Kincaid already owned three Evanger pictures, although he hadn’t bought them just as an investment. Something about the repressed violence in them and the artist’s grim, surreal view of reality appealed to him. It matched his own in some indefinable way.
Word of a final Evanger painting had spread like wildfire among collectors. When the rumors had reached Kincaid, he paid attention. He wanted that painting. Dispassionately he wondered if Evanger had flaked out and decided to set the scene for an elaborate, headline-grabbing suicide.
Damon didn’t particularly care if the woman killed herself after selling her last work. In fact, it would be better if she did. It would ensure that she didn’t change her mind and start to paint again.
Evanger’s suicide would go a long way toward protecting Kincaid’s investment in her art. He smiled faintly at the thought. One way or another, when this was all over and he owned Bloodlust, he would have to make sure Caitlin Evanger did indeed kill herself.
But the first priority was to make certain he was on the guest list for what promised to be a most exclusive auction.
Once again Damon Kincaid would be entering the ugly house above the sea.
Maybe this time when he finished his business there he would see that the place was destroyed. It had appeared too many times already in his life. He could do without a fourth time.
Kincaid swung back to his desk and touched a button on a small console. His secretary’s cultured voice answered at once.
“Yes, Mr. Kincaid?”
“Get Hatch.”
“Yes, Mr. Kincaid.”
Hatch answered at once. “Yes, Mr. Kincaid?”
“When you’ve finished getting me on the Evanger bidders’ list, I want you to get in touch with that investigation agency again. I want them to run a background check on that restaurant owner and her lover with the dishpan hands. Find out whatever you can and get back to me as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Mr. Kincaid.”
Kincaid sat back in his chair with a sense of satisfaction. Unlike some executives, he liked to employ “yes” men and women. It made no sense to hire people who might think too much for themselves.
Verity finished off the yogurt dipping sauce with a touch of curry and put the glass bowl containing the mixture into the refrigerator next to the beer her father and Jonas had stored there. The flavors in the sauce would be perfectly blended by tonight when it was brought out to be served with fresh vegetables at the evening meal.
Verity had been in a flurry of activity all day, ever since she and Jonas returned from Caitlin’s. They had arrived home at ten, just in time for the mad rush to get ready for lunch. There had been no letup for her since then.
She wiped her hands and glanced around the kitchen. The restaurant had been closed since two o’clock and she had been working steadily and alone for nearly two hours. It was now almost four and she decided she deserved a break. Everyone else in the vicinity seemed already to have taken one. She hadn’t seen anything of her father or Jonas since shortly after two. They had departed together with one of the six-packs from the refrigerator.
Neither man had bothered to ask Verity whether she minded them storing their beer in her commercial-sized refrigerator. She had simply opened the door and found the six-packs piled inside. It was very annoying but she decided it wasn’t worth orchestrating a battle over the matter. She had other things on her mind.
Verity stepped out onto the back porch of the little restaurant and stretched luxuriously. The afternoon sun was warm on her shoulders as she considered her options. She could grab a can of fruit juice and walk down to the lake, or she could go visit Laura, who would be enjoying the lull before check-in time.
Or she could go hunt up Jonas and see if he really meant what he’d said about trying to test the bizarre psychic power he claimed to have.
She shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and started up the path to the small cabin that her father and Jonas were sharing. As she walked through the trees she spotted both men lounging in the sun on the steps of the deck that lined the front of the cottage. They each held a can of beer, and the remainder of a six-pack was chilling in a bucket of ice between them. An open bag of potato chips was sitting upright on the step. Verity shook her head in mild disgust as she approached.
“It’s obvious neither one of you will ever have a big problem adjusting to retirement,” she remarked as she reached them. “Some men can’t handle it, you know. They die or go crazy when they no longer have a regular nine-to-five job. The shock of being without work for the first time in their lives is too much for them. It’s good to know you two won’t ever get too dependent on that kind of routine.”
Jonas leaned back against a railing post, one jeaned leg resting on the step below the one on which he sat. His other leg was stretched indolently out along the redwood boards. He ate a chip, tipped the beer can to his mouth, and emptied it with obvious pleasure before he spoke.
“Practice, practice, practice. Right, Emerson?”
“Damn right,” Emerson agreed from the opposite side of the steps. He smiled blandly at his daughter. “Sit down, Red. If you promise not to lecture us on the virtues of employment, we might let you have a can of beer and a handful of chips.”
Verity raised her eyes briefly toward the heavens and surrendered. “It’s a deal. I’m too tired to try whipping either of you into shape today.”
Jonas patted the step below him. “That’s good news. Have a seat. I’ll even open the beer for you.”
“Always the gentleman.” But she accepted the cold, wet can with some gratitude. For some reason, she didn’t have the energy to lecture today.
Jonas leaned back against the post again and looked at Emerson. “Where the hell did she get such a heavy dose of the old-fashioned work ethic, anyway?”
“Don’t look at me,” Emerson said. “It didn’t come from my side of the family.”
Verity wrinkled her nose at both men, choosing to ignore the deliberate provocation. Sometimes a woman had to rise above the generally primitive sense of humor frequently favored by the male of the species.
The three of them sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, absorbing the faint sound of the murmuring trees and the sight of the lake in sunshine. Neither Jonas nor Emerson seemed inclined to start a conversation so Verity waited until she’d fortified herself with a few swallows of beer before she took the initiative.
“Well. Jonas, have you told Dad about the test you want to run with the pistols?”
Jonas shrugged. “I told him.”
Verity looked at her father. “What do you think, Dad?” Emerson rubbed the back of his neck. “About what?”
“About this psychometry business,” she said bluntly, not looking at Jonas. “Do you believe in it?”
“Red, I believe in a lot of things I can’t see or taste or touch. Things like black holes in the heart of the universe, and the Theory of Relativity. I’m willing to keep an open mind toward this psychic stuff. If Jonas says he’s got some kind of talent for it, I’m willing to wait and see.”
“Do you know anything about psychometry?” Verity demanded.
Emerson raised a heavy brow. “I know that any really good collector, antique dealer, or museum director will tell you he’s heard stories of people in his line of work who just seem to know when an object is genuine. It’s usually passed off as some kind of intuition based on extensive experience, a gut feel for what’s real and what’s not. But who knows? It could be the rudiments of psychometry. And if it is, it makes sense to think that a few people might have been born with more than just some rudimentary talent. A few might have gotten the full-blown power. Like I said, I’m keeping an open mind. What about you?”
Verity glanced at Jonas, who had his dark head resting against the post. His eyes were closed and he seemed not to be paying any attention
to the conversation.
“I’m keeping an open mind, too,” Verity said.
Jonas spoke without opening his eyes. “If you believe that, Emerson, I’ve got some oceanfront property down in Arizona I’d like to sell you.”
Emerson chuckled. “I guess we’ll find out a little more about all this when you two run this test, huh? If nothing else, it should be amusing. I always enjoy a good party trick.”
“Did Jonas tell you that the last time he practiced his party trick someone almost got killed?” Verity sensed Jonas’s sudden, deep stillness.
“Just a lab tech, from what I hear.” Emerson was unconcerned. “In this day and age lab techs are as common as white mice. What’s one more or less?”
“Dad!”
Emerson grinned. “Just teasing, Red.” He reached for a fresh can of beer. “When are you planning to do your stuff, Jonas? I want to be around. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to those pistols.”
“The pistols will be safe enough,” Jonas said calmly.
“Do I get the same guarantee about Verity?” Emerson asked blandly.
“Verity will be perfectly safe,” Jonas said quietly.
“Of course I’ll be safe,” she tossed back, irritated. “What can possibly happen to me, even if Jonas is right about having this weird power?”
Jonas opened one eye and regarded her thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you what might happen to you, little tyrant. One of these days I’m going to catch you in that corridor and I might not let you go again. When we’re in that corridor, I’m the one in charge. You work for me there.”
Verity swallowed too much beer and nearly choked. By the time she had recovered, Jonas and Emerson had casually decided when to run the test.
“Tonight after Verity closes the restaurant will be a good time,” Jonas said. “She’s usually exhausted after the evening cleanup. With any luck she’ll be too tired to fight me when I try to make the connection.”
Verity shot him a quick, repressive glare. He was talking about a psychic connection, but it struck her for the first time that the only occasions she had ever actually wound up in bed with Jonas were after she had seen him in that mysterious corridor.
She spent the rest of the evening wondering if there was some link between the psychic events Jonas claimed to experience and his passion afterward.
It was an unsettling thought.
The No Bull Cafe closed a half-hour early on Tuesday night. Business had been light during the evening and Jonas and Emerson got the cleanup work done in record time. Verity found herself loitering behind them, double-checking lists and going over small details she already knew by heart.
“Ready, Verity?”
She jumped as Jonas approached her from behind. She glanced back over her shoulder and met his steady gaze. “I guess so. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
His expression hardened slightly. “You don’t have to look as though I’ve just invited you to a funeral. This will only take a few minutes. When it’s over maybe I’ll have some answers to some questions I’ve been living with for a long time.”
Verity’s resentment flickered and died. Jonas believed in this mysterious talent he claimed he had. Right or wrong, it was eating at him and had been for years. Apparently it had shaped a good portion of his adult life. She couldn’t deny him her help in this small test.
Impulsively she reached out and took his hand. “Okay, let’s go see what happens.”
Jonas’s eyes lightened and his strong fingers clamped fiercely around hers. “Thanks, Verity. One of these days I’ll repay you for the favor, I promise.”
“Forget it. Consider it a job perk. Given the low wages I pay, I suppose you deserve one or two.” Such as sleeping with the boss and playing strange psychic games with her. “Ready, Dad?”
Emerson, who was leaning against a counter, his arms folded across his broad chest, nodded briefly. Teeth flashed somewhere in his beard. “Let’s go see what happens.”
They locked the restaurant and walked along the path to the small cabin. When they filed inside and closed the door, Emerson reached under the sagging bed to pull out the pistol case. He opened it and set it down on a table. Verity thought the old guns looked sinister in the harsh light of the ancient bulb overhead. But then, she always thought guns of any kind or any age appeared sinister and quite repugnant.
“What do we do next, Jonas?” she asked calmly.
“You don’t have to do anything except sit down in that chair and try not to fight me or run from me.” He indicated one of the straight-back chairs at the table.
Verity frowned as she slipped onto the seat. “I’m not going to fight you. I agreed to do this, remember?”
He nodded, sitting down across from her. “I know, but your instincts may take a different viewpoint when they sense what’s happening. On the other two occasions when I tried to connect with you in that corridor, you were terrified.” It was disturbing to know that his memories of that mental corridor were as sharp as her own. They really had shared some sort of mental imagery. He even knew she had tried to run from him. Somehow he really had been there with her. It was the last thing Verity wanted to admit. Surely there was some rational explanation. If push came to shove, she would vote for a diagnosis of mental telepathy before she agreed with the verdict of psychometry, she decided.
Telepathy was bad enough but somehow psychometry was even more difficult to accept.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she said between set teeth. Jonas gave her a grim glance before reaching across the table for her hand. “Yes, ma’am,” he said dryly.
Emerson hovered. “Where do you want me in all this?” he asked.
Jonas looked up at him, his expression thoughtful. “Just stand nearby. If, uh, anything looks like it might get out of control, take the pistol away from me. Once I’m no longer in contact with the gun, the reaction will stop.”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed. “You going to go crazy on us, Jonas?”
Jonas smiled faintly. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got Verity. Don’t worry. I’ve already touched these pistols briefly and their impact isn’t too bad.”
“What do you mean, their impact isn’t too bad?” Verity demanded.
“I mean I didn’t sense any death associated with them,” Jonas explained impatiently.
Verity shuddered. “Oh. Well, that’s encouraging. I guess I’m ready.”
“Such enthusiasm.” But Jonas hesitated no longer. He reached into the case and picked up one of the pistols.
Jonas felt a faint, glittering flicker of awareness and closed his eyes. He felt the eerie sensation of suddenly having to share his place in time and space with something else that didn’t quite belong there. The cabin walls began to curve around him.
This was not going to be nearly as intense an experience as handling the rapier had been. But then, he had already known that. The pistol dated from a later time period. Its effect was bound to be less dramatic.
The grip of the gun was warm and solid in his hand. He felt a damp sheen of sweat break out on his forehead.
The tunnel continued to form in his mind.
He started moving along the corridor, aware of the tendrils of old emotion that seemed to be pulling him toward one end. He ignored them for the moment, concentrating on finding Verity first before he tried to deal with the sensations of the past. He could sense her presence somewhere up ahead in the misty shadows that drifted in the endless corridor. With the sure sense of her presence came the feeling of being safely linked to his primary reality.
Something flickered in the darkness ahead. Exultation gripped Jonas. She was there. He caught a tantalizing glimpse of her standing very still, poised to flee but not yet giving in to the fear. Jonas gave her full marks for being in control of herself. The little tyrant was one gutsy lady.
But then, he had always known th
at. She’d been putting up one hell of a fight when he’d pulled Pedro off of her in that Mexican alley.
Jonas continued moving forward in the corridor. He took his time, concentrating on the feeling of being in control. On previous occasions when he entered the corridor he had always been forced to deal with the immediate impact of emotions and images that were waiting to swamp him. Entering the corridor had always meant going into battle. But not tonight. A vast relief and a sense of satisfaction poured through Jonas. There was no doubt that Verity’s presence strengthened him in some way.
Verity’s presence made it possible to tame the flickering ghosts of the past.
He would connect with Verity in the corridor and then he would turn to confront the ghosts.
Jonas pushed his way through the last of the shadows and found Verity waiting for him. She stood braced, her hands in small, determined fists at her sides. The feeling of being anchored grew stronger. A part of Jonas had the freedom now to make some observations.
One of the things he noticed was that he and Verity both appeared to be dressed exactly as they had been all evening. Apparently the mental images they constructed in their minds reflected current reality outside the corridor. The main difference was that inside the tunnel they each moved independently. In current time/space, neither one got up from the table, but inside the corridor each had full capability of movement.
Jonas saw the wariness in Verity’s eyes and tried a reassuring smile. He came to a halt in front of her, not touching her in the corridor.
“Hi,” he said, wondering if she would break and run.
“Hi, yourself,” Verity tore her gaze from his face and glanced around. “So this is it. huh?”
“This is it. Think of it as a tunnel through the sea. Instead of being surrounded by water, we’re surrounded by time. We’re immersed in it.”
Verity hugged herself and nervously rubbed her upper arms. “And you think that some bits and pieces of time enter this corridor?”