Orchid Page 11

  She exhaled slowly. “Because I don’t trust any marriage agency to find Mr. Right for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m an ice-prism. I don’t think the syn-psych people know enough about ice-prisms yet to match them properly.”

  “You don’t trust their para-profiling capabilities?”

  “No. Heck, they couldn’t even weed out Preston Luce, professional charmer and all-around bastard.”

  “I wouldn’t hold that against Affinity Associates. You said he was a charisma-talent. I met one once, a politician. They’re hard to detect.”

  “All the same, I’m not looking forward to getting a second call from the agency.”

  Rafe looked as if he wanted to argue the point. She wondered why her marriage prospects or lack of same interested him. But before she could ask, he turned and splashed the beam of the flashlight across a chest of drawers.

  “It would probably be a good idea if we finished our business here and got out. No sense arousing the curiosity of a neighbor.”

  Orchid thought about the nearly deserted street of darkened houses outside. “I don’t think anyone in this neighborhood signed up for the local block watch.”

  “Probably not.” Rafe began to go through the dresser drawers in a methodical fashion. “You take the closet.”

  Obediently she opened the door to reveal a small collection of precisely hung slacks and shirts. “What am I looking for?”

  “Anything that looks like it doesn’t belong there.”

  It did not take long to go through Theo Willis’s limited wardrobe. Ten minutes after she had started work, Orchid closed the closet door and looked at Rafe.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Nothing here, either.” He started back toward the hall. “There must be something. There’s always something.”

  “You didn’t know Theo,” she muttered as she followed him back into the living room. “He was a man of limited interests.”

  Rafe paused half way down the hall when the flashlight played across the wall calendar. “Hang on a second.”

  “What is it?”

  “Morgan Lambert said Willis was seeing a syn-psych shrink.”

  “So?”

  “So he must have had regular appointments. Maybe he noted them on the calendar.” Rafe took a closer look at the little squares around each day. “Here we go. Looks like he had several appointments during the last couple of weeks with a Dr. Q.A.”

  Orchid was intrigued. “How do we find out who Dr. Q.A. is?”

  “There are three possible ways to find out the doctor’s name. We can go through the phonebook and call every syn-psych shrink with those initials. Or we can look for Willis’s bank book to see if he paid for the visits with a check.”

  “What’s the third method?”

  “The easy way.” Rafe flipped the pages on the calendar. “We go back to the day Willis made the first appointment and hope that he wrote out the doctor’s full name the first time he noted it down the way most people do.”

  Orchid edged closer. She scanned the little boxes as Rafe turned the pages. A thrill of discovery raced through her when she spotted a name. “There. The fifteenth, two months ago. Dr. Quentin Austen. That must be it.”

  “It would be very interesting to talk to Dr. Austen,” Rafe mused.

  “Yes. He could tell us something about Theo’s state of mind in the days before he died.” Orchid’s excitement subsided. “But it’s not likely Austen will give us much information about a former patient, even if that patient is dead.”

  “I’m sure we can convince Dr. Austen to help us,” Rafe said a little too smoothly.

  Orchid opened her mouth to ask him what made him so certain he could get Austen to talk. She closed it again when he suddenly raised a hand to hush her.

  She saw him go very still in the shadows, as though he was listening to sounds she could not hear. He turned toward the draped window.

  A chill shot through Orchid. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure. Something’s not right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.” Rafe’s words were no more than a whisper. He clicked off the flashlight, reached for her hand and pulled her toward the back door. “Time to leave.”

  Orchid did not argue. A million questions seethed in her brain but she decided this was not the time to ask them. She allowed Rafe to haul her down the hall far more quickly than she would have liked. She could scarcely make out the vague shapes around her but Rafe was as sure-footed as a cat-dog.

  He led her swiftly to the back door but there he paused once more. Orchid peered through the window at what appeared to be a solid wall of gray mist. The vapor glowed eerily with the reflected light of the street lamp it had recently devoured.

  “The fog’s gotten worse,” she said softly. “A lot worse. It’s going to be a miserable drive home.”

  “We’ll be all right.”

  “I’ve never seen it quite this bad.” Orchid’s unease grew stronger. “I can’t even see the house next door.”

  It was true. The fog had swallowed up the house and everything else in the vicinity.

  “We can’t stay here.” Rafe unlatched the door and stepped outside. “Be careful. Remember the step.”

  She wanted to ask him why they were whispering but she forgot the question the instant the door closed behind her. The strange mist seemed to thicken as they made their way around the side of the small house and started across the unkempt lawn to where the Icer was parked at the curb.

  Orchid judged that they were halfway back to the car when Rafe jerked hard on her hand.

  “This isn’t real fog. Get down.”

  “What the—?”

  Rafe used his foot to trip her. Then he pushed her down, hard. Orchid sprawled ignominiously on the ground. She was wondering if he’d gone crazy when she sensed the rush of booted feet across the lawn.

  “Link,” Rafe ordered.

  The questing probe of his talent roared out of the darkness at full psychic vampire strength. Orchid hastily constructed a prism, manipulating the facets for optimum power. An instant later the first of the attackers plunged out of the mist.

  Chapter

  8

  The very texture of the fog-bound night altered abruptly for Rafe as his psychically sharpened senses steadied with the aid of the focus link. Scent, sound, and that indescribable sensation, awareness, oriented him as easily in the darkness as sunlight did in daylight.

  The mist was as thick as it had been a few seconds earlier, but it no longer mattered that he was partially blinded by it. He had other ways of seeing now.

  There were two of them. He located them precisely in the fog. They closed in simultaneously from opposite directions. Experienced predators.

  The first man swam out of the fog with the lethal intent of a shark-cuda. He wore a black ski mask. Rafe saw the glint of mist-refracted light on the blade of a knife.

  The case had taken a serious turn. Next time he would bring along the pistol he sometimes wore in an ankle holster.

  He shifted to the side, briefly concealing himself in the fog.

  “Bat-snake shit.” The knifeman whirled, seeking his prey.

  “Where’d he go?” The second man emerged from the mist. He, too, wore a ski mask and gripped a knife. “Cut some of the damn fog, Jink. I can’t see a thing.”

  Rafe went in low. He crashed into the first man. The impact took them both to the ground.

  The uncanny, blinding mist vanished in a heartbeat, leaving behind only the natural, wispy tendrils of fog that had cloaked the city all evening. Rafe felt Orchid’s startled surprise even through the focus link, but the crystal clear prism she had crafted did not waver.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw that she was still on the ground, propped on her elbow. She turned to stare at the violent scene unfolding in front of her.

  Rafe ignored the shock on her face. She was holding the focus a
nd at the moment, that was all that mattered.

  The man Rafe had brought down was an expert. He heaved himself to the side, managing to partially free himself. The knife in his hand sliced out in a short, vicious trajectory aimed at Rafe’s midsection.

  Rafe spun away, leaping to his feet in the same motion. He kicked out at the hand that held the knife. There was a dull crunch. The man on the ground yelled in pain. His weapon flew off into the darkness.

  “Get him.”

  The second man threw himself forward, knife arm outstretched. But he had to jump over Orchid’s prone form in order to get to his quarry. Rafe saw Orchid’s foot lash out in a curiously graceful, well-aimed movement that connected with the man’s thigh.

  The unexpected blow threw the assailant off balance. His legs snarled. He toppled, staggered, and went down.

  Rafe leaped for him.

  “Fog.” The second man steadied himself, scrambled back to his feet and whirled to face Rafe. “Damn it, Jink, give me some fog. He’s coming right at me.”

  The first man lurched to his feet. The mist thickened abruptly. Rafe ignored it, concentrating with his other senses.

  “Shit, it’s like he can see right through this stuff,” the second man yelled.

  “Let’s get out of here.” The first man pounded off into the darkness.

  The second man did not argue. He was already running after his friend.

  Power still surged through the prism. Rafe’s para-heightened senses strained eagerly. Every instinct urged him to pursue his prey. It would be so easy to bring down at least one of the fleeing men.

  “Rafe. I can’t see you. Where are you?”

  Rafe wrestled with his natural strat-talent inclinations. He could not leave Orchid. She was his first priority.

  The artificial fog dissolved as quickly as it had reappeared. Orchid started to climb to her feet. She looked around in wonder as the mist cleared.

  “Are you all right?” she demanded.

  “Yes.” Rafe cut the flow of his talent through the prism.

  He assessed her mood quickly. She was badly shaken, but she was in control. It occurred to him that a lot of people, male or female, who had just survived a knife assault would be in hysterics about now. “What about you?”

  “I’m okay.” She fumbled around on the ground for her fallen purse. “My God, Rafe, they tried to kill you. It was two against one.”

  The outrage in her voice made him grin. “No, the odds were even. Two against two. I had you for backup.”

  “Kind of you to give me some credit.” Orchid brushed off the knees of her jeans as she got to her feet. “But I don’t think I was a whole lot of help. Psynergy, Inc., employees are trained to handle a wide variety of focus situations. But I don’t think this kind of thing fits into the more sophisticated, upscale image that Clementine is going for.”

  “Then she probably shouldn’t sign contracts with strat-talents. We’re not exactly up-market clients.” He listened to the fading footsteps of his fleeing prey as he took Orchid’s arm.

  Adrenaline still pounded through his veins. He knew from past experience that it would take a while to dissipate. Even though he was no longer focusing his talent, he was still intensely aware of the myriad sensations of the night.

  He was also acutely aware of the very smooth skin of Orchid’s hand. He could feel the warmth of her, the slight, unmistakable, utterly unique scent that was hers alone. A restless hunger hummed in his gut.

  Adrenaline aftermath, he reminded himself. A natural chemical cocktail created by violence had flooded his bloodstream. The fact that the potion had a powerful synergistic affinity for the chemicals of sexual desire was a well-documented, scientific fact.

  The difference between man and beast, he reflected grimly as he put Orchid into the car, was not as great as many people liked to think.

  Orchid looked at him as he got behind the Icer’s steering bar. “One of those two men was an illusion-talent, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah. Probably a little higher than mid-range. Class six or seven, maybe. That mist he generated was a very strong illusion.”

  “He had help from the natural fog that was already in the vicinity,” Orchid murmured. “My friend, Amaryllis, works frequently with a very strong illusion-talent.”

  “That would be her husband, Lucas Trent.” Rafe eased the Icer away from the curb.

  Orchid shot him a quick, searching glance. “You know Lucas very well, I take it?”

  “Well enough.” Rafe had a fleeting memory of a night in the Western Island jungles when he and Lucas and Nick Chastain had tracked a band of pirates to their lair. It had been Lucas’s incredibly real illusion of driving rain which had given the three men the edge they needed to herd the renegades into a trap.

  “I see. Well, Amaryllis says that it’s always easier to graft an illusion onto an already existing chunk of reality than it is to create it from scratch.”

  “In other words, it’s simpler to produce an illusion of fog when there’s already a lot of fog around.”

  “Something to do with the fact that the human eye sees what it expects to see.” Orchid gazed through the windshield at the misty street. “On a fog-bound night, you expect to see a lot of fog. A bit more comes as no big surprise.”

  “You were the surprise tonight.”

  “Me?”

  He glanced at her. “That kick you used to topple the second man. That was meta-zen-syn.”

  “So?”

  “You never mentioned that you were a practitioner.”

  She made a face. “I was raised in Northville. I was taught meta-zen-syn exercises before I could walk. But I don’t think of myself as a practitioner. Practitioners are obsessive-compulsive about their exercises and they wear a lot of white.”

  “I see.”

  She shot him a quick, speculative glance. “You were using a form of meta-zen-syn, too.”

  “Yes.” Rafe flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “My father is a practitioner. He taught me. Said I’d need the exercises to help control my talent.”

  “Well, at least you don’t run around in white.”

  Rafe smiled slightly. “No, I don’t wear much white.”

  “It’s very hard to wear white, you know. I never could understand how everybody in Northville except me managed to keep their clothes so spotless. Mine always got dirty five minutes after I put them on.”

  Rafe suddenly felt extraordinarily cheerful. “Did they?”

  “Yes.” She frowned down at her hands. “Unfortunately, I don’t know how to use meta-zen-syn to make my fingers stop shaking.”

  “It’s the adrenaline. It will fade in a few minutes. If it’s any consolation, I’m feeling the after effects, myself.” And how.

  “You don’t have to be condescending about it.”

  “What?” Her sarcasm startled him. “Who’s being condescending? I told you the truth. I am feeling the effects.”

  “Hah.” She glared at him. “Look at the way you’re driving.”

  “What’s wrong with my driving?”

  “Nothing.” She sounded seriously aggrieved. “That’s the whole point. You’re as steady as a rock.”

  “Don’t try to tell me what I’m feeling. I know damn well what I’m feeling. The fact that I can drive this car does not mean that I am not experiencing the same adrenaline effects that you’re experiencing.”

  “Don’t shout at me. I’ve had a very difficult evening.”

  “I’m not shouting at you.”

  “Your voice is rising.”

  He started to defend himself, then shook his head when he realized she was right. “Damn. Listen to us. This is a really stupid argument we’re having.”

  “Yes, it is.” She scowled. “Why are we having it?”

  He sighed. “It’s all part of the adrenaline jag. This, too, shall pass.”

  “Don’t,” she warned, “start up again.” But there was a rueful smile in her voice.

  He glanced a
t her. In the light from the dash he could see the very sensual, very soft curve of her mouth.

  Desire tugged at him. It was growing stronger, not weaker. He used every ounce of self-control he possessed to squelch it. This was most definitely not the right time or place. Orchid had been through a very traumatic experience. He had to respect that fact.

  “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “we made a pretty good team.”

  “Yeah. We did.” She paused. “Now that we are no longer arguing, I have a question. What, exactly, do you think was going on back there?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He exhaled slowly. “Someone doesn’t want us asking questions about Theo Willis.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  Half an hour later, Orchid sat curled on the massive, elegantly curved Later Expansion period sofa in Rafe’s library. She watched him with serious, troubled eyes as she sipped moontree brandy.

  “What do we do next?” she asked.

  “You mean, what do I do next.” He poured a second glass of brandy. “You’re out of it as of tonight.”

  “Wait a second, I thought you said we were a team?”

  He was surprised by her glowering look. “This thing has turned nasty.” He carried his glass across the room and lowered himself into the massive, ornately carved reading chair. “I don’t want you involved any deeper.”

  “You mean, now that it’s no longer some sort of game, you want to go hunting alone.”

  “It’s no game. It never was a game.” He watched her, brooding over the satisfaction he felt having her here in his home.

  The decision to bring her back to his big house on the hill overlooking the city had been a simple one. He had an excellent excuse, he told himself. Orchid should not be left alone after what she had just been through tonight.

  “Damn it, I’ve had enough.” She put her glass down with grim precision. “I think it’s about time you told me what this is all about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s perfectly obvious that, until things got serious tonight, this business of chasing down the lost alien artifact was just another excuse to hire me. You haven’t really needed my services at all in any of your cases. At least not until tonight when those two men jumped us.”