I know but…”

  He’d never thought in exactly those terms–only that Daniel was their computer guy and they had to have someone administering all those machines he’d seen at the commune.

  “Sometimes I see things more clearly than people actually know them.” Mac frowned a little but thought back to other times she’d read him. Even from the beginning, it’d almost been like déjà vu to hear Isabelle say what he was thinking. “Most people have no idea what they’re own mind is doing.” She paused and looked down at their hands. “But you’re different.”

  Different? he thought. Maybe so. Because of the profiling. Part of being a profiler was knowing your own biases and preconceptions–knowing how your own mind worked. But what Isabelle could see had to be infinitely more. Given time, there might be no limit to–

  Hold on. What about classified data?

  He stared hard at their hands together, his thumb still lightly tracing the top of her hand but his shoulders and neck were suddenly tense.

  All FBI agents had a top secret clearance. The TS was simply part of the qualification process. He hadn’t had to have access to classified data for some time but if he ever did again, how was that possibly going to work?

  CHAPTER TEN

  DANIEL FOLLOWED THE signs to the nursery of the maternity war
d. Hospitals were like mazes but he decided it was a good thing. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be signs. They were even color-coded and matched painted strips on the tile floor.

  Too easy.

  He’d unpacked the car seat in the store’s parking lot. Rather than try to hide the fact that he was taking his baby, he’d decided to make it obvious. He carried the seat like a bucket next to him with a big blue bow tied to the handle.

  He smiled at the nurse, sitting at her terminal in the central station, but something in her lingering gaze set off an internal alarm. He paused and pointed down the corridor.

  “Nursery?” he mouthed.

  She smiled back at him and nodded.

  “Down to the end and make a right,” she said.

  “Thanks!” he said quietly.

  He was perfectly within his rights. No need to be nervous. He made himself walk at a normal pace down to the end of the corridor and then turned right.

  There they were. Babies. Lots of them. With their beds turned toward the large window, lined up in rows and columns in clear plastic cradles, some with pink blankets, some with blue. He wasted no time, headed to the door at left, and entered. A slightly sweet smell permeated the room and one of the babies close to him was making a barely audible squeaking sound. He glanced out the window. The corridor was still empty. Quickly, he moved down the first row of beds.

  At the head of each crib was a note card tucked into a plastic pouch. Last name and first name were printed in large blocky letters. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know his baby’s name.

  Well, he thought, filing past the placards. It has to be my last name or Kayla’s. He didn’t bother looking at the ones with pink blankets. As he rounded the bend and headed into the second row, the nursery door opened. It was the nurse from the station–a young Asian woman.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, a slight accent, clipping the l.

  She’d surprised him and he didn’t bother hiding it.