Night Vision, Page 2

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re one of those. Who are you working for?”

  Anger flared. “Guess I couldn’t fool a federal agent. You’re right, Sherlock. I saved you from those goons just so I could bring you back here and kill you.” She tapped her head against the wall. “Oh damn! I left my Glock in the other room.”

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “Your so-called night vision is physically impossible. I’ve trained for night ops. There’s not enough light out here for night-vision goggles. You can see in the dark, but are blind in the light. So, who are you working for?”

  She struggled to free herself, but his body trapped her. He wasn’t buying her medical condition bullshit. He knew all about her. Not only could she even see colours in the dark, but read, too. The blacker the night, the better her vision. She had been born with a strange power and, as far as she knew, there weren’t too many other people like her in the world.

  “Tell me now or I’ll take you into custody for questioning.”

  An image of being blind and helpless in an unknown place filled her with dread. Avoiding that situation had been the whole reason she lived here. She was out of options. Shit. “I’m not working for anybody. That’s the whole point of living miles away from civilization.”

  That made him pause. “You’re in hiding?”

  “Give Mr Super Detective a gold star.”

  “From who?” The suspicion was back.

  “Everyone!” Her father would be livid if he were alive. She had just undermined all his efforts to keep the government from knowing where she was hiding. Sophia would never forget the day the agents had visited them. They had called her special, and wanted her to train at an exclusive school to become an agent. Her father promised them he’d take her there. Instead of driving to the school, he headed for the hills. When she questioned him, he had explained that the government would train her to sneak around in the dark, stealing, spying and killing people for them.

  “And you’re the worst.”

  “Me?” Mitch balked.

  “Yes. You said it yourself. The government wants to exploit people like me. We can see in the dark. That’s a handy skill for an agent. The Federal Agency for Supernatural Security, my ass. You guys are the one group of people who give me no sense of security whatsoever. What is it you guys call us, again? The phrase is so hateful.”

  Mitch hesitated. “Blind assassins. But they do other . . . jobs as well.”

  “Do you think the members volunteer?”

  “No. No, they don’t,” he said in a quiet voice. “In fact, for a long time I thought blind assassins were just an urban legend. Agents would blame them for unexplained events, things you would usually blame a ghost for, like rearranging your knick-knacks, or hiding your car keys. An agent even joked once that Bin Laden used a blind assassin to help him escape through the caves in Afghanistan. At least, I thought he was joking until . . .”

  He released his hold. She didn’t wait. Inching along the wall, she searched for the doorway with her hands. Was she even going the right way?

  The lamp switched off, flooding the room with darkness. She sagged with relief. Mitch sat on the edge of the bed with his hand on the lamp.

  She darted to the doorway, but paused at the threshold. “Until . . . what?”

  “Until tonight,” he said.

  “Are you going—”

  “No. I won’t tell anyone about you.” He gave her a sad smile. “But I might try to recruit you. You could find Bin Laden’s hideout and—”

  “Not interested.”

  He sighed. “Could you get the coordinates of the farmhouse for me?”

  “Sure. There’s a first-aid kit in the linen closet, clean T-shirts in the drawers. They’re my father’s, but . . . but he’s dead. The shirts should fit you; he used to be a firefighter before he was a paramedic.” She babbled, but couldn’t stop herself. “There’s food in the kitchen and flashlights in the closet. Help yourself.”

  Sophia ran downstairs to her bedroom. Embarrassed and upset, she had a whole gymnastic team of emotions doing twists and flips in her chest. He had attacked and threatened her and she had transformed into Miss Manners. She should have kicked him out. One phone call, buddy and go. Was she that desperate for company? Yes, she was.

  Before tonight she thought she didn’t need anyone. She had her books, her dirt bike, her pen pals, and was learning how to paint.

  God, you are pathetic.

  She wanted to hide under the blankets, but she needed a shower and had promised Mitch those coordinates. Kicking off her motorcycle boots, she headed for the bathroom. She peeled off her long-sleeved riding shirt and padded bike pants. Not very sexy.

  Her father had threatened to pull the spark plug from her bike if she didn’t wear all the gear. Mr Safety. She missed him like crazy. He had changed his lifestyle for her, sleeping in the daytime so he could be with her at night. He taught her how to hunt and how to ride.

  He saved her from being taken by the government or by one of those other agencies of questionable repute. Someone with my skills can be beneficial to all types of organizations. Drug smugglers, weapons dealers, the military . . .

  Sophia shivered and jerked her thoughts to the present. She hesitated before removing her underwear. The idea of being naked with a strange man in the house unnerved her. She snorted. Unnerved. Wonderful. Considering how long ago it was that her last boyfriend declared he was too “freaked out” by her whole nocturnal existence and left, she should be seducing the handsome agent by now. She was pathetic and spouting clichés. Handsome agent. Pah.

  After a quick shower, she changed into jeans and another long-sleeved shirt. Sophia combed her hair. With her pale skin, dark hair and silver eyes, no wonder he thought she was a vampire.

  Her hair used to lighten in the sun. She had an almost normal childhood. That was the hardest part of her condition. Her eyesight had deteriorated as she aged. When she turned twelve, she was blind in bright light but, with a concentrated effort, she could bend the dim or indirect light rays around her body so she could see. But this had an unfortunate side effect; her father had jumped out of his skin the first time she had turned invisible. The appropriate name for someone with her talents was Light Bender.

  Sophia rummaged through her desk for Standing Indiana Mountain’s topographical map and pulled the coordinates of the farmhouse.

  She crept up the stairs. A thin line of white shone under his door. The deep murmur of Mitch’s voice sounded. She slid the paper underneath and retreated to the kitchen. One a.m. already. Her stomach grumbled. Slicing apples, she wondered if Mitch was hungry. Should she make him a sandwich? No. Miss Manners had told him to help himself.

  Light illuminated the hallway as his door opened. He replaced the bright lamp with a flashlight’s beam.

  Not wanting to surprise him, she said, “I’m in the kitchen.”

  He stopped at the threshold, aiming the flashlight down. Water dripped from his wet hair onto his bare muscular chest. A whole new slew of clichés jumped up and down in Sophia’s head. Her heart threatened to join in.

  “Um. Could you help? I think it needs to be stitched.” He held bandages and her father’s fire department T-shirt. The gash below his ribs oozed. “Can you do that?” At least this time he tried to mask his suspicion.

  She bit back a sarcastic reply. “As long as you’re not allergic to lidocaine.”

  “And if I am?”

  “Then I’ll give you a shot of whiskey and a rolled-up washcloth to bite down on.”

  He laughed. “I’ll pass on the washcloth, but the whiskey sounds good.”

  After she collected the supplies, she told him to sit sideways on the couch. He settled into position then doused the flashlight.

  She crouched next to him, filling the syringe. “This is going to pinch, but it will numb the area.” He smelled of soap and Old Spice - an intoxicating mix. To distract her senses, she asked him if he finished m
aking phone calls.

  “Yeah. My team will pick me up, but it’ll take them a while to get here.”

  “How long?”

  He squinted with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

  “So I can tip Rick off.” Sarcasm dripped, but his reaction surprised her.

  He grabbed her arm. “How did you know Rick’s name?”

  “I overheard them talking.”

  “And you waited until now to tell me,” he said with an outraged disbelief.

  “Since we’ve just been sitting around doing nothing all night, I didn’t want to ruin the mood.” She knocked his hand away. Finishing the sutures, Sophia tied off the thread and bandaged his wound a little more harshly than necessary.

  Mitch touched her shoulder. “Sorry.” He pulled her beside him on the couch.

  A strange tingling rushed through her as she realized his warm fingers still rested on her.

  “It’s disconcerting to hear your voice, but not be able to see you. I need a ... physical connection. OK?”

  “Sure.” Her voice rasped. How embarrassing! But she relaxed and left his fingers on her arm.

  “Could you please tell me everything you heard?” he asked.

  As Sophia recited, Mitch stiffened. She felt his anxiety vibrate through his touch.

  “A mesh bag? Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He swore. “And—” his voice cracked “—a 4 a.m. pick up tonight?”

  “I don’t know if they meant tonight.”

  He covered his eyes with his other hand. “My team won’t be here in time. Maybe we can intercept the vehicle. Is there another road out?”

  “The airstrip.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a landing strip next to the farmhouse.”

  Mitch shot to his feet. “I need to get there. Now!”

  “What ‘treasures’ are worth risking your life for?”

  “Classified. I need a ride—”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  His hands balled into fists. She scrambled away as he stepped forwards. Mitch stopped and drew in a deep breath. “Those guys are kidnappers. They smuggle young girls to foreign countries. Young girls with special . . . talents. Some, like you, are blind assassins ... I mean—” he quickly corrected himself “—light benders.”

  “I don’t believe you. There aren’t many people like me in the world.”

  “I think you’d be surprised. Hiding in your cabin all the time, you’re a little out of touch with reality.”

  Emotion roughened his voice. “I sent my little sister to a special school after our mother died. She insisted she didn’t belong in there because she could . . . see in the dark. I didn’t believe her, of course. Your condition is rare—”

  She interjected, “It’s not a condition.” Then she stopped herself as the picture became clearer. “Your sister is a light bender, isn’t she?”

  His fingers raked his damp hair. “The kidnappers think so. But I hadn’t made the connection before meeting you. I was visiting her at the school last night when they jumped us. But I thought she had escaped. She disappeared while I was fighting with Ed’s friend.”

  Mitch’s sister was in the mesh bag. Sophia bolted from the couch. “Let’s go.”

  Mitch donned the T-shirt and ran to the phone to update his team, careful to keep his flashlight out of her eyes. She dashed out the back to prep her bike. When Mitch joined her she said, “My father’s helmet is in the shed.”

  “Any weapons?”

  “Hunting rifles.”

  “Ammo?”

  “In the cabinet in the living room. Take the thirty-thirty and my Winchester.”

  “Yours? Oh no. You’re just giving me a ride. After you drop me off, you’re coming back here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can see in the dark.”

  Although unhappy, Mitch agreed, with conditions. “You are to do exactly what I say. No free styling. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Grumbling, Mitch used the flashlight to find the guns and helmet. He strapped the rifles on his back. The trip to the airstrip wasn’t as exhausting as the ride home. Mitch’s hold stayed loose. He moulded his body to her back. Although his warmth distracted her at times, the connection helped him match her movements faster. She realized he trusted her.

  The Honda chugged up the mountain and crested on the far side of the runway. She cut the engine and coasted to a small dip. Mitch handed her the Winchester.

  “Here’s the plan,” he said. “We’ll approach the house from the east side. If they’re still there, I’ll get in close to see who is where. You stay put. You’re my sniper. If the guys try to drive away, shoot out their tyres. Only if you have a clear shot.”

  “What are you going to do if they stay?”

  “Wait. It’s three thirty. If the plane comes at four, they’ll leave the house with the girls and I’ll surprise them. Otherwise, I’ll wait for my team.”

  His plan sounded simple. The element of surprise combined with her night vision should work well together. Something about famous last words echoed in her mind, but she squashed all doubts. She remembered listening to her father lecture the rookies at the firehouse before the blindness forced her into isolation. He’d tell them to switch off their emotions, to think and act now, and leave the worries and the panic for later.

  Good advice, Dad. But how do I get the rest of my body to comply? Her insides felt jittery and her palms left wet prints on her rifle.

  Sophia led Mitch to the east side. Both vehicles were parked in the driveway and lights shone from the first-floor windows. The kidnappers hadn’t left.

  Mitch’s relieved expression matched hers. He had enough light to navigate on his own. He pointed to the ground and mouthed the word “stay”. She saluted. He flashed her a grin, turned away, then paused.

  Something wrong?

  Her heart decided to go for a gold medal in the hundred-yard dash. I spent way too much time listening to the Olympics on the radio.

  Mitch moved to whisper in her ear. “Just in case I don’t get a chance later, thank you for saving my life.”

  “Make sure you hold on to it. I doubt the next time you’re in trouble that a blind assassin will ride to your rescue.”

  Another smile. She liked the way his eyes crinkled when he grinned.

  He cupped her chin and peered at her. “A supernatural beauty.” His gaze met hers.

  Her body turned to stone as all her nerve endings rushed to where his fingers touched her jaw. He leaned in and kissed her. Sensation flared on her lips and she returned the kiss.

  He pulled away. Sophia watched him for as long as he remained visible. Once he neared the house, she lost him in the light. She scanned the second-floor windows and thought she spotted movement, but couldn’t be certain.

  Glad the night air stayed calm, Sophia practised aiming at the tyres with her Winchester rifle. Scanning the black sky, she searched for signs of an approaching airplane. All quiet. After a few more minutes, she decided waiting sucked.

  When the grunts and sounds of a scuffle reached her, she changed her mind. Waiting was better. A thud followed a curse and she heard voices, but not Mitch’s.

  “Told you the ambush would work,” Ed said.

  “Bring him inside,” Rick said.

  A door slammed. They had expected him. How? Didn’t matter at this point. Mitch and the girls were in the brightly-lit house. Panic bubbled up her throat, but she gulped it down.

  Think now, freak out later.

  Option one: wait until they left the house to meet the plane at 4 a.m. She would play sniper, incapacitating them one by one. Won’t work. They would scatter at the sound of the first shot.

  Option two: hit the aeroplane when it landed. Unable to fly, they would be forced to drive out and, best-case scenario, run into Mitch’s team. No. They would kill Mitch. No reason for them to take him along.

  Option three: cut off the electrici
ty and tip the playing field in her favour. Not the best plan, but she had a winner.

  Sophia moved with care, circling the house. She searched for the electric box. The light from the windows made it impossible to find. She would have to crawl around the outside walls and explore with her hands. Approaching the house from the back side seemed logical; she held out a hand and entered the whiteness. She tried to avoid the direct light.

  When her fingers touched the wood siding, she began the hunt. Two hands would be faster, but she wasn’t stupid enough to put her weapon down.

  On the west side of the house she heard loud voices through the window.

  “. . . your friend?” Rick asked.

  “Dropped me off and went home,” Mitch said.

  He was conscious and alive. Sophia let out a quiet breath as relief washed through her. The feeling didn’t last long.

  A high-pitched squeal of pain sliced the air. “Mitch!”

  His sister. Sophia wilted.

  “Let’s go over your story again,” Rick said. “We know your biker friend was near the house and heard us talking about you because Ed found a backpack and tyre tracks nearby. Biker then follows the Rover and rescues you in a blaze of glory. Here’s where your story gets . . . creative.” He chuckled without humour. “You claim the biker took you to a rustic cabin with no electricity or phones, helped you clean up, and then brought you back here. Is this correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Glenn,” Rick said.

  A heart-breaking scream erupted. Sophia rolled into a ball to keep from pounding on the window and surrendering.

  “You won’t hurt her,” Mitch said in a flat, deadly tone.

  “We already have,” Glenn said.

  “Surface bruises. You won’t damage the merchandise or you’ll lose thousands of dollars.”

  Mitch just bought her a few extra minutes. She hurried. She found the box and pulled out her Swiss Army knife. Silently thanking her father for teaching her another fireman’s trick, she unlocked the box and turned off the electricity.

  Her night vision returned as cries and curses sounded. She ran to the window and peered in. Ed and the Tank held Mitch tight. Glenn had one arm wrapped around a young girl. He had backed into a corner with his other hand pointing a gun. Rick told everyone to calm down.