Chapter Eight
Anticipation dumped another dose of adrenaline into Owen’s veins. “Are you sure?”
“It’s not an ordinary mirror. I can sense the energy from a small amber battery in the handle. Pretty sure it’s a recording device of some kind.”
He caught the barely suppressed excitement in her voice and almost smiled. He knew she was thinking the same thing he was: they might have gotten very, very lucky, thanks to Sebastian.
There were, however, less hopeful possibilities. He felt obliged to point out the obvious.
“Maybe someone on the staff of the Hotel of Dreams runs a little side business videoing people in the privacy of their rooms,” he said. “A perv or a blackmailer.”
“I don’t think there’s much of a staff at the hotel. The clerk at the front desk was the only person I saw, and you said he was a fraud.”
“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a regular staff. Maybe they were told not to come to work tonight.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to work there at all. So much negative energy in that place.”
“I wouldn’t give it five stars, either. But not everyone would pick up the vibe. That kind of sensitivity varies greatly from one person to another. The immediate question is, what was the mirror doing on the floor of the bathroom not far from the body in the shower?”
“Carl Voyle,” Alice said, her voice very tight. “Maybe he was the one I was supposed to meet tonight, the person who was going to sell me the proof of my innocence. But if he was part of the plot to kidnap me, why kill him?”
“Maybe because he knew too much. Or he tried to blackmail someone else, in addition to you, and the target murdered him.”
“But didn’t take the mirror, either, because he didn’t see it in the wastebasket or didn’t realize that it was a camera.”
“That fits,” he said.
She was silent for so long that he started to get an uneasy feeling.
Maybe she was more anxious about entering into an MC with him than she admitted.
Probably afraid he would try to take advantage of her.
She had lived a very sheltered life at the Ballantine Academy, and she had been out in the world for only about a year before the whirlwind courtship and marriage to Travis Poole.
As far as he knew, the Ballantine Method had no issues with sex.
It was considered a normal, healthy part of a well-balanced life.
But those who practiced the method were encouraged to view it as a transcendent form of communication between two people who were attracted to each other and had already established a strong bond.
The method did not approve of hookups, one-night stands, or, for that matter, Marriages of Convenience.
The Travis Poole disaster had undoubtedly traumatized Alice when it came to sex. He needed to find a way to assure her he wasn’t going to use their MC as an excuse to press her for a physical relationship.
She spoke before he could find the right words.
“If you’re who you say you are—if you help hunt down sociopaths who possess dangerous psychic talents—you’ve seen some awful things,” she said. “I can’t imagine what your dreamscapes are like.”
The observation blindsided him. She was right. Sleep did not hold much appeal when he was working a case, or for weeks afterward. Even when he had put distance between himself and a successfully closed hunt, he still occasionally got slammed. Some things could never be unseen, never be forgotten.
The blowback from the unsolved cases was far worse.
But he never talked about the bad dreams and the restless nights, not to anyone.
There was no point. He knew what a therapist or a friend or a para-psychologist would say: Stop hunting the monsters.
But that was not an option. He had found ways to cope—mostly.
He had been doing all right—achieved what the self-help gurus liked to call a work-life balance—right up until the Gatley case.
Admittedly, that had thrown him down a dark hole for a while, but he had crawled out. Mostly.
Regardless, his nightmares were his personal business. What in green hell had prompted her to go there, and what was up with the empathy for a virtual stranger? She was in the middle of her own waking nightmare. She should be focusing on her problems—not his dreamscapes.
Belatedly he recalled the first part of her comment and took refuge in defending himself. “I told you the truth. My name is Owen March, and I’m a forensic consultant who specializes in the inheritance patterns of paranormal traits.”
“And you just happen to carry a spare fake ID.”
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and checked the monitors again. “I know that looks suspicious, but I can explain.”
“Don’t bother.” She moved one hand in a dismissing motion. “I’ve been living under a false ID for the past seven months and I’ve got a spare ready to go in case I found myself in a situation like this. Sebastian likes you, and for now that’s good enough.”
“My character reference is a dust bunny?”
“He’s got excellent intuition when it comes to humans.”
“How did the two of you get together?”
“He started showing up on my back porch in the evenings shortly after I settled in Illusion Town. I left snacks out for him and he left little gifts for me. Interesting rocks and flowers. That sort of thing. Meanwhile, I had a problem with a very disturbed individual at the clinic. His name was Denton. He developed a fixation on me. Claimed I was channeling nightmares into his head.”
“What happened?”
“Dr. Loring, the director, barred Denton from the clinic and referred him to a hospital. But one night Denton followed me home and tried to attack me. Sebastian appeared out of nowhere and went for his throat. Denton ran off. I bought a large pizza for Sebastian to thank him, and we’ve been pals ever since. ”
“What happened to Denton?”
“He was picked up by the police and confined to a psychiatric hospital.”
“Is he still there?”
She frowned. “As far as I know. Why do you ask?”
“In my experience, people like that don’t give up on their fixations very easily.”
There was a long silence from the passenger seat.
“Even if he gets out of the hospital, I really don’t think Denton will be a problem for me going forward,” Alice finally said.
Her voice was a little too neutral. He smiled. “What did you do to him?”
She hesitated. “I told you, I can sometimes tune a person’s dreams. I couldn’t fix Denton’s mental health issues. That’s a job for the doctors. But I could and did manipulate his dreamlight to focus his obsession on something other than me.”
“What?”
“Puzzles. The last time Dr. Loring checked on him, Denton was still in the hospital, working on a thousand-piece puzzle. All the pieces were the same color.”
“Impressive. You found a nonviolent fix for the problem. You are a credit to the Ballantine Method. Think it’s a permanent solution, or will Denton’s obsession with you return?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m not a doctor.”
“And there you have the basic problem with the Ballantine Method. It’s not always the most realistic approach.”
“What would you have done?” she challenged.
“Something a lot more permanent.”
“Such as?”
“It would probably be a good idea to change the subject.”
“I agree.” She held up the mirror. “I am so anxious to see if there’s a recording on this camera that will help me clear my name. I know an amber tuner in Illusion Town who can probably unlock it.”
He smiled. “Of course you do. But as it happens, you probably won’t need a tuner. Pretty sure I can unlock it.”
She gave him a quick searching glance. “Right. Your handy-dandy little lockpick gadget. You’re also an excellent shot with a flamer. I’m guessing that you weren’t always a forensic consultant specializing in paranormal inheritance traits.”
“I was with the FBPI for a few years,” he allowed.
“And now you consult for the Bureau?”
“Occasionally. Mostly I write boring papers on the inheritance patterns of rare or unusual talents.”
“Rare or unusual talents that happen to be potentially dangerous, you mean,” she said. “Talents like mine.”
“Everyone is potentially dangerous, Alice,” he said.
“Including me?”
“And me. Talent is not required. As a practical matter, it’s a lot easier to murder someone with a mag-rez than with psychic energy.”
“An interesting point of view. I would argue that while it may be simpler and more efficient to shoot someone with a gun, the downside for the killer is that such a method is far more likely to leave physical evidence.”
“Very true. Murder by paranormal means is a lot harder to identify and prosecute.”
“Which is why the FBPI hires specialized consultants like you?” she asked.
“Yep.”
“Why do I have the impression that there is a lot you aren’t telling me about yourself, Owen March?”
“You only met me about an hour ago. There hasn’t been time to tell you my life story.”
“Very true.” She paused. “And now we’re going to get married. That feels so strange.”
“Stranger than your short courtship with Travis Poole?”
“No.” She hesitated. “I just can’t remember much about it.”
“We need to figure out why your memories are so vague.”
She fell silent for a moment, toying with the mirror. Then she looked at him. “Have you ever been in an MC?”
“Once. Right after college. It was a mistake. We both knew it within a few weeks.”
“Why didn’t the two of you realize it wouldn’t work before you got married?”
He snorted. “Beats me. That’s why the Founders established Marriages of Convenience. They give people time to figure out if they are making a mistake.”
“Everyone knows they’re nothing more than licenses for affairs.”
“With some legal safeguards,” he reminded her. “Which is why we’re going to get married.”
“I understand. But our MC will be different,” she added with some force.
“No question about it.” Everything with you is different, Alice Radstone.
She gave him an uncertain look, but thankfully, she did not ask him to explain. That was a lucky break for him, because he had no idea how he would have outlined exactly why she was a complete anomaly in his life.
This was also not a good time to tell her that, despite appearances to the contrary, they did have one thing in common. But she would probably panic if he told her about the Gatley case, and that would not be useful.
“Any way you look at it, this situation is extremely unbalanced,” she said. “It lacks harmony in every aspect.”
“No shit.”
She checked the time. “I can’t wait to get home.”
“About going back to your place,” he said.
She groaned. “Is this where you tell me we can’t risk it?”
“I’m afraid so. The first time around, Kelbrook did not want to take a chance on grabbing you in Illusion Town. But now he’s going to be more desperate. We have to assume he’ll have people watching your house.”