Orchid

  Elvira beamed. “Not bloody likely.”

  “May I ask why not?” Orchid glanced at Rafe. “I understand that Mr. Stonebraker contracted only to find Mr. Yeager’s book, not to turn you over to the cops. He made that clear before we came here tonight. But what about the next private investigator or police detective who comes looking for a missing book?”

  Elvira looked mildly astonished. “But, my dear, the only one I have to worry about is Stonebraker. No other private investigator or detective has ever discovered my little hobby of collecting old books. I’m a fine, upstanding member of the community. Who would suspect me? Except for Rafe, of course?”

  She had a point. Orchid, herself, could hardly believe that the wealthy, socially prominent Elvira Turlock, who sat on the boards of most of the major philanthropic societies in New Seattle and whose brilliant parties were legendary, was a book thief.

  “But sooner or later—” Orchid persisted.

  “As she said, not likely.” Rafe gave Elvira a knowing look. “Mrs. Turlock is careful to limit her acquisitions. She only steals from a highly select group of private collectors.”

  Orchid looked from Rafe to Elvira. “I don’t understand.”

  “I acquire my books from collectors who are not in a position to go to the police.” Elvira waved a graceful, heavily ringed hand at the volumes in the glass cases. “Every one of the volumes that you see here had been previously stolen from someone else before I took it.”

  Orchid raised her brows. “I get it. You steal from other thieves who can’t go to the cops because they would have to admit they had stolen the books first.”

  “Precisely.” Elvira nodded approvingly. “It limits my risk. However, I have many of the same security problems as the other collectors who dabble in stolen books and art.”

  “In other words,” Rafe said, “she has to worry about thieves too. Mrs. Turlock is in no position to go to the police, either.”

  Orchid nodded. “Hence the state-of-the-art security system in this chamber?”

  “Indeed.” Elvira smiled at Rafe. “I’ve just had it updated again. You might want to have a look at some of the new features. Quite clever, if I do say so myself.”

  A gleam of what could only be professional interest appeared in Rafe’s gaze. “Thanks. I’d like that.”

  “The least I can do. But first you both must join me for coff-tea and dessert before you leave. After you phoned this evening, I had my chef prepare a very nice pear-berry tart. You’re quite fond of pear-berries, as I recall.”

  “My favorite,” Rafe said. “Very thoughtful of you, Elvira.”

  Orchid could hardly believe her ears. Now they were discussing fruit tarts just as though they were not all standing in the midst of several million dollars worth of stolen books.

  “Excuse me,” she said crisply, “but if you’re finished with me, Mr. Stonebraker, I really should be on my way.”

  Rafe looked at her with unwavering eyes. “But I’m not finished with you, Miss Adams.”

  A chill of awareness shot through her. It was suddenly very difficult to look away from that intent, icy stare. From out of nowhere, she was struck with an almost overwhelming urge to run but she did not think she could move if her life depended on it.

  This was how a moose-deer that has just been singled out of the herd by a predator feels, she thought suddenly.

  What was wrong with her? She was mildly claustrophobic but the underground gallery had not bothered her until now.

  A tingling sensation wafted across the metaphysical plane, ruffling all her senses, psychic and otherwise.

  Belatedly she recognized the faint shimmer of paranormal energy being actively projected. Talent seeking a prism.

  An instant later, it vanished. But not before Orchid recognized Rafe’s unique brand of psychic power. She did not know if he had meant to intimidate her with a flash of raw strat-talent or if the fleeting contact had been accidental. She strongly suspected the former.

  Primal fear metamorphosed into outrage. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Sorry.” Rafe turned his attention to the nearest bookcase. “It was an accident.”

  Elvira glanced quizzically from one to the other. “Something wrong?”

  “Not at all.” Orchid managed to summon what she hoped was a cool, professional smile. “Mr. Stonebraker let a bit of talent slip on the psychic plane. I thought perhaps he wanted to focus, but apparently he just lost control for a moment.”

  She glanced at Rafe out of the corner of her eye. Touché, she thought when she saw his stoic expression. She could have sworn that he blushed. She knew she had embarrassed him.

  Any man endowed with Rafe’s monumental degree of arrogant self-mastery would naturally be chagrined by the condescending assumption that he did not have complete control of his psychic talent. But he could hardly argue the point. If he denied it, he would be tacitly admitting that the flash of strat-talent had been deliberate. And that would mean that he had meant to intimidate her.

  “I see.” Elvira dismissed the event with a charming smile and turned to walk off down the gallery hall. “As long as you’re here, why don’t I show the two of you the rest of my collection? For obvious reasons, I rarely have the pleasure of allowing others to view it.”

  Orchid avoided Rafe’s gaze. Perhaps the brief pulse of power had been an accident, she thought. Or perhaps she was overreacting. She was tired, she reminded herself. Anxiety dreams, punctuated by the two full-blown nightmares, had disrupted her sleep for the past several days. And then, this morning, Morgan Lambert had phoned her with the news of Theo Willis’s death.

  It had not been a good week.

  “I’m especially proud of my Fay histories of the second generation.” Elvira paused to indicate a row of leather-clad spines. “Aren’t they lovely?”

  Orchid smiled. “I like those. Read them in high school.”

  Elvira gave her a knowing look. “I’m not surprised they appealed to you, dear. Rafe, however, is of the opinion that Fay romanticized the second generation colonists. Isn’t that right, Rafe?”

  “I don’t care for the romantic style,” Rafe said.

  “Figures,” Orchid grinned. “I’ll bet you’ve never read any of my books, have you?”

  His brows drew together in a disapproving frown. “No.”

  “Don’t bother. You wouldn’t like them. Much too romantic.”

  “Personally, I love your books, Miss Adams,” Elvira said. “Indeed, I am collecting them. Legally, of course. I was so excited when Rafe told me you would be coming with him today. I would be delighted if you would autograph a book before you leave.”

  “I’d be honored,” Orchid said.

  “Wonderful. Now, then, let me show you my little group of Espinosa mysteries.” Elvira turned a corner and started down another stainless steel corridor. “Oh, by the way, Rafe, remind me to put in an order for another thousand shares of Synergy Fund stock before you go.”

  Orchid glanced at him. “Synergy Fund?”

  “My day job,” he muttered. “I’m the president and chief financial advisor.”

  Strat-talents were supposed to be good businesspeople, she reminded herself. “I see.”

  Who would have guessed, she thought. Stranger and stranger.

  She was aware of Rafe pacing along beside her. If one discounted the subtle aura of power he radiated, there was nothing extraordinary about him. He was of medium height and he appeared to be in excellent physical shape. He looked lean and sleekly muscled in his dark sweater and trousers. His near-black hair was cut a little too short for current fashion.

  It was, perhaps, unfortunate, given the nature of his particular psychic talent, that he had been endowed with the blunt, hard features and the intense eyes of a predator, she thought.

  “Do take a look at my wonderful new Inchman, for me, Rafe.” Elvira motioned toward a small volume. “I love it, but I have a nasty suspicion that it may be a forgery. I suppose there would
be some ironic justice in that. Nevertheless, I would like to get a second opinion and I can hardly ask a professional—”

  She broke off abruptly, interrupted by a high-pitched, electronic wail that oscillated suddenly through the steel gallery. The sound was not especially loud but it struck Orchid’s nerves with an eerie intensity. She was abruptly dizzy.

  An expression of acute dismay crossed Elvira’s face. “Oh, dear.”

  Rafe winced as if in severe pain. He put his hands over his ears. “Five hells. The new security system, I assume?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Elvira closed her eyes and put her hand to her forehead. “The installer said there might be a few false alarms in the beginning. I’m afraid we have a problem.”

  “Do something.” Orchid felt as if she were standing on the bow of a ship that was being tossed about by violent waves. She steadied herself with one hand against the wall. “Turn it off.”

  “That’s the problem.” Elvira swayed on her feet and gave Orchid a deeply apologetic look. “I can’t. Not from in here. The lights will go next, unfortunately.”

  Rafe took his hands away from his ears and moved swiftly toward the door at the far end of the gallery. She caught a glimpse of his grim face and knew that he was as uncomfortable as everyone else.

  Perhaps he was actually in more distress she thought, not without a pang of genuine sympathy. He was a strat-talent, after all. His kind were believed to have more acute physical senses than other people, even when they were not employing their psychic energy. She could only imagine what the strange, disorienting wail of the siren was doing to his ears and his equilibrium.

  “Why doesn’t one of your household staff stop it?” Rafe called out to Elvira as he went toward the door.

  “I gave them the night off when I heard you would be dropping by for a visit.” Elvira sounded weak. “There’s no one here but us.”

  The lights over the bookcases winked out with startling abruptness, plunging the steel-lined room into Stygian darkness.

  “Wonderful.” Rafe’s voice echoed eerily in the tomblike chamber. “Just what we needed to make the evening perfect.”

  “What is it about that siren?” Orchid shook her head, trying to clear it. “For some reason it makes me feel as if I’m about to pass out.”

  “It’s designed to make you do just that. The sound waves it generates interfere with the natural synergy of ear-brain patterns to create a disorienting sensation.” Elvira’s voice was whisper-thin now. “In fact, I believe I’m about to faint, myself.”

  “Elvira.” Rafe’s voice sharpened. “The door’s locked from the outside. We’re trapped in this damn gallery of yours.”

  “The crypto-talent who installed the system designed it so that any thief who found his way inside would be locked in here and rendered unconscious.”

  “Good grief, we’re caught in a fancy bug trap for burglars.” Orchid massaged her forehead. At that moment unconsciousness held a distinct appeal. Anything was better than the feeling that she was going to be violently ill. “I don’t do well in dark, enclosed spaces.”

  “Don’t freak out on me,” Rafe ordered. His voice sounded closer now. “I’ve got enough problems on my hands locating the other exit.”

  In spite of her growing nausea, Orchid was offended. “I never freak out.” A flicker of hope went through her as his words finally registered. “What other exit?”

  “There has to be one. Elvira?”

  “Yes, dear?” She sounded half asleep.

  “Pay attention. I know how crypto-talents think and I know how you think.”

  “Yes, of course you do, dear. You’re a strat-talent.”

  “You and whoever designed the system must have planned for this kind of disaster. Where’s the other exit?”

  “You’re right, there is one. Somewhere. Can’t seem to think. So sorry, dear. This is very awkward. Quite embarrassing, in fact.”

  With a soft sigh, she fell against Orchid, who staggered under the unexpected weight.

  “Oomph. Rafe, I’ve got her. I think she’s unconscious.”

  “I’ll take her.”

  She did not hear him move but a second later he brushed against her arm. He took the weight of Elvira from her.

  “I’ll leave her here on the floor for now,” Rafe said.

  Orchid’s head was spinning faster in the endless night. “You’d better not get too close to me. I’m feeling a little sick. My boss will never forgive me if I throw up on a client’s shoes.”

  “I won’t be real thrilled either.” He moved again in the fathomless dark. “Get a grip, Orchid.”

  “Easy for you to say. I can’t seem to grip anything. I think I’m going to faint.”

  “If you do, I’ll demand my money back from Clementine Malone. Come on, we’ve got to find that exit.”

  “You’re the big-time strat-talent. Got any ideas?”

  “Yeah. I just need to think clearly for a minute.” There was raw pain in his voice now. “Damn. That siren is really doing a number on my ears.”

  An idea occurred to her. “Link.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. No telling how that siren will affect a focus link.”

  “What have we got to lose?” she demanded. “I vote we try it.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re right. Not much to lose.”

  When the questing tendril of raw power unfurled out on the psychic plane, Orchid greeted it with a great deal more enthusiasm than usual. Rafe’s psychic energy burned, strong and steady, in the metaphysical realm where there was no day or night, no light or darkness.

  The instant she projected the glittering crystal prism that could focus his power, everything steadied. The dreadful spinning ceased.

  Strat-talent energy, a lot of it, more raw power, in fact, than she had ever focused in her entire career, slammed into the prism she had crafted.

  “Better. Much, much better.” Rafe’s voice was hoarse with relief. “Definitely a good idea.”

  “Thanks. All part of the package of exclusive services available from Psynergy, Inc.” Orchid let out the breath she had been holding. “Don’t forget to tell my boss about this. I may be able to use it to get a raise.”

  The nausea faded as her sense of physical and spatial disorientation receded. She was still blinded by dense darkness and the obnoxious sound waves continued to assault her nerve endings but she found that she could now keep the nastier effects of the security system at bay by concentrating on holding the focus.

  She studied the off-the-chart level of power pouring through the glittering crystal prism she had projected on the psychic plane.

  “Class six, I believe your certification papers said,” she murmured very politely.

  There was a short, tense pause.

  “You don’t appear to be having any trouble dealing with my talent,” Rafe pointed out dryly. “That makes you something more than a full-spectrum. A lot more. In fact, now that I’ve had a chance to focus at this level with you, I can see that there’s something different about the kind of prism you project. What is it?”

  Orchid was suddenly grateful for the enveloping darkness. It made it impossible for Rafe to see her blush. At least, she amended, thinking of his para-heightened senses, she hoped it made it impossible for him to notice the heat she felt in her cheeks.

  “I’m an ice-prism,” she mumbled. Until tonight there had been no reason to demonstrate the full range of her abilities to Rafe.

  “A what?”

  “An ice-prism.”

  There was another short silence. “I’ve heard of those. Never met one.”

  “There aren’t very many of us around.”

  “Is it true what they say about ice-prisms?” He sounded genuinely curious. “Can you really manipulate the prisms you project?”

  “Mr. Stonebraker, do you have any immediate plans to get us out of here or are we going to hang around chatting all night?”

  “Sure.” An unexpected note of amusement la
ced his voice. “But you’ve got to admit that this is rather ironic. A couple of psychic vampires meeting in the dark. Just like something out of a novel. One of yours, perhaps?”

  It was uncomfortably similar to a scene in her latest book, Dark Desires, but she had no intention of telling him that.

  Out on the metaphysical plane, the raw chaos of energy pulsed through the prism, emerging in sharply controlled, brilliant bands of power. Orchid knew that, so long as she channeled the energy for him, Rafe could use it the way he used any of his other senses.

  Strat-talent energy waves looked different from other kinds of paranormal power. The colors were deeper, stronger, less transparent. They vibrated on slightly different wavelengths, augmenting ancient hunting instincts and heightening senses that had long been lost to mankind. That was why the experts considered them more primitive in an evolutionary sense.

  Rafe’s psychic energy was fierce and powerful but it was clean, even at this level of intensity. It was not tainted with the muddy hues of evil and incipient madness that had shaded Calvin Hyde’s talent.

  She watched, enthralled as the energy surged across the metaphysical plane. It was exhilarating to focus at the highest ranges of her own power. This was what she had been born to do, she thought. It was akin to breaking into a run after walking all of her life.

  She knew that she was not the only one savoring the experience. She could feel Rafe’s exultant satisfaction. It occurred to her that he had probably seldom, if ever, had a chance to focus at this level for any extended period of time.

  “Five hells.” He sounded slightly dazed. “This is good. This is incredible.”

  She smiled to herself. The urge to show off overwhelmed common sense. She was an ice-prism, after all. One who rarely got to exercise the full range of her unique abilities.

  You think this is good? she thought. Watch this.

  She studied the nuances of Rafe’s strat-talent, noting the rhythms of the waves, the subtle differences in hues, the texture of his surging power.

  Using the exquisite control she wielded over her own psychic energy, she made minute adjustments in the focus. A gentle alteration here, a slight sharpening of power there…