"So I've heard."
By God, she was a cold one. Last night, she'd been ready to shoot him to save Walsh. But the moment her lawyer became more burden than help, she'd let him die. Not surprising, given where she came from. He understood now why the Huntsmen had forbidden him to simply remove her from the equation. The restriction rankled, but he dared not defy them. That was beyond dangerous.
The girl continued, "I'm sure your plan isn't to leave me alive, either. Actually, I'm surprised you let me live this long. You knew I was digging for answers. You could have killed me. Instead, you had brainwashed assassins kill Niles Gunderson and Joshua Gray before I could get to them. That seems ... complicated."
She paused. When she did, he heard the faint sound of a furnace turning on, warming the cool morning. Furnace meant basement.
He motioned to Anderson and mouthed "basement." The bodyguard lumbered off.
Chandler realized the line had stayed quiet. "Miss Larsen?"
"You're not even going to pretend you have no idea who I'm talking about?"
Chandler inwardly cursed. He'd been paying too much attention to that furnace to react properly to her accusation about Gunderson and Gray. He should deny it, and yet ... Well, he hadn't gotten to where he was by doing what he should. Especially when that instinct to deny was really just his old CIA training. It worked most times, but a smart and independent man also had to know when to give a little. Just a little.
"I know who Mr. Gunderson is," he said carefully. "And I know that Mr. Gray contacted Will, who called me about it. He was concerned. I told him to take care of it. Naturally, I only meant for him to speak to Mr. Gray, and if he did more, that's regrettable, but hardly my fault."
"It was Evans who wanted to get close to me, wasn't it? You disagreed--like when you disagreed with how he wanted to handle Peter's discovery."
"That was unfortunate." Chandler paused. Play the string out a little and then stop it short. Keep the fish on the line while the shark moved in. "I didn't kill Peter, though. Again, I merely told Will to take care of it. When I learned of the deaths, I confronted Will. I knew what had happened. They'd argued and there was an accident. The girl came in. Will panicked and killed her. He denied it, but the fact that he staged the scene to look like the work of your parents sealed the matter."
"How?"
"My dear girl. You do know his field of expertise, do you not? Sociopaths. He followed the murders very closely. Even discussed it with friends on the police force, which is how he knew details that were never made public. He was fascinated by sociopathy. Which is why he was fascinated by you."
A moment of silence as she worked it out. "Because I could, potentially, be what MKULTRA was searching for. The perfect assassin. I have the genes but not the experience. I'm a blank slate for his experiments. And I'm not currently serving a life sentence."
"That is an advantage."
"You let him build a relationship with me, because you were intrigued by his theories. You still are."
"Possibly. Is that what you're offering Miss Larsen? Yourself as a guinea pig?"
"Not sure I have much choice." She went quiet for a moment. "You said Evans denied it. But he ultimately confessed?"
Chandler hesitated only a split-second before smoothly lying. "Yes, he confessed. To me, acting as his doctor, not his friend, though, which meant I wasn't at liberty to reveal it. With his death, that changes. I have proof--"
A gunshot sounded in the basement.
"What the--?" She shrieked. "You--you bastard!"
Chandler smiled. "Calm down, Miss Larsen."
"I'm negotiating with you in good faith, you son of a bitch, and you sent your lackey down here to shoot me. All I have to do is hit the send button. It only takes one second."
"It was a mistake," he said smoothly. "I told him--"
"Call him off! If I see his face, I will send this e-mail. I swear it."
The line went dead.
Chapter Sixty-six
I hung up. Then I opened the door and peered out. Gabriel was crouched by the foot of the stairs. He waved me over.
As I headed to the steps, a phone started to ring. It came from the body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. Anderson. Unconscious. Blood seeped from the back of his head. Judging by the way his hair stuck up on one side, I guessed Gabriel had grabbed him by it and cracked his head against the concrete. There was more blood on the steps. Bits of shoe, too. And flesh.
I looked over at Anderson's foot. It was a bloody mess, half of it blown off.
"How'd you manage that?" I whispered to Gabriel.
"I waited behind the stairs and shot his foot through the risers as he came down."
"Smart." I looked around. "Messy, though."
"It's a big gun."
Anderson's phone had stopped ringing. Mine started.
I answered and said to Chandler, "You've called him off?"
A hesitation, then, "Yes, of course. I'm sorry about that, Miss Larsen. I--"
"Whatever. Now, let's negotiate. I want-- What the hell? I thought you said you--"
On cue, Gabriel fired his gun. I dropped the phone and fired my own gun, aiming somewhere across the basement. Then I hit the floor, groaning.
"Miss Larsen?" Chandler called from the fallen phone.
I stopped groaning.
"Anderson?"
Silence. Then a curse. I could still hear Chandler's breathing, quickening now, as buttons clicked. He hung up. Anderson's phone began to ring.
I winced as I rubbed my shoulder. "I need to work on my pratfalls."
Gabriel motioned for me to save the commentary and play dead. I did, lying on my back, gun gripped in my hand. Gabriel crossed the room, his left foot dragging now, breath coming ragged. How badly was he hurt? Too badly to play this game much longer.
Too badly to finish it? I hoped not. Really hoped not.
A few minutes later, the basement door creaked open. A long pause. I imagined Chandler peering through. A curse as he saw Anderson's fallen body. Then a louder one as he saw me lying several feet away. He started down the steps. I counted them off.
Four, five, six...
"Stop," Gabriel said. He didn't bark it. Barely even raised his voice. Just a calm and steady, "Stop."
I sat up, gun aimed.
"You know the routine," I said. "Drop the gun. Don't bother backing away this time. Just drop it over the side of the steps."
He paused. Then he started to raise his gun. Gabriel fired, the bullet passing close enough to make Chandler lose his footing and tumble down the stairs, gasping, gun falling.
"Or we can do it like that," I said as I walked over to where he lay, moaning as he struggled to get up. "I'd stay down there. I'm sure you broke something. The cops are on their way, and lucky for you, they're bringing an ambulance. Unluckily, yours will be going straight to a prison hospital."
Chandler managed to sit, grimacing at the pain. "You don't want to do that, Miss Larsen."
"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do."
"No, you do not. You have no idea what you've gotten involved with. What you've stirred up. I can help you."
"Right. Let me think about that ... No."
"You're a child," he said. "A silly little girl who has mistaken being glib for being clever." He turned to Gabriel. "There's opportunity here, boy. I've heard you appreciate opportunity."
Gabriel didn't reply.
"At least hear me out," Chandler said. "Call the police and tell them it was a mistake. Listen to my offer--"
"Like Ms. Jones, I am not interested."
"Then you are a fool, boy."
"Perhaps." Gabriel glanced up at the door above and I heard faint voices. "I believe we have company. Olivia? It's best if a woman's voice hails them."
Before I could shout, Chandler grabbed my ankle. I kicked him off and backed away.
"Reconsider, Miss Larsen," he said. "You have no idea what you've--"
"We're down here!" I shouted. "In the basement."
r />
"We should back out of their line of fire," Gabriel said, raising his voice to be heard over Chandler's protests and proclamations of doom.
We moved to the side and readied our guns, just in case whoever was at the door wasn't who we'd invited. But when it opened, it was indeed the police. We lowered our weapons to the floor and lifted our hands.
"You've made a very big mistake, Miss Larsen," Chandler hissed as Gabriel shouted up an explanation. "Do you think Cainsville will protect you?"
I glanced over sharply. "Cainsville? What does Cainsville have to do with--?"
"You'll find out." Chandler smiled. "The hounds will come to Cainsville and when they do, you'll wish you'd made a very different choice today."
It wasn't long after the police arrived before I did begin to wish I hadn't been so quick to call them. When you're trapped in a basement with gun-wielding mind-controlled assassins at every turn, it's easy to think, Damn the consequences--just get me out of here! The consequence, as it turns out, was that the daughter of Pamela and Todd Larsen had been found in a house full of dying people.
Within about fifteen minutes, I was convinced I'd be joining my parents in jail. That's as long as it took for the paramedics to wrap Gabriel's leg, and for him to hobble back and handle things for me.
The evidence was clearly on my side. We'd documented every step, including taping my conversation--I'd put Chandler on speaker and recorded with Gabriel's phone. We hadn't touched the trigger of the gun that killed Evans, leaving only Maria's fingerprints. We expected to find drugs in my coffee, further supporting my story. And there were no actual deaths to lay at our feet. Mrs. Evans, the gardener, and Anderson were still alive. Even Maria had survived--for now, though she was being rushed into surgery in critical condition. Mrs. Evans and the gardener had no idea what was going on, and I was sure tests would reveal drugs in their systems, too. As for Anderson, he'd started ratting out his boss the minute he woke up to find himself with half a foot.
Still, it was messy. Really messy. And we weren't even saying the words "mind control," instead sticking with "they seemed to be drugged." We weren't mentioning Niles Gunderson and Josh Gray, either. If Anderson wanted to pin those on his boss, that was his choice; we wouldn't muddy the waters.
As for Chandler, he still blamed Will Evans for everything. Naturally. Dead men don't tell tales--or refute accusations. The truth would come out at trial. All that mattered was that my question had been answered. My parents hadn't killed Peter Evans and Jan Gunderson.
Did that mean they were innocent of all charges? Not necessarily. But they could be. It was a start.
Chapter Sixty-seven
I sat in the waiting room and tried to keep my hospital anxiety at bay. The paramedics had cleaned my shoulder--a deep graze that would hurt like hell for a while. Gabriel's leg, though, had needed a hospital visit.
Had they known the man, they'd have realized that the only sure way to get him there would have been to tie him to a stretcher. But no, they trusted that Gabriel was a responsible adult and would seek immediate medical attention. Which meant that it was up to me to get him to a hospital, and as long as he wasn't bleeding out, he didn't see the rush.
First, he had to make sure I wasn't going to be arrested. Then he had to contact the media himself and invite those of his choosing to a late-afternoon press conference. Then he needed Lydia manning the phones, which required stopping at the office to explain the situation.
I let him get there before threatening to induce bleeding if that would get him to the hospital. Lydia helped me cajole and bully him back into the car.
Now I was in the waiting room ... waiting. While reminding myself that if a guy took a bullet helping me, I really shouldn't dump him at the front door and flee.
I sat near a window, legs pulled up, enjoying the midday sun. When raindrops tapped against the glass, they startled me, and I looked out to see the sun still shining despite the sudden shower.
Rain on a sunny day. That's good luck.
I smiled. I could use some luck.
As for whether I could truly read omens, I knew only that things had changed. That I had changed. I didn't feel overwhelmed by sights and sounds and smells anymore. I understood it was information my brain needed to process. I was aware of stimuli there, tickling the edges of awareness, but it didn't bother me the way it had.
I'd changed in other ways, too. Maybe I was still changing. I knew one thing--I wasn't hiding anymore. I wasn't going to start calling myself Eden Larsen, but I wasn't going to pretend I'd never been Eden Larsen.
Gabriel stepped from the back room, looking annoyed, as if the visit had been a dreadful inconvenience. When he saw me, the scowl smoothed out.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
"They said I need this." He nodded down at a cane.
"And the fact that you took it suggests walking is more painful than you let on."
He held the door for me. "I'll use it for a few days."
A woman bumped into him, so intent on texting that she just kept walking.
"No, no, don't apologize," I said. "Really. It's okay."
Gabriel gave a half smile.
"Yes, I'm a whole lot braver when they can't hear me," I said.
"We'll work on that."
As we stepped out, I spotted a child standing in the ambulance lane. A dark-haired boy no more than three, frantically looking about.
I glanced back at the woman who'd bumped into Gabriel, still visible through the window, still texting.
"Are you looking for your mommy?" I called to the boy.
He nodded, solemn faced.
I put out my hand. He didn't take it but let me lead him into the hospital. Gabriel followed. When we got to the waiting room, the boy let out a breath of relief and ran to the woman. She shot him a glare of annoyance, gestured to a chair, and told him to be quiet.
"Bitch." I looked at Gabriel. "I'm ready to say that to her face now."
"It wouldn't do any good," he said.
I was holding the door when I realized he was still inside, watching the little boy. He noticed me and strode out.
We were at the car before he spoke. Even then he cleared his throat twice--pausing for a few moments after the first time, as if reconsidering. When we were in the car, he cleared it again and said, "At Evans's house. You said he had photos of my mother."
"Or someone he claimed was your mother. I wouldn't know, of course, and I suspect it was just a lure to get me there--"
"Olivia?"
I glanced over.
"You don't need to make this easier for me. If he knew about my mother, he knows about my past. I'm presuming he hired an investigator. I'm presuming he told you what that investigator discovered."
"He really didn't say--"
"Olivia." He waited again for me to meet his eyes. "I would like to know what he told you, in case there are any lies that need correcting."
"Like I said, he claimed you killed your mother, which I didn't believe. I thought she OD'd, and you hid the body to avoid going to children's services. From your reaction earlier, I know that's not true, either."
"And the rest?"
"He said that you pretended she was alive and lived on your own."
He nodded. He put his sunglasses on, despite the dark parking garage, and faced forward, starting the car.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It was completely unsolicited information, and I know you'd rather I hadn't heard, but I can promise that I will never pass it on."
"It's a matter of record, if one digs deeply enough. I'm not ashamed of it."
"You don't advertise it, either. Nor will I."
"Thank you." He started to back the car from the spot. Then he looked over. "And thank you for not believing I killed her."
I nodded and waited for him to finish backing out. He didn't, just let the car idle there.
"The police will have the photos," he said. "I'll need to see them."
"You will. And if you want compan
y..." I felt my cheeks flush and was glad for the semidark. "Not to presume, of course. I just meant that someone should go with you. I'd be happy to, but you'd probably prefer Rose."
"No. You've already seen the pictures, so that would be easiest." He cleared his throat. "You should be there anyway, to confirm they're the ones Evans showed you."
"You're right," I said. "Just set up a time, and we'll do that."
He nodded and backed the car out.
We didn't speak anymore of Gabriel's mother. We had another parental issue to tackle. I needed to see Pamela. To tell her what had happened, what we'd found.
When we arrived at the jail, Gabriel asked me to wait in the car for a moment. He had another call to make. A very private one, apparently, because he didn't even take out his phone until he'd walked several cars away. He wasn't gone more than a couple of minutes before coming back for me.
We were about a dozen steps inside the prison doors when Gabriel's phone rang. He checked the screen and frowned.
"Blocked," he murmured. He started to put the phone back into his pocket, then hesitated and answered. "Gabriel Walsh."
A voice replied. I could only catch the sound of it, no words.
Gabriel's frown deepened into a scowl. He waved at me, telling me to stay put while he took the call outside.
"I believe my message was very clear," Gabriel said. "Our business is at an end. I wish to return your--"
The heavy doors cut his voice short. A few minutes later, he came back. I couldn't read anything in his expression. He just limped in, motioning for us to carry on. It wasn't until he was through the next set of doors that he paused. He looked around, as if confused. Then he took off his sunglasses.
"That helps," I said.
He only grunted, his gaze distant.
"Having second thoughts about this visit?" I asked.
"Of course not. Pamela should hear the news from you."
We got another few feet before he stopped and turned to me. "We need to talk."
"Change of script?" I said.
He frowned.
"For speaking to Pamela," I said. "You want to change what we discussed."
"No, no. This is--" He shook his head and resumed walking before continuing, "Did you want to change anything? I understand this will be difficult. If there's anything you want to discuss, now is the time."