The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Charleston, West Virginia. Now.)

Half an hour after leaving his hotel, and after asking the cab driver to wait for him, Daniel walked up the steps to Elizabeth Bowden’s house, a small two stories on a quiet Charleston street. Shawbank was interviewing their next presumed victim, a Sandra Spumoni, cited twice in the previous five months for indecent exposure, and six months pregnant. Her wedding had been six months ago.

Daniel knocked on the door, and then rang the doorbell when there was no answer. After a few minutes, as he was debating just what to do, the door opened.

“Yes?“ It was a middle-aged woman wearing what looked like a uniform that tried to not look like a uniform.

“Elizabeth Bowden?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Daniel Malcolm. I’m with ADSec, a security agency.” Brisecoeur had coached Daniel about ADSec, the subsidiary company that ADCorp had created for its security group, which had connections to official authorities such as the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Daniel was not entirely clear what the connection was—some of it was beyond his clearance level—but it gave him and Shawbank and other members of the Investigation and Enforcement Division at ADCorp some legitimacy. Brisecoeur had hinted that ADCorp had more spin-offs and subsidiaries than French presidents had mistresses. “I’m looking for Elizabeth Bowden. I called earlier?”

The woman let him in, and called out into the house. “Miss Bowden? You have a visitor.”

A young woman, at most a few years older than Daniel, emerged from what looked like the dining room. She was beautiful, with long red hair streaming down her shoulders and a pale skin with a light sprinkle of freckles. She looked resplendent in the light streaming in through the window. She gave Daniel a dazzling smile. “Thank you, Doreen,” she said to the woman who had answered the door. “You know you’re not a maid, right?”

The woman gave a little smile and nodded. “Just taking a little break.”

Elizabeth Bowden laughed. “Dad giving you a hard time?”

“Let’s say he’s been grumpier than usual today,” the woman Elizabeth had called Doreen replied diplomatically.

“Doreen here is my dad’s nurse,” Elizabeth told Daniel, by way of explanation. “I’m Elizabeth Bowden, but please, call me Lizzie.” She extended a hand, which Daniel shook. Professional, he though. And a firm grip. “You must be Daniel Malcolm.”

“Thanks for seeing me, Miss Bowden. As I said on the phone, I have a few questions for you.”

“Sure. Mind if we go to the kitchen? I’m trying a few things out. You can be my taster.”

Daniel followed her. She reminded him of Jenn—then again, any woman that was friendly and good-looking and warm reminded him of Jenn. Put it aside, he scolded himself. Focus.

“I gotta say,” continued Elizabeth as she directed Daniel to sit on one of the tall stools by the kitchen counter, “I was a bit confused by your call. Why do you think I can help you? Here,” she said after pulling a ladle out of a pot simmering on the stove, “taste.”

Daniel did. A thick butternut squash taste spread into his mouth. “Nice. Very nice.”

Elizabeth grinned. “Thanks! I’ve got a wedding coming up for a friend of a friend and I have a caterer that I like but I wanted to make something special and I’ve been trying out recipes.” She dropped the ladle in the sink, and covered the simmering pot. “Plus it keeps me from going nuts. Or driving others nuts. I’m getting married tomorrow,” she said, with the voice of someone dismissing a topic while wishing to be asked about it.

“Congratulations,” said Daniel, as he knew he was expected to. And Elizabeth looked so excited that it was not difficult to feel happy for her. “I wish you the best.”

“Thanks!”

“Are you taking care of it yourself?”

“Yes. Professional conditioning, I guess you might say. I can’t let it go. Besides, you know what they say: if you want something done well, do it yourself. Or pay through the nose. I chose the first route.” She was speaking quickly, as if she had an abundance of energy desperate for an outlet. “Would you like some tea? Some coffee? Anything? I’ve got wine.” She pointed to the bottle of red wine by the side of the counter. There was a glass next to it, her own. She looked vaguely apologetic. “Sorry, I’m just a bundle of nerves. It helps me calm down.”

“No worries, Miss Bowden. I do have a few questions that I was hoping you could help me with. Could you take a look at this list?” He slipped a printout of the list of suspected victims that Brisecoeur had given him.

Elizabeth picked it up, but kept looking at Daniel. “Aren’t you a bit young to be a cop?”

“I’m not a cop. I’m working for a private security agency.”

“A private security agency? That’s pretty vague.” Her eyes were piercing, intelligent. “And what sort of thing are you securing, Agent Malcolm?”

“Oh, it depends on the days. Your usual mutants, psychic weirdos, the odd super-villain. On good days, we get to track down aliens.”

Elizabeth stared at him for a beat before laughing. “All right, I deserved that.” She looked down at the list, cocked her head, frowned. “Okay, these names are all clients of mine.” She looked back at Daniel. “What about them?”

“We’re not entirely sure, Miss Bowden. I cannot go into the details just yet, but we’ve been investigating allegations that someone has tried to hurt these people, and we’ve been trying to find out what they have in common in order to identify the threat. And it looks like what they have in common is you.”

Elizabeth looked blankly at him for a second, and reached for her glass of wine. She sat down. “Yes, I’ve planned their weddings. All of them. I remember some of them quite well—you get to know people when you’re neck deep organizing one of the most important days of their lives. And you’re saying someone wants to hurt them? Who? And why? And why me?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out, Miss Bowden. Do you happen to know anything that might link these people together beside you?”

She looked at the list again. “No... I don’t think so. Nothing comes to mind, certainly. I mean, they’re all... No. There’s nothing special about them that I’ve ever noticed.”

“What about their wedding? Anything odd happened? Anything out of the ordinary? A guest that maybe stood out, did not belong, that appeared on more than one occasion?”

Elizabeth thought about the question, ruminating it for a long moment before shaking her head. “No. Nothing comes to mind. I don’t usually go to the ceremonies, because I’m often busy getting the final details settled in the reception hall. I mean, there’s always little things that go wrong before and during every reception. People don’t always act like they’re supposed to, or do things that make sense. But nothing really special happened at any of these that has not happened at others.”

“How about staff? Do you use the same caterers, the same decorators, the same florists?”

“No. There’s people I know and trust, but I tend to play it local for several reasons, and as far as I can tell just glancing at this list, all of these wedding occurred in different places, so I’ve probably used different people for most of them. I’d need to look at my files to be sure.” She made a face. “Why would someone want to hurt them?”

“I don’t know, Miss Bowden. Do you keep your files in the house?”

“Files? You mean, on my clients? Yes.”

“Who has access to them?”

“No one, really. Just me. I keep everything here. I work from home.”

“Any assistants? part-time college students helping out?”

“Is this man bothering you, Lizzie?” The voice, strong and harsh and old, rang from behind Daniel, interrupting the flow of his conversation with Lizzie.

Daniel turned to see an older man, maybe in his sixties, sitting in a wheel chair, looking at Daniel with an angry frown on his face. He had a blanket over his legs. Daniel remembered the lift he had seen running alongside the staircase in the entrance, and understood Doreen’s presence. She must be this man’s nurse. Elizabeth Bowden had mentioned her dad giving Doreen trouble.

He looked at the old man, while Elizabeth replied in a voice tinged with amusement, “No, Dad—he’s just asking me some questions about some of my clients that seem to have run into a spot of trouble. He’s not bothering me.” The old man’s arms were strong, which suggested that he had been wheelchair-bound for a long time. And the rest of his body, the part not covered by the blanket, also looked fit, which pointed at a regular regime of exercise. Doing so while physically disabled required discipline, which when put in combination with the straight bearing of the man hinted strongly at a military past.

“Sir? Daniel Malcolm.” He extended a hand.

The older man stared at Daniel a long time, as if judging his worth. “James Bowden.” He shook the proffered hand. The handshake was even firmer than his daughter’s.

“Ever served?” asked the old man.

“Excuse me?”

“Dad—” Elizabeth chimed in, her voice still slightly amused.

“The military. Ever served, son? Ever seen war?”

“No sir. Never had that pleasure.”

Before James Bowden could respond, Elizabeth intervened. “Dad, leave him alone. Please excuse my father, Agent Malcolm. He tends to put the bar high for men that come through the door and speak to his only daughter.” She looked at her father, and the two exchanged a glance that held love, respect, and a mixture of stubborn determination and challenge, all in one expression.

“And to answer your question, Agent Malcolm,” she continued, “no, I don’t have any assistants. This is a one-woman job. Although I am reaching the point where I might need someone to help.”

“Who would have the opportunity to look at them? Doreen?”

“I guess, but why? Why would she bother?”

“There’s Greg,” said James Bowden, his voice steady.

“Dad—”

“Who’s Greg?” asked Daniel.

“My fiancé,” responded Elizabeth, still looking at her father. “Greg Hermann.”

“He has access to the files?”

Elizabeth still kept her gaze on her father, the two engaged in a bit of a staring contest. “He does,” she said. “He’s taking care of the insurance for the business.” She looked back at Daniel. “You’d be amazed the sort of things that wedding planners can be held liable for.” She shakes her head, gives him a small smile. “Greg’s got nothing to do with any of this. He’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met.” The way she said it, proud and so clearly in love, tugged at Daniel’s heart. He fought back thoughts of his own missing fiancée.

“He probably doesn’t,” replied Daniel, remaining diplomatic. “But you said he’s an insurance agent? He’s probably got an office somewhere?” Elizabeth nodded her assent. “He’s probably keeping notes, and those notes may have been compromised. We should explore all possibilities. Could you tell me where his office is?”

Elizabeth hesitated one second, then sighed. “He works at Kanawha Insurance, downtown. The Turner building. Do you know where it is?”

“I can find out. Thank you, Miss Bowden.” Daniel stood, and Elizabeth followed suit. “If you think of anything else, please call me.” He left her his cell phone number. “Mister Bowden,” he extended a hand towards the wheelchair-bound man, “it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Bowden merely grunted as he shook Daniel’s hand.

“I’ll walk you out, Agent Malcolm,” said Elizabeth. “Dad, I’m heading out to Shelley’s to make sure everything’s squared away for tomorrow.” She shut down the stove, covered the pot that had been simmering there. “There’s some butternut squash soup ready, feel free to partake. It has to get eaten somehow.”

Daniel waited by the door as Elizabeth grabbed her handbag and leaned down to kiss her father on the cheek. She gave him a sweet smile, and lead Daniel to the door. “Bye Doreen!” she shouted.

“You have to forgive my father, Agent Malcolm,” said Elizabeth once they were outside. “He can be a bit gruff, especially with young men that buzz around his daughter.”

“Young men that aren’t enlisted, that is.”

“Believe it or not, he’s even gruffer with enlisted ones. Probably something to do with knowing how they think. He can be... overly protective at times.”

“Most fathers are.”

“Maybe. But he’s been raising me ever since my mother died, and it’s been tough. And I know that he’s bitter about the fact that I help take care of him. In his world view, a father takes care of his daughter, not the other way around.”

“How does he feel about Greg?”

They were in the driveway, Elizabeth with her car keys out, the cab still waiting for Daniel. Elizabeth gave a somewhat sad smile. “He likes him. I think. As much as a father can like the boy that’s going to take his little girl away. He’s been very good about the whole wedding thing, but these last few weeks, it’s been tougher. Maybe he’s just really coming to grips with the fact that I’ll be getting married, and he’s taking it as me leaving. Which in a sense I am.” She shrugged, looking wistful for a second.

“He’ll get around,” said Daniel, putting his hand on his arm, in a gesture he wanted to be reassuring. “It might take some used to, but he loves you, that’s clear, and how could he not want you to be happy?”

When Elizabeth looked back at him, her eyes were damp. She smiled. “I hope you’re right, Agent Malcolm, I hope you’re right. Are you sure I cannot drive you somewhere?”

Daniel nodded towards the cab. “It’s okay, I have my ride right here. I may be in touch later, Miss Bowden. In any event, best of luck on your wedding tomorrow.”

“Here’s to luck not being necessary.”

On impulse, Elizabeth reached out and hugged Daniel briefly before getting into her car.

Daniel watched her go, slightly dazed. He had not realized how little contact he had had with another human being since... since way too long. Before he went down to his training with ADCorp at the beginning of the summer, he had been spending a fair amount of time with his friend Cindy, but that was already four months ago. He had pulled away from his friends, from the people in his life—those that were left—and he had no energy to fight that isolationist impulse. Part of him wanted to be left alone, to sulk quietly in the corner, lick his wounds, hide from the world.

People he cared about were gone. Serena. Radhu. Jenn. Too much loss. Too much death. Too much uncertainty. He was a pool of darkness, and that darkness was brought in sharp contrast when placed next to someone as cheerful as Elizabeth had been. She reminded him of Jenn. She reminded him of Cindy. Warmth and love in one bright package. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned and walked back to the cab waiting for him in the driveway. He told the driver to take him back to the Marriott.

He contacted Brisecoeur. “Got a lead. Elizabeth Bowden confirmed that all of the suspected victims were her clients. So it’s pretty clear that she’s the link we were looking for.”

“It does sound like it, n’est-ce pas? I did a quick search for Elizabeth Bowden,” replied Brisecoeur. “She started her wedding-planning business a few months before our first identified victim. So the numbers match. Now we just have to identify the Freak. Probably someone in her circle. And keep in mind, it’s possible she’s been affected herself.”

“You mean she might be giving our guy the names of possible victims?”

“Yup. It’s been done before.”

“Damn. I should have asked her about...”

“That’s the thing. He’d have told her not to reveal his existence.”

“How can we tell if someone’s been affected by a Freak?”

“There’s no real way we know of, not at first. We look for behavioral changes, mostly. Psychological assessments.”

“So what’s next?”

“Protocol is to start looking at people in the circles of Bowden. I’ve got her file here. Only child. Mother Annette O’Hara died when she was eleven. Biological father unknown. Her mother’s later husband raised her. James Bowden, fifty-nine, wounded in the Gulf War. Shot in the spine, paralysis of the lower body in December 1990,” recited Brisecoeur.

“He has a nurse.”

“Male?”

“Female. Near as I can tell. Doreen something.”

“Got it. Home-case nurse, Doreen Flaherty. Female. She can’t be the Freak, but maybe, again, she’s controlled by him. I’ll complete out a circle search for her as well. As for Bowden, a few cousins, but all out of the area. One could have traveled, presumément, but preliminary searches reveal nothing. She doesn’t have any employees listed in her federal forms. Does she have any informal assistants?”

“She said no. Although her fiancé takes care of her insurance. Greg Hermann, at Kanawha Insurance. And he has access to her files.”

“Mmm. The Gazette in Charleston has a wedding announcement for Elizabeth Grace Bowden to marry Gregory Fitzgerald Hermann at the Sacred Heart Church tomorrow at two in the afternoon.”

Daniel hear typing in the background.

“Gregory Hermann. Works as an actuary for Kanawha Insurance in Charleston. Started four years ago after graduating from the University of Virginia. Two brothers, two sisters. His father is a preacher. No information when the relationship started with Mademoiselle Bowden.”

Daniel was thinking. That Gregory was the son of a preacher squared with Shawbank’s assessment that the Special came from a socially conservative background. “I think we should talk to him. It’s Friday, he’s probably at his office. The Turner building downtown, Bowden told me. Can you call Shawbank and tell her to meet me there?”

“Will do.”

The cab driver knew the Turner building, and nodded silently when told of their new destination.

Elizabeth Bowden pulled her car next to the curb where her friend Shelley was waiting. All through the ride, she kept thinking about her meeting with Agent Malcolm, and the possibility that some of her clients might be in danger because of her. She kept running through her head the list of activities she had been involved in, to see if anything came up, to see if she had missed something, some sign, some hint that something bad might be about to happen, but she came up blank. All she remembered was the joy and stress surrounding all the preparations and gearing up leading to the various ceremonies and receptions, all emotional, but aside from various quibbles between families and conflicting desires and goals, nothing particularly negative came up. Weddings were celebratory, by their very nature, or so Elizabeth firmly believed.

As Shelley opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, pulling the skirt of her suit down as she did so, Elizabeth wondered if she had done right to call Greg to tell him about the visit she had received and to ask him if he had noticed anything himself that she might have missed with respect to those clients that Agent Malcolm had identified. Greg had confirmed that he also could not think of anything special about them—although his perspective was very much from that of an insurer, and mostly focused on location and the activities and catering options required by the reception.

Elizabeth shifted her attention to Shelley, who let out a deep sigh next to her. “My, you look nice,” she told her friend, looking her up and down. Shelley had on a professional skirt suit that managed to remain proper while still highlighting the shape of the young blonde’s fit body.

“Big client meeting this morning, with all the department heads, and we had to put on a dog and pony show, to show the client that we could construct his space rocket at the same price as our competitors, but also could toss in chrome trims and blinking lights at no charge.” She grimaced to show exactly what she thought about the non-engineering aspects of her work. “Now I need a drink, and a shower to wash off the grime of PR bullshit.”

Elizabeth smiled at her friend, and patted the blonde’s stockinged knee as she drove the car back into traffic. “You want to grab a drink in the middle of your work day? I hope you’re not designing a guidance system or something for your rocket...”

Shelley wiggled out of her jacket, and leaned back against the seat, her eyes closed. She unbuttoned the top two buttons on her shirt. “The big boss gave us the rest of the day off. For good behavior, I guess. So yeah, I can do a drink. And maybe we can find a stud somewhere to scratch that itch I got.” She turned her head to Elizabeth, and smiled. “Or maybe you want to help with that?”

Elizabeth glanced at her friend and grinned back. “You don’t give up, do you? Let’s go get that drink first, I want to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“Nervous?”

“Getting there. Tingle in my extremities, bit of a desire to jump and scream, and just wanting tomorrow to be there already.”

“I get that before races. You know what helps me when it gets too much?”

“What?”

“Sex.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I give up! You’re impossible. So where to? The Touch-And-Go Motel?”

“You’re serious?”

“No! But I do want that drink. And I do want to talk to you, and run through the day with you tomorrow. I need your engineer mind for an hour or so, just to make sure the details are right.”

“Fine. But I want you to know, my way is not only more fun, but it’s also more effective in reducing stress.”

Elizabeth shook her head, amused by her best friend’s attitude. Shelley had always been there for her, and she really loved the girl. And yes, if she were honest, part of her really wanted to slip into a bed naked with the lithe blonde, and explore her tight body one more time. Once I get Greg to okay the idea, we’ll have some fun, she told herself. She had no fear she would make her soon-to-be husband see the beauty of the situation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a ring tone—Elizabeth thought she recognized a solo from Mahler’s Third Symphony, and looked at her friend in surprise. “How did I not know you were into classical music? What else have you been keeping from me?” Shelley, as far as Elizabeth knew, had always been much more into the vapid pop hits of the moment, from Britney Spears to Katy Perry via Christina Aguilera and Lady Gaga.

Shelley didn’t respond, instead reached into her purse and pulled out a small flip phone. Elizabeth frowned, as she knew her friend was an inveterate iPhone addict.

“Yes?” Shelley said into her phone.

Elizabeth was now intrigued, as her friend’s tone had changed—serious, almost subdued—the way Elizabeth had sometimes heard her talk to teachers back in high school, those teachers she really liked and had wanted to impress. She could not make out the voice in the receiver, and felt bad about even trying to hear. She concentrated on the road, happy that traffic was light.

“Yes,” continued Shelley after a pause.

Elizabeth gave a moment’s thought on possible destinations, trying to figure out whether her friend was more in the mood for a pub or a cocktail lounge while running through the list of possibilities in her mind.

“I understand,” said Shelley into her phone. “Yes, twenty minutes.” She flipped the phone closed, and slipped it back into her purse.

“Everything okay?” asked Elizabeth.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t things be okay?”

Elizabeth glanced at her friend as a beat-up red Volkswagen cut in front of her coming out of a recessed parking lot.

“I don’t know. You sounded... weird there on the phone.”

“Just an unexpected call. Do you mind if we took a slight detour before getting our drink?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“It’s sort of a surprise. Make a left at the next light.”

Elizabeth looked at her friend, confused. “Shel, what’s going on?”

Shelley rolled her eyes, and made a face. “Would you just quit being so nosy? I told you, it’s a surprise! Just... trust me, okay?” She put her hand on her Elizabeth’s knee, and caressed it softly through the redhead’s jeans. Elizabeth had to admit that the touch felt good, and Shelley must have picked up on it because she grinned. “I’ll make it up to you later...” Her voice held such promises that Elizabeth shivered.

“Not before I talk to Greg, Shel. I told you.”

“Spoilsport,” the blonde pouted. “After the light, make a right at the next stop.”

“Up Washington?”

Shelley nodded. Ten minutes later, she was directing Elizabeth to park beside a small abandoned church with a gothic facade tucked away in the shade of three larger office buildings. The Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church, said the sign next to the walkway to the barricaded doors.

Shutting the car off, Elizabeth stared at the church, then at her friend, who was getting out of the car.

“You coming?”

“Shel...” Elizabeth was hesitant. This was the last place she had expected her friend to take her. “What are we doing here?”

“I told you, it’s a surprise. Come on.”

Elizabeth fell into step beside her friend, who seemed to have gained some enthusiasm over the tiredness and gloominess she was exhibiting earlier.

And Elizabeth wondered why Shelley had brought her here, of all places. She had not stepped foot in this church since her mother died.

Daniel had been waiting for no longer than ten minutes when Shawbank met him at the entrance of the Turner building where Daniel had confirmed Kanawha Insurance held office. She looked utterly unflustered, as usual.

She nodded to him, and engaged the revolving doors.

Daniel followed. “Brisecoeur brought you up to speed?” he asked.

“Yes. Good work.”

She walked past the reception desk, where the security guard called after her. “Hey! You have to sign in! Miss!”

Shawbank did not bother replying, heading straight to the elevator bank.

Daniel sighed and stopped to sign in and mollify the guard. “Please excuse my colleague. She’s getting mentally ready to go and argue her case to her insurance agent. You know how it is...”

He grabbed two visitor passes from the guard, who looked at him suspiciously. Daniel gave him a mixture of a smile and a shrug and the guard must have seen several dissatisfied clients of Kanawha Insurance because he finally shook his head and let Daniel go. “Sixth floor,” he said.

Shawbank was holding the elevator. Daniel pressed the sixth floor button, then handed her a visitor badge. “So what’s the game plan?”

“We get him alone. We want to avoid a scene, but also keep him from using his abilities to get help.” She turned to Daniel. “Assume that every woman in the vicinity has been affected by him and cannot be trusted. He could have easily ordered any of them, or all of them, to protect him at all costs, even their own life. If he’s at all powerful, they would not even hesitate.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve seen it. It makes thing... complicated.”

They found Kanawha Insurance easily. Daniel followed Shawbank’s lead, the raven-haired agent still imperturbable, but he could perceive a tension in her gait. Somehow, knowing that Shawbank was unnerved unnerved him.

“Brisecoeur,” Shawbank said, speaking into the earpiece that both she and Daniel had inserted during their elevator ride up. “Can you bring up the plans of the building and keep an eye on the exits? I presume everything is under camera surveillance?”

David hooked into the conversation with his own earpiece.

“Confirmé,” Brisecoeur replied. “Piece of cake, too. Crappy security.”

“Just keep your eyes open. Shawbank out.”

The insurance company’s offices were bustling, and when Shawbank asked the receptionist for Gregory Hermann, they were directed to a cluster of offices on the western side of the building. Daniel scanned everyone, remembering the picture of Hermann that Brisecoeur had found and forwarded while Daniel was waiting for Shawbank earlier. Hermann was young and would have been handsome if not for the angry acne scars running down one side of his face. The scars had the advantage of making Hermann easy to recognize.

“Gregory Hermann?” asked Shawbank of the young somewhat mousy administrative assistant whose name plate announced was called Meghan and who sat behind a desk clearly associated with the offices that included Hermann’s own.

The administrative assistant looked up at Shawbank and did a double take, faced with the determined ice-blue eyes of the leather-clad woman. Meghan’s eyes shifted to Daniel, who smiled almost apologetically. Textbook good cop bad cop, he thought. Except it doesn’t feel like an act, does it?

“Hi Meghan. I’m Agent Malcolm, this is Agent Shawbank. We’re with ADSec, a security company. We’d like a few words with Mister Hermann,” Daniel said, keeping his voice even but tossing in a sparkle of warmth.

Meghan shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mister Hermann is not here. Would you like to make an appointment for later?”

Shawbank frowned, and stared at Meghan for a long moment, the scrutiny clearly making the young administrative assistant uncomfortable. Shawbank then stepped behind the desk and headed to one of the offices, disregarding Meghan’s outraged objections.

“Meghan,” Daniel said, hoping to avoid a confrontation. “We have reasons to believe that Mister Hermann might be in danger. It’s important that we talk to him.” Assuming Meghan cared about her boss, Daniel thought this might help her share information.

Meghan’s eyes went from Shawbank—who had opened one of the office doors—to Daniel, unsure how to act, now looking vaguely panicked. Her eyes were wide. “Greg? In danger? Oh my God!” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s the Connellys, isn’t it? He was making jokes about it a few days ago, but I could see it in his eyes that he was worried. And now they really are going to kill him and—”

“Meghan, please!” Daniel interrupted. The Connellys? What now? “Where’s Greg?”

She breathed hard. “I don’t know. You just missed him. He left.”

“Where to?”

“I don’t know! He just left. Maybe... he looked in a hurry?” Meghan looked like she was near tears.

Shawbank had returned from her search of the office, nodded to Daniel, and walked off. Daniel, after thanking Meghan and promising her that he would make sure Greg was safe, caught up with her.

“Brisecoeur,” she said. “Hermann is on the run.”

“Got him,” Brisecoeur said after a short pause. He must have been scanning the camera feeds from the building already. “Parking garage, second basement. He’s in a Toyota Corolla, color sky blue. Registration matches the records. It’s his car.”

“The gates. Can you disable them?”

“Probably,” the Belgian replied.

“You’re not exactly a people’s person, are you?” Daniel said without turning to Shawbank when they were in the elevator heading down to the second basement.

Shawbank shrugged. “Not necessary. You were there to deal with the girl. I figured I’d check out Hermann’s office.”

“Is that why I’m on the team? I’m the nice guy?”

Shawbank shot him a look he could not decipher. “Just be ready. We’ll intercept Hermann at the exit. I’ll deal with him. You distract the guard if there is one.”

“Is that safe, you going after Hermann alone?”

Another look. “Experience. I’ve taken down my fair share of Specials. Just take care of the guard. I’d rather avoid complications.”

Brisecoeur guided them to the car exit from the elevator bank of the second basement, and when they got there a blue Corolla was sitting at the gate, its driver’s side door open and dinging loudly, while a man stood before the lowered gate examining it with a puzzle expression. Clearly, whatever Brisecoeur had done worked.

The man turned when he heard the two agents approaching, and the momentarily relieved look on his face that suggested he was expecting building maintenance workers shifted into one of fear as he stared at them.

“He’s going to run,” Shawbank said.

And indeed, just as she said it, the man who Daniel had recognized as Gregory Hermann took off in a sprint. He ran in the direction opposite the one from which Shawbank and Daniel were coming, a direction that led him deeper into the garage.

Shawbank started after him, and Daniel followed.

“Go around,” she said, pointing to the left. “Block his way. I’m going direct. Brisecoeur, is there another exit?”

Daniel acknowledged, but Shawbank was sprinting away before she could hear him. Her boots thumped lightly down the basement, echoing the steps from Hermann further away. Daniel cut to the left, following the road upwards.

Brisecoeur confirmed that there was a pedestrian exit on Daniel’s level, and Daniel reached it before Hermann, if that was were the man was headed. Daniel paused, then ran towards where Hermann would emerge from the long way around the lower level.

Hermann came running around a pillar and then stopped in his tracks when he spotted Daniel.

Shawbank slammed into Hermann from behind, tackling him in a move that would have delighted Daniel’s friend Jackson back at Darnell.

Hermann went down, hard, but he struggled with all his might. Shawbank punched her fist into his kidneys from behind and Hermann doubled over in pain. Shawbank took advantage of Hermann’s distraction to flip him onto his back—a move that caused Hermann to wail—and to straddle him. While he struggled, Shawbank pulled from the folds of her leather duster something that looked to Daniel like a short sword, and pressed it against Hermann’s throat.

As Daniel ran towards the scene, astonished at Shawbank’s action—a sword, seriously?—he saw Shawbank’s face go blank, her eyes staring in the distance.

Fuck, he thought. He IS the Special.

He ran harder.