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The cover was utterly cheesy, the silhouette of two figures holding each other while the moon shone from behind. The author's name was familiar to Roland from her extensive list of authors to avoid. She smirked, stifling the sarcastic retort threatening to pass her lips.
God, not a romance, Roland snickered mentally.
Instead, she sobered herself before speaking. "Oh, Gladys, I don't know. She's a romance writer. I appreciate the thought, but I'm not really into-"
"Hush. You take this. Give it a try, honey. Take a break from the murderous horror novels you love so much. I bet you'll be surprised," Gladys insisted, her hand still holding the book.
Reluctantly, Roland took it, tucking it under her arm and scanning the backroom before her gaze settled on her employee. "Okay, I'll try it. Everything else going well around here?"
"Yes, it's wonderful. I still don't know what we would do without you, dear," she admitted, patting Roland's arm affectionately.
**
Camille hadn't seen another car in at least an hour and they were going 70mph. If her best chance at escape came soon, she'd be damned if she'd be looking back in regret for having not taken it. She peered down at her hands, the thick band wrapped around her wrist blinding periodically. Thorn stressed the importance of this mission, allowing Camille to be unrestrained but with the heavy burden of a tracking device wrapped around her limb. The GPS bracelet was similar to a home arrest anklet and the surface of it agitated Camille's skin.
Thorn had warned her prior to leaving her with the two guards that if she attempted to remove it, the chip would send out a signal, immediately informing her of the location and time of removal. Even as it was, Thorn could monitor her whereabouts.
She sat forward, regarding the passenger. "Where are we going?"
The guard sitting in the passenger seat glared at her, his hand hovering over the Glock in its holster at his waist. Prison garb traded in for blue jeans, a tee and hoodie did nothing to abate her fear of the unknown. She rolled her eyes and peered out the window, willfully ignoring the corporate rent-a-cop's leering threat. A plan was brewing steadily within the confines of her mind as she took in the barren surroundings. Although the sun was only mildly obscured by drifting clouds, she still couldn't tell where they were. The clock on the dash read just past seven in the morning.
Thorn gave her abilities quite a bit of credit, more credit than deserved. She was under the assumption that Camille could coerce individuals to join the ranks of test subjects with her inception, to bend their free will. Camille didn't correct her wrongful conjecture, agreeing to the plan and boasting her capability. It offered Camille more than she had been previously granted: a chance at escape.
Tendrils of her consciousness threaded from her mind, grasping a tight hold upon her target. "Point your gun at his head and shoot if I say so," she told the passenger, epinephrine surging through her body as she spoke. His face relaxed slightly as he pulled the Glock from his holster and pointed it toward the driver's temple. She was unsure of her own conviction; the thought of killing another human being was unsettling but, the implications of having another kill against their own will was horrifying.
She looked to the driver, her adrenaline strengthening her reach. "Pull over all the way off the road," she demanded, and the driver did as told without hesitation. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead as the van came to a stop on the dirt shoulder, shielded by tall brush.
Her jaw clenched as she threw her next command at the driver with more difficulty than the one toward the passenger. "Put your gun on the dash and slide it to the windshield."
The driver did as told, tossing the gun onto the dash and sliding it across the surface, hitting the glass with a soft tink.
"Now, put your wallet and phone in the cup holder, step out of the van. Leave the door open and kneel facing the road," she dictated, a slight lag time in the action on the driver's part, sliding out of the van and getting to his knees in the rocky dirt of the shoulder. The strain of holding command on two people simultaneously was causing her to battle her own limits, and she was running out of time.
"Cuff your hands behind your back," she called. She chewed on her lip as he did this, fear of her control dwindling before she completed her escape.
She turned her attention to the passenger, "Give me your gun," she said, him complying and handing her the gun. She pointed it at him, the weapon heavy in her hand, "Put your phone and wallet on the dash and step out of the van. Close the door. Now," she snapped, the passenger doing just that. She was sweating profusely from the mental exertion of maintaining a strong control, but she couldn't lose it now.
She stepped out of the van, meeting the passenger with her gun still trailed on him. "Kneel and cuff your hands behind your back. Stay right there," she stressed.
She stepped around the van to the driver, poising her gun toward him. "You, driver, stand up and walk around to where your buddy is and kneel beside him," she said. He stood awkwardly, his hands still cuffed behind his back as he stepped around the hood of the van.
Kneeling beside his partner, both of their minds were suddenly weak with terror. Camille realized she'd inadvertently set up a gangland style killing position.
Knowing that she'd need to ditch the van as soon as possible and acquiring other means of transportation was going to cost, she pressed herself further. "You, tell me your debit PIN," she pushed, the passenger's voice trembling with fear as he spewed the numbers off.
Mentally, she acknowledged there would be a debit limit at the ATM and she feared she wouldn't be able to obtain enough money from just his. She drove herself to her limit, turning her attention to the driver. "You. Tell me your debit PIN," she held her breath until the driver told her.
With one last look at the two handcuffed men, she quickly climbed into the driver's side, punching the PIN numbers into the passenger's phone, which they had been using for GPS directions. The location they were directed in was Boise, Idaho and she decided that was a good a place as any.
She drove off, knowing she only had several hours to a day at most before the rent-a-cops would be able to communicate back to their bosses that they were no longer in the van with her.
**
The farmer's market was crowded as Jude perused the local florist's variety of different flowers, from out of season tulips to vibrant sunflowers. Artificially multicolor carnations and traditional roses. Natalie hadn't told her what her favorite flower was nor had Jude asked her. She sighed, her fingertips grazing the petals of a red rose.
What could convey her feelings for the woman who had captured her so instantly, so intimately in such a seemingly minuscule timeframe? A bouquet of flowers wouldn't do, nor would any material item Jude could find within the borders of the market or anywhere.
Grudgingly, she chose a bundle of light pink gerbera daisies in a blue billowed vase. The young man working the register tied a delicate velvet ribbon around the neck before handing it back to her. After paying the vendor, she moved on, her eyes on the differing stands.
Like some love-sick puppy, her feelings didn't dwindle since her and Natalie's last night together and had steadily amplified into something that Jude was unfamiliar with but recognized. Expressing her thoughts to Natalie was out of the question, the fear of the feelings being less than mutual. It had only been a handful of weeks since their first meeting, restraining Jude from divulging in any type of verbal confession.
No, she didn't want to scare the poor woman off before they could build a relationship together. Albeit new to relationships in general, Jude knew it wasn't normal to have such intense feelings of amorousness this soon. But, she was also convinced it wasn't simply a case of infatuation.
Even entertaining the thought of losing Natalie caused her physical pain. I knew this woman would drive me crazy, she thought as she absently eyed an aromatic array of overripe peaches and blackberries at one of the produce stands.
Natalie had invited Jude to her home that evening, to officially meet her cousin, Jamie, and to have dinner with her. Jude's normal confidence was thrown awry during the last week and she wasn't sure how she was going to act during their dinner.
All she knew was she needed to make a good first impression on the only family Natalie had.
**
Camille sat in the parking lot of a big box department store on the outskirts of Boise, Idaho shoving her newly purchased items in the small backpack she bought. With what she'd stolen from the rent-a-cops, she'd managed some basic clothing, toiletry essentials, a small first aid kid, a decent pair of running shoes, a few lightweight books, a watch and make-up.
She'd used one of their debit cards for the transaction, figuring she'd be tied to that location by dumping the van there anyway, it didn't matter much being on the security cameras. The same for when she took out the cash from the ATM, only being allotted $500 from each card. It would have to do.
The cash she had taken from their wallets combined with the withdrawal from the debit cards, she had a little over $1,500 to work with. She rummaged through the van in search of anything else valuable, only finding some trashy snacks and a lighter, which she pocketed. And then she came upon a large envelope. She opened it, slipping out a thick packet of paper.
Names, addresses and basic demographics lined the top sheet of paper, followed by several other stapled packets. Camille gasped, realizing what the information was. Twenty-six people in total on the list. Twenty-six people Thorn had exhaustive information gathered upon. The people Thorn wanted Camille to coerce into working with the godforsaken project.
She peered at the packets beneath the face sheet, their entire demographics, their records, social security numbers, home addresses, places of employment, social media accounts, abilities, everything. Their entire lives minimized and neatly complied in a compact packet of information.
The locations of the aberrant individuals listed varied in only four states: Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and California. She was in Idaho and already grew wary of still being there. California would cost too much, as would Oregon.
She settled for Washington, scanning the cities where the people were located. One in Kent, another in Yakima, four in Aberdeen, five in Seattle. She figured Seattle would be the largest and most densely populated location. Okay, now she had to figure out which person would be helpful. Clairvoyant, psionic, two telepaths, and a fortune teller. She scoffed and shook her head. She figured a telepath or clairvoyant wouldn't be all that helpful but, someone with psionic powers would indeed have potential. The psionic technopath being able to delve deeper into the online database would be an incredible resource, especially as a means of locating her brother.
She considered searching directions to the stranger's location on one of the smart phones but decided it was too risky. Picking up the phone, she searched one of the addresses for a person in California, then one in Idaho, hoping maybe when they located the van and searched it, it would give them a false lead. If anything, it made her feel like she was, instead of simply smashing their screens and rendering them useless.
After completing another survey of the van contents and shoving the envelope into her backpack, she left the debit cards, cell phones, wallets, and guns in the glovebox. She'd wiped as much down with a damp cloth as possible to displace any of her fingerprints, but there wasn't much she could do about the general surfaces of the van. It was time to ditch the vehicle.
She got out, pulling on the bland gray hoodie she bought and throwing the backpack over her shoulders before heading out of the parking lot. The Greyhound station was two miles on foot from where she dumped the van, having memorized the directions. She tried not to run, her pace a steady walk.
When the station was in view, she dipped into an alleyway and placed the backpack on the ground, opening the first aid kit. She grabbed the tiny pair of scissors and positioned them under the thick plastic tracking device and cut it off. Tossing it into a cavernous dumpster, she donned the backpack once again and took off toward the bus station.
The first bus she climbed on took her to Kennewick, where she caught a connection to Yakima, then, proceeded toward a bus station just outside of Seattle. She managed a restless two hour nap on that bus, reluctant to wake upon arriving at the transfer center in Bellevue, but she had to catch another to get into Seattle.
At the transfer station in Seattle, fatigue had all but consumed her and the thought of requesting a ride share pick up tempting. She had laughed at herself inwardly, the two stolen phones gone and any way of requesting such transportation out of the question. A quick trip to the bathroom and some cold water to the face, Camille felt slightly better when she exited the rest room. She needed to figure out where the closest store was she could buy a burner phone or a tablet, something with WiFi capabilities that couldn't be tracked.
She scanned the densely populated area, deciding to ask a kid who appeared to be in his late teens. He told her of two cell phone stores up the road, pointing toward the intersection. She thanked him and hurried off toward Pine street.
It was easy enough to find and she spent a measly $40 on the little tablet at one of the cellphone stores. She found an Internet café close by and allowed herself to a strong espresso and a muffin, stealing a spot at the back of the shop. After she activated the tablet and snagged the WiFi, she slipped the sheet with Allen Bronson's info out of her backpack and typed in the address. It was only a few miles away from the café, and she sighed with relief.
She closed her eyes and soaked in the normalcy of the sounds and scents around her for a moment.
Opening them, she accepted the circumstances of what brought her to the city. She attempted to fend off a transient notion of a mental breakdown, the fatigue and debility warring in her head. She needed to move forward, the lingering adrenaline diminishing. The two-hour nap she managed was certainly the only thing keeping her from falling over. She downed the caffeinated beverage, took screen shots of the map directions for later use when WiFi was unavailable, and left the café.
**
"You're cooking her dinner and dessert? Look at you, being all domestic and shit," Jamie commented brusquely as she passed behind Natalie and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.
Natalie turned to throw her cousin a miffed look before she continued to stir the creamy sauce. She added the prosciutto to the milky mixture, letting herself smirk at Jamie's comment. If she was honest with herself, she did feel rather domestic, standing in front of the stove, her toes curling on the plush kitchen rug that sat on over the tile and her flowery skirt tickling her knees.
Jamie put herself beside Natalie, catching her attention with a wide grin. "And you're barefoot? Oh. My. God."
Natalie whacked Jamie's arm with a smile of her own. "She made me dinner, so I'm making her dinner this time. It's only fair."
"I'm kind of sorry I won't be here tonight to help you keep your dignity. It's like you're trying to get laid or something," Jamie speculated. She was going on a date of her own, not expecting to be back for the evening, much to Natalie's delight. Natalie's cheeks flared, and she became very interested in the empty pot of water behind the sauce, watching the steam billow up.
"Wait a second. Did you already sleep with her?" Jamie gasped. When Natalie didn't answer, Jamie continued, "Natalie! You two just met, what, a few weeks ago?"
Natalie was suddenly not very fond of her cousin's strong familial intuition as she threw the bowtie pasta in the now boiling water. The week had been busy, her school routine taking over most of her free time after work, and she hadn't disclosed the extent of her blossoming romance to Jamie just yet.
She stirred the sauce and lidded the pan, then running the wooden spoon in the pot of pasta. Jamie held her tongue until Natalie turned, her back to the stove and her embarrassment evident on her red face. She never could get away with hiding her blush against her nearly alabaster skin.
"It just kind of happened. You know I don't usually do things like that but, I don't know. Jude's so different," Natalie gushed. Jamie reached out and touched Natalie's arm, her sarcasm replaced with kindness.
"Natalie, I was only giving you a hard time. I can tell you already care about her a lot. Just, be careful," Jamie warned, squeezing Natalie's arm. "If she hurts you, I might have to take a hit out on her."
Natalie's throat tightened at the thought of Jude hurting her but, somehow, she knew Jude wouldn't. "I don't think she'd hurt me. I won't stop you, though, if I end up being wrong," Natalie laughed. "Now, grab me some ramekins so I can throw these soufflés in the oven."
Jamie shook her head whilst still giggling and went to the hall pantry to do as Natalie had instructed. When she reentered the kitchen, her face was serious as she placed the ceramic cups on the counter and waited for Natalie to look up. Her face held a cautiously astute expression as she watched Natalie.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Natalie asked.
"You're in love, aren't you?" Jamie suspected. Natalie's eyes widened, and she sighed amiably at Jamie who in turn grinned.
"Jesus, you're adorable. I'm so happy for you," Jamie wrapped her arms around her cousin, hugging Natalie tightly before releasing her and straightening her facial features.
"But, my threat still holds. I don't give a shit if you love her or not. She hurts you, I'll have to fight her," Jamie added nonchalantly.
As Natalie bowled the raw chocolate deliciousness into the ramekins, the doorbell rang. She eased them into oven as carefully and quickly as possible. Before she could head to the door, Jamie called out to her from the living room. "I'll get it!"
Jamie stood with the door open, thankfully a smile on her face as Jude walked into the entryway. She was gorgeous, as always, and her short dark hair tamed, eliciting a profound need within Natalie to dishevel it with certain activities. A beautiful bouquet of daises was in her hand and Natalie smiled. She blushed heavily when Jude's eyes met hers, ignoring whatever Jamie was saying to her as she held the steady, ardent gaze.
"Natalie," Jamie repeated.
Natalie ripped her eyes away from her lover long enough to take in the irritation on her cousin's face. "What?"
"I said I have to get going soon," she laughed before looking at Natalie's source of engrossment, "It was great to officially meet you, Jude. I hope you guys have a nice evening in. Natalie made a kickass dinner for you," Jamie gestured to the aromatic kitchen and then headed down the hall to get ready for her own evening.
**
The brick building looked quite out of place in the seemingly affluent neighborhood of the central district with its weathered brick walls and crumbling stoop. Overhead, a helicopter swept the sky toward downtown Seattle, the blades audibly slicing through the evening air.
She gingerly walked up the cracked cement stoop, taking in the splintered glass windows and tower of decaying newspapers beside the door. If anyone actually resided within the home, Camille questioned whether they would help her when it appeared they needed help themselves. She shook her head, understanding she hadn't many options as she raised her hand and knocked.
