Sight Unseen Page 11

  Shocked by her discovery, she realized that relief over the success of her rescue wasn’t the only emotion Ethan was feeling. She leaned back, increasing the distance between them enough that she could look up into his face. Shadowed, it appeared as strained as the tired muscles that trembled against hers.

  “Through the window,” he ordered, his voice harsh.

  Raine knew it wasn’t anger she heard, but she responded as if it were. She removed her arms from around his neck and stepped back. Then, without a word, she squeezed by him and climbed through the window.

  Once inside, she looked back at the man outside in the moonlight. Unmoving, he was looking at the ledge on which she’d just been standing.

  As she watched, he turned, meeting her eyes. His lips thinned to a straight line before he, too, climbed across the windowsill, following her inside.

  Chapter Eleven

  “She claims to have no memory of how she got out there,” Ethan said. “All she can tell me is it would be the last place she’d go willingly. The only thing that makes sense to me is if she were following some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion.”

  “Are you suggesting mind control?” Griff’s disbelief resounded clearly through the cell phone.

  “I know how far-fetched it sounds, but I can’t think of anything else that would explain how a woman could climb over a railing and walk out onto on a narrow ledge a hundred feet above the ground and not remember it.”

  “I can think of several. Drugs. Insanity. The voices made me do it.” Griff’s list was brief and biting.

  “She couldn’t have made that climb if she were drugged. And she isn’t insane, so unless those ‘voices’ were giving a post-hypnotic signal…”

  “She was standing right beside you before she disappeared. Did you hear anything that might have been a trigger?”

  Griff’s skepticism about the scenario Ethan had outlined was as blatant as that he’d expressed during his interrogation of Raine. Being on the receiving end made Ethan realize how tiresome it must be to constantly be doubted.

  If Griff could come up with a more plausible explanation for what had happened tonight, he would welcome it, but he wasn’t buying the ones his boss had proposed. Ethan had been there. Griff Cabot hadn’t.

  “If the suggestion has already been implanted, then the signal that precipitates the action can be anything,” Ethan explained. “Music, any other sound, a gesture, color.”

  “You’re saying that she heard or saw something downstairs that caused her to go up to a dark balcony alone, climb through a window and then out onto a ledge.”

  “I don’t know what caused her to do any of that. I’m simply trying to find a rational explanation for what occurred. Raine doesn’t remember why she left the ballroom or how she got out on the ledge. She has no memory of anything after Steiner called us over to introduce us to his party.”

  “Carl Steiner? Do you mean he was there? At a charity function?” Griff’s inflection had risen with each question.

  “Front and center. With several people he insisted I meet. No one I recognized, by the way. You sound surprised. Would that be unusual? Steiner being at tonight’s affair?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve never known Carl to be moved by altruistic motives. Not of any kind. And that was the moment Raine disappeared? When Carl called you over?”

  Ethan knew Griff had used her first name because he had done so. That was the way he thought of her now. As Raine.

  Despite the fact that he had acknowledged his attraction from the first, he hadn’t realized how strong his feelings had grown until he’d seen her on that ledge tonight. The few seconds during which she had seemed to be slipping out of his grip were the longest—and the most terrifying—of his life.

  “One minute her hand was on my arm; the next she was gone.”

  “Did Steiner know?”

  “I didn’t see any reason to keep it from him. He tried to be helpful.” Ethan mentally recreated his impression of the assistant deputy director’s attitude during those crucial seconds. “In retrospect he didn’t seem too concerned. By the way, he recognized her name when I introduced them. And he was definitely interested in meeting her. You know that look he has whenever he’s trying to figure out how he can use something to his advantage?”

  There was little that went on in the capital that escaped the agency’s notice. They would certainly have known about the attack on Montgomery Gardner.

  Since she’d been part of the CIA’s experiments in parapsychology, they probably had an file on Raine, which might even include the claim about her paternity she’d made at the hospital. That would certainly explain Steiner’s fascination.

  “I mentioned her to him this afternoon,” Griff said. “The request I made for information about her was probably the basis for Carl’s interest.”

  “Did you get the records?” Ethan asked. He knew Griff had intended to track down the files on those long-ago CIA experiments in parapsychology, particularly any that contained references to Raine.

  “If there ever was a file on something called Cassandra, it no longer exists.”

  “If there was a file?”

  “Most of the material on remote viewing was released a few years ago under the Freedom of Information Act. Although it’s heavily redacted, there’s nothing in it about Ms. McAllister. Or Project Cassandra.”

  “Are you saying she was wrong about the name? Or just that there isn’t any reference to that particular part of it?”

  Ethan’s understanding was that the research into the paranormal had been extensive. The part Raine had participated in, the remote viewing, had been a fraction of the stuff the agency had experimented with.

  “When the Cold War wound down, so did the fear that the Russians would accomplish something in the field of psychic activity that might threaten us. Some of the records may have been destroyed when the projects were terminated. That would mean that, as far as the agency was concerned, they contained nothing of value.”

  “Steiner himself told you that?” It seemed almost too coincidental that Griff would have talked to the assistant deputy director this afternoon, and then he’d show up tonight—at an event he normally wouldn’t have attended—and distract Ethan long enough for Raine to disappear.

  “He’s the one I call if I need information. For some reason, Carl thinks I had a hand in his promotion into my position after my ‘retirement.’ As a result of that misplaced gratitude, he’s been extremely useful through the years.”

  Not all the Phoenix agents had as high an opinion of Steiner as Griff had. Lucas Hawkins openly despised him, as did Joshua Stone. No one could deny that the man had provided Griff access to the agency’s resources on more than one occasion.

  “And while you were talking to him, he didn’t think to mention he’d be there tonight?” Ethan asked, allowing his own skepticism to show.

  “There’s no reason he would have. I didn’t tell him you’d be in attendance. Or Ms. McAllister. It didn’t come up. Frankly, I could never have imagined Carl attending anything like The Covenant’s fund-raiser. It seems uncharacteristic.”

  “Do you think he could have had something to do with what happened tonight?”

  There was a brief silence as Griff examined the possibility. “You’d be in a better position to evaluate that than I would. It seems obvious because of the timing of our inquiry and the subsequent attacks that there’s a link between The Covenant and what happened to both Monty and Ms. McAllister. Since their original connection was those experiments, it would follow there must be a link between those CIA projects and The Covenant.”

  “But without any records of Cassandra—” Ethan began.

  “Even without records there are ways of reconstructing the past. I’m going to try a few. In the meantime…”

  Griff’s hesitation lasted so long that Ethan finally broke it. “Yes?”

  “It’s apparent someone believes Ms. McAllister has information that can help us. You h
ave to keep her safe until we can figure out what she knows that even she doesn’t realize she knows.”

  ETHAN PUT HIS EAR against the door of Raine’s bedroom before he rapped on it gently with the back of his knuckles. He listened for any sound from the other side, wondering if she’d gone to bed. He’d already begun to turn away when the door opened.

  Dressed in one of the thick navy robes the hotel provided, and again barefoot, Raine stood in the opening. The light from the room behind her created a halo effect around her dark hair, loosened to fall over her shoulders.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

  “As opposed to standing outside on a ledge?”

  There was enough self-deprecation in the words that Ethan responded to them with the truth. “These windows don’t open. I checked them.”

  Her lips tilted at the corners. “I suppose I should say thank you for that. And I don’t sleepwalk, by the way.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  There was a small, awkward silence.

  “I almost forgot,” Ethan said, reaching into his pocket. He held up the earring he’d found at the top of the staircase, the diamonds catching the light from the chandelier in the room behind her.

  “My great grandmother’s earring,” Raine said, holding out her hand for it. “I hadn’t even realized it was gone until I was undressing. Where did you find it?”

  “At the top of the staircase. That’s how I knew you really had come up to the balcony.”

  “So if I hadn’t dropped it—”

  He might never have gone through those double doors, he thought. Never found the open window. And if he hadn’t…

  “Thank you,” she said, her fingers curling over the jewelry he’d placed in her outstretched hand. “Thank you for everything you did tonight.”

  She had thanked him profusely after they were both safely inside the window. He’d been embarrassed by her gratitude, since not only was it his dereliction of duty that had allowed her to wander off alone, but also because he had almost let her fall, a thought that still haunted him.

  That was part of the reason he’d knocked on her door. Just to see her again. To make sure, as he’d said, that she really was all right. It was shocking how important that had become to his peace of mind.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I screwed up, which is how you ended up in that situation. You don’t owe me any thanks for finally doing my job.”

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.” The tilt of her lips had increased until it was almost a real smile.

  “That’s right,” he said stiffly.

  He had expected Griff’s censure for tonight’s unforgivable lapse. Maybe that’s what his warning at the end of the conversation had been about—a reminder of all they had to lose if he allowed anything to happen to Raine McAllister.

  It was a reminder he didn’t need. Not now. And that had nothing to do with his investigation of The Covenant.

  “Have you remembered anything else about—” He stopped because the teasing light suddenly went out of her eyes.

  “I can’t tell you anything other than what I’ve already said. I don’t know how I got there. Or why. And not knowing makes me feel…” She closed her mouth, lips whitened from the pressure she exerted, before she shook her head.

  “Something must have happened before you went upstairs,” he insisted stubbornly. He much preferred his version of what it might have been to Cabot’s. “Something that made you decide to leave the ballroom. Maybe something you heard or saw. Or someone.”

  Her head continued that same side-to-side motion as he talked. “Believe me, I’d tell you if I knew why I climbed those stairs. I don’t. I think there was something at the top I needed to see, but…I’m not even sure of that. It may be that I feel that way because I want to remember so badly.”

  “Don’t try to force it.”

  That’s what people in books and movies always said. He had no idea whether the advice was valid. For all he knew, trying to force a recollection might be the best way to deal with something like this.

  You spend $7.50 on a movie ticket and think you’re a psychiatrist.

  Maybe that’s what she needed. A psychiatrist. A real one. Maybe Griff was right. Maybe she wasn’t playing with a full deck.

  The game analogy produced the memory of something she had told him that, to his pragmatic sensibilities, seemed to reinforce Cabot’s hypotheses. She read Tarot cards, for God’s sake.

  And she’d been instrumental in finding lost children all over this nation, he reminded himself. And she was good enough at what she did for the agency all those years ago that Monty Gardner had recommended they consult her. All of which seemed to indicate—

  “I’m not crazy.”

  He realized that she been watching his face while those thoughts raced through his brain. Maybe his expression had revealed enough of what he’d been thinking that she felt compelled to issue that denial.

  Or maybe she read your mind. She’s supposed to be good at that, too.

  At least she had been at one time.

  “Why did you stop working with the police?”

  Her eyes widened slightly at the non sequitur. “I wondered why you or Mr. Cabot didn’t ask me that. It’s usually the first thing that comes up when I tell people I can’t help them. Especially if something they’d heard about one of those cases was why they came to me.”

  “I’m asking it now.”

  “I’ll tell you—if you tell me why you left the CIA.”

  That she knew exactly the question to pose in return was disconcerting. Especially since he’d already reached the point of trying to decide how much, if anything, he could accept about her abilities. What he’d read in Griff’s folder had been compelling.

  “That isn’t the issue here.”

  The corners of her lips tilted again, but this time her mockery wasn’t self-directed. However, she didn’t pursue the question she’d asked him.

  “I couldn’t do it anymore,” she said simply.

  “And you can choose to stop? You can turn it off and on at will?”

  “It’s not quite that simple, but… To a certain extent, I can seek information or I can choose not to seek it. I chose not to.”

  “Even if—” He broke the question he’d begun, realizing how unfair it was.

  “Even if a child were involved?” she finished for him.

  “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask that.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She let the silence build, making no attempt to justify the decision she’d made. And he found he wanted her to. He needed her to.

  “Raine—”

  “I can’t change what people think about me. Not even what you think. All I can do is live my life as well as I can.”

  “And you think refusing to help with those cases qualifies as ‘living well’?”

  His tone was more accusatory than he’d intended. He was sorry for that, but he couldn’t be sorry he had asked. Not given how badly he needed to know.

  It took her a long time, but at least she didn’t do what she had done that first night. She didn’t try to close him out.

  “I was surprised the cops I had worked with understood. And I would have thought that if anyone else in this world could understand—”

  This time she was the one who broke off a sentence that might have inflicted irreparable damage to their relation ship. Their relationship? he questioned. That presupposed they had one. It was always possible that what he felt was completely one-sided. In any case…

  “I need to know.”

  He understood that whatever she told him, even if he couldn’t accept it as reason enough for the decision she’d made, would require a reciprocal sharing of information. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to accept what he had done, either.

  “After years of working on those kinds of cases,” she said, “I came to believe that there’s a threshold, a limit if you will
, to what the human mind can accept of what’s out there. I started to fear I was reaching my limit.”

  “‘Of what’s out there’?” he repeated.

  It took a moment for her to put into words what they both knew this was about. “The evil in the world.”

  “The evil that abducts children.”

  “And does unspeakable things to them.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  It was only what he had guessed when she made reference to his reasons for leaving the agency. “You felt you’d seen too much of it.”

  “I’m not sure of the context in which you’re using that word, but…it wasn’t seeing it that was the most disturbing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I felt it.”

  “Their evil?”

  “That. Their madness. And the other. All the other.”

  He had never considered that aspect of what she did. It put everything into a new and sickening light.

  “You felt what they felt? The children?”

  She nodded, her eyes glazing with moisture for the first time since he had known her. She blinked quickly, clearing them as if she were embarrassed to let that emotion show.

  “If they were still alive.”

  “Dear God,” he whispered.

  Her smile this time was bitter and twisted. “If He could allow things like that—”

  “Raine.”

  “I know. I’ve told myself that a thousand times. Men choose good or evil. We all do. I chose good for as long as I could, but in doing that, I learned far too much about the other. I had to step back and let someone else fight that battle. It was either that or—”

  “I know.” He did know. Perhaps better than she could ever understand.

  He put his hand on her cheek, allowing his palm to shape the line of her jaw. With his thumb he touched her lips, trying to tell her how sorry he was for making her talk about this. After a moment he leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead.

  When he stepped back, her eyelids were closed, the long lashes motionless against her cheeks. Her eyes opened slowly to look up into his.