Dark Guardian. Jan Hambright

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ