Chapter Seven
At least he did not sound as if he doubted her, she thought. That was a positive step. A lot of people in his position probably would have assumed she was the killer.
“That’s right,” she said.
“Why did you bother to check in if you intended to drive back to Illusion Town tonight?”
“I was following the instructions that were texted to me. Let me explain. I was contacted anonymously and informed that someone was willing to sell me proof that I did not murder Travis Poole in a fit of psychic madness and, furthermore, that I had been kidnapped and bundled off to Serenity Gardens.”
“Got it. I knew Kelbrook or Twitchell must have used something along those lines to lure you to the hotel. Who did you think you were going to meet?”
She hesitated, remembering the anonymous text. “Someone who claimed they were there the night Travis died. The instructions were to have a drink or a bite to eat at a bar in the little town a mile down the coast. I assumed that was so my contact could get a look at me and make sure I was alone.”
“Did you eat or drink anything?”
“No. I ordered a glass of sparkling water, but Sebastian growled at the waiter even though the man brought a bowl of bar snacks to the table. Sebastian does not usually turn down an offer of food, but he wouldn’t touch the snacks, and he growled again when I started to sip the sparkling water.
I decided not to eat or drink anything.”
“Good choice.” Owen did not take his eyes off the road. “The water or the snacks, maybe both, were probably drugged.”
“I didn’t know what was going on, so I poured the water into a potted plant and dumped the bar snacks into the trash in the women’s room before I got back into my car.”
“In spite of all the red flags, you went ahead and checked in to the hotel,” Owen said.
She knew he had tried to mute the severe disapproval in the words, but he did not do a good job of it.
“It was a calculated risk,” she said coldly.
The term calculated risk was growing on her. She was starting to realize that there were all sorts of situations in which it was applicable. And it sounded so much more intelligent than Okay, so it was a dumb thing to do.
“If that counts as a calculated risk, I’d hate to see what you think qualifies as a wildly impulsive risk,” he said.
“Agreeing to marry a man I’ve known for only about an hour would be a pretty good example,” she said.
He winced. “Never mind. What’s done is done. No sense wasting time with an argument.”
“I agree,” she said, in her most excruciatingly polite tones.
“You’re pissed.”
“Let’s just say I’m not in the mood to be lectured by the man who claims to be responsible for setting me up to be kidnapped and sent back to Serenity Gardens tonight.”
Owen groaned. “Low blow.”
“Sorry, but you must admit you provoked me.”
“And here I thought the Ballantine Method emphasized harmony and grace in all things.”
“The method does not prohibit self-defense. It simply advises that one choose one’s battles wisely.”
“I’ll remember that. Please finish your story.”
“Right. I got the room key from the front desk and went up to Room 205 to wait for my contact. When I opened the door of the room, I couldn’t see the body but I knew something was terribly wrong. Violent death leaves a lot of negative energy behind.”
“Yes,” he said. “It does.”
The ice in his words told her that he spoke from personal experience. She didn’t know what to say, so she plowed on with her tale. “Sebastian sensed the wrongness immediately, of course. When he sleeked out, I knew we were in trouble. At that point I decided to give up and leave.”
“But by then it was too late.”
“Yes, unfortunately. When I started to close the door and go back downstairs, Sebastian got extremely agitated. I had the impression that he wanted me to hide. I heard voices on the first floor and decided I didn’t dare use the lobby stairs.
I didn’t see an emergency exit sign, so I did not know which door would take me to the fire escape. ”
“There isn’t one,” Owen said. “The only other way out is the secret passage behind the walls.”
“So much for fire codes. At any rate, all of the doors in the hall were locked, so I had no options. I went back to my room, arranged some pillows on the bed to make it look like someone was asleep, and then I hid in the bathroom. That’s when I saw the dead person.”
“We may have an ID on him.” Owen fished a well-worn wallet out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. “When you went back to grab your go bag, I did a quick search of his clothes. I found this.”
“You probably shouldn’t have taken his wallet. It’s evidence.”
“No shit. We need evidence. A lot of it.”
“Right. Good point. I wasn’t thinking.”
She took the wallet, flipped it open, and rezzed the flashlight on her phone. “According to his driver’s license, his name is Carl Voyle. There’s an address in the Shadow Zone. That’s one of the eight zones of Illusion Town.”
“I know. Anything else?”
“Some comp cards from various Shadow Zone casinos, the kind they give to people who play the slots a lot. Looks like Voyle was a gambler.”
“But you don’t know him? He’s not one of your Aurora Street clients?”
“No,” she said. She examined the photo on the license very closely. “I’m sure I’ve never met him.”
“We need to know more about him. Our to-do list is getting longer. Meanwhile, here’s what we’ve got so far.
Kelbrook or his fixer lured you to the hotel with the promise of proof of your innocence in Poole’s death.
The waiter at the bar must have been in on it.
He doped the sparkling water and probably the snacks.
The drug—probably a heavy sedative—must have been timed to kick in shortly after you were back at the hotel and in your room. ”
“If they knew where I lived in Illusion Town, why not grab me there?”
“Because Illusion Town has its own rules. The city is run by the wealthy and powerful owners of the big hotel-casinos and clubs. They do not take kindly to outsiders coming in and committing major crimes like kidnapping, extortion, and murder on their territory. If you want that kind of work done, you have to clear it through them, and I doubt they would be willing to do Dunstan Kelbrook any favors. His sort looks down on the people who run that town.”
“In other words, I was right to hide there,” she said, pleased with her strategy.
“Yes. But you made the mistake of allowing yourself to be lured out. Once you were far away from the city, you were vulnerable.”
“Why not grab me on the road? Why make me go back to that awful hotel?”
“Two reasons,” Owen said. “The first, of course, is they believe you to be dangerous.”
“The benefit of being a known psychic vampire, I guess.”
“They wanted to get you into a situation they controlled, a place where they could administer the sedative before they took the risk of kidnapping you.”
“The hotel.”
“We need to find out who owns it and why Kelbrook or his fixer thought it was a good place to stage a kidnapping, not once but twice.”
“So many questions,” she whispered.
“The one we need to answer first is, why are you so important to Kelbrook? Our marriage will force his hand. Once he realizes he can’t send you back to Serenity Gardens or anyplace else without going through me, he’ll change his tactics.”
Marriage. To a man she had just met. Was she acting on emotional impulse or thoughtful intuition?
When had it become difficult to know the difference?
It shouldn’t even be an issue. This was a matter of survival, not romance.
Her future was at stake, not her heart. She was a woman with extremely limited options.
The decision to marry Owen was another calculated risk.
She was taking a thoughtful approach to an inherently unbalanced situation in which there were no good answers.
So why was she worrying about her heart? Because he’s the most compelling man you have ever met. Face it—you were attracted to him when he came through the doorway of Room 205.
Well, sure. He looked like a real-life hero. Heroes are always attractive. Aren’t they?
She was contemplating the pavement unrolling in front of the car and bracing herself for Owen’s next question when Sebastian chortled and graciously offered her the mirror.
She smiled. “For me? Thank you.”
Sebastian gave it to her and immediately lost interest in it. He went back to watching the road, enthralled.
She reached for her go bag, intending to stuff the souvenir inside, but she paused when she realized there was something off about the weight and the balance of the mirror.
Cautiously she rezzed her senses—and caught a familiar trickle of energy in the handle.
It lifted the hair on the back of her neck—not in an alarming way; just enough to confirm that the object had a small vibe.
“I think you owe Sebastian an apology,” she said.
Owen glanced at the mirror and then returned his attention to the road. “Why?”
“This is no ordinary dust bunny souvenir. I think it’s actually a concealed video camera.”