Chapter 10 Off the Grid

CHAPTER 10: OFF THE GRID

Six hours later

Holt paced the back of Sheriff Cade Malone's office. "We should've heard from them by now." With every passing hour, he grew more frantic for news about Bonnie and Jackson. He'd been so busy helping corral the shooter at the wedding that he hadn't seen what direction the oldest and youngest Yates' siblings had taken.

"I'm just glad they're together," Pearl Yates murmured tearfully. She and her husband, Preston, were huddled at the sheriff's conference table on the side of the room with their other four sons. Their cell phones were resting in front of them on the table. Every few minutes, they attempted to call their missing children, but all they got was voicemail. Immediate voicemail, which told Holt that Bonnie and Jackson had turned off their cell phones. The trackers on their phones proved to be undetectable. It might mean they'd removed their battery packs. It might also mean they'd destroyed their phones altogether to avoid the risk of being tracked through them.

Holt didn't comment on Mrs. Yates' statement, because he wasn't feeling as charitable toward her oldest son at the moment as she was. Sure, he was glad Jackson had swooped in to move Bonnie out of harm's way, but disappearing into thin air with her was unacceptable. How hard was it to pick up the phone —even a burner phone —to reassure their loved ones that they'd made it to safety?

Unless they'd failed to do so…

Had they been injured in the crossfire?

Had Bonnie's captors overtaken them?

The sheriff was speaking in a low voice with Jude Westfield, who was straddling a chair backwards beside his desk. Whatever Jude told him made him glance around the room somberly. "Houston, we have a problem, folks!"

No kidding, Sherlock! Holt rounded on the Scottish man, eyeing the way he was scrubbing his hand over his auburn beard.

"According to my source — and, before you ask, I'm not at liberty to divulge their identity — a significant deposit was made into Jackson's bank account two weeks ago."

Holt snorted. It was obvious to him that the guy's source was sitting right next to him.

"By significant," Preston Yates cut in harshly, "you mean?—"

"Ten thousand dollars from an untraceable source," the sheriff supplied crisply, "which your son subsequently withdrew in cash over the last several days. Though it's too soon to jump to conclusions, it sure seems to indicate he was planning on going off the grid and staying there for a while."

"Why take Bonnie with him?" Holt wasn't really expecting an answer, but he had to ask.

Mr. Yates shook his head. "Maybe he didn't feel like he had a choice."

"We can speculate all night long," the sheriff leaned his forearms on his desk, facing them squarely, "or we can get down to some good old-fashioned detective work." He pointed at the door. "Starting with the co-owners of K&G Security. They're on their way, and they've agreed to answer any questions you have about how their team handled security at the wedding."

Holt reached up and gripped his hair as he continued to pace the room. As fearful as he was about Bonnie's safety, his heart went out to Alice and her new husband. One of the most special events in their lives had ended in pure disaster. They'd postponed their honeymoon and were lingering in the waiting room outside the sheriff's office, hoping and praying for an update on Bonnie's whereabouts.

A knock sounded on the door. It was one of the sheriff's deputies, ushering Foster Kane and Lyon Garrett into the room. Foster's rough past and Lyon's burn scars, that no amount of ink on his arms could hide, gave the room a more menacing feel. They weren't the kind of men most people wanted to mess with.

Holt watched the Yates brothers sit up straighter in their seats, but he was too mentally wiped out to care about anything other than news about Bonnie. "Where is she?" he demanded wearily. If they wanted to fire him for insubordination, so be it.

Foster gave him a sympathetic look. "Someone is trying their hardest to make it look like Jackson took her."

A whimper escaped Pearl Yates. "He would never do anything to hurt her! Never!" She spat out the word, and her sons nodded vehemently.

Foster caught her gaze and held it. "Permission to share what we know about the search with everyone present? Otherwise, we'll ask non-family members to leave the room."

Other than the sheriff and Jude Westfield, Holt was the only non-family member in the room. He glared at his bosses, knowing he was likely the only one who'd be asked to leave.

"Everyone can stay," Mrs. Yates quavered. "We're all on the same team."

Holt sure hoped that was the case, though he didn't know much about the tall, thin specter in a business suit and ankle bracelet.

Foster held up a hand for Holt to stop pacing. "Winchester, you might want to take a seat for this next part."

"I'm good right here." Holt paused by the door, anchoring his feet to the floor and folding his arms.

Foster announced in a deadpan voice, "The laptop in Jackson's office is filled with long-range photos of Bonnie, Holt, and a half dozen other orphans adopted out by Real Sons."

"Photos," Holt repeated carefully. "Of Bonnie and me?" Yeah, he'd figured out that a long-range cameraman had been dogging their heels, but Jackson didn't fit that picture. He frowned thoughtfully at the Yates family. "Does Jackson smoke?"

"Heavens, no," his mother declared faintly.

"Well, the bozo who's been snapping pictures of Bonnie does." Holt returned his gaze to Foster. "And it's not Jackson. Why are those photos on his laptop, and how did you discover they were there? Did you get a search warrant?"

"Nope." Foster popped the P at the end of the word. "His office is down the hallway from mine."

Holt was more confused than ever. "Why would the manager of Yates Ranch have an office at K&G Security's headquarters?"

"Because he works there." Pride radiated from Preston Yates' voice and expression. "He went to work for them shortly after our arrival. They trained him so we could hire him as Bonnie's personal bodyguard." He made a rueful face. "Unbeknownst to her, of course. She'd been through enough. After her abduction, we wanted to give her some semblance of a normal teenage life, but we couldn't take any more chances with her safety."

"Plus, Jackson was desperate to redeem himself, and this gave him that opportunity," Mrs. Yates sighed. "She was taken on his watch, and he's never forgiven himself for it." She shook her head. "He stopped dating. Stopped going out with his friends. Even stopped going to church. Keeping Bonnie safe became his full-time obsession."

Holt waved away the pity party stuff about Jackson. Right now, he wanted to focus only on the stuff that would help them pinpoint Bonnie's location. "So, let me get this straight. Jackson is Bonnie's bodyguard, but she doesn't know it?"

"That is correct." Mrs. Yates' lips trembled, as if she was struggling to hold back a sob.

"And you didn't get a search warrant," Holt faced his bosses, "because you didn't need one. Everything at K&G Security headquarters is company property."

"Affirmative." Foster inclined his head.

"Is anything in the photos useful?" Holt knew he was hogging the floor, but no one was stopping him.

"That's where this gets interesting." Lyon wagged a finger at him, joining the conversation. "The photos are textbook stalker material. Zoomed-in snapshots of everyone's coming and going. The only truly useful information came when our forensics guys uncovered the fact that Jackson's computer had been hacked."

Mrs. Yates made a bleating sound of distress. "By whom?"

"Another one of our security guards on staff," Foster disclosed, blowing out a breath. "She goes by the name of Summer Rose Gardener, and her background has been so carefully altered that it got past our very stringent new hire screening process. Until now."

Lyon nodded gravely. "And eyewitness accounts indicate that she drove off with Bonnie and Jackson in a black SUV that the other security guards initially assumed was a company vehicle. It wasn't. By the time our boots on the ground guys realized it wasn't, she and her vehicle were in the wind."

Holt dropped his head, feeling defeated. "So they got to her, after all."

"Not necessarily," Foster countered. "Bonnie had no idea she was adopted. It's possible Summer Rose is equally uninformed about her own adoption. It's not in her standard background check. Our associates had to dig deep to find that information."

"But there's no guarantee Bonnie and Jackson are safe with her." Holt hated to be the one to point that out. However, it was the truth. "Everyone whose lives Real Sons has touched is living with embedded mind control triggers." Himself included, though his triggers hadn't been planted in him at birth like the others.

"You have a point," Foster conceded.

"And it still doesn't explain why ten thousand dollars ended up in Jackson's bank account," Holt reminded. Was it possible that someone had paid him to kidnap his own sister? Holt wasn't ready to rule anything out yet.

"I lent him the money," Jude offered in a carefully modulated voice that held no inflection.

"Jude," the sheriff warned.

Jude waved a hand unconcernedly. "He's worried sick about his girlfriend. It might help him to know that I'm the one who lent Jackson the money."

Holt's suspicions were aroused. "Where did a convicted felon get ten thousand dollars?"

"Holt," Foster admonished, giving Jude an apologetic look.

"It's a fair question." Jude's expression didn't change. "Here's the answer." He fixed his dark-as-black-ice gaze on Holt. "Jackson said he needed the money, and I had it to lend him. I have no better use for it while incarcerated."

"Hold on a second." Holt held up a finger. "Are you trying to tell us that Jackson came to you asking for a loan?"

"No. I voluntarily offered him the money when he came to me asking for advice." The man's deadpan expression rubbed Holt every which way but right. It was as if he didn't possess a drop of normal human emotion.

"Advice about what?" Holt couldn't believe no one else in the room was rushing to ask.

"How to live off the grid." There was still no inflection in Jude's voice. "That means you won't find him until he's ready to be found."

All Holt heard was what the man had left unsaid. Bonnie was going to remain unreachable indefinitely. He wanted to tip his head back and howl his frustration at the ceiling.

Four days later

Bonnie hated her short, platinum blonde hair. The color looked like it came straight from a department store bottle, which it had. "I look nothing like your child," she grumbled for the umpteenth time as she peered at herself in the bathroom mirror. She stormed back into the room, hating the fact that it was dark outside. She was stuck for yet another night in a ratty motel that smelled like mold and other things she'd rather not think about.

There's a very real chance I'm going to die of bed bug bites. Didn't they carry diseases and stuff?

"I disagree." Summer Rose smirked at her. She'd dyed her hair the same color as Bonnie's. "You're totally rocking it in frayed jeans and crop tops. They show off your country gal tan to perfection. I'm jealous." She waved at her fair complexion and sprinkle of freckles. "All I ever get in the sun is more speckles."

"I like your spots," Jackson assured cheerfully. He was sitting at a rickety table in the corner of the room they were currently holed up in. It was the third hotel they'd stayed in. They'd been driving all day and checking in at a different place every night, paying with prepaid MasterCards and Visas.

"I need to call Holt." Bonnie was tired of watching her oldest brother flirt with the petite security guard. She was glad he'd finally found someone he wanted to date, but sheesh! Their blossoming romance was not the channel she wanted to watch twenty-four seven.

"Not yet." Jackson's cheerful demeanor vanished. "It's still too dangerous."

"You don't even know who's after us," she reminded petulantly, "much less if they're still looking for us."

"They are," he growled. "Come on, Bonnie! A guy with a gun tried to kidnap you at your best friend's wedding."

"And a different guy with a gun succeeded in doing exactly that," she snapped.

"She has a point." Summer Rose propped her feet on the edge of the bed and held herself up by bracing her hands behind her on a chair. She started a series of dips, counting softly until she completed her first twenty.

"It's my job to keep her safe." Jackson went back to writing something in the notepad resting in front of him.

"I'm not your job," Bonnie shot back, completely out of patience with his highhandedness. "I'm your sister. There's actually a difference, you dope!"

"Not in our case." He glanced up to wave his pen at her. "Newsflash. I've been employed by K&G Security for six years. Mom and Dad hired me to serve as your bodyguard the second they got me trained."

She stared at him for a moment. "Why you—!" She went flying in his direction, tackling him so fiercely that his chair went flying backward. They landed noisily on the floor and started wrestling. "How dare you keep something like that from me!" She pummeled him with her fists, and he let her.

Someone knocked on the way-too-thin wall of the adjacent room and yelled at them to shut up.

"Here." Flushing with an emotion that Bonnie couldn't quite name, Summer Rose yanked something small and black out of her back pocket and tossed it their way.

Jackson swiped it out of the air.

Bonnie used his momentary distraction to deliver a bruising uppercut to his jaw that hurt her hand as much as it hurt him.

"Ow!" He rolled out from beneath her, setting her unceremoniously on her backside in the middle of the floor.

"Just let her do it already," Summer Rose sighed. "I can't handle the growing hostility in our little family."

Bonnie's jaw dropped. "We're not a family!"

"I know," Summer Rose grumbled. "Believe me, I know. I just want one night of sleep that doesn't involve neighbors on both sides of us beating the walls down. One night," she repeated with a yawn.

Like all their other rooms, there were two queen beds filling the ratty, smelly space. Bonnie had been sharing one with Summer Rose, while Jackson got the other one all to his irritating self night after night.

"Fine." After a brief staring match with Summer Rose, Jackson finally relented. "But before she calls Holt, we need to set some ground rules."

"Call?" Bonnie launched herself at her brother again, wrestling for the small black item Summer Rose had tossed to him. If there was any chance it was a cell phone, she was prepared to fight to the death for it.

Jackson held it over her head, just out of reach. "No more than three minutes at a time before shutting the phone off. I'll set a stop watch. Anything longer, and we can be tracked. Even though it's a burner, we're taking no chances. Oh, and no telling Holt where we are."

"I have no idea where we are," Bonnie snarled, reaching for the phone again. They'd driven hundreds of miles. For all she knew, they were halfway across the country by now.

"Good. It's better that way." Jackson placed the phone in her hand.

She promptly burst into tears, sobbing noisily as she dialed her boyfriend.

Holt picked up on the second ring. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Me," she choked. The word was barely intelligible.

"Bonnie!" His agonized voice filled her ear. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I don't know." She sniffled loudly. "And I'll be okay just as soon as my awful brother brings me home."

"Are you hurt?" His voice cracked.

"Not physically." She was festering with homesickness, though, and dying to see him again.

"Can you at least describe where you're at?" he begged.

"Not without Jackson doing me bodily harm." She closed her eyes, tipping her face to the ceiling. "He's convinced we're still in danger."

"You are," Holt said quickly. Lowering his voice, he added. "Summer Rose Gardener is one of the orphans, babe. Not sure if she even knows. It's anyone's guess what triggers Real Sons might've programmed into her."

Bonnie felt her insides go icy. She didn't dare look at Summer Rose. "It's so good to hear your voice," she quavered, trying not to start crying again. "Oh, and Jackson was apparently hired by our parents to be my personal watchdog. Not that it in any way excuses the whole evil dictator thing he has going on?—"

"That's enough." Jackson plucked the phone out of her hand. "Holt, you've got one minute to tell me anything you can to help me keep her safe." He listened for a few seconds, then handed the phone back to Bonnie. "Thirty seconds," he informed her in a no-nonsense tone.

She ultimately decided not to test him on this issue. She was too grateful to finally make contact with Holt. "I love you and miss you like crazy," she informed him in a tremulous voice.

"If it's even half as much as I love and miss you, babe…" His voice hitched.

As they said their goodbyes, tears streamed down Bonnie's face. "Text me," she begged. "Even when the phone is off. I'll get your messages the next time we turn it on."

"Babe, I'll be your pen pal until the end of time," he promised huskily.

The next morning

Holt marched into Foster Kane's office at K&G Security. He didn't have an appointment. All he did was knock to announce his presence before pushing the already open door wider.

"Use me as bait," he begged.

Foster glanced up from his computer, looking surprised. "I'm listening."

"Bonnie called me from a burner phone. She's fine," he explained in a rush. "So are Jackson and Summer Rose. And now that they've made contact, our enemies in the shadows have a way of tracking them…through me," he finished triumphantly. He had no intention of leading the creeps to Bonnie, but he would happily fool them into thinking he was doing exactly that. Instead, he would lead them into a trap.

"We still don't know why they want her," Foster mused, sitting back in his chair to study Holt.

"It's gotta have something to do with their mind control efforts." Holt waved a hand. "Maybe Bonnie needs a tune up of some sort. A re-programming, so to speak." That was his current theory, anyway. They'd used her to get their hands on the warehouse, just like they'd used him to hustle stolen vehicles through his auto detail shop.

"I'll run your idea past the sheriff," Foster promised. "Right after he and his team arrest Jett Briggs."

Holt was taken aback. "I thought they were watching him to gather intel about his higher ups."

"They have been, and they've made no progress for weeks." Foster abruptly stood. "I'm not sure I agree with their strategy, but they've decided to give that string a big yank to see what shakes loose."

A few hours later, Jett Briggs and three of his employees were brought in for questioning. Before nightfall, Jett was charged with multiple counts of car theft.

Or so the public news release stated.

It was an anticlimactic, disappointing arrest. Over the next twenty-four hours, nobody came to bail him out. No one so much as tried to contact him, signifying he was a dead end.

Expendable.

Apparently, he'd already served his purpose.

Jude Westfield was the only person with a theory why. "He was nothing more than a patsy they threw in Holt's path," he scoffed during a debriefing meeting that evening in the sheriff's office. "A pawn to help facilitate another one of their mind games. A game that's played out, in Jett's case. Holt is moving on to serve a different purpose in their scheme. A bigger purpose." He studied Holt dispassionately.

Holt could practically hear the wheels of his genius mind spinning. "Want to venture a guess what their next move might be?"

"Whatever it is, you're the key." Jude gestured at him. "If only we could reverse engineer you."

"You mean deprogram me?" It made an odd sort of sense to Holt.

"Exactly." Jude continued to study him. "I really do think it's possible."

"How?" Holt was willing to try anything at this point, as long as it led to getting Bonnie back in his life.

"Question everything." Jude laid out his plan. "Don't trust what you see or hear. Don't trust your feelings. Get confirmation from a trusted third party that what you're seeing and hearing is accurate before taking action. In time, you'll retrain your mind to see beyond what you've been triggered to see, ultimately breaking its hold on you."

"I can do that." Holt jutted his chin in determination.

"Not alone, you can't." Jude shook his head. "That trusted third party I mentioned wasn't optional."

"You think I need a babysitter, eh?" Maybe it was time to finally start interviewing for extra help at the shop. Even without Jett Briggs' stolen cars, Holt was bringing in enough business these days to justify hiring another mechanic.

"You should talk to Burke Yates," the sheriff suggested. "The Yates family has plenty of skin in the game. Plus, I hear he's pretty handy when it comes to fixing tractors and other machinery around the ranch."

Holt nodded slowly. "Transferrable skills." It wasn't the skill set he'd planned on advertising for, but anyone handy with that sort of machinery could be cross-trained on auto detail work. It was worth a try, at any rate.

"Exactly." The sheriff looked pleased that he was actually considering it. "I'll text you his number."

"Thanks. In the meantime, our best link to the folks we're hunting down is the burned down warehouse property." Making a mental note to call Burke before the day's end, Holt moved on to the next topic. "Since it was recently purchased, there's gotta be a money trail that leads somewhere."

"Not as easy to find as you might think." The sheriff pointed at Jude. "He's currently running down that rabbit hole for us. We're talking overseas shell accounts, scads of tiny money transfers all over the place, and so on. It's a mess to sort through."

"Any chance you can get me on site at the warehouse to take a look at the burn damage?" Holt wasn't sure why, but his gut was telling him that the warehouse was the key to putting names and faces to the goons behind this mind control garbage.

"Sure." The sheriff looked surprised. "Anything in particular you're looking for in the rubble?"

"Nope." Holt planned to figure that out after he got there. "Mind if I invite Burke to join me?"

The sheriff looked amused. "Knock yourself out."

The next morning

Holt swung out of his pickup truck and hit the ground with both feet, slamming the door shut behind him.

His new assistant mechanic and partner in crime, Burke Yates climbed out of the passenger side and joined him in front of the locked gates standing between them and the ashy remains of the burned out warehouse.

He slung his thumbs through his belt loops. "What are we looking for?" Though he was two years younger than Jackson, he closely resembled his oldest brother — tall and rangy with the same wavy hair, dusty jeans, and well-worn boots. His face was more angular, the lines of his jaw more pronounced, but that was the only difference Holt could see. The two men could otherwise pass for twins.

"Anything that leads to the identities or whereabouts of the criminals who kidnapped your sister." Both times, if Holt's current theory was correct. Real Sons might be defunct, but they were still associated somehow with the mind control freaks. "We're going to comb through this property one sooty board at a time. All I need you to do is verify that I'm actually seeing what I think I'm seeing." He grimaced. "My mind might be playing tricks on me, but yours isn't."

"Fair enough." Burke shoved his hands in his pockets and waited while Holt unlocked the gates with the key the sheriff had lent him.

"Wasn't sure you'd accept my invitation." Holt jimmied with the lock. The keyhole was half-caked with dust and dirt, but he finally got the gate open. "Once folks find out about my past, they tend to view me as a gun half cocked, ready to go off at any second."

"The only thing that matters to my family is that you want Bonnie back as much as we do." Burke's tone and expression were deadly serious.

Yes, I do! It was nice to be treated like a normal person instead of a freak. "I'm in love with her." He shot Burke an assessing look as he swung the gate open.

Burke didn't look surprised. "Already figured that out for myself, bro."

"Bonnie was afraid you and the rest of her brothers would chase me off." He gave Burke a curious sideways glance as they passed through the gates and stepped closer to the rubble. "Like you did every other guy who tried to date her."

Burke snorted. "The fact that they were capable of being chased off proves they weren't right for her. It wouldn't have worked with you, so we didn't bother."

He was right about that. Holt chuckled and pointed his hands in opposite directions. "Let's split up and circle the perimeter. We'll meet on the other side and compare notes. Then we'll swap sides and do it again."

Though Burke's eyebrows rose, he nodded and ambled off to the right. They spent the next two days poking through charred boards and melted plastic and metal remnants of what used to be a standing building. They brought shovels and did some digging. Deeper in the rubble, they found embers that were still smoking.

Burke also uncovered a steel emergency shelter door. From the dusty handprints on the surface, it looked like it had been used recently.

What door? Holt had missed seeing it altogether during his numerous treks around the rubble. He was unable to see it right up to the point that Burke had described the dusty handprints.

He blinked a few times as the steel door finally shivered into focus. It was like a fog had been lifted from his brain or something. "Let's see what's beneath it." He sprang forward, intending to lift the corner of the door.

Burke stopped him by stepping in his path and shaking his head. "Already checked. Nothing to see here." He spoke so loudly that Holt halted, frowning.

"Coffee break," Burke announced in an equally loud voice, angling his head at Holt's truck.

Holt stared at him a moment before nodding. There was no coffee back in his truck. Burke was sending him some sort of silent message. Or a warning.

They strode back to the truck together, climbed in, and slammed the doors shut.

Holt swiveled his head toward Burke. "Well?"

"The ground is vibrating beneath us, dude." Burke eyed him worriedly. "Can't you feel it?"

"Nope." But Holt believed him. He proved it by reaching for his cell phone and dialing the sheriff.

Cade Malone picked up after a couple of rings. "Lemme guess. You found something on your treasure hunt."

"Yep, and it calls for a SWAT team." Holt squinted out his windshield at the rubble, trying his hardest to see and hear what Burke was describing. If he sat really still, he could just barely pick up on the vibrations beneath the truck tires. "We uncovered a steel trapdoor leading under the warehouse to some sort of machinery that's vibrating the ground."

The sheriff was silent for a moment. "There's no record of anything underground ever being built at the warehouse. Not so much as a storm shelter."

"Guess whoever did it didn't file for a building permit." Holt was convinced they were on to something.

"I'll gather the troops," the sheriff promised. "Hang back until we get there."

"We will." Holt grimaced. "You can thank Burke for that." Without Bonnie's brother, he would've charged straight into the lion's den.

A SWAT team arrived within the hour, armed the perimeter, then swarmed down the stairs beneath the dusty silver trap door. For the rest of the day, they dragged out lab technicians in white smocks and evacuated unconscious patients that were hooked up to a horrific number of cords and apparatuses. There was no denying that live humans were being experimented on below the warehouse. From all appearances, they'd been in operation down there for a good while. Their purchase of the property made a lot more sense now. So did burning down the building. It eliminated the possibility of squatters moving in and inadvertently discovering the activity taking place underground.

So far, though, the criminals in custody were refusing to answer any questions about, well, anything.

Seven out of their nine victims were small children. The police soon matched them to missing children's cases from all over the country. A flood of therapists and medical doctors accompanied the families who came to collect their missing loved ones. Because of the nature of the case, the patients would continue to be monitored by their respective medical teams and law enforcement communities until their embedded triggers —if any — could be isolated and neutralized.

Computers and records retrieved from the underground experimentation facility painted a dire tale. The mind control specialists had been operating like a hoard of locusts,swooping in on small towns like Hereford to devour everyone and everything in its path —all in the name of science. After draining enough local resources — or, in some cases,after raising enough suspicion about their activities — they'd packed their bags and relocated their lab elsewhere.

Holt got permission to pay one of the prisoners a visit, a guy Jude had privately denoted as the ringleader of the lab beneath the warehouse. Jude suspected that he reported to someone higher up. However, Jude insisted he was calling the shots at the lab.

Holt didn't know how Jude had figured this out, but the sheriff was buying it. That was good enough for him.

Quite frankly, Holt would've never pegged the scrawny guy seated in front of him at the visitor's table as leadership material. He was way too nerdy-looking and anemically pale. The scent of stale cigarette smoke was clinging to his person. It smelled like the same brand Holt had found in the tree at Anderson Ranch that overlooked Bonnie's team building exercise. The likelihood that he was staring at their elusive long-range cameraman rubbed him every way but the right way.

"Bet it's not easy smoking while holding a camera and taking pictures," Holt drawled, hoping to catch the guy off guard.

Though the lab nerd's expression sharpened, all he did was start humming off-key. While he hummed, he leaned belligerently closer to stare unabashedly at Holt.

The man's nerdy face wavered out of focus. In its place, a big black spider with hairy legs took shape.

Holt sat back in his chair, blinking a few times at the strangely familiar tune. The spider isn't real. None of this is real, he reminded himself. There must be something about the weird tune that was activating one of his triggers. He fought it by replaying Jude Westfield's advice inside his head. Question everything you see and hear. This particular vision was easy to discredit, since there was no way he was sitting in front of a life-sized spider.

The spider started laughing hysterically. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Holt ignored the man's comment, forcibly dragging forth his memory of the nerdy-looking guy who'd first stepped into the room. He was a complete loser, who was on his way to jail where he couldn't unlawfully and immorally tamper with anyone else's mind.

The pale, slender fella slowly came back into focus.

"Why me?" Holt was careful to keep his voice evenly modulated, not wanting to give the guy the satisfaction of knowing just how badly he'd messed with his head. Again.

"Why not?" Spider Guy kept breaking into snickers, as if he wasn't taking any of this seriously. Since the police hadn't yet been able to pinpoint his identity, maybe he thought he was untouchable. Unprosecutable. Or maybe he'd been playing god for so long with his victims that he'd entirely lost his sense of right and wrong. Or maybe he was just plain crazy.

"Why Bonnie Yates?" Holt was watching Spider Guy close enough to detect a faint tightening of his facial features. Gotcha, you punk! Two could play at this game.

"Where is she?" Spider Guy demanded.

"Some place safe," Holt taunted.

Spider guy burst out laughing again. "You still think she's the one who needs protecting, eh?"

"From you? Yes." Holt felt like they were finally getting somewhere.

"All I am and ever will be is a scientist." Spider Guy spread his hands, making the chains connecting his cuffs rattle. "Bonnie, however, was born to kill."

"Baloney," Holt snarled. During his initial training at K&G Security, he'd been required to memorize some of the most common red flags exhibited by serial killers — reclusive individuals who got a kick out of setting fires and harming small animals. Bonnie was none of those things. She was kind, caring, and compassionate.

"Trust me." Spider Guy curled his upper lip at Holt. "Your country hick of a sheriff arrested the wrong person. Jackson's death will be on him. And you." He broke into another fit of maniacal laughter as Holt shot out of his chair.

"Guards!" Holt signaled for the prison guards to return Spider Guy to his cell. Making a beeline for the sheriff's office, he burst through the door without knocking.

Cade Malone glanced up from his computer, scowling ferociously. "Holt, I know we're friends and all, but?—"

"Bonnie has been programmed to kill," Holt ground out hoarsely. Repeating his conversation with the prisoner made his earlier vision of the big, black spider waver in and out of view. He slapped his hands down on the sheriff's desk to steady himself. "Spider Guy claims Jackson is already dead!"

"Spider guy?" The sheriff's eyebrows rose.

"The ringleader dude from the underground lab." Holt forced himself to straighten, dragging in a soul-cleansing breath. The last thing he needed right now was for the sheriff to write him off as crazy. "I just got back from that visit you authorized with him." He cleared his throat. "We've gotta find a way to get in touch with Jackson."

Cade was already reaching for his phone and dialing. He held it to his ear. "Foster? We've got a situation. Any chance you can patch Jackson Yates in on a three-way call?"

"Hold on a sec." Foster put him on hold, and the line grew silent.

Moments later, Jackson's voice wheezed across the line, "Not a good time, boss man."

There was a scream in the background and a muted thud.

"Bonnie," Holt shouted, leaning closer to the phone. "Are you alright, babe?"

"Not exactly," Jackson panted. "She's having another one of her episodes. We've got a security guard down, and—" Another muted thud cut off the rest of what he was about to say.

By "episodes," Holt could only assume that Bonnie was struggling with the false images that had been planted inside her head. The same as I am. Instead of transposing serial numbers and seeing life-sized spiders, however, she was mistaking the good guys for the bad guys. Talk about a fail-safe! The mind control criminals had thought of nearly everything. Having their victims tie up the "loose ends" for their captors was a brutal plot twist, one Holt hadn't seen coming.

Though he'd never been a big fan of religion, he believed in God. Bowing his head, he begged, "Lord, please help Bonnie see what's real and what's not." Jackson's very life might depend on it.

"Where are you?" the sheriff demanded, half coming out of his swivel chair.

Jackson rattled off the address. "Hurry!"

To Holt's astonishment, it was only a few miles away at a motel on the outskirts of town. You've gotta be kidding me! He dashed for the door.

"Hold on, cowboy!" The sheriff sprinted after him. "I'm driving."

Nodding, Holt accompanied him to his police cruiser. They roared out of the police station's parking lot, sirens screaming.

Holt continued praying beneath his breath. "Open Bonnie's eyes, Lord, and keep Jackson safe. Please keep them all safe." Jackson's report that the other security guard was "down" filled him with dread. However, he didn't want to read too much into it yet. "Just keep ‘em alive 'til we get there. I'm begging you, God."

The number of times his mother and sister had invited him to church flashed across his mind, filling him with guilt. It seemed dishonest somehow to be asking God for favors, considering he'd pretty much only darkened the doors of church buildings for weddings and funerals.

That needs to change. I need to change. Maybe if he crammed enough Bible verses inside his head, they would crowd out the effects of his captors' tampering. It was a good thought, anyway.

Sheriff Malone skidded into the motel parking lot on the edge of town in record time.

Holt pushed open his door and leaped out before the vehicle rolled to a complete stop.

"Bonnie!" He shouted her name over and over as he sprinted toward the line of motel rooms.

Sheriff Malone leaped out of the cruiser, leaving his door open, and sprinted after Holt. He directed Holt to start in the middle of the line of doors. "You go right, and I'll go left."

They proceeded to bang on each door, calling for Bonnie and Jackson to open up.

A few patrons cracked open their doors to holler at them for interrupting their sleep.

Holt reached the last door on his side, feeling more helpless than ever. Before he could knock on the door, he heard banging and grunting on the other side. Taking a chance, he reared back and kicked the door handle with all his might.

The door crashed open. The sight that met him on the other side made his blood chill.

The female agent who'd gone on the run with Jackson and Bonnie was lying unconscious on the floor. An ugly bruise was rising on her left temple.

Bonnie was straddling her brother, viciously wrestling him for his gun. "I won't let you put me back in the trunk," she shrieked. His right eye was nearly swollen shut.

"I would never hurt you," he huffed. "You know that!" He wasn't truly fighting her. He was merely holding her off, attempting to keep her from getting her hands on his weapon.

As Holt hurried over to them, Jackson grunted, "About time you showed up!"

Holt took a knee beside them. "It's not real, Bonnie. Whatever you think you see, it's not real." He tentatively touched her shoulder, not wanting to make any sudden moves that would spark her defenses. He wanted her to see that he was on her side.

She swung her head dazedly in his direction.

"I'm real, Bonnie. What we feel for each other is real." He felt like weeping at the devastation twisting her lovely features. Her movements were frenzied and frantic. Her bosom rose and fell rapidly in pure panic mode.

"Our love is real." His voice cracked with emotion. "The other stuff inside your head?" He gestured at her brother. "The monsters and the darkness you think you see aren't real. You can turn them off and make them go away like I did."

She returned her gaze to her brother, blinking rapidly. "Jackson?" she choked. Her eyes slowly filled with tears. "What have I done?" she whispered.

Her oldest brother relaxed his hold on her upper arms and slumped back against the floor.

"Bonnie." Holt drew her attention back to him with his voice. "It's okay, babe. I've got you." He reached for her, and she tumbled into his arms, raining tears all over his neck and shoulder.

He closed his eyes and simply held her, threading his fingers through her short, dyed blonde hair. Her new look was going to take some getting used to.

She was going to be okay, though. He could only hope the same was true for the unconscious security guard on the other side of the room.

He continued holding her while Jackson leaped into motion, dialing 911 to request an ambulance.

Sheriff Malone dashed into the room and took charge, calling for backup.