Kathy Reichs - Code

Whitney went apoplectic upon seeing me. Mussed hair. Stained gown. Jacketless entourage. Kit demanded an explanation.

Thank God for Hiram.

He launched into an improvised tale of woe and misfortune. We’d found ourselves in the dark. Flustered and disoriented, we’d blundered through an emergency exit. Then we’d tumbled down a staircase in a complicated domino sequence that incorporated each one of us.

The story was bizarre, confusing, and wildly improbable.

They’d bought it without hesitation.

Working like a field surgeon, Whitney had blotted and fluffed my dress, then repaired my makeup using cosmetics from her purse. When I’d casually asked permission to attend Chance’s after party, Kit had been quick to agree.

After the fire marshal declared a false alarm, everyone scurried back inside. The remaining debs were presented in full splendor, averting heart attacks and dousing a few temper tantrums.

Dancing followed. I endured three formal numbers—Kit twice, then an awkward turn with Jason—solely for appearances’ sake. The rest of my crew sat in chairs along the wall. I kept one eye on Chance as he twirled Madison across the hardwood.

Finally, mercifully, the ball ended. I handed my boys their monogrammed cuff links and Kit drove us to Claybourne Manor. Chance’s bash was supposed to run late—he’d even chartered a car service to take guests home.

Kit told me to enjoy myself. He’d inform the other parents.

Chance had demanded answers as soon as we arrived. He marched my group upstairs, leaving a butler to see to his guests.

So there we were, an hour later.

A wild celebration raged downstairs. Half the school was in attendance.

Partying was the furthest thing from our minds.

Chance stirred. “How did you destroy the grate?”

“Adrenaline.” Hi sat up. Flexed. “The human body is capable of amazing things.”

“There were four of us.” Shelton was inspecting his shoes. “That probably made the difference.”

“Four.” Jason’s gaze shifted to Ben. “Because I was unconscious. Having run into a pole. Which I don’t remember.”

Ben shrugged. “Not my fault you’re clumsy.”

Jason turned dubious eyes to me. “That’s how it happened, Tor?”

“Yes,” I lied. “You were doubled over coughing up a lung and lost your bearings. The passage was narrow and dim. Too many people, too much chaos.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Jason tested his jaw by easing it left, then right. Then his mouth formed a lopsided grin. “That’s the second function where I’ve gotten knocked silly. You’re dangerous to my brain, Miss Brennan.”

Chance crossed to the hearth, crouched, and began stoking the fire. He spoke without turning.

“I pounded those clamps with a crowbar for a good ten minutes. Each was solid iron, and bigger than a fist. I didn’t make a dent.”

Chance rose and turned to face us. “Yet you four ripped the grate from its tracks. Then you ripped the tracks from the wall , bending the metal bars like they were drinking straws. How? How is that possible?”

“I read once where this guy in Ulan Bator powerlifted a Chinese tank after—”

“Can it, Stolowitski. Let Tory explain.”

I sat up straight. Kept my voice steady. “What more is there to say?”

“So that’s your story? A massive surge of adrenaline? Hormones to the rescue?”

“What else could it be?”

Chance pointed without looking, eyes on me. “And poor Jason ran into a pole , conveniently missing this dramatic feat?”

I nodded. Met him stare for stare.

“Nor was I there,” Chance went on. “Because you suggested I search the stairwell for a key. That seemed unlikely at the time, but I was exhausted and out of ideas. Thankfully, you had the presence of mind to send me … off.”

“What’s your point?” Jason was unwinding his ice pack. “We escaped. Be happy.”

“My point, Jason, is that this story is a pack of lies.” Chance’s face went hard. “A new entry in a long list of deceptions. And not a very good one.”

“Watch it,” Ben warned from the chair beside mine. “I don’t like your tone.”

Chance ignored him, focused entirely on me. “I want the truth, Tory. The real story. An explanation of what we both know has been going on for months.”

“It happened like I said.” Holding his gaze. “Jason hit a post. The rest of us worked together and managed to knock out the gate. Believe me, or don’t believe me, but you won’t get a different version. From anyone.”

Our eyes remained locked for what seemed an eternity.

Then his smirk returned.

“So be it.”

Chance spun and walked out the door.

CHAPTER 49

HI WAS FIRST to deliver the news.

Kit and I were eating Saturday breakfast when he pounded on our door.

Coop bounded over to investigate. Spotting Hi through the glass, he returned to his doggie bed and settled down to nap.

“Hurricane Katelyn took a hard left,” Hi said breathlessly. “She’s now on a collision course with Charleston.”

Kit began searching for the TV remote. “What are local officials saying?”

“There’s an evacuation order for downtown and the barrier islands, including Morris. Pretty much the whole Lowcountry.”

“Blargh.” A thousand things ran through my mind. “How soon?”

“We have to be gone by tomorrow noon.” As Hi snagged half my English muffin, he gave me a meaningful look. Our time was suddenly very short. “I’ve gotta run. My mother has me sounding the alarm.” Hi rubbed Coop’s head, then fired back outside.

Kit was frowning at CNN. “Katelyn picked up strength overnight. She’s now a Category Four, with sustained winds over 131 miles per hour.”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it. A Cat Four hasn’t hit South Carolina since Hugo in ’89. Before that, you’d have to go all the way back to Hazel in ’54. This is bad.”

I powered my laptop and scanned the National Weather Service homepage, then checked Weather Underground. “This state hasn’t been hit by any hurricane for almost a decade. Guess we’re due.”

“They’re saying the storm surge shouldn’t be like Katrina.” Kit was surfing the 24-hour news channels, bouncing between overcaffeinated meteorologists analyzing the coming tempest. “Because of how she’s spinning or something. No more than ten feet. But her wind speeds are fierce.”

I felt a stab of worry. “Is Loggerhead ready?”

Kit grunted. “As much as it can be. We prepared for this possibility. The monkeys have shelter available, and they’re smart enough to use it. Same with Coop’s family. LIRI buildings were designed to withstand winds over 150 miles per hour, but we’ll see. We’ll be needing a new fence for sure.”

Kit went upstairs to make calls. I stayed at the table to stew.

Hurricane Katelyn was ruining my plans.

My gut said we had a narrow window to catch the Gamemaster. A forced evacuation would destroy our chance.

What chance? We have no leads, no evidence. Nothing .

“Arrgh!”

I cleared the table, then walked out to the front steps and sat.

The breeze was light, the sky gray. I smelled the brackish odor of the salt marsh just down the road. The honeysuckle crawling along the Stolowitskis’ trellis.

The Atlantic appeared unnaturally calm. But I knew that somewhere over the horizon, a maelstrom was barreling toward my little island home.

Morris sits at the mouth of Charleston Harbor. Beyond it lies nothing but open sea.

I examined the construction of our row of townhouses. Sun-baked brick walls. Wooden trim. Stone foundation. My lips whispered a quiet prayer for the old fort. It was about to get smacked.