“That works,” Catalina said. “Sort of. Why would Swan leave dangerous artifacts lying around where they might accidentally kill a client?”
“She wouldn’t do that intentionally. Pretty sure she keeps the potentially lethal pieces in her vault. But if she wasn’t aware of the hazard, she probably wouldn’t lock it up.”
“She didn’t mention that there had been a break-in recently.”
“She might not even suspect it, not if the raiders didn’t actually steal anything.” Slater got a thoughtful expression. “It’s also possible that she had some reason not to mention a recent burglary, especially one that resulted in a dead guy.”
“In my opinion, Gwendolyn Swan was lying, or at least not telling us the whole truth.”
Slater’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “No one in the hot artifacts business ever tells the whole truth, especially not to someone from the Foundation.”
Catalina sniffed. “Can’t say I blame them. How far do you trust Gwendolyn Swan?”
“Define trust,” Slater said.
“Excuse me? I sense deep cynicism and a jaded view of human nature.”
“When I know what someone wants, I trust them to pursue that objective. As long as I keep the individual’s goal in mind I know exactly where, when and how far I can trust that person. Swan is fascinated with hot artifacts and she likes to make money selling them and the rumors that are attached to them. That’s really all I know about her aside from the fact that she has a degree in archaeology and spent some time on digs in South America.”
“You know that my goal is to find Olivia,” Catalina said.
Slater put down his fork and reached for his coffee. “I share your objective. I also want to find Olivia LeClair. That makes us allies.”
“You want to find her because you think she can help you solve your case.”
Slater’s eyes got very cold. “And because she’s an innocent victim who just happened to witness a murder when she was a teen. It really pisses me off when the bad guys use civilians.”
The intensity in his voice startled her.
“‘Civilians’?” she said.
Slater swallowed the last of his coffee, put the cup down and moved his empty plate aside. He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table.
“I know you don’t have much use for my uncles or the Foundation, but like it or not, it’s the only operation that has the resources required to deal with the bad guys regular law enforcement can’t handle.”
“Criminals who possess a strong psychic vibe.” Catalina sighed. “I get that. But I don’t like the idea of a rogue organization operating in the shadows. Like my father says, there’s no accountability. No oversight. Who polices the Foundation? That’s what I want to know. Your uncles might have cleaned things up a little when they got rid of the Rancourts, but they still operate the Foundation in a secretive way. It’s a relief to know that, currently, at least, they seem to be mostly on the same side as regular law enforcement—”
“Mostly?”
Catalina smiled a steely smile. “I’m trying to give the Foundation the benefit of the doubt.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“Here’s where the real doubts come in. What’s to keep the Foundation from going back to the way things worked when the Rancourts ran it?”
Slater regarded her for a long moment. “Does everyone from Fogg Lake hold that view of the Foundation?”
“Not everyone,” she admitted. “There are a handful who think those of us in the paranormal community need some organization or agency we can turn to when it’s clear that regular law enforcement can’t handle the situation.”
“The kidnapping of a woman who sees auras, for example? Or the murder of a couple of collectors who specialized in artifacts with a paranormal vibe?”
“Yes,” Catalina said. “Situations like that. But for the record, as far as I’m concerned, the idea of a rogue organization operating in the shadows with its own police force is . . . deeply disturbing, to say the least.”
“Well, damn,” Slater said. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
“Here’s a quick history lesson, Catalina. The government did not shut down every single agency that was involved with paranormal research and development when it closed down the Bluestone Project. Some farsighted individuals realized that the problem of policing bad guys who possess paranormal talents was not going to vanish just because the labs had vanished. One small agency was kept open. But it’s seriously underfunded and unable to provide genuine oversight. Which is why the Rancourt family was able to gain control of the Foundation and remain in control for so long.”
“Are you telling me that the Foundation is supposed to report to some no-name government agency?”
“Oh, it has a name. Just not a very well-known name. The Foundation is a private research-and-development lab under contract to the Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena.”
“Never heard of it.”
Slater smiled. “That is, of course, the whole point. The government learned its lesson years ago. The vast majority of voters are convinced that serious paranormal research is a waste of money and resources. No one running for office at any level wants to be accused of funding that kind of work. Therefore the Agency is careful to keep a very low profile.”
“So, what you’re telling me is that the Foundation is a front for this Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena?”
“It’s not the first time a clandestine agency has used a corporate front. All sorts of government entities, including the CIA, fund an enormous amount of investigation and research through private contractors, academic institutions and corporations.”
“Yes, I know,” Catalina said. “But this is the first I’ve heard about this weird little agency.”
“I just wanted you to be aware that the Foundation is not some rogue vigilante operation.”
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to reserve judgment on that. Tell me about Halcyon Manor.”
Slater’s jaw tightened. “You haven’t heard of that, either?”
“Not until Gwendolyn Swan mentioned it.”
“Halcyon Manor is a private psychiatric hospital that specializes in treating people with disorders of the paranormal senses. It’s located outside of Las Vegas.”
Catalina had been about to finish her coffee. Shocked, she set her cup down with exquisite care.
“Are you serious?” she asked.
“Trust me, it’s not the kind of thing I make jokes about, at least not these days. It’s run by the Foundation. In addition to handling serious parapsych disorders, it has a special wing that houses the criminally insane talents who can’t be safely dealt with in the regular prison system.”
Catalina shook her head. “I suppose I should be beyond stunned after all that’s happened today, but oddly enough, I’m not. The hits just keep on coming. Between you and me, I think it’s safe to say that your uncles and the Foundation have a serious problem when it comes to public relations with Fogg Lake and other people in the paranormal community.”
“Oh, yeah. The Rancourts left us with some baggage.”
The glass doors at the front of the restaurant opened to admit two people, one of whom was all too familiar.
“Oh, shit,” Catalina said.
“Are we back to that?” Slater asked.
“Yep.” Catalina fixed her attention firmly on what was left of her coffee.
Slater turned his head just enough to see who or what had caught her attention. “Roger Gossard.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who is that with him?”
“I have no idea.”
Roger’s companion was a stunningly attractive woman who appeared to be almost a decade younger than him. Her long blond hair fell in waves to her shou
lders. She wore a tight pencil skirt, a white top and a sleek little jacket that accented her curves to perfection. Her heels were very high. She had one dainty arm tucked into Roger’s elbow.
“An amazing coincidence?” Slater asked, one brow slightly elevated.
“Not really,” Catalina said. “More like bad judgment on my part. This is one of Roger’s favorite restaurants. I wasn’t thinking when I suggested we eat in this place. Oh, well. It will be fine. We’re all civilized adults.”
“Good to know, because the last thing we need is a public scene. We’ve got enough trouble as it is.”
Catalina glared at him. “Trust me, there won’t be a scene.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because Roger won’t want that any more than I do. I’m a threat to his brand.”
“Right. The brand thing.”
“One of these days I may get around to sending your uncle a thank-you note for all that he did to ruin my professional and personal relationship with Roger. I’m sure eventually I would have figured out that things were not going to work for us, but Victor Arganbright made certain the relationship collapsed on an accelerated timetable.”
“Was it a good relationship?”
“It was a relationship, okay? It lasted nearly two whole months. That, for your information, was a record for me. A personal best.”
“I’ll mention your gratitude to Victor next time I see him,” Slater said.
“Don’t bother. It’s not what you’d call deeply sincere. Let’s get back to you. I believe we were discussing Halcyon Manor. Swan implied that you spent some time there. Is that true?”
Slater seemed to brace himself, as if preparing to deliver a blow—or take one.
“No,” he said. “I did not end up in Halcyon Manor.”
“Whew. That’s a relief.”
“The only reason I wasn’t locked up there,” Slater continued, jaw clenched, “is because Uncle Victor and Uncle Lucas kept me hidden away in a locked room in their penthouse while I . . . recovered.”
“Recovered from what?”
“Like I told Marge, I got hit with a dose of radiation at the end of my last case. Before you ask, no, I don’t know what kind of radiation. The source was a machine that generated energy through some unknown crystals. Initially my psychic senses were completely iced. For a time I thought I had lost them altogether.”
Ruthlessly, Catalina tried to suppress a rush of sympathy. There was no need to feel sorry for Slater Arganbright. But the thought of what he must have gone through when he woke up to discover that his paranormal senses had been blinded made her shudder.
“That must have been a horrible feeling,” she said. “But obviously you recovered.”
“Maybe. The truth is, I don’t know what the hell is happening to me. I don’t know what I’m becoming. I haven’t admitted this to Victor and Lucas, but given the fact that you and I are going to be in very close contact for the foreseeable future, you have a right to know.”
“What is this truth?”
“I don’t sleep very well these days because I wake up in the middle of the night wondering if I’m becoming one of the psychic monsters that the Foundation hunts.”
CHAPTER 16
Okay,” Catalina said. “I did not see that coming. It certainly will add some spice to our relationship.”
Slater’s eyes tightened at the corners. “You aren’t taking this seriously, are you?”
“I’m pretty good at figuring out what people are about to do next, remember? Not perfect, mind you, but my ability is way above average.”
“So?”
“So I don’t see any signs of instability in your energy field. You’re in full control. And given the nature of my talent, I’ll get some warning if you suddenly do become a psychic vampire or a crazed human monster.”
“If I’m so stable, why do I feel like I’m . . . changing?”
She shrugged. “Probably because you’re still healing.”
Slater hesitated. “That’s what my uncles tell me.”
She smiled very sweetly. “There you go, then. If you can’t trust the word of the director of the Foundation and his husband, who can you trust?”
“I’m trying to give you a heads-up about a potentially serious complication.”
She stopped smiling and leaned forward slightly. “Here’s the thing, Slater. I don’t have time to take your personal problems seriously. All I care about is finding Olivia. As long as you are helpful in that regard, I don’t give a damn who or what you might turn out to be. Are we clear on that?”
Some of the shadows in his eyes seemed to dissipate.
“Clear,” he said.
She heightened her senses a little and suddenly she understood.
“You told me about that radiation hit you took and your concerns because you were hoping I could tell you what it is that is changing in your aura, didn’t you?” she said.
He sat back, resigned. “It occurred to me that with your talent you might be able to give me some idea of what’s going on.”
“Hey, I’m a fake psychic, remember?”
There was no humor in Slater’s eyes. He was, she realized, very, very serious.
She was not sure why she wanted to reassure him. Maybe she just wanted to assure herself that he was not turning into one of the monsters. As he had said, she was stuck with him for now. She tried to find a way into what had become an extremely delicate conversation.
She leaned across the table again and lowered her voice to barely above a whisper.
“What do you think is happening to your parasenses?” she asked.
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“You may not know the final result, but you must have some feel for what is going on in your energy field. Maybe you’re just more powerful than you used to be. Could be that’s the only thing that’s different—the degree of heat in your aura.”
“I don’t think it’s as simple as that. What I’m going through now reminds me too much of what it was like when my psychic senses first began to develop. I was twelve or thirteen. Remember how it felt?”
She winced. “Don’t remind me. There were times when I would be walking home from school in Fogg Lake and stroll straight into a full-blown hallucination.”
“Try to imagine that experience on steroids. That’s what happened to me after I was hit by that radiation. Except that the hallucinations were a thousand times worse than they were when I was a kid. I thought I really was going mad. My uncles won’t admit it, but I know they wondered the same thing. Fortunately for me they decided to give me some time to recover. But I was a walking disaster. That’s why they had to lock me up for about a month.”
Catalina had been about to drink some more coffee. She shivered and put the cup down instead.
“Being locked up for any length of time would have driven me mad,” she said. “I don’t do well in confined spaces. How did you get through it?”
“At night they laced my food with sedatives in an effort to calm the nightmares, but the drugs never worked for more than a couple hours at a time. They didn’t want to keep me totally sedated, because they were afraid that might make it impossible for me to get control of my senses.”
“They were probably right. Sounds like you spent a month in hell.”
“The attic.”
“What?”
“Not exactly hell.” Slater’s mouth kicked up in a humorless smile. “In my hallucinatory state I imagined that I was locked up in an attic. Isn’t that what they did with crazy relatives in the old days?”
“I’ve heard that.”
Slater studied her for a moment longer. She got the feeling he was making a decision.
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a small leather case. He opened the case without a word. She gl
anced at the medical device inside.
“An auto-injector?” she said. She met his eyes. “Are you allergic to something?”
“Maybe the effects of some unknown radiation.” He closed the case and handed it to her. “Take it. Use it if you think it’s necessary.”
“I assume we’re talking about using it on you?”
“It’s a powerful sedative. It will take me down very fast, at least for a while. With your talent, you’ll probably get some warning if I’m about to turn rogue. If you do decide to use it, do it fast. The needle will go through fabric, so aim for whatever part of me is within reach. After you inject the sedative, call Uncle Victor. He’ll know what to do. You still have his number, right?”
“Yes, I know how to reach him. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
There was no point arguing, she thought. If Slater was uneasy about the stability of his psychic senses, she probably ought to be worried, too.
She took the leather case and slipped it into the pocket of her trench coat. In a crisis she was more likely to be wearing the coat than carrying her handbag.
“All right,” she said. “That’s that. Now can we talk about our real priorities?”
“You don’t appear to be shocked by my big reveal,” Slater said.
“Maybe later.” Catalina signaled the waiter. “Right now I’ve got other things at the top of what has become a very full agenda. We need to get to the scene of Royston’s murder.”
The waiter arrived with the bill. Slater took out his wallet.
“Business expense,” he said.
“Definitely,” Catalina said. “As far as I’m concerned, the Foundation can pay for everything involved in this mess.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who will have to justify every single receipt to the accounting department.”
“It’s not my fault your uncles are cheap.”
The waiter returned with the credit card. Slater signed the slips, pocketed a copy for himself and got to his feet.
Catalina slid out of the booth and prepared to walk the gauntlet of booths to the front door. It was the only way out of the restaurant. The route would take them straight past the table where Roger sat with his companion.
The Vanishing Page 12
