The massive guard who had blocked the door last time was not at his post. At least she was to be spared an unpleasant discussion about a bribe. That was fortunate. She only had a few dollars in her purse. She needed to save some cash for the cab fare home.
Amaryllis opened the stage door and stepped into the cramped corridor.
The outer door closed behind her. She paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. A dull rumble reverberated down the ugly green hallway. The floor trembled beneath Amaryllis’s feet. It took her a moment to realize that what she heard and felt was the rumble of the music being played on stage in the club.
She turned and went down the corridor, mentally counting off the doors. The thunder of the music grew louder as she moved deeper into the bowels of the SynCity’s backstage environs.
The door with the glowing purple star on it was closed. Amaryllis knocked once. There was no response.
“Ms. Huggleston?” Amaryllis put one ear to the door. “Vivien? It’s me. Amaryllis Lark.”
There was still no response. The muffled roar of the music rose and fell in a throbbing wave of sound and vibration. Amaryllis wrapped her hands around the doorknob and twisted cautiously.
The door opened without protest. Amaryllis caught a faint whiff of smoke, as if someone had just lit a jelly candle.
“Vivien? I’m here.” She peered around the corner of the door.
There was an untidy bundle of purple veils lying in the middle of the threadbare carpet. It looked as if Vivien had discarded her stage costume in a hurry and left it on the floor.
Then she saw the feathery, high-heeled slippers sticking out from beneath a cascade of gossamer purple fabric. Vivien’s feet were in the shoes.
“Vivien.” Amaryllis started forward. Her first thought was that the stripper had fallen and knocked herself unconscious.
The dressing room door swung shut behind her as she crouched beside the fallen woman. “Vivien?”
Amaryllis heard a faint squelching sound. The carpet was wet. She glanced down and saw the dark stain.
A scream rose in her throat
Blood soaked the thin carpet and several layers of veils. The puddle had its origin in the terrible black hole in the center of Vivien’s forehead.
Amaryllis snatched back the hand she had been about to place on the dead woman’s shoulder. She managed to stagger to her feet. Her stomach churned. The room started to spin gently. The noise of the pounding stage music shook the walls.
She turned and ran for the door. She had to get help.
But when she opened the door she found only darkness in the hallway. Someone had turned out the weak overhead lights that had illuminated the narrow corridor.
Then she felt a faint, not unfamiliar, trickle of awareness on the psychic plane.
It was gone in an instant but not before Amaryllis recognized it. What she had sensed was the brush of a strong but unfocused talent instinctively seeking a link. It was the sort of spiking surge of energy that often occurred when a talent was tense or anxious or under stress.
Someone waited for her out there in the shadowed corridor.
Chapter
16
In the endless heartbeat of time that it took Amaryllis to realize that there was someone lying in wait for her, she realized something else. She made a juicy target silhouetted in the dressing room doorway.
She leaped back into the tiny room and slammed the door shut. Her fingers were trembling so violently that it required two or three tries to activate the lock.
Not that it would do much good, she thought when she finally heard the bolt slide into place. The door of the dressing room was so flimsy that she could have put her own fist through it. Anyone bent on kicking his way into the room would have little trouble.
She whirled around and braced her back against the thin door, trying not to look at Vivien’s body as she searched the tiny cubicle for a way out.
Her gaze fell on the bathroom door. She remembered what Vivien had said about having to share the facilities with Yolanda. There had to be a another entrance to the bathroom from the adjoining dressing room.
Amaryllis took a deep breath and made her way cautiously around the blood-soaked puddle of purple veils. She reached the narrow bathroom door and unlatched it. The smell of smoke was stronger inside the tiny cubicle.
There was another entrance on the far side of the small functional room.
Amaryllis turned off the lights behind her and stepped into the bathroom. She shut the door to Vivien’s dressing room and fumbled for the latch on the opposite door. When she opened it she found herself in darkness.
She stepped carefully into the deep shadows of the adjoining dressing room and promptly struck her foot against the leg of a table. The pounding rhythms of the music muffled both the thud and her gasp of pain.
Not daring to search for a light for fear that it would show beneath the door that opened onto the hallway, Amaryllis groped her way across the room.
Her searching fingers brushed against a knob just as a wisp of powerful talent flickered somewhere nearby. The unnerving sensation reminded Amaryllis of a film she had once seen that depicted a bat-snake using its tongue to taste the air for the scent of prey.
She wondered if the killer was deliberately using his unfocused psychic energy to try to locate her in the darkness. That fear elicited another. If she could sense his power, he might well be able to sense hers. She was a prism, not a talent, but psychic energy was psychic energy, and she produced a great deal of it when she was working. Her mind no doubt gave off whispers of power under stress, too, just as the minds of strong talents did.
She could not dither here in Yolanda’s dressing room much longer. All her instincts warned her that she was being hunted. The terror of being trapped in the small chamber threatened to swamp her. She had to make her move.
She crouched low, gripped the knob, and waited until the music reached another thunderous crescendo. When the wall shuddered, she held her breath and cautiously opened the dressing room door.
Dense darkness spilled into the dressing room, mingling with the shadows that already swirled around her. The corridor lights were still off. Whoever was out there wanted the cover of night.
The urge to jump to her feet and run was a compelling one, but Amaryllis resisted it for another few seconds. She had to move slowly and she had to stay low. The killer would be as blinded as she was by the darkness, but if he sensed that she was running away down the narrow passageway, he might well try a blind shot with the gun that he had used to murder Vivien. He would most likely aim at chest height.
Trusting to the noise of the music to cover any sound she might make, Amaryllis moved out into the corridor on her hands and knees. The killer was no doubt blocking escape via the alley stage door. That left only one choice.
Amaryllis turned left and started to crawl along the dark passageway. She had no idea of where she was headed, but she knew that sooner or later the corridor had to end.
Another whisper of psychic energy slithered across her nerve endings. The killer was on the move behind her. Fear snaked through Amaryllis. She told herself she must not let it turn into panic. She had to get to safety.
The floor of the hallway pulsated with the beat of the music. The grit on the shabby carpet ground into her palms. Her knees began to burn.
Another snakelike tongue of talent flickered. Amaryllis sensed that the power was weaker this time. Different somehow. A sputtering candle compared to what she had felt earlier. She reminded herself that the ability of a talent and a prism to seek each other out for a link diminished rapidly with distance.
Amaryllis crawled faster. She willed every trace of her own power to the farthest depths of her mind.
Dillon smiled ruefully at Lucas from the other side of the restaurant table. “I told Dad the whole story.”
“I know.” Lucas cut into the slab of copper-colored fish on his plate. “Your father came to see me.”
> “I was afraid of that.” Dillon’s smile faded. “What did he say?”
“Tried to pay off your debt. I told him that the arrangement was between you and me and that he wasn’t involved.”
Dillon straightened in his chair. “Same thing I told him. He was pissed.”
“You want my opinion?”
“What’s that?”
Lucas forked up a bite of the fish. “I think he was also impressed. Don’t get me wrong, he was still furious about the debt. But he seemed to accept the fact that you had gotten yourself into the mess and intended to get yourself out.”
A gleam of hope appeared in Dillon’s eyes. “You think maybe he’s coming around?”
“I don’t know.”
Dillon’s jaw tightened. “Lucas, I want to ask you something.”
“I was afraid of that.” Lucas put down his fork. “Before you get too carried away, you should know that I’m not known for the depths of my intuition and understanding of other people. If you want to ask me about the best way to deal with your parents, be advised that I have zero experience in that kind of thing.”
“My parents are my problem. I want to ask you for a job.”
Lucas eyed him for a long, considering moment. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ve got to pay off my debt, and going to work for Lodestar is the best way to do it. I really want to do this, Lucas.”
“What about your parents?”
“This is something I have to do. I’ll tell them my plans and hope for the best. If I wait for their approval, I’ll wait forever. Dad might eventually understand, but I don’t think Mom ever will. She’ll always blame Lodestar Exploration for Jackson’s death.”
Lucas hesitated. “Your mother will probably hate my guts if I give you a job.”
“So what else is new?” Dillon asked softly. “Let’s face it, she’s hated you since the day she got word that Jackson was dead.”
The bluntness of the words hit Lucas with the impact of a cold wave. “She hates Lodestar.”
“You are Lodestar Exploration. You always were. It was your company before Jackson met you, and it was your company after he died. She will never be able to separate the two.”
“Yeah, I know.” Why should he care, Lucas wondered. He had never really been a member of the Rye family. Just an acquaintance and business partner. Beatrice Rye’s superficial kindnesses to him in the past had been acts of expediency, nothing more.
“I’m sorry, Lucas.”
“Forget it.”
“Try not to take it too personally. You know how mothers are.”
Lucas let that slide. “All right, if you want a job and you’re prepared to take the heat from your folks, you’ve got it. Check in with Lodestar employment tomorrow.”
“Thanks.” Dillon grinned. “Hot synergy, this is great. I can’t wait to get out to the islands.”
“Just one small helpful hint before you go.”
“What’s that?”
Lucas surveyed Dillon’s stylish Western Islands attire. “Don’t take those clothes with you. Nobody dresses like that in the islands. You’ll get laughed out of Port LeConner. Wait until you get there and buy local.”
Dillon laughed. It was the exuberant laugh of a young man looking forward to an exciting future. It made Lucas feel good for some reason.
An hour later Lucas paused by a public phone on the way out of the restaurant. He dialed Amaryllis’s number, hoping that she would still be awake. He wanted to talk to her. More and more he found himself wanting to share things with her. Tonight he wanted to tell her about Dillon.
Instead, he got a message on her answering machine: “This is Amaryllis Lark. I am not able to come to the phone right now. If this is Lucas, I’m in Founders Square. Vivien called and told me she wanted to talk. Don’t worry, I took a cab. I’ll call and tell you all about it when I get home.”
“Damn.” Lucas slammed down the phone.
Dillon glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to go to Founders Square.” Lucas headed for the front door. “Don’t forget. Report to employment tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry,” Dillon called after him. “I won’t forget.”
Without warning, a fresh surge of fierce, questing talent swept out of the darkness behind Amaryllis.
This was a new talent, not the one that had been hunting her.
Strong power searched for a prism and demanded a mind link. The shock of stunning intimacy that accompanied the whip of psychic energy identified the source immediately.
Lucas. He was somewhere in the building.
Amaryllis crouched between what seemed to be two large wooden crates and almost sobbed with relief. The brief flare of hot talent winked out of existence before she could unlock her own damped down power.
Frustrated by having missed the opportunity to link with Lucas, she fought the compulsion to rise to her feet and scream his name aloud. Even as the dangerous thought occurred to her, she experienced another brush from a slimy tongue of talent.
The killer was still here with her in the darkness.
Amaryllis forced herself to think. She had to let Lucas know that she was nearby. She readied herself so that she would be able to link with him the next time he sought her out.
It occurred to her that there might be some risk involved in using her prism capabilities to identify herself to Lucas.
She had no fear that the murderer would seize the link during those first few seconds of disoriented vulnerability. In spite of her affection for psychic vampire romances, she was too well schooled in the focus sciences to believe that a rogue talent could actually take control of her.
The real hazard in linking with Lucas right now was that the killer might be able to get an approximate fix on her location during those few seconds when her mind was open.
But she had to do something, Amaryllis thought. If Lucas did not find her with his psychic search, he might conclude that she had left the building. He would never know about the danger that was closing in on her.
Lucas’s dark whisper of power unfurled through the shadows once more. Amaryllis mentally leaped for it, caught it as if it were a swinging trapeze, and formed the link. Talent surged through a prism in a display of chaotic light. Amaryllis wondered if this was the psychic color of relief or anger or frustration. There was no way to tell. But at least Lucas now knew she was nearby.
It was unfortunate that there was no such thing as telepathy, she thought. It would have been very useful to be able to have a quick chat with Lucas at that particular moment.
She was trying to think of a way to use the psychic connection to warn him of danger when the scent of a man’s cologne wafted toward her through the shadows. It shattered her concentration so completely that she dropped the link.
The booming music masked sound but not smell. The masculine fragrance drifted past her nose again. It was vaguely familiar. Definitely not Lucas. He did not use any cologne.
The killer was close. Much too close. She wondered if he could smell the fear she knew she must be exuding like some dreadful perfume of her own.
She put out a hand, groping cautiously for something that she could use as a weapon. There was nothing on the floor beside her. With the music as a cover for any sound she might make, she rose slowly to her feet and felt for one of the crates.
The lid on the nearest one was open. There were objects inside. Hard objects.
Amaryllis selected one at random. She had no idea what it was, only that it seemed to be made of metal and it fit her grasp.
She sensed rather than saw something move in front of her. The smell of the expensive cologne was very strong in her nostrils.
She swung wildly with the long, heavy object that she had taken from the crate. Her makeshift weapon thudded against flesh.
“Uuumph.”
Amaryllis did not wait to see the results of her handiwork. She dropped the metal object and bounded forward into the shadows. Her to
e caught on something, a foot, perhaps. There was a muffled curse. She leaped aside and nearly fell.
She was totally disoriented in the darkness. The roar of the music was her only guide. She went toward it, hands outstretched to ward off any collisions with crates, stage props, or killers. She came to a jarring halt when one palm touched stone.
A wall.
Using her sense of touch, she made her way along the stone barrier. The music grew louder. She turned a corner and saw a sliver of light beneath a heavy blue stage curtain. The music was thundering in her ears now.
At that moment Lucas attempted another mind link. She knew from the strength of his energy thrust that he was very, very close. Amaryllis responded as she fumbled to find an opening in the curtain.
She felt a hemmed edge and yanked it aside.
Intense white light blinded her. The music was deafening.
Amaryllis blundered out onto the stage, blinking furiously against the brilliant light. The drummer saw her first. He shouted something at her, but she could not hear a word he said.
Two couples, one garbed in matching black leather and hoods, the other nattily attired in a few strategically placed silver sequins, simulated some very energetic sexual gymnastics at the front of the stage. Moans of excitement emanated from the audience.
Two handsome young men in red tights and flowing blond hair stood in one corner of the stage. Their faces were contorted with grimaces as they did an excellent impression of focusing the sexual energy that was being expended on stage.
It was obvious from the feverish sounds produced by the audience and the rising throb of the music that a climax, both literal and figurative, was close at hand.
Amaryllis ran to the front of the stage. The performers ignored her as she came to a halt in their midst. She frantically waved her arms to get their attention.
“Stop. Stop. There’s been a murder. A killer is loose in the building.” She realized that no one could hear her above the relentless music. “Stop.”