Chapter Forty
Hours later they returned to the Amber Palace. Alice could not wait to get back to the room.
Owen had made the call to the FBPI as soon as they were safely on their way back to Illusion Town, but the Bureau had insisted on in-person interviews and statements at its Illusion Town headquarters in the Emerald Zone.
On the plus side, the agents had been happy to take the Gamer’s journal off her hands, and she had been even happier to get rid of the nightmare-filled book.
Then, because the Gamer’s lair and the lab were connected to the Underworld, the Guild had gotten involved. The local boss, Gabriel Jones, had requested information and background before sending ghost hunters into a hazardous zone to investigate.
The lobby of the Amber Palace was crowded with people wearing T-shirts imprinted with Society of Alien Abduction Experiencers.
A large banner over the long front desk read Welcome, Experiencers.
A roped-off area at the far end of the lobby was dominated by what appeared to be a dinner plate the size of a car.
It was covered by a transparent dome. Inside the dome, several acid-green inflatable humanoid figures with oversized heads could be seen.
The sign declared You Are Not Alone. Register Your Experience Now.
“Looks like there’s a new convention in town,” Owen said.
Alice started to comment but they were walking past the newsstand, and the headlines on the special edition of the Curtain caught her eye. The story of the events at the Hotel of Dreams had broken a few hours earlier, but she had not yet had a chance to see any of the media coverage.
She grabbed a copy. “Charge it to Room 803, please,” she said to the woman behind the counter.
“Sure,” the vendor said. “I recognize the lucky dust bunny. Cute little guy.”
Sebastian, perched on Owen’s shoulder, chortled and went full-on adorable. The vendor was enchanted.
“Listen to this,” Alice said. She read the headline. “ ‘Dunstan Kelbrook and Others Dead in Nightmare Hotel Fire. Serial Killer’s Secret Lair Revealed. FBPI and Guild on Scene.’ ”
“Let’s wait until we get up to the room,” Owen said. He took a firm grip on her arm and hauled her toward the elevators. “Damn. I knew we should have used the tunnel entrance.”
She looked up from the newspaper and saw the gaggle of reporters, curious tourists, gamblers, and some intrigued Experiencers surging toward them.
“The Deranged Bride is back,” someone shouted. “The one who didn’t murder her husband after all. She’s got the lucky dust bunny with her.”
Sebastian chortled happily and waved his sunglasses at his fans.
“Oh,” Alice said. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”
“Yep.” Owen reached the elevator and rezzed the call button. “ ‘I’m tired of sneaking around,’ you said. ‘No one’s trying to kill me now,’ you said. ‘Let’s walk into the hotel like normal people,’ you said.”
“I may have been a little premature,” she admitted.
She had been convinced that she was no longer a target, but she had failed to factor in her notoriety as the Deranged Bride, not to mention Sebastian’s celebrity status.
The elevator doors opened. Owen got her inside and rezzed the button for the eighth floor. There was some scuffling as reporters fought to get photos, but security personnel arrived to take control of the situation.
Alice breathed a sigh of relief as the doors shut and the cab started upward.
“Thank goodness,” she said. Then it dawned on her that she and Owen were alone in the elevator. “Where’s Sebastian?”
“Last I saw, he was heading in the direction of the UFO display. Don’t worry about him. He can take care of himself.”
“I know, but—”
“The entire staff of the Amber Palace is aware of Sebastian. They’ll keep an eye on him.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
The doors opened on the eighth floor. Alice started reading the Curtain article as they walked down the hall.
“ ‘The Hotel of Dreams, a small inn on the coast that featured uniquely scripted escape games, is in charred ruins today due to a fire that consumed most of the premises. There are three known fatalities, including Dunstan Kelbrook, the head of Kelbrook Industries. The two other bodies were identified as Leonard Twitchell, a vice president of the company, and Rose Ash, the proprietor of the inn.’ ”
“So she did manage to kill herself,” Owen remarked.
“You were right. Again. I’ll bet that gets old after a while.”
“Being right?” Owen took out the key card. “You get used to it.”
Alice snorted and continued reading.
“ ‘Initial comments from Special Agent Sierra Mathers of the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation confirmed that the blaze was of suspicious origin.
“ ‘The fire revealed a shocking discovery—the lair of the notorious serial killer Luxton Yardley, known as the Gamer.
Decades ago, Yardley committed at least eight murders before he was apprehended and sent to jail, where he died awaiting trial.
Cause of death was determined to be suicide by poison.
“ ‘Readers will recall that the Hotel of Dreams had a troubled history.
Ms. Alice Radstone, labeled the Deranged Bride following the death of her first husband at the hotel, escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane.
A video that established her innocence was made available online by this newspaper.
The FBPI confirmed that Ms. Radstone will likely be cleared of all charges and her para-psych records will be corrected to remove the false diagnosis.
“ ‘Ms. Radstone recently married Mr. Owen March (a Marriage of Convenience) and is currently enjoying her honeymoon at the famed Amber Palace Hotel and Casino. She and the groom are accompanied by a dust bunny who has charmed his way into the hearts of tourists and locals alike…’ ”
Owen got the door of the room open. She walked past him, folded the paper, and tossed it on the table. She looked around.
“It’s over,” she said. “I can go back to my house in the Dark Zone. Back to my friends and clients. I can start living my real life again.”
“It’s almost over,” Owen said. He closed and locked the door. “You still need to deal with those shares in Kelbrook Industries that you inherited.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m going to give them back to the family. They weren’t really intended for me. They were a weapon that Kelbrook’s brother used as a tool of revenge from beyond the grave. Now both men are dead. Those shares are tainted. I don’t want them.”
“I understand.” Owen tossed his jacket over the back of a chair. “Sounds like a plan. Now, could we talk about something more important?”
She turned to face him and gave him a politely inquiring look. “My future?”
“My future. Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”
“Oh, yes. I fell in love with you that first night when you came to my rescue at the hotel, but I told myself my feelings were based on impulse—well, and circumstance. I mean, who doesn’t love a hero? But I assumed it was just a superficial attraction. I’m sure you understand.”
“No, can’t say that I do. Where are you going with this?”
“You soon made it clear that you had your own agenda. You wanted to settle the score with the people who had used you. You made it very clear you didn’t like being used.
I decided that the fact that your agenda aligned with mine—I was desperate to avoid being kidnapped—was a coincidence, not romantic fate. ”
She paused to make sure Owen was following her logic. He was starting to look dazed. Or maybe transfixed.
“I see,” he said.
“But when I realized I could trust you and that you trusted me, I stopped worrying about impulse and went straight to intuition. In the end, trust is what matters. Well, and honor and decency, of course. But they are all linked, aren’t they?”
“I guess?”
“Unfortunately, it’s impossible to know that those qualities exist in another individual until you really get to know them.
And even then, one must make allowances for human nature, because no one is perfect, right?
Therefore, when it comes to making the decision to love, a leap of faith is involved. ”
“You think falling in love is a decision?”
“Oh, yes. The Ballantine Method is very clear on that. Sexual attraction is driven by emotion and biological imperatives. The decision to love requires a conscious commitment.”
She was now obsessed with the need to make him understand that what she felt for him was true love.
“One could say that choosing to love is a calculated risk,” she continued.
And stopped for a beat because she was pretty sure she was starting to flail.
She took a deep breath, centered herself, and rushed on to the finish.
“What I’m trying to say is, given my weird upbringing and potentially lethal talent, are you sure you want to take the risk of loving me? ”
“I’ve been sure since the moment I opened up a psi profile on you,” he said.
The words were spoken in such a quiet, steady, unshakable way that she almost cried.
She flung herself into his arms instead.
He staggered a step under the impact, recovered swiftly, and then wrapped his arms around her.
His mouth came down on hers in what she sensed was meant to be a kiss of promise and commitment. An I’m in this forever kiss.
A deep, abiding tide of joy and certainty welled up inside her. This was true intuition, she thought.
One of his hands moved slowly down to the curve of her hip and tightened gently.
His low groan of sensual pleasure supercharged the kiss with a searing sexuality.
She gripped his shoulders with both hands and plastered herself against him, seeking the thrilling sensation of his strength and the pressure of his erection thrusting against his trousers.
She loved knowing she could inspire such a fierce physical response in him.
He walked her backward toward the bed. When she felt the edge of the mattress against her legs, he paused, reached down, and yanked the covers aside.
They set about undressing each other, at first taking their time and then with increasing haste. In the end, they were fighting each other to get their clothes out of the way.
Naked, they fell onto the bed entangled in each other’s arms and legs.
Owen moved his lips to her throat and then to her breasts.
His hand slipped between her thighs, cupping her heated core.
She could feel the dampness gathering there, and when he swore in a soul-deep voice, she knew she was driving him toward the edge.
Glorying in her power, she planted one palm against his chest and pushed. At first he did not move, did not even notice that she was attempting to maneuver him onto his back. He raised his head and looked down at her with heated eyes.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” She pushed again.
This time he got the message. Smiling a deliciously wicked smile, he obediently rolled onto his back.
She levered herself up on one elbow and began to caress him experimentally, searching for the most sensitive places.
There was no problem finding them. He reacted to every touch.
His half-closed eyes got hotter and his muscles became mag-steel bands.
When she cradled the heavy spheres at the base of his erection in one hand, he took a sharp breath and gripped her arm, gently but firmly easing her fingers away.
“I need to be inside you,” he rasped.
“I can work with that,” she whispered.
He started to laugh, but the laugh turned into another groan. He sank his fingers into her bare calf and tugged it across his thighs, positioning her astride his erection.
She took him slowly, cautiously. An inch. His jaw and the rest of him was rigid now. The realization that he was having to fight so hard to keep from losing control was intoxicating. She savored the knowledge.
“The Ballantine Academy teaches that delayed gratification greatly enhances sexual satisfaction,” she said in her best academic tones.
“There are certain exercises that are designed to improve performance. Reciting the Core Principles during coitus is one of several proven techniques. Repeat after me—”
She broke off on a tiny screech because Owen abruptly gripped her hips.
“That’s enough of the Core Principles,” he said. “I’m not much of a theory guy. I prefer hands-on practice.”
She started to laugh, delighted that she had won the game, but the laugh turned into a gasp when he fitted himself to her and guided her relentlessly downward until he was fully sheathed.
She took a few seconds to let her body adjust to the exciting sensation of having him deep inside, savoring the proof of his desire and the giddy knowledge that she was capable of such passion.
“The Ballantine Method stresses the need for practice in any important endeavor,” she managed in a husky voice.
He withdrew ever so slightly and then surged deeper inside her. She caught her breath and clenched tightly around him.
“Now that class is in session,” he said, “why don’t you demonstrate some of the techniques you taught in that sex ed course?”
“Certainly,” she said. “There is nothing so inspiring as an eager student.”
“Trust me, they don’t get any more enthusiastic than I am right now.”