a bed. For a moment he lay completely still, allowing his thoughts to swirl around him, separating what was real from what he had dreamed, trying to work out what had happened to him, where he was now and how he had got here. The attack at the theatre. That was real. He remembered the blare of the traffic, the neon lights, the car cutting across the street to pick him up.
Scott. They had taken him. Jamie sat bolt upright, instantly searching for his brother even though there was little chance that he was anywhere near. But it didn’t matter. It was instinctive. He sent out his thoughts, first into this room, then into whatever room might be next door, then further. He was shouting his brother’s name but without uttering a word.
There was nothing. Jamie felt a sense of blankness that told him exactly what he feared. He was on his own.
He slumped against the pillow, feeling the stiffness in his shoulder where the dart had hit him, and knew that he had been drugged. How long had he been asleep? The sun was shining. A blind had been drawn across the window but he could see the light streaming in along the sides.
His mouth was dry and he felt sick. He looked around him and saw that he was in some sort of hotel room. He could tell from the emptiness of the place, the cheap furniture, the prints on the walls – black and white photographs of Reno as it had been fifty years ago. There was a glass of water beside the bed. He picked it up and drank. It was still cool. A few lumps of half-melted ice floated on the top. He was thirsty. He emptied the glass, then swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to stand up.
The door of the room opened and someone came in, morning sunlight streaming over her shoulders. At first he couldn’t make out who it was. Then the person closed the door and Jamie saw a young black woman, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with a brightly coloured cotton shirt hanging loose on the outside. She was carrying two supermarket shopping bags.
“When did you wake up?” she asked.
Jamie didn’t answer her question. “Who are you?” he demanded. “How long have I been here?”
“It’s after ten. I was getting worried about you. I thought I was going to have to call a doctor.” The woman paused. “You’re going to have to help me out here. Are you Scott or Jamie? The two of you are so alike.”
Jamie tried to stand up but he still didn’t have the strength. He felt as if he had been lying down for a week. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a motel,” the woman replied. “We’re still in Reno, right next door to the airport. The Bluebird Inn. Do you know it?” She put the shopping bags down on a table. They were full of food. A couple of apples spilled out and she scooped them up. “I thought you might be hungry so I went out shopping. I’m glad I timed it right. I didn’t want you to wake up on your own.”
“You were in the theatre.” Jamie recognized her. She had been the woman with the photograph at the last performance. She had volunteered to come up onto the stage.
“Yeah.” The woman nodded. “Actually, I saw you three times. I was there at the seven-thirty show. And the night before.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to see how you did it. Your act…”
Jamie forced himself to his feet. He was weak and his head was still throbbing, but he didn’t want to stay here, on his own, in the room with this strange woman. Scott had gone. Someone had taken him. That was all that mattered.
“Where are you going?” the woman asked. She placed herself between Jamie and the door.
“I have to find Scott.”
“I know how you’re feeling.” She shook her head. “But you can’t just walk out of here. It’s too late.”
“What do you mean?” Without knowing it, Jamie had clenched his fists. His eyes were fierce and bloodshot. “You were there. Why? Did you know what was going to happen? Were you part of it?”
Now it was the woman’s turn to become angry. “I think you’re forgetting what happened,” she replied. Her voice was still soft but Jamie could see that she was having to control herself. “I saved you. If it wasn’t for me, they’d have taken you too.”
Of course. She had been in the car. Jamie hadn’t seen her he’d only heard her voice before he’d passed out. But there could be no doubt. He recognized it again now. “Do you know where he is?” he asked. “Do you know who they were?”
“No.”
“I have to look for him.”
“I know how you’re feeling, Jamie. Can I call you that? You said you were looking for Scott so I guess that answers my question.” Again he didn’t answer, so she went on. “Just try to think straight for a minute. You want to find your brother. But where are you going to start?” She walked over to a table and picked up a small, silver object, shaped like a bullet but with a needle jutting out at one end and a black tuft at the other. “Do you know what this is?”
Jamie felt his blood run cold.
“I dug this out of your shoulder,” the woman said. “God knows what was in it but you’ve been asleep for eleven hours. Your brother was hit too, and right now he could be anywhere. You can look all over Reno if you want. You can look all over Nevada. But you’re not going to find him.”
She was right. Jamie knew it. But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t stay here, not without Scott. “I have to see Uncle Don,” he said.
“Don? The woman blinked. “You mean Don White? The man on the posters? Is he your uncle?”
“No. He’s nothing – but he made us call him that. He’ll be wondering where we are. He was there at the theatre last night. Maybe he can help.”
“I’m not so sure…”
“I don’t care what you think.” Jamie took a deep breath. “We were renting a house. It’s over in Sparks. There’s him and Marcie. I have to tell them what happened. They’ll contact the cops.”
The woman thought for a moment. Then she nodded. “Why don’t you call them?”
There was a telephone on a table beside the bed. Jamie picked it up and dialled the number. He waited, listening as it rang at the other end. There was no reply. He let it ring a dozen times. Then he hung up.
“If they cared about you, they’d have called the police already,” the woman said.
“How do you know they haven’t?”
The woman sighed. “Fair enough. I haven’t seen the papers yet…”
“You knew what happened.” Jamie couldn’t keep the hostility out of his voice. “Why didn’t you call them?”
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Great. Well now you’ve talked to me. How long did you say I’ve been here? Eleven hours. That means you’ve given them eleven hours to get away with Scott. I don’t even know your name but you’re nothing to do with me. I just want to go home.”
“I’m not stopping you!” The woman raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “You want to go home? That’s fine! In fact I’ll drive you there myself. OK?”
Jamie nodded.
“Then let’s go.”
The woman went over to the door and the two of them stepped outside. Jamie screwed up his eyes as the sun hit him. The door opened onto a parking lot and he could feel the heat bouncing off the tarmac, roasting his forehead and cheeks. The air smelled of burning rubber and gasoline. The Bluebird Inn was an old-fashioned building, two storeys high, mainly white-painted wood. It had been named after the state bird of Nevada but if anything with wings came close to the place it was more likely to be a plane. The motel had been constructed exactly opposite the runway and even as Jamie stood there, he heard the roar of a jet – though whether it was taking off or landing he couldn’t see.
“You always stay here?” he asked.
The woman glanced at him. “I always stay near airports,” she replied. Why? What did she mean? But Jamie didn’t ask her. Whatever her problems were, they had nothing to do with him.
She had rented a car, a silver four-door Ford Focus, and Jamie saw that she had called someone out early that morning. The window had been repaired. But one of the wing mirrors was missing. That would cost her plenty
