InSight

Luke’d like that. Besides, I don’t know anyone better than me. I don’t know anyone around here better than Luke, for that matter.”
    She reached out her hand. “Then take me with you.”
    Jeff snorted. “Are you crazy? How do you expect me to find him if I have to worry about you? I can’t leave you standing in the middle of a room while I go play detective. He has a better chance of fending for himself than you do. You can’t see, Abby.”
    “Why is everyone always reminding me of that?”
    “Because you keep forgetting.”
    Abby stopped pleading and invoked her most serious tone. “I can get into Carlotta Gentry’s house, Jeff. You’d never get past her people, but she’ll see me.”
    “What the hell’s wrong with you? She wants to fucking kill you. Forget it.”
    “ She didn’t want to kill me; she wanted Stewart to do it. To kill two birds with one stone without throwing the stone herself. It didn’t work out quite the way she planned, and she had to improvise. It’s different now.”
    “It sure is. There has to be another way.”
    “There is. Stewart.”
    * * * * *
    L uke heard himself screaming. Not out loud, of course. In his head, where pain thundered like the worst summer storm. He felt the accelerated thudding of his heart as the room circled, recalling a nasty weeklong binge after his accident when he sat in his silent house in his silent world and drank until he didn’t care whether he woke up.
    But this was no binge. This was something else, and he knew it even before he saw the needle stuck in the vein of his hand—a needle connected to a drip bag sucked dry, hanging over him.
    How long have I been here? He stretched to see the time. Even if he could stop the slow motion merry-go-round, his watch was out of view. He tried lifting his head, but it weighed a hundred pounds. Fighting the restraints that strapped him down weakened his already sluggish body.
    Hot, glaring lights forced him to scrunch his eyes and concentrate on one object to steady his focus. His vision stabilized. When he lifted his head, what he saw sent a wave of panic through his trapped body. He lay naked on a table, his legs splayed, ankles cuffed to the corners. Both wrists were bound, and a thick leather strap stretched tight across his chest. Stainless steel instruments lay in a perfect row on a table nearby. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out he was being readied for surgery. He struggled harder, pulling against the bonds, straining his muscles, but they felt like wet cement.
    Being a cop had conditioned him to dangerous situations ― his wits and courage against those breaking the law. Good against evil; man against man. And here he was, no chance for fair play.
    He tried to yell, but his tongue and lips stuck together, the moisture suctioned from his mouth. He needed water. He needed to get the hell out of there.
    He remembered arriving at the hotel in Charleston , remembered meeting Norm Archer. But everything after was a blank. When Norm couldn’t find him, he’d begin searching, wouldn’t he? Others knew his whereabouts too. Abby knew, so did Jeff and Pete. Someone would come looking for him. Only where was he?
    A shadow moved behind him, but he couldn’t turn far enough to see. He tried, craning his neck as far as it would go. Two gloved hands entered his range of vision and replaced the drip bag with another filled with clear liquid. He felt the cold solution enter his vein and work its way upstream. Would he wake up or would he die without being found? And if he woke up, who would he be? Maybe another Stewart. Maybe…
    His weighted eyelids drooped, and it took all his will to keep them from closing. Tired, I’m so tired. No, don’t fall asleep. I can’t let myself fall asleep.
    “Who are you?” he croaked to the shadow before darkness engulfed him.
    No one answered.

Chapter Thirty-Three
    Out of Sight, Out of Mind

    W hen Luke didn’t call, Abby knew he was in trouble. She needed to talk to Stewart. He was the key. She called Don Weston to check on his condition.
    “I found no evidence of surgery on the brain’s frontal lobes,” Don said, “but imaging showed significant damage to areas that produce serotonin. If, as Luke said, someone dosed your ex-husband with a derivative of the tryptamine family, and there’s a predisposition to mental illness in his genetic makeup, the drug could induce schizophrenic episodes. Psychedelics like LSD don’t generally have harmful