Dark Guardian

Had she simply walked to her car and climbed in without being aware? It didn’t make sense, but neither did any of the things that had taken place in that creepy basement.

Strolling at an easy pace, she headed for her vehicle.

In the distance, a siren howled and a police cruiser whizzed past, lights flashing. It turned right onto a side street.

Somehow, the commotion seemed out of place in the sleepy town of five thousand residents, where everyone seemed to know everyone else.

Curiosity zipped through her. The police car was headed in the same direction as her hotel.

Picking up her pace, she reached her car, pulled her keys out of her pocket and climbed in. She fired the engine and pulled out onto the main drag.

At the intersection of Main and 10th, one block up, she took a left, then another, finally turning onto 9th street, headed for her hotel. Up ahead, she spotted flashing emergency lights.

Caution stirred in her blood. They looked like they were corralled in front of her hotel.

Olivia pushed down on the gas pedal, an extension of her need to get to the scene as soon as possible.

She pulled into the parking lot on the side of the Emory Hotel and climbed out of her car. Moving quickly, she entered the main entrance, noting a couple of officers standing at the front desk speaking with the clerk. There didn’t appear to be anything urgent going on. She headed for the elevator. Lights and sirens usually spelled trouble for someone.

The elevator glided to a stop, illuminating the number 4 above the door before it dinged and the doors slid open.

Olivia exited into the hallway and stopped. At the end of the corridor two more uniformed officers milled around, another cop with a notepad appeared to be questioning a guest. Realization slammed into her brain at the same moment she charged down the hall.

An officer looked up. “You can’t come in here, miss. We’re investigating a break-in.”

“It’s my room!”

He stepped back, motioning her inside.

Olivia walked through the open door, almost running into another cop who was snapping pictures with a digital camera.

“What happened?” she asked, staring at the interior of the hotel room she’d occupied for the last five days. Worry laced through her as she looked for her laptop in the upheaval.

They got my laptop?

“This is your room?” the officer asked, turning his attention on her.

“Yeah.” Olivia swallowed, staring in disbelief at the chaos someone had inflicted on the place. The mattress was ripped open, stuffing scattered on the floor like puffy clouds. Dresser drawers were yanked out, her clothes tossed in every direction. One of the two lamps in the room lay smashed on the floor. The place was uninhabitable.

“Did you have valuables, miss?”

“Olivia Morgan.”

“Miss Morgan.”

“My laptop. Nothing else really matters.” Caution latched on to her nerves. She stepped to the window, pulled back the drapes and stared down into the parking lot.

Whoever broke in knew she wasn’t in her room. Was she being followed?

At the back entrance of the lot, she caught a glimpse of black, just in time to see Jack Trayborne’s Jaguar turn right out of the parking lot and jettison away.

Anger sluiced in her veins, but she held her tongue. Was it possible he’d trashed her room and stolen her laptop? It did contain her research and the makings of her exposé about the Black’s Cove Clinic. Information that could eventually convict the Trayborne Foundation and the clinic for medical mistakes.

“Any idea how they got in?”

“We’re going to dust for prints, but because the window is fixed, we believe the perpetrator came in through the door.”

“My laptop is a Mac. I have the serial number written down at home. I’ll have to phone it in to you after I leave.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I can probably salvage my clothes and personal items.”

The officer scribbled on a police report. “Do you know of anyone who might have reason to break into your room?”

Jack Trayborne. “No. I’ve been in town for less than a week. I don’t know anyone, really.”

“Okay, Miss Morgan. We’ll do what we can to catch the perpetrator and recover your laptop. Do you have a cell phone number where we can reach you?”

Olivia rattled off her number and turned toward the door. “I’m going to get another room. I’ll stop by later to collect my things.”

The officer nodded and she stepped out into the hallway, striding past an officer questioning a hotel guest. The man appeared to be more agitated with each question the officer posed.

“Excuse me.” Olivia moved past them only half listening to the exchange.

“I’m not crazy. I know what I saw!” The exasperated man’s raised voice sliced into her nerves and tuned her hearing. Her steps faltered and she purposely slowed to a crawl, listening over her shoulder.

“The door was wide open. I looked in and the damn mattress was sailing off the bed! There was no one in that room, Officer. No one at all.”

Olivia stopped in front of the elevator, fighting a wave of anxiety that couldn’t be contained. He wasn’t crazy. She wasn’t crazy, even though she felt a little nuts when she replayed the odd things that went on last night at the clinic.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open. She stepped inside and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors glided closed and she tried to relax, but every muscle in her body had other ideas.

What if she’d been followed here? Caution laced through her. Maybe she should change hotels. But what good would it do? Maybe she was better off staying put. The security in the hotel would be ramped up now that there had been a break-in.

The elevator reached the lobby level, the doors opened and she walked to the front desk.

“Hi.”

A starched-looking woman in a white blouse and tailored blue jacket instantly smiled at her.

“Miss Morgan. We’re so sorry about the break-in. We carry insurance. Perhaps you’d like to fill out a form for the replacement of any items that were stolen?”

“Yeah. I’d like that. But right now, I need another room.”

“I’ll see what’s available.” The woman moved to her computer.

Olivia leaned on the counter, listening to the clack of the keys.

“You’ve been booked into the Presidential Suite on the sixth floor.”

She straightened. “Really. By whom?”

“The owner, Miss Morgan.”

“And who would that be?”

“Jack Trayborne.”

Anger sizzled in her veins and she nearly let out a growl.

“That’s very nice of Mr. Trayborne.” She pasted a smile on her lips. Was Jack Trayborne aware of her mission in Black’s Cove? She certainly had to consider the possibility that she’d been found out. Maybe the receptionist at the Gazette had ratted her out and told him about her long hours in the dusty archives. Maybe he was the one who’d destroyed her room and taken her laptop to see how far she’d gotten?

“He came as soon as the manager alerted him to what had happened. He’s extremely sorry your security was compromised and requests that you have carte blanche, beginning with the suite.”

The phone call she’d seen him take in front of the coffee shop?

A measure of resolve soothed her irate nerves. Was it a ploy to placate her with creature comforts? Or a genuine gesture? She couldn’t be sure. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take another standard room, please.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Are you sure, Miss Morgan?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t keep her foot from tapping against the thick carpet in front of the desk. She wouldn’t be put off the scent by his goodwill. She knew plenty of his type. Money didn’t buy character.

“Here you are, room 304.” She handed her the key card. “If you change your mind, be sure to let us know.”

Olivia took the key. “Thank you, but this will do.” She nodded and headed for the elevator, more determined than before to find out what Jack Trayborne was hiding at the Black’s Cove Clinic, a curiosity she planned to satisfy tonight no matter how terrifying she found that damn basement.

OLIVIA STARED INTO FOG as thick as her Grandma Edna’s gravy. She couldn’t see five feet in front of her as she shone her flashlight down at the cobble drive leading up to the gatehouse.

It was like a bad rerun; worse the second time around. The only saving factor was, if she couldn’t see, she couldn’t be seen.

She reached the gatehouse and found the gate wide open. Moisture coated her sweatshirt, its dampness reaching clear down to her bones. She shivered as she pushed through the gate, aiming for the shadow of the clinic she could almost make out in the mist.

She planned to use the same window to enter, if it hadn’t been closed and locked. The thought put a measure of worry in her head. What if she couldn’t get the file?

Olivia shook off the notion as she reached the right side of the building. She hurried along the side and around the back corner, pausing only once to get her bearings.

Breathing deeply, she pulled the earthy scent of the fog deep into her lungs.

Pushing on, she scaled the fire escape and climbed through the window she’d used before. Relief worked through her. Things were going so easily.

Too easily?

She straightened and pulled her Taser out of her tool bag. This time, she’d come prepared to defend herself. From whom or what, she didn’t know, but she didn’t plan to lose an entire hour of her life again in some unknown scenario.

Weapon ready and flashlight showing the way, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the hallway. She reached the staircase and took the steps two at a time. Breezing through the sitting area and the dining room, she didn’t slow until she reached the swinging door that led into the kitchen.

Easing it open, she mentally prepared for the stench of oil and bleach. She stepped through the door and let it swing behind her.

She hurried through the galley and down the stairs, anxious to get in and get out. The door into the storage room stood open. She pulled up short and shone her light around the interior.

“Damn.” The place had been cleaned up. Even the towering metal shelves were in the upright position, not an easy task judging by their size. Certainly whoever had put the place back together knew there’d been some kind of fight down here. Had they increased security?

A zap of caution jolted her and she instantly listened for any sounds of pursuit.

Nothing.

Stepping into the room, she reached for the light switch and flipped it on, surprised that even the bulbs had been replaced, but she didn’t extinguish her flashlight this time.

Easing along the rows, she found the one where she’d discovered the file box she wanted. Raising the light beam to the uppermost shelf, she searched for the box. It was gone.

Dread shot holes in her resolve. Was it possible whoever had been in the room that night took the information? Was it possible someone knew what she was after?

About to give up, Olivia glanced down, the edge of her beam flicking over a file box on the lowest shelf.

Her heart rate kicked up. She dropped to her knees and reached for the box. She swallowed and put her Taser down on the floor, then the flashlight.

It was her lucky day…night, she decided as she pulled the lid off the box. The light penetration from overhead was negligible and she picked up the flashlight, sticking it between her teeth and aiming it into the box as she flipped through the files one by one.

They weren’t alphabetized, something that would have saved her time.

Silently, she repeated the names on the files until she reached the one with “Morgan, Ross A” printed on the tab.

Olivia’s breath clogged in her lungs, whether a result of the dusty files or the emotion choking her throat, she wasn’t sure, but one thing was for certain, she’d found what she was looking for.

Slowly, she opened the file and pulled the flashlight out of her mouth, focusing its beam on the faded typewritten pages, paper clipped to the inside of the manila folder.

There was the standard information—height, weight, blood pressure, pulse rate, patient I.D. She studied the sketch of a human foot with three small dots on it in a triangular pattern. Frustrated, she flipped up the first page of the three-page file, looking for the doctor’s notes, the diagnosis, anything that would tell her what sort of treatment he’d received in the clinic.

Her eyes focused on a paragraph written in long hand. It was barely legible, but she muddled through, soaking in the information.

The patient has irreversible brain damage, which appears to be nonresponsive to treatment at this time. I administered a 200cc dose of NPQ, but the patient remained in an unresponsive state. At this time, we have done everything we can for him.

This couldn’t be all there was to Ross’s file. There had to be more.

The click of the light switch startled her. She quickly closed the file and raised her flashlight beam toward the door, determined to meet the threat head-on this time.

With her free hand, she slid the file into her tool bag and looped it over her shoulder. Picking up the Taser, she stood up, prepared for battle.

The door slammed shut.

She jumped, watching in horror and awe, as an eight-foot desk skidded past on its own and jammed against the door, trapping her inside.

Terror exploded in her body. She bolted forward.

Was she losing her mind?

Panic took hold of her. She lunged for the desk and tried to shove it away from the exit. It wouldn’t budge. Some unseen force held it in place.

The hiss of a match somewhere in the room sent a shot of terror into her heart.

The unmistakable odor of sulfur filled the air.

She watched in shock as a pile of papers in the corner of the room ignited and flames raced up the wall.

Caustic smoke filled the enclosed room, invading her lungs, burning her eyes. Her throat squeezed shut.

Dropping to the floor next to the desk, she pulled the tool bag off her shoulder and yanked off her sweatshirt. Digging into her bag, she took out the bottle of water she always carried and doused the sweatshirt.

Holding the wet cloth to her nose as a filter, she stood and tried again to push the desk out of the way, but it was useless.

Reality choked out any hope she had left as she began to feel the dizzying effects of the toxic smoke.

Sinking down onto the floor, she conserved her strength for another attempt.

If she didn’t get out in the next minute, she was as good as dead.

Chapter Three

He could hear the thump of her heartbeat through the door. She was still alive, but she wouldn’t be for long if he didn’t get inside.

Raising his hand out in front of him, he pushed against the door, feeling the resistance holding it shut. What had they done?

Pulling in a deep breath, he focused all his energy on the object behind the door and felt it give, a little at first, before he heard it grind across the floor.

The door opened with a violent crack, hitting against the doorstop.

Smoke belched from the room, setting off the fire alarm.

He covered his mouth and nose and charged in, spotting her next to the massive desk that had been used to lock her in.

Luckily, they hadn’t stayed to make sure their sick plan worked. He pulled her into his arms, raced out of the room and up the stairs. He carried her through the dining hall, the entryway and out the front door.

The alarm would bring the fire department. She couldn’t be found at the scene.

Fog blanketed the landscape as he moved along the walkway, headed for the gatehouse. He couldn’t let her see his face, but he needed to make sure she was okay.

Carrying her into the woods next to the driveway, he found a clearing in the trees and carefully put her down on the grass.

There were no soot markings around her nose or mouth. No indication that she suffered from smoke inhalation.

Reaching down, he brushed his hand against her cheek. She flinched. She was breathing normally. Still, he couldn’t be certain why she appeared to be unconscious.

Was it possible she’d faked the condition?

Focusing his energy, he reached into her mind and caught her stream of thought. She was waiting. Waiting for the precise moment to open her eyes and catch him looking down at her. She wanted to discover his identity.

In a flash, he jumped to his feet, turned and took a leap into the fog.

OLIVIA SAT UP as fast as she could, but she wasn’t quick enough. She could just make out the shadow of someone retreating into the mist through the trees.

Dammit. Once again, she’d been rescued by a faceless someone…or…something. But this time she was extremely grateful.

In the distance she heard the wail of sirens, no doubt headed to the fire in the basement of the clinic.

Patting her shoulder, she let out a groan and stood up. Her tool bag was missing. The file she’d just risked her life to retrieve was probably burned to a crisp by now.

Disappointment chewed through her. At least she’d been able to read the first paragraph written by the doctor. It had revealed what she’d always known. Ross had irreversible brain damage. But what was NPQ? She’d have to plug the letters into a computer somewhere to see if she could pull up any results. And the patient I.D., she was certain she’d seen those marks on Ross’s left ankle. Beyond that, she had nothing.

Carefully, she pushed through the trees and tried to figure out where she was. The smell of smoke hung in the mist and the fire roared in the distance.

Stumbling forward, she came out at the edge of the cobbled drive. She took a left, following the stones until she reached her car.

The hum of the fire trucks drew closer and she climbed into her car to wait.

The flash of lights against the fog bathed her hiding spot in waves of red. One fire engine rolled past, then another.

Olivia started her car, put it in Drive and eased out of the aspen grove. The bump of the stones under her tires was comforting. She’d be safely out of here in a minute or so and headed back to town with new information. It did seem like they’d tried to help Ross at the clinic.

A measure of doubt crept into her mind. If the clinic had only attempted to cure Ross and hadn’t worsened his already-devastating condition, then there was nothing for her to expose. Still, the Trayborne Foundation had set up a trust fund for him. Why would they do something like that if they had no guilt in making him worse?

The glow of headlights in front of her came up so fast that she barely had time to slam on her brakes and pull the steering wheel hard to the right.

A black Jaguar whipped past on the left.

Olivia glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his brake lights come on in the mist.

It made sense that Jack Trayborne would show up here. It was, after all, his facility.

But she couldn’t let him identify her.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, she launched forward, keeping the car in between the trees that lined both sides of the road. Had he seen her car well enough to identify it?

He would certainly be asking questions about who had started the fire. Just the memory of watching the blaze erupt with no one around made her skin crawl. Maybe it had been started by spontaneous combustion? Maybe there were oily rags in the corner? But no matter how hard she tried to explain away what she’d seen tonight, she couldn’t.

Something strange was going on at the Black’s Cove Clinic. Something terrifying and otherworldly. Something she didn’t want to believe.

Not even for a moment.

OLIVIA SAT IN ONE of a dozen Internet cubicles in the Black’s Cove Community Library.

Her hands shook as she typed the letters NPQ into the search engine and pressed Enter.

The screen filled with possible matches. One by one she scanned them, eliminating each result until her gaze settled on one interpretation of the acronym.

Neuro Pathway Quotient…Neuro Pathway Quotient.

She wasn’t a doctor, but she knew enough about brain injuries to know it destroyed neuro pathways.

She clicked on the link and an article about the subject popped up on screen. It had been included as reference material in a medical research paper dated May 1999. The copyright on the source paper was 1979, pre-Internet.

A rush of excitement charged through her. The copyright holder was Martin J. Trayborne, the patriarch of the Black’s Cove Clinic. Jack Trayborne’s grandfather.

Olivia selected the print option and sent the request. In the background, she heard the laser printer fire up as she scanned the article.

A lot of medical jargon filled the page, but a single paragraph caught her attention.

I have managed to isolate the protein responsible for the formation of new neuro pathways. I am hopeful that this discovery will result in the formation of new attachments within the patient’s injured brain, rewiring and resetting the synapses.

Was this why her parents had brought Ross to the clinic? For some sort of miracle cure? It was a heroic effort, but obviously, it had failed. She swallowed and sat back in her chair. If Ross was used as a human guinea pig, were there others?

Was there any way to get at the Foundation’s financial records? If Ross had a trust account, then maybe others had been established, as well.

A loud screech interrupted Olivia’s thoughts.

She spun around in the swivel chair, her brain trying to process what her eyes were seeing.

Paper shot out of the holding tray on the printer, like fast balls off a pitcher’s glove.

The librarian scrambled, trying to shut off the kamikaze machine.

Olivia stood up and rushed to help. Finding the power cord plugged into the floor, she pulled it. The printer ground to a stop.

What on earth was happening? she wondered as she turned back to her computer cube, only to find her screen and every other monitor had gone black.

“Oh my, there must have been a power surge of some sort,” the librarian said as she crawled around on the floor picking up the paper.

“Has this ever happened before?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Olivia knelt next to the flustered woman and helped her scoot the sheets into a pile.

“I was printing out an article I found on the Internet. Did you happen to see it?”

“No,” she continued to work the mess into a neat stack. “Everything here is blank.”

Olivia placed the last piece of paper on the stack and stood up. Glancing around the library, she studied the two lone patrons. A young teenaged girl and a middleaged woman. Neither of them looked like a would-be printer-monger and Internet saboteur.

This freaky episode was too much like what she’d experienced in the basement of the clinic. Otherworldly.

“Thanks. I’ll come back when the Internet is up.”

The librarian tucked a stray strand of gray hair back behind her ear and nodded. “Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome.” She exited the single-story library building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Scanning the street in both directions, she half expected to see Jack Trayborne’s distinctive car, but it wasn’t there. How was it he always seemed to be nearby when things got weird?

Maybe it was time to poke the tiger.

She watched an older gentleman move toward her on the sidewalk.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He stopped, a polite smile on his mouth. “Yes, can I help you?”

“I need directions. Can you tell me where I might find Jack Trayborne’s home?”

His smile vanished. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know where he lives.” The man hurried away, leaving her amused.