“When I think of what that bastard did to him . . .”
“The radiation he was exposed to in that rogue lab six months ago may have permanently affected his senses, but it didn’t change the man. Slater is still Slater. You gave him exactly what he’s been needing—a job.”
“I hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Lucas reached for Victor’s hand. “It’s not like we had a choice. We need someone we can trust on this case. Someone who knows what’s at stake. Someone who won’t immediately dismiss the possibility that Vortex may be involved.”
“For the past five years I’ve tried to tell myself that with Rancourt gone, it was finished.”
“Secrets have a bad habit of climbing up out of the grave.”
“You know I don’t like metaphors.”
“In this case, I don’t think it’s a metaphor,” Lucas said. “It may be the truth.”
“Rancourt is dead. We know that for a fact.”
Lucas tightened his grip on Victor’s hand. “Yes.”
“We destroyed all the files and the artifacts that we found in his lab, but what if we missed something?”
There was nothing reassuring he could say, Lucas thought.
“We’re doing all we can do,” he said. “We’re staying vigilant.”
CHAPTER 5
Catalina awoke on the last tendrils of the old nightmare, the one in which she and Olivia tried to flee deep into the Fogg Lake caves to escape the stranger who had just murdered a man. But no matter how hard they struggled, they could not find the right current of energy. Each time they attempted to enter a tunnel, they found themselves at the edge of the lake.
“We have to go into the caves again,” she tells Olivia. “It’s the only way to escape.”
“We can’t go inside,” Olivia explains in the unnaturally calm tone of dreams. “If we do, we will go mad and throw ourselves into the deepest part of the lake. We will drown.”
But the dreamer tries another path. Once again she finds herself at the edge of the bottomless lake. She realizes that she is holding a fork and suddenly understands that they can use it to find their way through the caves.
She turns to tell Olivia that everything will be okay now.
Olivia is not there.
Catalina sat up abruptly, her pulse skittering, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She knew that most people would probably turn on the lights and walk around for a few minutes in an attempt to suppress the dream images. But if you were raised in Fogg Lake, you learned to analyze your dreams.
It didn’t take any great insight to understand why the old dream had come back tonight. The anxiety of the past had been roused from the depths by the drama at Marsha Matson’s house.
There was no need to be alarmed. The fact that Olivia had not texted or phoned was a good thing. It indicated that the big date with Emerson Ferris had gone well. Olivia was no doubt sound asleep at that very moment, wrapped in the arms of her lover. She would probably be glowing when she walked into the office a few hours from now.
Catalina went to the window. A fiery sunrise illuminated the sky over the Cascades. It had been a long night. Hopper had vanished by the time the police arrived on the scene, but he had left plenty of evidence inside the house. The bottle of champagne had his fingerprints all over it. There were traces of his blood on the front porch. Best of all, the security camera had caught almost everything.
In addition to the statements that she and Marsha had given, she had been able to provide the cops with a great deal of Hopper’s personal information, including aliases that he had used over the years. The authorities were certain it would not be long before he was taken into custody.
After the police had finished, Marsha had declared that she could not spend another night alone in the big house. Catalina had driven her to a downtown hotel that had plenty of reassuring security and waited until she had checked into a room.
Catalina had returned to her apartment building, where there was also a respectable security presence, including a twenty-four-hour concierge on the front desk, a lot of surveillance technology and a private guard who patrolled the garage and the perimeter of the building at night. She and Olivia had good security inside their own apartments, too. When you were in the investigation business, you got a little obsessed.
There had been other cases that had ended badly. She and Olivia usually dealt with those by having drinks together and talking. But Olivia had not been available this time. She had spent the night with the man of her dreams.
Maybe Emerson Ferris was the right person for Olivia. Catalina tried to analyze her doubts about Ferris. There was nothing obviously wrong with him. She and Olivia had both researched him thoroughly before Olivia went out on a second date. By every objective measure he was a good man, just as Olivia had said that afternoon. He was honest. Stable. Successful. Kind to animals. And he shared Olivia’s artistic interests.
Maybe I’ve gotten too cynical, Catalina thought. Maybe there was hope after all for a couple of Fogg Lake girls who were trying to pass for normal in the outside world.
The fire in the sky was fading now, transforming into a cloud-streaked dawn. Catalina turned away from the scene. The restlessness that had kept her awake for much of the night was getting more intense, but she could not identify a legitimate cause. She wasn’t on the verge of a full-scale anxiety attack, she decided, but she could not shake a persistent sense of dread.
She went to the closet and found her workout clothes. She would join the other early risers in the fitness center on the top floor of the apartment tower. Maybe exercise would help her calm down.
An hour later she showered, made a pot of coffee and sat down to her customary breakfast: unsweetened Greek yogurt, peanut butter on a slice of rye toast, and blueberries. The meal was as predictable as her wardrobe. Maybe she needed to get a life. On the other hand, she had nearly been murdered the previous night, so maybe her life wasn’t so boring after all. It was a matter of perspective.
By the time she finished she was so unnerved she dared not finish the coffee. She was afraid the additional caffeine might push her over the edge.
She could no longer resist the urge to contact Olivia.
She tried a text first. When there was no response, she made the call—and was promptly dumped into voice mail. Just as she had been the previous evening when she had tried to get in touch with Marsha Matson.
Where had that thought come from? There was no connection between the Matson case and Olivia’s big date with Ferris. Her imagination was starting to slip into overdrive again, just as it had last night.
Last night someone had very nearly been murdered.
“Stop it,” she said aloud to the empty kitchen.
There was a fine line between intuition and a vivid imagination, but the line existed. It had to be respected. Obviously the problem this morning was that her nerves and her frazzled senses were still recovering from the encounter with Angus Hopper. She had to cling to common sense and logic, both of which held that there was no reason to worry about Olivia.
She pulled out her laptop and worked on some notes from a case that had closed earlier in the week. When she finished she checked the time. It was just after eight. The offices of Lark & LeClair opened at nine. The walk to work took about fifteen minutes. There was no reason she could not go in a little early. She wondered if Olivia and Mr. Right were enjoying a leisurely morning in bed or maybe having a champagne breakfast to celebrate their relationship.
It was also possible that Olivia had come home this morning to shower and dress for the office. But if that was the case, why hadn’t she answered her phone? Oh, wait, maybe she had forgotten to switch it back on.
Catalina pulled on the black trench coat that Olivia had given her, slung the strap of her large handbag over her shoulder and went toward the door. Halfway ther
e she changed course and went into the kitchen. She needed a replacement for the fork that the police had taken as evidence.
She rummaged around in the cutlery drawer and found a large fork, one that had been designed for use along with a serious knife for carving big hunks of meat. She had never cooked a hunk of meat that required such oversized implements, but she had developed a great appreciation for sturdy, well-made forks.
She wedged the fork into her bag and let herself out of the apartment. She took the stairs to the floor below and knocked on Olivia’s door. There was no response. Olivia had probably packed a small bag in preparation for an overnight with Ferris. She was no doubt planning to head straight to the office from his place.
Using the key Olivia had given her, Catalina entered the apartment. She punched in the security code to turn off the alarm and walked slowly through the one-bedroom space. The two of them were as close as sisters, but when it came to their choice of interior decor, they were exact opposites. Her own place was done in a Zen-like palette of off-white and pale gray punctuated with discreet hits of glossy black. Olivia’s was in the hot colors of a flaming sunset—gold, burnt orange and bright red.
The closet door stood open. Some of the clothes Olivia had evidently considered for the special date were scattered across the bed. They had not made the cut. The new scarlet slip dress was gone, however, and so were several items from the bathroom, including her toothbrush.
That settled it. Olivia had been anticipating a successful date and packed accordingly.
“You had better show up at the office on time, pal,” she said softly. “Or I’ll come looking for you.”
Catalina closed and locked the apartment and went down the hall to the elevator. When she stepped out into the lobby, Robert leaped to his feet behind his polished desk. He had once had dreams of an acting career. That ambition had not gone well, but he had reinvented himself as the quintessential concierge.
“Ms. Lark,” he said. “I was just about to call you to warn you.”
Catalina stared at him, panic-stricken. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Grim-faced, Robert gestured toward a small cluster of people gathered on the sidewalk outside the building.
“The TV people showed up a few minutes ago,” he said. “I was able to prevent them from coming into the lobby, of course, and I gave them absolutely no information about you. However, the person in charge is that reporter from the local TV station. Brenda something.”
“Brenda Bryce.” Catalina suppressed a groan. “You know it’s going to be a bad day when she shows up at your front door. I wonder how she found out so soon about what happened at the Matson house last night. She’s got good sources, I’ll give her that.”
“There was another incident?” Robert asked. His tone was one of deep concern but the expression in his eyes betrayed his excitement and curiosity.
“Unfortunately, yes. I didn’t see anything about it in the morning news so I was hoping . . . Never mind. Will you help me get past her? I don’t think that she and the cameraman can move too fast, not with all that gear. Once I’m in the clear I’ll be okay.”
Robert turned and strode toward the door. “Follow me.”
He pushed open the heavy glass doors and led the way out onto the sidewalk. He held up his cell phone.
“Your attention, please,” he said, raising his voice to be heard above the traffic in the street. “I cannot prevent you from standing out here, but I warn you that if you attempt to bar Ms. Lark’s progress in any way or if you lay so much as a finger on her, I will call nine-one-one immediately and notify the police of an assault in progress.”
The cameraman kept his distance, but Catalina knew he was filming her. Brenda Bryce edged around Robert, stepped directly in front of Catalina and aimed the microphone.
Brenda was not quite as beautiful and glamorous in person as she appeared on TV, where she had the benefit of artfully arranged lights. But with her sharp feline features, long blond hair and cosmetically enhanced bosom, she was still a woman who turned heads on the street. She had, in fact, caused several people who were on their way to work to stop.
Nothing drew a crowd like a TV camera crew loitering outside a door.
“Catalina Lark, I understand that you were involved in a violent confrontation last night. Do you attribute your presence at another crime scene to your so-called psychic talents?”
Catalina had learned the hard way that there was no good response to a question from Brenda Bryce.
“No comment,” Catalina said.
She dodged around Brenda and walked very swiftly through the small group of curious people.
“Is she the fake psychic?” a woman asked Brenda.
“Who says she’s a fake?” the cameraman shot back.
“Just one or two questions, Ms. Lark,” Brenda said.
Catalina gripped the strap of her handbag and kept moving. She had on low-heeled booties. Brenda was in four-inch heels. It was no contest. Catalina increased her lead with each step.
Behind her, Robert started shooing people away from the lobby doors.
A few of the curiosity seekers trailed after her for a time, asking her for psychic readings, but eventually they abandoned the chase.
By the time Catalina reached the lobby of the office building that housed Lark & LeClair, she was a little winded, tense with anger and vibrating with anxiety.
Daniel was already behind his desk. He took one look at her when she came through the door and got to his feet.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine. Has there been any word from Olivia?”
“No.” Daniel frowned. “Should there be some word from her?”
Catalina glanced at the clock. “In another five minutes she’ll be late. She’s never late.”
Daniel raised his brows. “The hot date, remember? She’s probably having a late breakfast with Mr. Perfect.”
“Probably,” Catalina said.
Daniel exhaled slowly. “You think something’s wrong, don’t you?”
“Olivia knows I would be worried about her by now,” Catalina said. “She should have checked in. She’s not answering her phone. I’m going to call Ferris.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Daniel said.
“I can apologize later.”
Emerson Ferris answered on the fourth ring. He sounded groggy; maybe hungover. Maybe angry. Whatever the case, it was clear from his first words that he was not in a good mood—certainly not in the mood one would expect from a man who had spent the night with a lover.
“No, Olivia isn’t here,” he growled. “Who the hell is this?”
“Catalina Lark, her friend and business partner. We’ve met a few times, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you. Well, you can tell your friend and business partner that I got the message. But, shit, she could have texted me to say it’s over. She didn’t have to ghost me. I spent half the day on that meal and she didn’t even bother to let me know that she wasn’t going to make it. I thought she cared. I was so wrong about her.”
Catalina stopped breathing. She clutched the phone so tightly it was a wonder the device didn’t shatter.
“Are you saying Olivia didn’t show up at all last night?” she whispered.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Emerson paused. “Why? Do you know something I don’t know?”
“No,” Catalina said. “I don’t, and that’s got me scared half to death.”
“What the hell?” Sudden alarm erased the growl in Emerson’s voice. “Where’s Olivia?”
“I have no idea,” Catalina said. “Why do you think I called you? I’m going to hang up now and make some other phone calls.”
“Holy shit, do you mean you’re going to start calling the hospitals? Do you really think something happened
to her?”
“I just told you, I don’t know,” Catalina said. “But something is very wrong. I’ve got to go now. Give me your word that you’ll call me if you hear from her.”
“Yeah, sure.” Emerson’s voice sharpened. “I’ll get in touch right away. What about her car? Is it gone?”
“Her car is still in the apartment garage. She said she was going to use a ride-hailing app to go to your place.”
“Maybe the car service can tell you when they picked her up and where they took her.”
“Trust me, I’m going to start there.”
“Let me know what you find out, okay? Call me immediately. Now you’ve got me worried, too.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Catalina said.
She hung up the phone and looked at Daniel. “Olivia never showed up at Emerson Ferris’s condo.”
Daniel reached for his own phone.
“I’ll call the hospitals,” he said. “You deal with the ride-hailing company.”
Twenty minutes later they both put down their phones. Catalina had to fight to suppress the raw panic that was eating her up inside.
“The car service guy says Olivia canceled the pickup,” she managed, trying to maintain a semblance of calm. “I called all of her other friends. No one saw her last night.”
“The hospitals have no record of admitting anyone by that name,” Daniel reported. “What in the world is going on? It’s not like Olivia to just up and vanish.”
“No, it’s not,” Catalina said. She grabbed her coat and handbag and headed for the door. “You stay here and start going through the morning news reports. You’re looking for anything that happened in the Seattle downtown area last night. Car accidents. Fires. Shootings. Robberies. Kidnappings. Anything.”
“Got it.” Daniel started to swivel his chair toward the computer. He paused. “You do know what they say about the boyfriend or the husband. When a woman goes missing—”
The Vanishing Page 5
