Max reached across her, securing a seat belt and effectively trapping her. “I’m aware of that.”
Conn nodded, thoughtfulness pursing his lips. “So, not a coincidence. Any of this.”
Max shrugged. “Maybe ... maybe not. I figured we’d explore the issue when we interview her later.”
Interview her? Sarah turned toward him, eyes widening. “What are you talking about?” Soldiers used euphemisms. Interview really meant interrogate. Were these the good guys?
Max rubbed his jaw. “Interview. You know—ask questions. We need to understand what happened the night you saw the Kurjan. The parts you left out of your blog.”
“And if I don’t tell you?” she whispered, ice slithering down her spine.
“That would be unwise.” He frowned. “I would have no choice but to tickle you.”
Jase let out a bark of laughter.
Conn cut his eyes to Jase and then back to Max. “Did you just make a joke?”
“I’m very funny.” Max clicked his own seat belt into place. “Now, why are you here, and not searching Brancrest, Conn?”
Conn sighed, turning to flip buttons on the dash. “There are no records, schematics, or even drawings of Brancrest. We sent a squad in three days ago, and it failed. The men had no luck finding Sarah’s files—at least not as quietly as Dage wants.”
“We should just blow the place up,” Jase muttered.
“No.” Conn shrugged. “Dage wants this quiet, so we do it quietly.”
Max shook his head. “I don’t like where this is going.”
Jase glanced at Sarah. “We need her for the interior, for the layout of the building. There are no records, Max.”
“Don’t care.”
Both of Jase’s eyebrows rose. “You making a claim?”
Heat slid up Sarah’s face. They may be speaking in odd soldier lingo, but she could decipher that. A tiny part of her rose up in curiosity. Was he?
Max cleared his throat. “She stays safe.”
Not exactly an answer. Sarah leaned forward. “You want me to show you around Brancrest?” She’d vowed never to return to the crazy place.
“Yes.” Conn flipped another knob, and the rotor kicked into gear. “We need your records—everything you’ve said about the Kurjans. There can’t be a trail.”
She’d barely escaped once. The idea of the stupid drugs, those that made life hazy and kept her from shielding her gift, made her want to jump out of the helicopter.
The huge bird lifted into the air.
Chapter 4
Like any good insane asylum, Brancrest sprawled across lonely acres of trees, bushes, and rolling hills. It had been built by the millionaire Brancrest for his English bride, before the wilds of the surrounding land had taken them both. The Brancrests had disappeared within two years of residency, leaving no heirs.
The state gleefully took over—needing a place to house crazies. The stone buildings had stood for a hundred years; ancient compared to most buildings in the Pacific Northwest. The smooth stones had absorbed stories about tortured souls, zany old aunts, and those like Sarah, who’d been contained after a traumatic event. She shivered as the helicopter passed over the main building.
A heavy hand settled over hers, infusing warmth and strength along her knuckles. Safety. She turned toward Max. His gaze searched her face and then he ... winked.
Humor bubbled up, and she grinned. She could love the guy. The idea whispered in from nowhere. Love? Clearing her throat, she turned back to the window, catching her breath as they descended onto a field out of sight of the building.
The men jumped out, and Max held a hand to assist her. Heat flared up her arm from his palm. She sighed in relief when he released her. Yet she felt bereft.
Smooth as an assembly line, the men shoved guns, knives, and even stars into vest pockets, like they’d done so a million times before. Turmoil swept along her skin with the breeze.
Jase handed her a green gun. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Okay.” She took the heavy metal. No vibrations wandered up her arm. Apparently Jase was as safe as Max from her gift. Who the hell were these guys? Fear made her hand tremble. Cold, the weapon—an instrument of death—was the first gun she’d ever held. Tears pricked the back of her eyes.
Max swiftly grabbed it. “I’m assuming you shoot like you fight?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He tucked the gun at the back of his waist. “Just stay behind me.”
She didn’t want the gun anyway. “Um, why are we taking so many weapons? I mean, nobody here is armed.” Sure, they had needles and stuff, but the men’s knives were overkill.
Jase flashed her a quick smile. It was charming and probably meant to be disarming. “We like to be prepared. You never know.” He sheathed a wicked jagged-edged blade along his calf, under dark cargo pants.
Conn twirled a narrower knife. “I’m assuming the main offices are in the big buildings?”
“Yes.” Sarah cleared her throat. “There are no phones, no way for inmates to reach the outside.”
Those protocols existed for the inmates’ “protection.” The doctors were old and stuck in their ways. One had tried everything to cure her—to convince her she’d imagined the monster. He was wrong. Kurjans existed. She straightened her spine. Huge relief settled along her shoulders that she was sane after all.
Jase reached into the front seat of the helicopter, brought out a notebook, and placed it in her hands. “Would you diagram the building?”
“Um, maybe.” She shoved hair out of her face and began to sketch. “The dorms are adjacent to the main building, which houses the treatment rooms, meeting rooms, and the doctors’ offices. When you first go inside, the reception area has a bunch of couches and a huge fireplace; I think to put visitors at ease.” She kept drawing.
“Where would your records be kept?” Max asked.
“East side of the building—first floor in Dr. Robard’s office as well as the main records room on the third floor.” She drew a path, wincing at the rough lines. Drawing had never been a talent. “Though, frankly, I just don’t get this. Why do you guys really want my records?”
Conn cracked his neck. “I’m assuming your records contain the same information you put on that website trying to find information on the Kurjans. You called them vampires.”
“They are.” Fangs, white faces, evil eyes—of course they were vampires. “It makes sense. Most myths have a foundation in truth.” She shot Conn a hard look. “Max said you had my website and blog taken down.”
Jase flashed her a grin. “I took the site down ... after leaving a final entry that you’d sold your made-up story to a publisher—that your gimmick worked.” He tied his thick hair back at the neck with a rubber band. “For the record, they’re not vampires.”
Max tucked a hand around her arm, gently leading her toward the trees. “Let’s get the information and I’ll explain everything. For now, you need to understand we can’t have any information out there about the Kurjans.”
“The vampires.”
“They’re not vampires.” All three men made the statement at once.
She shrugged, peering around a large blue spruce at the imposing building. “I know what I saw.” Finally. For a brief time, she’d wondered. No longer. “I take it we’re going in the front door?”
Max scratched his head. “Um, yeah. The direct approach.”
Realization snapped her head up. “I’m your way in. I mean—”
“Yep.” Jase stepped into the sun, his gaze thoughtful on the stone building reflecting the light. “We’re taking you back in, Sarah.”
“But we won’t leave you.” Max stalked forward, intimidating and reassuring, maneuvering up the rough asphalt drive. Crickets chirped in the distance, and closer, a robin sang.