Читать книгу Dark Guardian - Jan Hambright - Страница 6

Olivia sat in a booth next to the window in the local coffee shop on Main Street. Her unobstructed view of the front door of Black’s Cove Gazette made the cup of weak coffee sitting in front of her almost palatable.

The newspaper would open in ten minutes. She glanced at her list, information she had to dig up from the newspaper’s archives.

A racy black Jaguar pulled up to the curb next to the restaurant. A man climbed out of the car, pausing long enough to lock the vehicle.

She gave him a once-over, sure he was the best looking thing she’d seen in this town to date. She stared at his broad shoulders as he turned, jaywalked across the street and disappeared into the Gazette office.

“Refill?” the waitress asked, holding a half-full coffeepot in her hand.

“Sure.” Olivia slid her cup to the edge of the table. “That’s a pretty great car, don’t you think?”

Glancing up at the young woman, she held her breath. The ploy was lame, but if it got her a name, then the benign question was worth it.

“That’s Jack Trayborne’s car. You should see his red convertible.”

“I bet it’s even better.” She pulled her full cup back and reached for the sugar. So this was the infamous Jack Trayborne? “He’s easy on the eyes, too. Is he single?”

The waitress’s cheeks pinked and she was about to reply, when an older woman waved at her from behind the counter. “Your order’s up, Emily.”

She nodded and turned around.

Olivia smiled to herself, pretty sure the young woman was nursing a crush. She could almost do the same, if she didn’t think Jack Trayborne was hiding secrets.

She had half a mind to march over to the Gazette and confront him face to face, but taunting the tiger before the cage door was all the way shut could get you bit. She loved risk, but not risk without a cause.

After last night’s freaky encounter in the basement of the clinic, she planned to lay low, blend in, ask the locals about Trayborne and hope to get some answers that would put her investigation back on track. Because at the moment, she didn’t have squat.

The front door of the newspaper office pushed open and he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Olivia focused on his dark good looks, enjoying the way the morning sun glinted off his coffee-colored hair. He was decked out in a charcoal gray business suit and much younger than she expected, midthirties she guessed. He didn’t look like a threat, but she couldn’t keep a sense of foreboding from coasting over her nerves.

An elderly couple paused to speak with him. He smiled at something they said, nodding his head in agreement. They waved before moving down the street, arm in arm.

Jack Trayborne crossed the road, a hint of a smile still bowing his sexy mouth. He reached his car, pausing next to it to raise his cell phone to his ear. He glanced over the car’s roof as he spoke, meeting her gaze with deep blue eyes and a placid expression.

A jolt of attraction zapped her. Her throat constricted and the heat of embarrassment rushed into her cheeks.

She broke the connection first and picked up her cup, bringing it to her lips in a nonchalant manner she didn’t feel. He’d set her damn nerves on fire and she was blowing it. There wasn’t much incognito about gawking at her enemy.

Chancing another look, she almost choked. In the instant between realization and reality, he’d slipped away.

She set down the cup, tossed a couple of bucks on the table and left the café.

Looking both ways, she crossed the street and entered the Gazette, determined to forget about the odd encounter. This was one strange town; it only stood to reason that Jack Trayborne was odd, too.

“Miss Morgan,” the receptionist said, looking up from behind a high counter positioned between the public and the newsroom, visible behind a half wall of glass. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to use the archives for a couple of hours this morning.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

A zing of caution wiggled up her spine. “Is there a problem?” She glanced at the sign-in sheet on the counter. It was blank.

“No. No problem. The exterminator is coming in to spray this morning. Everything has been draped. No one is allowed down there right now.”

Arguing didn’t appear to be an option. Anyway, who could argue for exposure to chemicals.

“When can I get into the archives?” she asked, picking up the morning’s edition of the newspaper from the desk. The headline leaped out at her. Phantom Saves Elderly Couple from Plunge off Hwy 21.

Couple claims they never saw the man who saved their lives, but they don’t dispute that the phantom played a role in their miraculous rescue and they believe he exists…

“At the end of the week.”

“Hmm?” She snapped back into the conversation, still pondering the ridiculous article.

“I’ll come back then. Thanks.” Olivia put the newspaper down, turned and left the office, pausing on the sidewalk to get her irritation under control before she crossed the street again and headed for her car. Up until this point, the Gazette had been her only source of information. She’d used archived articles to establish a time line on the clinic and its nefarious activities, but she still had to obtain Ross’s medical file.

An involuntary shiver crept over her body and bloomed on her skin as goose bumps. If she had an explanation for what had happened last night she’d feel better, but the unknown aspects left her nerves in tatters. Things definitely went bump in the night around here.

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.