“He wasn’t a traitor, damn you. He did what he had to do in order to survive. He would have died without a steady supply of the drug. He knew he would never be able to persuade the Council to brew it for him.”
“But he didn’t just make enough of the formula to keep himself alive, did he?” Luther said softly. “He founded Nightshade. He saw a path to power and he took it.”
“Shut up. You killed my father and you’re going to pay for that. But first I want to know how you did it. I have to know.”
He spiked up his talent again and took another look at her aura.
Damaris was still running hot, energy bleeding back and forth across the spectrum. The erratic panic was getting stronger. So were the dark pulses.
“How long have you been taking the drug?” he asked quietly.
That caught her off guard. She went very still. Then the laser in her hand started to tremble. Luther felt some of the pressure go out of the beam.
“You can tell?” she whispered.
“Aura reading isn’t considered a high-end talent, but occasionally it has its uses.”
“Daddy didn’t want me to start taking the formula. He said there were side effects. But I insisted. I was only a level seven. I wanted to be his true heir in every way.”
“Craigmore was right about the side effects. The chief one being that withdrawal’s a bitch. You stop taking the drug and then you die. How much do you have left?”
She seemed to pull in on herself. For the first time the panic and despair in her aura manifested itself on her face.
“Enough for the next three weeks,” she said flatly. “The liquid version of the formula won’t keep any longer than a month, even under ideal conditions. That’s why Eubanks’s capsule version was so important.”
“Why aren’t you at the theater watching your sister’s performance?”
“I wanted to go,” she whispered. “But I’m not feeling very good. I think I’m allergic to the formula.” Her mouth twisted. “Maybe it will kill me before I run out of it.”
“Maybe we can do a deal,” Luther said.
“No deals. In three weeks at the very most, I’ll be dead. You have nothing to offer me. I came here to say farewell to my sister.”
“How about a chance at a normal life span? That interest you?”
“Are you talking about the antidote? Daddy said the Society labs were working on one but it hasn’t been perfected yet. Even if it does work, there’s no way the Council would give it to me.”
“It’s not the Council’s decision. Zack Jones could authorize it and he would if Fallon Jones recommended it. I’ve got to tell you that at this point it’s highly experimental, however. There are a lot of unknowns. But it’s not like you have a lot to lose, is it?”
Damaris stared at him, hardly daring to hope. “Why would Zack Jones allow me to try the antidote?”
The beam was very weak now. Damaris was focused almost entirely on the possibility that she might survive, after all. Luther stopped shaking and started to breathe evenly again.
He revved up his senses to the max and sent a suppressing tide of energy at Damaris’s aura. The laser fell to the floor at her feet. She did not notice because she was fighting to keep her eyes open.
He grabbed his cane and went toward her. “The Master will give you the antidote because you have something the Society wants very badly.”
“What?”
“Inside information about the highest levels of Nightshade. Now that your father is dead, you don’t owe the organization a damn thing. What do you say? Do we have a deal?”
“It would be stupid to say no,” Damaris whispered, hugging herself.
He asked her a few more questions. When he was finished he eased more suppressing energy across her aura. She closed her eyes and went to sleep.
It would be stupid not to tie her up while she was out, Luther decided. Once a cop, always a cop.
He secured her wrists and ankles using his belt and the tie he had worn to the opera. Then he took out his phone and called Fallon Jones.
“Craigmore was the
founder of Nightshade?” Fallon sounded truly stunned, a rare state for him. “Damaris is his daughter. Hell, yes, she can have the antidote if she’s willing to talk.”
“Figured as much. First things first. You need to send someone to Acacia Bay to pick up Miss Kemble. She’s unconscious at the moment. She told me her sister has no way of knowing that Grace is in town so we’re okay on that front for now.”
“I’ll get someone out from the L.A. office as soon as possible to bring Kemble in to the lab. Probably take an hour or more to get anyone on the scene, though, depending on traffic. Keep an eye on her until then.”
“She said her sister probably won’t come back to the room until morning but there’s no way to be certain of that.”
“Listen up, Malone. I do not want you having a confrontation with Vivien Ryan unless there’s no alternative. We pay Sweetwater to handle problems like that. Get the Kemble woman out of there.”
“Fine. But I can’t exactly walk out through the hotel lobby with an unconscious woman over my shoulder.”
“Got any other ideas?”
“How about getting me another room here in the hotel? I’ll check in and then come back here, collect Kemble and move her.”
“Move her how? You’re on a cane, remember?”
“Trust me, it’s not something you forget. I’ll use a laundry cart.”
“Good idea,” Fallon said. “How’d you think of it?”
“Just came to me.”
“I don’t want Kemble left alone for a minute. She’s too valuable.”
“Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere. Call downstairs to the front desk and get me a room on a different floor.”
“I wish to hell you’d stop treating me as if I was your personal concierge.”
“One more thing,” Luther said. “If the Siren does happen to come back here tonight, she’ll realize that something has happened to Damaris.”
“Let her worry about it.”
“What if she disappears?”
“Give me a break. She’s a diva. Probably incapable of going into hiding for longer than ten minutes. We’ll find her.”
“Right. From now on, she’s your problem.”
Moving fast, Luther managed to cut the connection before Fallon could do it.
FORTY-FOUR
Damn the Renquist woman. Once again she threatened to ruin everything. How dare she show up in Acacia Bay tonight of all nights?
La Sirène glared at Newlin Guthrie in the dressing room mirror. “Are you sure she’s here?”
“Yes, my love, and the bodyguard, too.” Newlin spread his hands wide, half appeasing, half in supplication. “I had no trouble getting into the J&J files. Two tickets were purchased by the agency in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Kerney last night. Honolulu to L.A. Kerney is the name Miss Renquist and Malone are using for a cover. I’m sorry, my love, but I think we have to assume the worst.”
“It is all so unfair. I don’t deserve this. I was brilliant tonight.”
The trip to Maui had turned out to be very good for the Voice. Using her power to its full extent on Eubanks had reinvigorated her talent in the most amazing way. She should have realized long ago that the Voice needed to be properly exercised to its maximum strength quite frequently in order to keep it in top form.
“You were flawless, my love,” Newlin said. “You are, after all, La Sirène. They adored you almost as much as I do.”
She’d received a standing ovation; she’d taken bow after bow, all the while feeling as though she really were the Queen of the Night. Afterward, Newlin and the stage door guard had been forced to shoo the last of a seemingly endless string of admirers from her dressing room. As she had hoped, the important critics from L.A. and one from San Francisco had attended. Her new manager had called during intermission, ecstatic. He had assured her that the publicist had booked back-to-back inte
rviews with the press for the following day.
Everything had been perfect and now this. She had intended to deal with the Renquist creature after she finished her engagement in Acacia Bay. She was an artist. She was not supposed to have to tolerate distractions of this sort.
She took another swipe at the heavy makeup with a tissue, wave after wave of rage crashing through her. She wanted to scream. But that was not good for the Voice.
She crushed the tissue and tossed it aside. Her fingers closed around the hairbrush. Before she could even think about it, she had hurled the brush straight into the mirror. The wooden handle struck the glass and bounced off without leaving so much as a chip. She grabbed a bottle of makeup and threw it at the same target. This time there was a sharp splintering sound. A very satisfying crack appeared.
Newlin winced and took a step back, looking more uneasy than ever. What a wimp. It was all too much. Callas had Onassis for a lover, a worldly shipping magnate, one of the legendary tycoons of the last century. What did La Sirène have to work with? Not a rich Greek but a rich
geek. It was not right. This was not her true destiny.
She had to admit, however, that, in addition to his adoration and his billions, Newlin had one immensely useful attribute. He knew his way around cyberspace. After Craigmore had turned up dead, Damaris had been unable to monitor J&J and thus lost track of Grace Renquist. But dear Newlin had hacked into the agency’s confidential, highly encrypted database with ease. It was not terribly surprising since his company had designed the software.
She pulled herself together with sheer willpower and forced herself to think.
“We’ve been through this. You know why she’s here.” She turned around on the stool and looked straight at Newlin. “She is stalking me.”
“Dearest, are you absolutely certain of that?”
She leaped to her feet, tightened the tie of her dressing gown and began to pace the lush room. “I told you, Grace Renquist has been haunting me for weeks.”
The stalking scenario had started out as a minor fib intended to explain the situation to Newlin. But somewhere along the line it had become a reality. There was no doubt in her mind that Renquist, driven by jealousy, was stalking her.
“Perhaps it’s time to call in the police,” Newlin suggested.
“The police are useless in situations like this. Believe me, I know. This is not the first time I’ve had to deal with this kind of thing.”
“Then at least allow me to hire around-the-clock security to protect you.”
She was pushing too hard. The last thing she wanted was a security detail.
“I told you, that would only cause rumors and scandal,” she said quickly. “I can’t afford that, not at this delicate point in my career.”
That certainly ranked as one of the most outrageous lies of the twenty-first century. Generally speaking, there was nothing like a juicy scandal to perk up a career in the world of opera.
Newlin was almost wringing his hands now. “But your safety is paramount. I can afford the best in security. They’ll be very discreet, I swear.”
She waved that away. “No, no, now that I think about it, you may be right. I do have to consider the possibility that Renquist is simply a devoted fan who admires my art so much that she flew in from Hawaii to catch my performance tonight,” she said soothingly.
Fat chance. There was only one reason Renquist was in Acacia Bay. She was pursuing her. While it was deeply gratifying to know that the woman comprehended La Sirène’s power, she simply could not be allowed to live.
She stopped at the wardrobe and spun around to face Newlin. The practiced motion sent the skirt of her blue satin dressing gown sweeping out in a dramatic fashion.
“I have an idea,” she said, “but I will need your help, my love.”
“Of course, my dear. Anything.”
“I can see only one course of action.” She eased compelling energy into her voice. The result was a delicate, melodic singsong effect. There was some natural power in her speaking voice but the full strength of her talent could only be accessed when she moved into the higher ranges. “I must meet with Grace Renquist face-to-face, woman-to-woman. If I talk to her, perhaps I can find out the basis for her obsession with me.”
Newlin glowed with admiration. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I’ll record the conversation.” The words came out in a light, lilting, sparkling pulse of energy. “With luck I’ll be able to find out whether she’s a fan or a dangerous person. If she is a stalker, I’ll have proof that I can take to the police.”
“Brilliant, my love, absolutely brilliant.”
He was already helplessly enthralled. She could see the longing in his eyes.
She began to thread more energy into each word. The Voice took on strength, resonance and raw power.
“You must bring her to me,” she sang.
Newlin’s dark brows crinkled together over the rims of his glasses. For an instant his own considerable intelligence rose to the surface.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler if you just called her at her hotel in the morning?” he said plaintively. “I’m sure Miss Renquist would probably be thrilled at the chance to meet you in person.”
She was suddenly and completely Verdi’s Lady Macbeth, faced with the maddening challenge of trying to urge her lover to overcome his foolish scruples. She launched into the sleepwalking aria, energy soaring through her.
. . . You tremble?
. . . Shame
Toward the end she sailed on the wings of the high D-flat. Even Callas, La Divina herself, had found it difficult to hold on to that exposed note. But it was nothing for La Sirène, nothing at all.
Newlin was transfixed.
“I would do anything for you,” he whispered. “Anything.”
No doubt about it, she still had the Voice.
FORTY-FIVE
Luther swiped one of the laundry carts from the housekeeping closet down the hall and stuffed the still sleeping Damaris into it. When he had her safely locked away in another room on a different floor, he took out his phone and punched in Grace’s number.
She answered halfway through the first ring.
“Luther? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick. I had that terrible feeling again, the same one I had the night you ran into Craigmore in the garage. I tried to call you but your cell was off. Then the sensation just sort of evaporated.”
A sense of deep satisfaction warmed him. Bonded for sure. It felt good.
“It’s a long story,” he said, “but yeah, I’m okay.”
“I just had a call from Fallon Jones. He said they found some files in Craigmore’s safe indicating that Vivien Ryan is his daughter. He was a sperm donor years ago. What’s more, there’s another daughter around somewhere.”
“Her name is Damaris. We just met.”
“What?”
“She’s going to be the first person to enter the Society’s version of a witness protection program.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“You’ve been busy,” Grace said.
“And the night is only going to get busier. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it looks like I’ll be spending the next hour or so in a hotel room with a blonde.”
“Okay, that’s going to take some explaining.”
He gave her a quick rundown of events, deliberately finessing the confrontation over the laser. Unfortunately, Grace could read between the lines.
“She tried to kill you.”
“She’s on the drug, Grace,” he said quietly. “Her supply was cut off when her father died.”
Grace sighed. “She’s dying.”
“Her only hope is the antidote. She’s willing to talk to J&J and Zack Jones and anyone else in order to get it. She’s not a complete sociopath like her sister. Her spectrum is complete. This was all about trying to please Daddy.”
“William Craigmore.”
“Turns out he wasn’t just a trait
or to the Society. He was the founder of Nightshade.”
“Well, that’s going to be a little awkward to explain at the Society’s next general meeting.”
“I think so, yes. Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about the politics of the situation. Start packing. I’ll come back to the hotel as soon as someone arrives to collect Damaris.”
“We’re checking out tonight?”
“I’m going to take you to L.A. I don’t want you in the same town as Vivien Ryan any longer than necessary. We’ve got some time, though. According to Damaris, Ryan doesn’t know we’re here. She also said La Sirène probably won’t return to her hotel room until very late tonight if at all.”
“Because of the reception we read about in the newspapers?”
“Right. It’s being thrown by her current lover, Newlin Guthrie.”
“As in Guthrie Hall, the new opera house?”
“As in. Guthrie made his fortune in software and high-tech gadgets. He owns half the town.”
FORTY-SIX
It was going to be a long night. Now that she was no longer worried about Luther’s safety, Grace became aware of the combined effects of the long flight from Hawaii and the adrenaline rush following the identification of La Sirène’s aura.
She started a pot of coffee in the little machine that sat on the granite counter and went into the bathroom to take a reviving shower. She was not looking forward to the drive back to L.A.
The sense of throat-tightening urgency hit her a short time later when she turned off the water. For no discernible reason, all her senses were suddenly revved sky-high. Intuition worked that way.
She grabbed the white spa robe that had been thoughtfully provided by the hotel and opened the door to the bathroom.
There was a man dressed in a tuxedo in the bedroom. He held an odd-looking box in one hand.
“My apologies, Miss Renquist,” he said. “But I really have no choice.”
“Who are you?” she managed.
“Newlin Guthrie.” He glanced at the strange device. “This is my latest invention. It’s going to be huge in the security market. Similar to a Taser except you won’t feel a thing after the first jolt. Puts you out like a light for a couple of hours but with no lasting side effects.”
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