The Vanishing

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “I told you this morning you are so damn hot you could probably set the house on fire,” Slater said. “I was wrong.”

  “Were you?” she asked.

  “We’ll be lucky if the whole damn town doesn’t go up in flames tonight.”

  She laughed and tightened her grip on him. He gave a low growl and came down on top of her, flattening her onto her back and pinning her to the bed. He took her mouth again, insisting on a response. She dug her nails into the skin of his back.

  He stroked one hand down the length of her to the inside of her thigh. She knew she was melting. When he clamped his hand around her core she closed her eyes and lifted her hips off the bed.

  “So wet,” he said against her throat. “For me.”

  She was beyond speech now so she twisted against his hand, demanding ever more intimate contact. He stroked her until she would have screamed had she been able to draw enough breath. The tension built rapidly deep inside her. She clutched at him, demanding more.

  When he slid two fingers deep inside her she convulsed. The climax rolled through her in waves.

  He guided himself into her before she had finished, sinking deep. It was too much. She was sure that she would shatter. A second wave rippled through her.

  He surged into her again and again. The muscles of his back were granite hard. She wrapped her legs around him. His release slammed through him. She heard his muffled roar and realized that he had buried his face in the pillow beside her to quiet the sound.

  They collapsed together into the sweat-dampened sheets.

  Catalina opened her eyes and looked up at the shadowed ceiling. They had not set the house or the town on fire, but it had been a very close call.

  CHAPTER 28

  He lay quietly, aware of the satisfying warmth and softness of Catalina’s curves, the primal scents of lovemaking in the atmosphere and the utter relaxation that was flooding his body. It occurred to him that he could not remember the last time he had felt this Zen-like sense of inner balance. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had never experienced it, not even before the disaster six months earlier.

  “Oomph.” Catalina’s voice was muffled.

  “What?”

  “You have to move,” Catalina said. “This is a very small bed and you are taking up most of it.”

  He realized she was wriggling underneath him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Reluctantly he rolled off her.

  . . . And slid off the edge of the narrow mattress. He landed on the floor.

  “Slater.” Catalina sat up quickly, holding the sheet to her throat. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes and no.” He got to his feet. “I am definitely awake. You’re right. That is a very narrow bed. Be back in a minute.”

  He wandered into the tiny bathroom and spent a few minutes inside. When he returned to the bedroom he saw that Catalina was on her feet, pulling on her pajamas. A wave of regret welled up inside him.

  “I take it you’re not into enjoying the postcoital glow thing?” he said.

  She flashed him a smile that lit up the shadows. “Is that what you call it?”

  “For want of a more eloquent phrase.”

  “Just so you know, I am enjoying it.” She slid her feet into some fluffy slippers. “Enormously. How long does it last?”

  “What?”

  “It’s the first time I’ve experienced it,” she said. She headed for the door. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

  She went out into the hall. He gathered up his clothes and went after her.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To your bed. It’s a double. Much bigger than mine.”

  His mood abruptly reversed course. Once again he was in his new happy place, the territory that he had just discovered and could not wait to explore.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” he said.

  She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyes sultry, mysterious and inviting.

  “I just did,” she said.

  She went into the darkened bedroom she had given him earlier, kicked off her slippers, removed her pajamas and burrowed under the sheet and the heavy quilt.

  His night was getting better by the minute.

  He dumped his clothes onto the nearest chair and climbed into bed. He pulled her into his arms so that she sprawled on top of him.

  “What did you mean when you said you hadn’t ever experienced a postcoital glow?” he asked.

  She folded her arms on top of his chest and watched him with her witchy eyes.

  “I’ve always had a problem in this department,” she said. “No, that’s not right. Men usually have a problem with me when it comes to this kind of thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Some of them are convinced that I’m in the dominatrix business, which, while it certainly has some novelty appeal, gets awfully boring after a while, at least from my end. Then there are those who think I should get counseling to help me learn how to have an orgasm. But I actually do know how to do that.”

  “Because you’re smart.”

  “Right. All it took was a little research online and a small battery-powered appliance. But I think it’s safe to say that the most common reason I’ve had a problem in this department is because a lot of men decide I’m just flat-out scary in bed. They decide I’m a control freak, but that’s not really the issue.”

  “Your aura?”

  “Yep. If it gets a little too hot, men who don’t understand what’s going on tend to freak out.”

  “And the ones who do understand get nervous.”

  “Not you.”

  He slid his palm down her back to the curve of her hip.

  “No,” he said. “Not me.”

  “Well, there you have it, the history of my sex life. It’s why I’ve been learning to enjoy the pleasures of celibacy for the past six months.”

  “Since you and that consultant Gossard ended things?”

  “Yes.”

  “Funny you should mention the joys of celibacy. I’ve been exploring that option myself. Ever since my uncles let me out of the attic.”

  “Was there anyone special before your talent changed?” Catalina asked.

  “I thought so. Her name was Roanna Powell. She works in one of the research labs at the Foundation.”

  “Ah. So the two of you had a lot in common?”

  “Yes. Seemed like a good match. Our families all approved. But after I spent that month in the attic she changed her mind.”

  “Did she visit you while you were locked up?” Catalina asked.

  “One time. There were a lot of rumors flying around the Foundation. People were saying that something terrible had happened on my last case and that I was going to end up in Halcyon Manor. Roanna had every reason to be worried, not just about me but about her own future with me. She demanded to see me. My uncles agreed to a short visit.”

  “I take it the visit didn’t go well.”

  “I managed to hold it together while she was there but she could tell something had changed, and the change scared her. When she found out I was being treated for uncontrolled hallucinations, she decided I was too much of a risk.”

  “I’m sorry,” Catalina said. “Breakups are tough.”

  “They happen.”

  “True.”

  “How serious was your relationship with Gossard?”

  “I thought things were going well,” Catalina said. “Roger didn’t beg me to dress up in leather. He didn’t accuse me of being a control freak. The best part was that I think he has just enough natural talent himself to realize that I’m not a fraud. I didn’t have to hide my psychic side from him. He was okay with it. More than okay. I think he got a bit of a thrill out of it.”

  “In bed?”


  “We never got quite that far. My fault, not Roger’s. I’m a little risk-averse in that department. Present circumstances excepted.”

  “The present circumstances are definitely exceptional. I’ve been damn risk-averse myself for the past six months.”

  “I was getting ready to take the next step in the relationship,” Catalina said. “But your uncle showed up. After I was outed as a psychic, albeit a fake one, I became a professional liability, a threat to Roger’s precious brand. His consulting firm is all about doing state-of-the-art forensic consulting. He would have lost a lot of credibility if word spread that he relied on a woman who claimed to be psychic. So of course he had to end our relationship.”

  “And of course you had every right to be pissed.”

  “I was angry and hurt at first, but afterward I realized I was mostly annoyed with myself. I should have realized right from the start that he didn’t really care for me. He was just using me. He knew I didn’t like the work so he figured out real fast that he could persuade me to do more of it if I was involved in a relationship with him. I helped him solve a couple of high-profile cases.”

  “In other words, you helped him establish his brand in the world of law enforcement.”

  “Yes. I think I knew, deep down, that what Roger and I had probably wouldn’t last forever, but I wanted to believe we had as much going for us as other couples.”

  “You leaped to that insightful conclusion because he didn’t want you to play the part of a dominatrix, didn’t call you a control freak and was able to accept your talent? That’s it? That’s all you had?”

  “What can I tell you? It seemed like a reasonably good foundation for a relationship.”

  Slater caught her head between his palms.

  “Guess what?” he said. “We’ve got all that and more going for us.”

  “More?”

  “The really hot sex.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Right. I forgot about that.”

  “Allow me to remind you.”

  He eased her onto her back. Bracing himself on his elbows, he lowered his mouth to hers. When she opened her senses he felt the energy rise in the atmosphere. His own senses surged in response.

  “Catalina,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  It was enough, he told himself. For tonight.

  * * *

  —

  The pounding on the front door brought Slater out of the drowsy aftermath of the lovemaking. Next to him, Catalina sat up quickly.

  “The door,” she said.

  “I’ll get it.”

  Slater rolled to his feet and reached for his trousers and his gun.

  The pounding sounded again. This time a muffled voice accompanied it.

  “Catalina, it’s me, Harmony.”

  “Maybe she found the twins,” Catalina said.

  He went out into the front room, twitched the curtains aside and checked the front porch. Harmony must have sensed him, because she pushed back the hood of her cloak so he could see her face in the porch light. She looked straight at him. Her gaze was unnerving, as if she saw things no one else could see. Oracle.

  He dropped the curtain and opened the front door. Harmony swept into the room, the long cloak whipping around her high boots. She glanced pointedly at the gun.

  “You won’t be needing that,” she said coldly. “Didn’t Catalina tell you Fogg Lake is a crime-free zone?”

  “Except for the occasional vanishing act,” Slater said.

  “About that,” Harmony said. “I may have found something interesting.”

  “The twins?” Catalina hurried out of the bedroom, tying the sash of her robe. “Were you able to identify them?”

  “I found some interesting descendants of a man named Harkins who was living here in Fogg Lake at the time of the Incident. He moved away a few years later and died decades ago. But according to the ancestry charts, one of his offspring gave birth to identical triplets about thirty years ago.”

  “Triplets?” Slater said.

  “Did not see that coming,” Catalina said.

  “Got a photo?” Slater said.

  “Yes, but only because one of the triplets did time,” Harmony said. “My predecessor in this job was good. She made a copy of the mug shot and stuck it in the file.”

  Harmony brought an envelope out from under her cloak.

  Slater opened the envelope. Catalina hurried across the room to see the photo. The image of a young man of about twenty gazed back at them with soulless eyes.

  “Add about a decade and he looks exactly like one of the guys who tried to grab Catalina in Seattle,” Slater said. “What did he do time for?”

  “Drugs,” Harmony said. “According to the file he was selling some kind of designer crap.”

  “Thanks,” Catalina said. “This is very helpful.”

  Slater looked at Harmony. “Why didn’t you call?”

  Harmony shrugged. “Phones are down. Even with landlines it’s tough to keep them working in this town. Euclid and the others will take care of things in the morning. Well, if that’s all you need, I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll walk you back to your place,” Slater said.

  “No, you won’t,” Harmony said. “You need to get to work. Don’t worry about me. I live at the other end of the street.”

  She strode to the door and opened it before Slater could reach it. She switched on a flashlight and went down the front steps.

  Slater moved out onto the front porch. Catalina followed. Together they watched the beam of Harmony’s flashlight move through the fog-bound street until it disappeared into a building at the far end. A short time later a light glowed in an upstairs window.

  “That’s the library,” Catalina said.

  “She lives in the town library?” Slater asked.

  “The Oracle always lives in the rooms above the library,” Catalina said. “There aren’t a lot of perks for someone in that position. It’s often a rather depressing job. So for as long as anyone can remember the town has provided the free apartment.”

  They went back inside, then closed and locked the door.

  “Triplets,” Slater said. “Damn. That means there are two more of those blanks out there.”

  “The third one may not be a blank,” Catalina pointed out.

  “Are you kidding? With the way our luck has been running lately?”

  “Those of us with a strong psychic vibe do not believe in luck, remember?”

  “Speak for yourself,” Slater said.

  He went into the bedroom and returned with his pack. He put the gun on the counter, within easy reach, and took a notebook and a pen out of the pack.

  “Got a sheet of paper?” he asked. “Or, better yet, a map of the Fogg Lake area?”

  “There are no maps of Fogg Lake,” Catalina said. “It’s against the town council’s rules.”

  “Why?”

  “A, because no one around here needs one. B, there is a prevailing belief that maps might fall into the wrong hands and encourage tourism. The lake. The caves. The woods. It’s all stuff that campers and hikers love.”

  “No maps,” Slater said. “All right, we’ll have to draw our own. That means we’ll need the sheet of paper.”

  “My mom always keeps a sketchbook here. She likes to draw. I’ll see what I can find.”

  Catalina went down the hall and opened a closet door. When she returned to the kitchen a moment later she held out a sketchbook.

  “Will this do?” she asked.

  Slater flipped through a few of the pages. A frisson of certainty flashed across his senses.

  “These are all scenes of the Fogg Lake area?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is better than a map. The drawings are superior to photographs in
many ways. Your mother has a great eye for detail.”

  “Why do you need a map or those sketches?” Catalina asked.

  “Because I’ve had what we in the psychic investigation business like to call a blinding flash of the obvious.”

  “And?”

  “I should have seen it earlier,” Slater said. “In fact, I think I did see it earlier, in a dream that I had on the way here. But I was too exhausted to pay attention to what my intuition was trying to tell me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He looked at her. The whispers got louder.

  “Drugs,” he said.

  “What about them?”

  “They keep showing up in this case. Specifically high-tech drugs, the kind that come out of a sophisticated lab. We need to focus on them. They are the key to identifying the person who is behind everything that has happened.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Catalina sat down on the stool next to him and watched him page through the sketchbook. She could feel the hot energy in the atmosphere around him and recognized the sensation. She had experienced it herself on a few occasions. Slater was a hunter closing in on prey.

  “Tell me where you’re going with this new theory of yours,” she said.

  “Exotic drugs have been involved from the start,” he said. “Someone supplied the killer with whatever was in that syringe that was used to murder Morrissey.”

  “Right. But so what? There are any number of drugs that can kill a person.”

  “Yes, but it’s not a typical method of committing murder. Most killers go with the tried-and-true options: A gun. A knife. A blunt object. Why fool around with some exotic drug unless you’re afraid the body might be found? But in this case whoever murdered Morrissey didn’t seem to be worried about that. He planned all along to dump the body in the river.”

  “Maybe the killer had a medical background and felt comfortable using some toxic drug.”

  “Or else he had connections to the illicit drug–dealing business. Needles are often used to inject dangerous substances.”

  “Huh,” Catalina said. “Now fifteen years later it looks like Ingram and Royston were murdered with drugs, and Olivia is kidnapped and also injected with some unknown drug—presumably not a lethal one, because whoever grabbed her wanted her alive.”