Chapter Thirteen
The Amber Lounge was a cozy retreat from the charged atmosphere of the gaming floor.
The low lighting and intimate, high-backed booths provided a sense of privacy.
Owen knew it was an illusion. In a casino, someone is always watching.
Nevertheless, the curiosity seekers, tabloid reporters, and gamblers were kept at bay by the intimidating host stationed at the entrance.
The cocktail server came by to take their orders. After he and Alice had given theirs, the woman looked at Sebastian.
“And what will the lucky dust bunny have?” she asked, smiling.
Aware that he was being adored, Sebastian preened.
“Something nonalcoholic, and absolutely no caffeine,” Alice said firmly. She scanned the menu. “How about the Harmonic Sunrise? It’s made of various fruit-flavored sodas. That should be safe.”
“Excellent choice,” the waitress said. “I’ll be right back.”
When she departed, Alice sank back against the cushions. “One thing’s for sure—we achieved our objective. You said we needed publicity, and we’re getting plenty of it. By tomorrow morning everyone in the four city-states will know that the Deranged Bride has remarried.”
“You’re right.” He gave himself a moment to consider the angles. “I doubt that we’ll have to wait more than a day or two.”
Her brows snapped together. “For what?”
“For the call from Kelbrook’s fixer, Twitchell. I told you, he’ll try to buy me off.”
“Right.”
He smiled. “Relax. He can’t afford me.”
She turned pink again. “I never thought you would actually sell me.”
“It crossed your mind. I don’t blame you. It was a perfectly reasonable concern.”
Still, it hurt. Once again, he reminded himself that she had known him for only about a day.
Alice tapped one finger on the table, her mouth tightening.
“I’ve been thinking about the possibility of Kelbrook and Twitchell making you an offer they assume you won’t refuse.
I’m not so sure we can count on it. We’re dealing with a ruthless bunch, a crime family that just happens to run a legitimate business.
I know you think that going public with our marriage and holing up here in a casino will keep us safe, but what if Kelbrook or his fixer decides to murder you and make it look like I did it?
That would really give them ammunition for declaring me criminally insane. ”
“An interesting twist. But if anything happens to me now, there will be a lot more truly terrible publicity for the Kelbrook family and the business. Twitchell’s job is to clean up the mess, not make it worse.
Meanwhile, I need time for more research.
I did as much as I could on you while I was looking for you, but it has become clear that I didn’t do nearly enough on the Kelbrook clan. ”
“What good will checking out their ancestry records do?”
“You never know. The answers are always in the bloodline.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You do realize how fatalistic that sounds, right? You’re saying we are all more or less doomed by our talents.”
“No,” he said, irritated because he had failed to make himself clear.
“That’s not what I meant. Power—normal or paranormal—isn’t inherently good or bad.
It’s neutral. What matters is how it is deployed.
That’s where bloodline comes in. Family is the X factor in the equation.
To solve the crime, you have to first solve for the unknown. ”
She considered that briefly. “You’re trying to predict the actions and reactions of human beings using a mathematical model. You are not allowing for the unpredictable elements of emotion, personality, mental health issues, and environment.”
He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table, aware that he was starting to enjoy the argument. “The majority of which are determined by the bloodline.”
“Hah. You want to take on the old nature versus nurture debate? Be careful what you wish for. The Ballantine Method holds that everyone knows the difference between good and evil. Everyone chooses their own ethical path.”
“In that case, how do you explain sociopathy?”
“Sociopaths know the difference. They just don’t get the kickback of guilt and shame the rest of us get if they choose evil.”
“Here’s what you’re forgetting,” he said. “One’s concept of right and wrong is established by the family. Take the Kelbrooks. For them, ‘right’ is anything that benefits the family and the business. ‘Wrong’ is anything that hurts the family and the business.”
“They know the ethics of the situation. They just choose loyalty to family above all else, even if it means hurting other people, because they value money and power more than ethical action.”
“On that,” he said, “we agree. The question is, who or what endowed them with those values?”
“According to the Ballantine Method—”
She broke off because the server materialized at the table.
“Look what I have for the cute little dust bunny,” she said.
She placed a tall frothy chartreuse-and-pink drink in front of Sebastian, who studied it with an air that could only be described as worshipful. There were several small slices of fruit on the rim. He plucked one off and munched it with delicate greed.
The server set the other drinks down and then smiled at Sebastian.
“I’ve got another surprise for you, little guy.
” She held up a necklace studded with small sparkling crystals.
“The casino guest who won the big jackpot on the Lost Alien Treasure slot asked me to give this to you as a token of his gratitude.”
She draped the necklace over Sebastian’s head. Most of the crystals got lost in his gray fur, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was overcome with ecstasy. He bounced and chortled.
The server laughed and went on her way.
Alice smiled at Sebastian, her eyes warming with affection. “It takes so little to make a dust bunny happy.”
“Probably in the bloodline,” Owen said dryly. “You know, instinct.”
Alice glared. “Don’t start anthropomorphizing. It’s bad enough that you insist on applying your theories to humans. There’s no reason to force it onto innocent animals.”
He grinned. “Innocent is not the first word that comes to mind when I look at Sebastian.”
She drank some wine and lowered the glass.
“I disagree.” She paused, her eyes tightening a little with speculation.
“Speaking of your bloodline theory, how did you use it to find me? You can’t possibly know anything about my ancestry, because I don’t know anything about it.
Where did I screw up? What did I do that made it possible for you to track me down so quickly? ”
“You weren’t a complete unknown. In fact, I had enough information to build a solid psi profile.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “You have a psi profile on me? But you know hardly anything about me.”
Okay, telling her about the profile had probably been a mistake. But he was trapped. He knew her well enough now to know she would not allow him to change the subject until she got answers.
“You’re wrong,” he said, searching for the right words. “I know a lot about you.”
“Such as?”
“I know you came of age within the cloistered environment of the Ballantine Academy. After graduation you could have left to go out into the real world. Instead, you chose to stay and teach until your mentor died and the school was forced to close. When you did go out on your own, you found work in a street clinic in Resonance, where you helped the para-psychologist in charge deal with homeless people who had sleep and dream issues.”
“So what?” Alice said. “I don’t see how my work history made it possible for you to find me.
I taught the techniques of dream therapy while I was at the Academy, and afterward I worked as a dream therapist because I’m not trained to do anything else.
Also, I don’t want to do anything else. It’s my calling. Everyone has one.”
“And then, of course, I had the psi profile of Subject A in Draper’s Ten Case Studies of Level Ten–Plus Dreamlight Talents.”
Alice froze. Her eyes heated in ways he had never before noticed.
“Draper?” she said, with exquisite care, as if needing to be absolutely certain of the name. “Dr. Randolph S. Draper?”
“That’s right. Teaches at the University of Cadence. His textbook Essentials of Paranormal Genetics is assigned reading in most classes that cover the subject. His latest, Ten Case Studies, came out a few months ago. I don’t agree with some of his conclusions, but—”
“Tell me about Subject A,” Alice interrupted, each word as sharp as the blade of a freshly honed knife.
He might not be the smartest guy in the room, but he recognized a minefield when he found himself standing in the middle of one.
“Subject A is one of the ten dreamlight talents Draper documented in Ten Case Studies,” he said.
“Female. Orphan. Ancestry Unknown. Intelligent and well-educated but unsophisticated and naive due to living in a highly restricted social environment approximating that of a cloistered religious order.”
“The Ballantine Academy was not a religious order. It was an educational institution. A campus. Go on, what else did that lying, cheating prick say about Subject A?”
He blinked. “Prick?”
“Keep talking.”
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Positive.”
“Draper believed Subject A possessed an unusually high level of dreamlight talent, but after some initial testing, she refused to cooperate in advanced experiments.”
“I didn’t know I was being tested. I thought we were dating.”
He winced. “Okay. That explains the lying, cheating prick assessment of Dr. Randolph S. Draper.”
“He was also an asshole.”
“I’ll add that to his psi profile. I assume that at some point you realized what was happening and refused to cooperate.”