Orchid watched the last Northville speed limit sign slip past the window. Rafe accelerated rapidly.
“What would such a connection tell you?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. But it would certainly prove very interesting.”
Orchid gazed out the windshield at the heavily wooded landscape. But she did not see the trees that marched down the hillsides to the banks of the North River. Other images filled her mind. Scenes of grueling focus sessions with mentally disturbed talents. Exhausting lab tests conducted by cold researchers who did not seem to notice or care about the stress they induced in their volunteer subjects. The eagerness of the experts to move from experiments with the mentally ill to focus sessions with the criminally insane.
With an effort she shook off the unpleasant chill. “If our search for the missing relic leads to ParaSyn we may need to get inside.”
“We’ll see.”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve got the perfect excuse, Rafe.”
Rafe shook his head. “Security at a place like ParaSyn is always very tight. I doubt that the authorities would grant a former research subject free run of the place. Especially given the fact that the project you were involved in was closed down three years ago.”
“I’m not sure I’d get free run of the place.” Orchid kept her attention on the serene view of the river. “But I know they’ll let me back inside. They’ve been trying to coax me back for a follow-up project for weeks, remember?”
Rafe gave her a raking glance. “Forget it. You aren’t going back there under any circumstances.”
“But if it means closing our case—”
His jaw was stone. “You aren’t going back to ParaSyn.”
“Not even if it means finding the missing relic?”
“That damn relic is not worth sending you back to ParaSyn. Besides, odds are it’s nowhere near ParaSyn, anyway.”
“What do you mean? You just said there might be a connection. Maybe some researchers at ParaSyn arranged to steal the relic.”
Rafe looked surprised by her suggestion. “Not likely. There would be no need to steal it. ParaSyn is a major company with a lot of clout. If the experts there wanted to conduct experiments on some of the alien artifacts all they would have to do is contract with the authorities at the university and the New Seattle Art Museum. No one would turn down a request from them.”
“Good point.” She sank back in her seat, briefly deflated but also secretly relieved.
“Even if the executives at ParaSyn had decided to engage in a little industrial espionage, they would have used a more efficient and more reliable agent than Theo Willis.”
“I see what you mean.”
“All I’m looking for is another lead on Quentin Austen. There’s something a little too convenient about his suicide. But I can get the kind of information I need without sending you back to ParaSyn.”
Orchid was touched by his vehemence. Smiling tremulously, she reached across the short distance that separated them and patted his hand. “Thanks.”
“I missed you last night,” Rafe said after a while.
“I was just down the hall.”
“I’m getting used to having you in my bed.”
She did not know what to say to that. The truth was, she was getting used to being in his bed, too.
Rafe said nothing for a time. After a while he glanced at her, eyes gleaming. “I guess pulling over to the side of the road, driving into that grove of trees near the river, and getting into the backseat would be a really primitive thing to do.”
“Are you kidding?” She was horrified. “It would not only be primitive, it could be extremely embarrassing. This is a major highway. Someone might see us.”
“Not much traffic,” he observed. “And the woods look pretty thick. I don’t think anyone would notice.”
“That grove near the river is just the sort of place a family would choose for a roadside picnic.”
“You know what your problem is, Orchid? You lack a spirit of adventure.”
Orchid felt the Icer slow perceptibly. “You wouldn’t dare.”
It was fast and intense and in the end Orchid actually screamed. It was probably real primitive of him, Rafe thought, but he liked that part best.
“I can’t believe you did that.” Twenty minutes later, Orchid perched on the edge of the backseat struggling to pull on her jeans.
It was not an easy task, Rafe thought. There was very little room for her to maneuver because he was taking up most of the available space. He lounged in the corner, one leg stretched out behind Orchid’s madly wriggling rear, and enjoyed the scene.
“Might be easier if you opened the door and got out,” he said.
“I’m not getting out of this car until I’m dressed. We’re not that far from Northville. What if some of my parents’ friends happened along?”
“Suit yourself, but I really don’t think anyone can see you from the highway.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” There was a soft snap as Orchid managed to fasten the waistband of her jeans. “Isn’t there some kind of law that says that no one over the age of eighteen is allowed to do it in the backseat?”
“I won’t tell the backseat police if you don’t.” He sat up reluctantly and gingerly rezipped his pants. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I believe I’ll use the facilities.”
“What facilities?” She peered through the fogged up windows. “This isn’t a rest stop. We’re in the middle of the woods.”
“Right. The facilities.” He cracked the door open and slid it up into the roof. “Be back in a minute.”
“Oh, I see.” She turned pink. Then she studied the river bank that was only a few feet away with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe I’ll take the opportunity to wash up myself.”
Rafe got out of the car. “Don’t fall in. That water will be ice cold at this time of year.”
“Don’t worry. My balance is a lot better than Preston’s.”
“I believe it.” Rafe turned and walked a discreet distance into the trees, savoring the after effects making love to Orchid always had on his senses. He felt relaxed and pleasantly aware of the sights, smells, and small sounds around him.
Life was good this morning.
He kept walking.
The morning sun filtered through the leaves, dappling the ground with spots of gold and shadow. The rich soil beneath his boots smelled of spring. The air tasted better than blue champagne.
He allowed his mind as well as his senses to wander as he chose a suitable tree and unzipped his jeans.
From out of nowhere he recalled the billing ledger he had found the night he and Orchid had searched Quentin Austen’s office. He had a sudden memory of the pink sticky note attached to the back.
The synergistic possibilities hit him with the impact of summer lightning.
Energy pulsed through him as he hastily rezipped his jeans. The small burst of adrenaline took his already heightened senses up another notch for a few seconds.
Just long enough to alert him to the presence of another person nearby.
Not Orchid.
The sense of imminent danger crackled through him. He had to get back to Orchid. He shoved more energy out onto the psychic plane, instinctively seeking her through the focus link.
He saw the familiar prism take shape, clear and sharp even at this distance. He sent a warning crashing across the metaphysical realm even as he isolated the taint of the other and followed it.
He whirled, orienting himself. Through the trees he caught the unnatural glint of sunlight on steel.
He dove for cover just as the shot rang out. He landed on the ground behind a large tree.
“Rafe,” Orchid’s shout came from the river’s edge. “That was a shot.”
It was clear now that he was the target, not her. “Stay where you are.”
“Hey, you in the woods with the gun,” she yelled. “There are people here. It’s illegal to hunt this close to the highw
ay.”
Rafe doubted that her warning would carry much weight with the shooter. Whoever he was, he was no ordinary hunter. But Orchid’s words did provide a distraction.
Rafe sensed that the other’s attention was divided now.
From the would-be killer’s point of view, things were disintegrating rapidly, he thought. The first shot had missed and the intended victim was no longer in sight. To top it off, a woman who was invisible through the veil of trees was yelling.
Rafe flattened himself on the ground and made his way toward the shelter of the next large tree.
Another shot rang out, but this one went wild. The gunman had lost track of his quarry.
“There are people here, you idiot,” Orchid shouted furiously. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Rafe concentrated on sending more power through the prism. He knew exactly where the gunman was now. He began to circle toward him, using the heavy undergrowth as cover.
Apparently sensing the impending danger, the gunman abandoned his post. Rafe heard the rush of pounding footsteps in the distance. The man was plunging through the trees toward the road.
“Shit.”
The bastard was going to get away.
Rafe broke into a charging run.
He heard the slam of a car door and knew that he was too late. An instant later came the whine of an engine. It was followed by the squeal of tires on pavement.
Rafe reached the edge of the road in time to see the tail of a white Phase 1000 disappear around the curve in the highway.
There were, he reflected, a lot of Phases in the world.
“Are you certain it wasn’t some stupid hunter who thought you were a moose-deer?” Orchid asked for the third time as she refastened her seatbelt.
“Positive.” Rafe started the Icer and backed out of the trees toward the highway. “Whoever he was, he must have been following us since we left your folks’ house.”
“He couldn’t have known that we would stop here.”
“No, but when he saw us pull off the road he probably figured he had a golden opportunity.”
“To kill you? But who would want to do that? Dr. Austen was the only killer we’ve come across recently and he’s dead.”
“There’s still the little matter of the missing relic,” Rafe pointed out.
“But we don’t know where it is.”
“Someone may be worried that we’re still searching for it.”
She mulled that over for a moment. “I don’t know. Even if we assume that there is someone else involved in this thing besides Austen, why would he or she consider you a threat? With Austen’s death, the trail has gone cold.”
“Not quite.” Rafe glanced over his shoulder and then pulled out onto the highway. “Just before that guy took a shot at me, I had what you might call a small epiphany.”
“An epiphany? While using the facilities?”
“While taking a leak against a tree, to be precise.”
She grimaced. “What is it with men and trees, anyway?”
“It’s a guy thing. You wouldn’t understand. As I was saying, I suddenly recalled something we saw the night we went through Austen’s office.”
“What?”
“On the back of Theo Willis’s chart there was a small sticky note, remember?”
“Sure. You said it looked as if the receptionist had jotted it down to remind herself to send a thank-you note for the referral.”
“I think,” Rafe said, “that it would be very interesting to find out who referred Theo Willis to Dr. Austen.”
“Maybe,” she said slowly.
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I hate to say this, but I think you’re reaching a bit here. We have nothing to indicate that there was anyone else besides Quentin Austen involved with the missing relic. But we can say, with some certainty, that there are a couple of other people who might take a potshot at you if they got the chance.”
He raised his brows. “Such as?”
“Your cousin Selby.”
Rafe looked briefly intrigued. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“He’s got a lot to lose if you take over Stonebraker Shipping.”
“When, not if.”
“I beg your pardon. When you take over Stonebraker. And there’s someone else you have recently pissed-off, too, don’t forget.”
He frowned. “Who?”
“Preston Luce.”
“Luce? Five hells, I cut off his funding, not his balls.”
“With Preston, it probably amounts to the same thing. Grant funding is his raison d’être. Obtaining money for research projects is what he does. It’s what gives him clout at the institute. If he can no longer play rainmaker, he won’t last long. As a pure research analyst, he’s a bust.”
“I see what you mean.”
“Let’s face it Rafe. When you get right down to it, you are not the most popular man in the city-state.”
“Okay by me,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t care what everyone else thinks as long as you’ll still sleep with me.”
Chapter
18
“Yes, Mom. We got back to the city yesterday at about two o’clock. We, uh, stopped for a bite along the way.” Carrying the phone in one hand, Orchid paced back and forth across the small living room. She had told her parents nothing about the incident on the highway. The information would only alarm them and there was nothing they could do about it. “Just wanted to let you know that everything’s fine on this end.”
“The wedding was lovely, wasn’t it?”
“Beautiful. Veronica and Terrence were meant for each other.”
“That,” Anna said meaningfully, “is just what their marriage counselors said.”
Orchid raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I know.”
“Still no word from your agency?”
“No.” Orchid suppressed a flash of guilt. She had not yet informed her parents that Affinity Associates had lost her file. She paused beside her desk, picked up a pen, and dutifully jotted herself a note.
Call Affinity Associates. Find out what happened to my file.
“I must say, your Mr. Stonebraker was very interesting.”
“Yes, he is that.” Interesting. Orchid winced. Rafe was a lot more than interesting.
She picked up the note she had just written to herself, crumpled it in her fist, and tossed it into the waste can.
“Mom, I know this is going to sound like a dumb question, but do you, by any chance, happen to know what kind of car Preston drives?”
“I’m not sure what type it is. I don’t pay much attention to cars. But as I recall, it’s white.”
White. Like a white Phase 1000? Orchid wondered. She sat down heavily in her chair. “Does Dad know?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw Preston pass us on the highway on the way back to the city. I wondered if he had left Northville because of what happened between him and Rafe.”
“I don’t know if he’s still here or not. I’ll ask your father when I see him later today. About Mr. Stonebraker—”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve really got to run. Love you. ‘Bye.”
Orchid hung up the phone before her mother could continue the gentle cross-examination.
She sprawled in her chair and thought about the fact that Preston Luce’s car was very likely white. White was an extremely common color in cars, especially in Northville, she reminded herself. It was so very meta-zen-syn.
The low, resonant bong of her front doorbell roused her from her state of intense brooding. On the off chance that it would be Rafe with news of his investigation into the white car and maybe some take-out pasta, she got to her feet.
When she reached the door she automatically started to open it. But the events of the previous few days had taken their toll. She paused long enough to peer through the peephole. She stifled a small groan when she saw Briana Culverthorpe standing in the hallway.
Taking a deep breath, she pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face and opened the door. “Hello, Mrs. Culverthorpe. What brings you here?”
“I should have telephoned first.” Briana did not smile. “But I happened to be driving past your apartment and I thought I’d take a chance on your being home.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to speak with you.” Briana glanced past Orchid into the tiny entrance hall of the small apartment. “May I come in?”
“Yes, of course.” Orchid stepped back.
Briana was the same patrician woman Orchid had met briefly on the night of Alfred G. Stonebraker’s birthday. Her pale hair framed her attractive face in two elegantly curved wings. The beautifully tailored suit she wore was a pale, pastel blue.
The only difference was that today there was an air of tension about her that did not suit the look of wealthy sophistication.
Orchid watched, amused as Briana glanced around the small living room with ill-concealed curiosity. She took in the sight of the genuine yellow velvet covered Later Expansion period sofa and the assorted reproduction pieces in the same style. An air of faint disdain lit the cool blue eyes.
“We probably don’t use the same interior designer,” Orchid said.
“No,” Briana sat down gingerly on the edge of the flamboyantly curved, high-backed sofa. She did not allow herself to sink into its depths. “I doubt that we do.”
“Coff-tea?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be staying long. I shall come straight to the point, Miss Adams. My husband made you an offer a few days ago. I wish to know if you intend to accept it.”
Orchid saw the anxiety in Briana’s eyes. She found herself wanting to let the other woman down gently. But she could not think of any graceful way to refuse a bribe.
“No. I can’t accept it.”
“I see.” Fine lines appeared at the corners of Briana’s beautifully made-up mouth. “Perhaps Selby did not make the offer high enough.”
“Actually, he left it pretty open-ended. Told me I could just about name my own price. But there is no price, Mrs. Culverthorpe.”
Briana gave her a level look. “I trust you do realize that when this is all over, he won’t marry you.”