For the first time in years, maybe ever, he consciously sought the injured part of his brain, the place Mason Falk’s drugs had burned into something more than it should have been, something less. He drove his thoughts into the part of his brain he’d avoided for so long, filling it and stretching it, asking for answers. All he got was a hollow echo of death. Of danger. He had nothing. No flash. No instinct. Nothing except the fear that beat in his heart, the premonition that he would be too late to save her. Too late to save himself. “We’ll go up,” he said, making a decision born of pure guesswork. The chief nodded. “Up it is.” He waved the others off. “Keep in contact via radio. I’ve got vehicles fanning out from here in case she’s left the building, but until we know what we’re looking for…” He trailed off, but the inference was clear. Without more information, there was little hope that they could find Maya if she was stashed in a car trunk, headed for God only knew where.
