Powerhouse. Rebecca York

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СКАЧАТЬ I’m sure there was a camera high up on the wall. I was alone. And scared.”

      She made a low sound. “That’s when you were twelve?”

      “Yes.” Now that he’d told her that much, he found he needed to say the rest of it aloud—to make sure he wasn’t making it up. “There was a narrow bed in the cell. Men would come in and take me down the hall to a … I don’t know. It was like a doctor’s office, I guess. They gave me all kinds of physical exams.”

      He gulped. “And they strapped me down and stuck needles into my back. Then into my arm.”

      She gasped. “Oh Lord. That must have been so awful. Do … do you think the same people have Trevor?”

      “I don’t know.” I hope not, he silently added, knowing that she was probably thinking the same thing.

      It was all he could do to stop himself from shaking. He wanted to be alone, to deal with this in private, but Shelley was sitting beside him, and he couldn’t duck away from her. Not now.

      “Why did they let you go?”

      “I … I think I used my power to … give them a push. I mean, I put the suggestion into their minds, and they took me home.”

      “And you didn’t have the power to do that—before they captured you?”

      “Not hardly.”

      “So what they did to you—with those shots and all—caused it?”

      “I think that must be true.”

      She ran a shaky hand through her hair as she took that in, then made a strangled exclamation. “Will … Trevor … be able to do that?” “I don’t know!”

      “If he could, they’d let him go.” “We hope.”

      She stared at him for a long moment, and he forced himself not to look away. Finally, she turned back to the computer screen.

      “Don’t you think that guy, Jack Maddox, was probably captured by the same people? I mean if he has that star on his Web site—and it made you remember what happened to you.”

      He nodded. The memories had excited him at first. Now they dug painful claws into the cells of his brain.

      Shelley scrolled through the Web site. “Look. There’s a phone number. We can call him and find out what he knows.”

      Matt felt desperation warring with hope. Maybe this man had some information that would lead them to Trevor, but he knew that they had to be cautious. “We can’t call,” he said.

      Her instant disappointment tore at him. “Why not?”

      “For starters, my phone might be tapped.”

      “Even your cell phone?”

      “Yeah. And if they’re listening in on me, they’ll go right to Jack Maddox’s house. Or—it could be a trap. Suppose it’s not really a guy looking for his brother. Suppose the bad guys put up this site to find people they’d kidnapped when they were kids.”

      She winced. “Why would they do that?”

      “Hell, I don’t know. To get us back. Or to find out who remembers what. Maybe when somebody remembers they wipe out his memory again.”

      She gave a little nod. “I didn’t think of that. It sounds so diabolical.”

      “Yeah, well, I’ve rolled it around in my mind for years.”

      “That’s what you were doing when I’d wake up and find you lying there, and I’d know you hadn’t been sleeping?” “Yes.”

      “I wish I’d known what you were going through.” “I was hiding it from you—and everybody else. I wanted to seem normal.” “Oh, Matt.” “Don’t pity me.”

      “I …” she stopped and started again. “You think someone is listening to your phone calls?”

      “I don’t know!” he answered, managing not to shout but knowing that he was going to lose control if he wasn’t careful. He turned back to the screen. “Look at how this Web site is set up. Let’s assume Maddox is for real. He’s being cautious, too. He’s not saying a lot. If I hadn’t seen that star, I wouldn’t have remembered anything. I wouldn’t have thought about contacting the guy.”

      She scrolled through the material again and turned back to him. “I … guess you’re right. We can’t call, but what are we going to do?”

      “Tomorrow, we go see the guy.”

      She looked from him to the screen and back again. “But he’s in Rapid City, South Dakota.”

      Matt checked the mileage on Google. It’s about 365 miles. We can be there in two hours.”

      She gave him a questioning look. “How?”

      “We’ll fly.”

      “But if we’re trying to—” she stopped and gestured with her hand “—trying to hide our plans, won’t there be a record of our reservations?”

      “We’re not making reservations. I have a Cessna at the Yuma Municipal Airport.”

      “A Colorado town of three thousand has an airport?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Okay. And why do you have a plane there?”

      He turned his hand palm up, thinking that they’d cut through a lot of his barriers in the short time she’d been here. He’d never discussed his feelings with anyone, but he was doing it now. “The ranch is my home. But sometimes I feel the place closing in on me, and I need to get away. When I do, I take off and fly somewhere I haven’t been before—where I can lose myself for a while.”

      “It’s because of that holding cell,” she whispered. “I guess so.”

      Because he was too restless to sit, he stood and walked to the window, where he stared out into the darkness, wishing he could blot out the scenes playing through his head.

      He knew why he had wiped away the memories of his time in captivity. They were too awful for a twelve-year-old boy to remember and too awful for him now.

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