Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
“Welcome to Fool’s Gold Canyon Art Colony, Mr. and Ms. Ainsley,” the security guard said.
He appeared to be in his sixties. He examined the passes and handed them back to Luke through the open window of the SUV.
“The inn is the first right after you go through the gates. Park in the garage. You won’t need your vehicle again until you leave.
No cars are allowed on the grounds beyond the inn.
Feel free to use any of the golf carts that you come across.
There’s a bunch of them scattered around for the guests. ”
“Thanks,” Luke said.
“There’s no cell service here in the vortex canyons, so you might as well forget using your phones.”
“Understood,” Luke said.
Sophy studied the massive steel gates in front of the SUV, aware of a chill in spite of the balmy evening air. The unsettling sensation had gotten steadily stronger during the long drive through miles of empty desert as night took control.
She knew that the desert was not truly empty.
It came alive after dark as a varied population of creatures—snakes, bats, owls, insects, spiders, small rodents, and more—took the night shift.
Nevertheless, there had been times during the past couple of hours when it felt as if she and Luke and Bruce were the only living beings on the planet.
There were no streetlights on the old highway.
No truck stops. No motels. No fast-food restaurants.
The first reassuring signs of life had appeared when they stopped for gas in the tiny community of Fool’s Gold about ten miles back.
Now they had arrived at a small valley nestled deep in the red rock canyons.
As if he sensed her unease, Bruce leaned around the edge of the seat and nuzzled her. She reached up and ruffled his fur.
“Good-looking dog,” the guard said.
Bruce grinned, flashing his fangs.
The guard frowned. “Does he bite?”
“Of course not,” Sophy said. “He’s really quite friendly.”
Bruce went into what he evidently considered his adorable mode. Unfortunately, that look gave the guard another glimpse of fang.
“I don’t recognize the breed,” the guard said, wary now.
“Neither does anyone else,” Luke said.
“You’ll need to make sure he’s on a leash while you’re here.” The guard stepped back. “I’ll open the gates. You picked a good time to arrive. The colony is amazing after dark.”
He went back into the guardhouse. The small space was crammed with a lot of exotic high-tech equipment. It looked like the flight deck of a fighter jet.
“They take security very seriously around here,” Sophy said.
Luke glanced into the guardhouse. “Not seriously enough.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They are not using Wells, Inc. products.”
She almost smiled. “Does it worry you that the guard is armed? I mean, this is supposed to be an art colony, not a secret military base.”
“We’re in Arizona,” Luke said. “You can assume everyone is armed.”
“Including you?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“I don’t like guns,” he said. “They are loud, heavy, and dangerous. Also, I’m not a good shot.”
She processed that while she watched the big gates slide open.
“Huh,” she said.
“What?”
“I guess I just assumed that, what with you being in the security business and all, you probably carried a gun.”
Luke drove through the gates. “You may be under a misconception about my career path. I’m what you might call a data analyst.”
“A data analyst who is set to take control of one of the most powerful private security companies in the country.”
“Maybe.”
Startled, she turned to look at him. He certainly did not sound thrilled with the prospect of becoming the CEO of Wells, Inc. Interesting. Maybe he preferred his career as an assassin and wasn’t looking forward to a desk job.
She did not ask any more questions, because she was riveted by the glowing, sparkling fairy-tale wonderland inside the compound.
“This is incredible,” she said.
“Looks like a cross between the Las Vegas Strip and a theme park.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “A bit.”
The art colony was a small, picture-perfect community constructed around a large sculpture garden. The individual pieces of artwork in the garden glowed, glittered, dazzled, and blazed in the night. Much of it was abstract in style. All of it was illuminated with dramatic lighting effects.
Several casitas bordered the garden. There was a large house behind them. All of the structures were done in the contemporary Southwestern architectural style known as adobe revival. It was an elegantly rustic look that combined stucco walls with a lot of glass, wood trim, and courtyards.
At the far end of the compound an architectural anomaly loomed.
It was a sprawling, single-story structure that looked much older than the other buildings in the compound.
The style reminded Sophy of a Frank Lloyd Wright design, but it lacked Wright’s sense of balance and proportion.
Light from outside fixtures sparked on darkened windows, giving the impression that the interior was filled with night.
“That house at the other end of the garden looks more like a prison than a home,” Sophy said. “All it needs is a barbed wire fence.”
“Interesting.” Luke turned right on the narrow lane and drove toward the brightly lit inn. “Must be a holdover from the days of the first art colony.”
The Vortex Inn was an attractive, two-story affair in the same contemporary adobe style as most of the other buildings. Balconies marked the rooms on the upper floor. Small patios fronted the ground-floor rooms.
Luke stopped at the entrance. A smiling attendant who looked about eighteen greeted them.
“Welcome to Vortex Inn,” he said. “I’ll take care of the luggage and park your car in the garage while you check in at the front desk. Hey, you’ve got a dog. That’s great. Let me know if you need someone to walk him while you’re here. I love dogs.”
Sophy could have sworn that Bruce understood. He practically smiled at the attendant and did a canine version of fluffing up. His fangs glinted in the light.
The attendant blinked. “Does he bite?”
“No,” Sophy said very firmly. “He’s a very friendly dog.”
“Looks sort of like one of those dogs the military uses,” the attendant said.
“Yes, he does,” Luke said. “I’ll put the vehicle in the garage myself. You can take my wife’s suitcase.”
Sophy automatically opened her mouth to correct him—she was not his wife—but belatedly remembered their cover. She closed her mouth and smiled at the attendant.
“No problem,” the attendant said, oblivious. He hurried around to the other side of the SUV and opened Sophy’s door.
“Thanks,” she said.
She reached into the rear seat, grabbed her trench coat and tote, and climbed out. Bruce followed.
“I’m afraid the dog will have to be on a leash, Ms. Ainsley,” the attendant said.
Sophy looked back at Luke. “Uh, do you—?”
“Here you go,” Luke said from behind the wheel. He reached into the console and retrieved a pink, rhinestone-studded collar and a dainty matching leash. “You’ll need these.”
She caught the leash and collar, looked at Bruce, who was sniffing around the base of a nearby fountain, and then turned back to Luke.
“Where in the world did you get this stuff?” she hissed. “It’s ridiculous for a dog like Bruce.”
“Talk to Bruce. He’s the one who picked it out in the pet supply store.”
“I thought you said Bruce didn’t like being on a leash.”
“Tell him it’s a formal occasion. I’ll park the car and meet you in the lobby.”
He put the SUV in gear and drove past the entrance before she could respond.
Sophy winced. “Uh, Bruce, this is a formal occasion. Do you mind?”
She had no idea what she would do if Bruce ignored her, but he didn’t. He left the fountain and trotted back to where she stood. He waited patiently while she attached the glittery pink collar and dainty leash.
“Good dog,” she whispered. “Thanks for not being difficult about this.”
Bruce did not actually shrug but he somehow managed to send the message that he was okay with doing her a favor.
The attendant grabbed her suitcase and headed toward the lobby door.
She clutched the end of the leash and started after him.
Bruce fell into step beside her. They were walking past the fountain when she felt the hair on the back of her neck lift.
The icy little frisson of awareness sparked across her nerves.
She stopped and glanced around, trying to see what had pinged her senses. Bruce halted and looked up with an inquiring expression.
When she saw nothing that appeared menacing or unsettling, she started to walk forward again.
Another ping sent a shiver of awareness through her. And not in a good way.
The chill of wrongness was coming from the fountain.
The focal point of the feature was an abstract sculpture that sent sprays of water cascading into the pool. A constantly shifting aurora of different-colored lights transformed the miniature falls into liquid jewels—emeralds, sapphires, amethysts.
Pretty, she thought. But that was not what intrigued her. She took a couple of steps closer—and got the ping again. Sharper this time. She was picking up a whisper of focused energy. It gave her a little buzz, but there was a dark side to what should have been an effervescent flutter.
This is way off. You should not be feeling this way.
“Ms. Ainsley?” the attendant said. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said. “I just want to take a closer look at the fountain. It’s a very interesting piece of art. I’ll meet you inside.”
“Okay.”
He disappeared through the glass doors with her suitcase.
She was examining the fountain, trying to find the source of the vibe, when Luke came around the corner of the inn and walked toward her. He had his duffel in one hand and a six-pack of bottled water in the other.
She knew the six-pack was from the twenty-four-bottle case that had been stowed in the cargo bay of the SUV when they picked up the vehicle at the airport.
There had been other items inside, too, including a carton of protein bars.
She had tried not to think about the possibility of having to camp out in the desert.
“What’s going on?” Luke said when he reached her. “Why aren’t you inside?” He frowned. “What the hell?”
“Interesting, isn’t it?” she said quietly.
“Feels like the first sip of a good whiskey. But without the whiskey.”
“I was thinking champagne. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten a hit off a work of art. It happens. Artists infuse energy into their creations, consciously or unconsciously. But the vibe is usually more complex. Nuanced. That’s why no two people react the same way to the object.”
“This is like standing in front of what passes for modern art while an expert tells you that it’s not really a cartoon. There’s a disconnect.”
“You’re not a fan of modern art, are you?”
“No, but that’s not the problem here,” Luke said.
“Someone managed to embed a hypnotic suggestion into this fountain. You can almost hear a soothing voice telling you that you are in your happy place. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to see here. That should be damn near impossible. Looks like Deke sent us to the right address. Time for Mr. and Ms. Ainsley to check in.”