Silver Master (2 page)

HARMONY

Two Hundred Years after the Closing of the Curtain…

SHE HAD NEVER LIKED THE PARKING GARAGE, ESPECIALLY
at night. It was dark and gloomy, and the disturbing echoes of the heels of her classic pumps on the concrete made her uneasy. Sometimes she heard other people's footsteps as well.

But tonight the garage was eerily silent. The instant the elevator doors opened she went briskly toward the space where her car was parked. She kept a tight grip on her purse and stayed as far away as possible from the dark canyons between the few remaining vehicles.

Not that there had been any recent incidents reported, she reminded herself. Several months ago a rash of car prowls had caused management to tighten building security for a while. The guards had caught the thieves in short order. Unfortunately, the new security staff had been let go in an economy move a few weeks later.

Tonight her own footfalls were the only ones she heard.

She walked faster, all of her senses, normal as well as paranormal, fully alert.

Her car was in sight now. She had her key ready in her hand.

She sensed him when she went past the deep shadow cast by a support pillar. He was less than three paces away, waiting for her. The floodwaters of his twisted, unwholesome psychic energy lapped at her, a rising tide of rage that was just barely under control.

Panic struck. She bolted toward the vehicle. Only a few more feet. If she could just get inside, get the door locked…

But he was moving fast now, bounding forward like a great beast charging its prey. There was no need to look over her shoulder. She knew who he was. His heavy boots thudded on the concrete, running her down.

She fled toward the car, but she knew she was not going to make it. He was too close, right on top of her.

His arm snaked out and caught her by the throat, jerking her to a halt. He pulled her back hard against his big frame. She tried to scream, but he tightened his grip, choking her. She struggled wildly, kicking back with one foot.

The heel of her shoe connected with his shin. She kicked back again, frantic.

“Bitch.”

He staggered a little, but he did not go down. He shook her, making her head spin. Then he slammed her hard, facedown, against the fender of her car.

He ripped off her jacket, revealing the sleeveless camisole beneath.

“Stupid bitch,” he said, his voice hoarse and ragged. “Did you really think I'd let you get away with saying no to me? No one says no to me.
No one.
”

She realized then that the struggle was arousing him sexually. Her stomach churned. She tried to scream, but her voice was frozen in her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him raise one hand. She realized he was holding a small object. The next thing she knew, he was pressing the syringe against her bare arm, just below her shoulder. She felt a sharp, stinging pain.

A fresh wave of icy terror slammed through her, but she could not even lift a finger to defend herself.

He held her pinned against the fender while the drug took effect. It didn't take long. Within seconds an otherworldly sense of lethargy stole over her, sapping all of her physical energy. Her body folded in on itself, leaving her utterly limp, boneless.

But the drug did not knock her out, not entirely. She remained dazed but semi-awake, trapped in a terrifying dreamlike state. She was aware of what was happening around her, but she was powerless to act.

He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and carried her across the garage to where a large black car was parked. She heard the sound of the trunk being opened.

Then she was inside the trunk, and the lid was coming down, leaving her frozen in the darkest night she had ever known.

She had thought that her level of shock and horror could not climb any higher. She was wrong.

LUNCH HAD NOT GONE WELL. THERE HAD BEEN AN UN
fortunate scene that had resulted in a lot of disapproving glares and rude remarks from other restaurant patrons. She had been asked to pay her bill and leave immediately. Her request that the remainder of her salad be put into a carry-out bag had been met with icy refusal.

Celinda was still fuming and still hungry when she opened the door of the office of Promises, Inc. Mostly she was angry at herself because she had been so embarrassed she had felt it necessary to leave a tip.

Laura Gresley was at her post at the reception desk. Her customary smile—polite, professional, and polished—seemed slightly off. There was a forced quality about it.

“Oh, good, you're back, Celinda,” she said, clearly relieved. “I was about to call your personal phone.” She lowered her voice. “There are some people here to see you.”

“
Some
people?” Normally clients came in alone, not in groups. “My next appointment isn't until two thirty.”

“These two don't have an appointment,” Laura said with an ominous air.

“But I don't have room to squeeze in anyone who doesn't already have an appointment. I'm booked solid this afternoon; you know that.”

It was the wedding season, the most popular time of the year for formal Covenant Marriages. That meant that Promises, Inc., and other matchmaking agencies were swamped. The number of weddings taking place always produced a lot of new clients. It was simple physics: weddings inspired families to put a lot of pressure on relatives of a certain age who were still single. In desperation many of the pressured turned to agencies.

Whoever the clients were, they had managed to rattle Laura. That was not easy to do. She held her position as receptionist for Promises, Inc., precisely because she was virtually unflappable. She was fiftysomething, poised, and efficient. Like everyone else on the staff with the exception of Celinda, she wore a gold ring on her left hand, signifying a Covenant Marriage.

Laura was accustomed to dealing with some of the most elite people in Cadence City, from wealthy business executives to politicians and media celebrities. If she was uneasy about the people waiting for her, Celinda thought, that meant there was a serious problem.

She glanced toward the seats in the small lobby. There was no one around. That was not a surprise, of course. There was rarely anyone in the small, expensively appointed space because Promises, Inc., went to great lengths to ensure that clients were never kept waiting in a public area. Discretion was everything when you operated the most elite matchmaking agency in the city.

Promises, Inc., worked only on referral. It did no advertising. There was nothing on the front door of the office or on the business cards that Celinda and the other consultants carried that indicated the nature of the business that was done behind the company's elegant doors.

Laura followed Celinda's glance toward the empty reception chairs. “I put them in your office.”

“Why me? Why didn't you give them to one of the other consultants?”

“These two specifically asked to speak with you.”

Celinda sighed. “I'm getting a bad feeling about this. You're about to drop the other shoe, aren't you?”

“Obviously you are an amazingly intuitive woman,” Laura said dryly. “Neither of the two would tell me why they wanted to talk to you, but one of them carries a badge that says she is with the Cadence Police Department. Detective Alice Martinez.”

“Good grief.” Celinda stared at her, flabbergasted. “Probably not a potential client, then. It's highly unlikely that a woman living on a detective's salary could afford our services.”

“I'm inclined to agree with you. The man with her gave his name as Davis Oakes. He did not elaborate further.”

“Weird.” She did not know anyone by that name. She did not know any police detectives, either, for that matter. “And weirder.”

“I would have asked Ms. Takahashi to deal with them, but she's at that charity luncheon today. She won't be back until around three.”

Patricia Takahashi was the owner of Promises, Inc. The fact that Laura regretted not being able to get her involved spoke volumes about just how nervous the visitors had made her.

Celinda hoisted her large black tote higher on one shoulder. “Well, I suppose I'd better go see what they want.”

She started around the edge of the desk, heading for a short hallway lined with closed doors.

Laura looked at the oversized tote. “Where's Araminta?”

“Napping. She had a big lunch. Unfortunately, it was not her own.”

“Oh, dear.” Laura's smile was half-amused and half-sympathetic. “Another restaurant scene?”

“I'm afraid so. I've explained to her that just because the food on someone else's plate looks better than what I ordered, it does not necessarily follow that she can help herself to a stranger's meal.”

“How nasty did it get?”

“Very nasty. The person whose meal Araminta swiped referred to her as a rat. I, of course, took offense on her behalf. The waiter got involved. Evidently there is a rule about bringing animals into restaurants unless they are companion animals.”

“I've heard that.” Laura's mouth twitched a little. “One of those boring public health regulations, I believe.”

“I explained that Araminta was a companion, but by then things had become complicated.”

“How complicated?”

“In the general uproar and confusion that followed the reference to a rat, Araminta took a few sample bites from some of the other diners' plates as well. A large person came out of the kitchen waving an empty garbage bag and a big pot. There was talk of catching Araminta in the pot, transferring her to the bag, and delivering her to animal control.”

“Oh, my.” Laura's eyes danced. “Sounds like a circus.”

“Suffice it to say that we will not be going back to the Quik-Bite Deli anytime in the near future.”

She went down the hall to her office and opened the door.

The waves of strong, subtle psi power slammed right through her sturdy defenses, catching her completely off guard and rezzing all of her senses. Excitement and anticipation pulsed through her. The energy was unlike anything that she had ever encountered: dark, controlled, fascinating.

The hair rose on the nape of her neck. Beneath the fabric of her neatly tailored business jacket, goose bumps prickled her upper arms. A strange, unfamiliar sensation stirred within her. She felt as if she were about to leap off a very high diving board into a fathomless pool.

Get a grip.
Okay, so one of the visitors was a particularly strong psi talent. No, not
one
of the visitors; the man. This energy was indisputably male.

The ability to resonate psychically with amber and use it to focus the brain's natural paranormal energy waves had begun to appear among the colonists on Harmony shortly after they came through the Curtain to settle the new world. Something in the environment had begun to stimulate the latent ability in humans.

At first the talent had seemed to be little more than an intriguing curiosity. But when the mysterious energy Curtain that had made interstellar travel possible had closed without warning, trapping the colonists, the ability to pulse psi through amber rapidly became critical to survival.

Virtually everyone on Harmony gave off some degree of psychic energy. Most people generated low or medium levels of power, allowing them to use amber to operate a toaster or start a car engine. But there were some individuals—she was one of them—who could generate an unusually high degree of psychic energy.

Being a strong para-resonator, as powerful psychics were called, was almost always a double-edged sword. Her particular talent was the ability to read the paranormal energy rhythms and patterns given off by others. To her, human psi waves were as distinctive as faces.

Her para-rez ability was rare. She had never met anyone else who could do what she did. Then again, anyone who could read other people's psi waves as accurately as she was able to read them no doubt kept quiet about the skill for the same reason that she did. Paranormal abilities were common in the population, but powerful and unusual talents were not, and very few people were comfortable around others who possessed such powers.

She knew that most people would find her particular psychic ability especially unsettling. It wasn't mind reading, of course. There was no such talent. But her ability did allow her sharp insights into one of the most personal and private realms of an individual's personality. The truth was, if you could read a person's psi waves, you could tell a great deal about that individual's strengths and—far more disturbing to the person—his or her weaknesses. It was human nature to not want to reveal weakness, not even to a relative or a lover.

Only the members of her family and her closest, most trusted friends knew about her talent. And even they did not know her deepest, darkest secret. She had understood intuitively, ever since her eighteenth year when she had unwittingly discovered exactly what she could do with her psychic ability, that she must never confide in anyone.

There was another major downside to her ability. She had been forced to develop mental shields in order to cope with the relentless tide of psi energy that lapped at her whenever she was around other people. Had she not been able to do so, she knew she would have gone mad.

But she had learned how to control her talent, and now it was informing her in no uncertain terms that the man waiting for her wasn't just a powerful para-rez, himself; he was going to be the most intriguing, most exciting man she had ever met, the one who could rez all of her senses.

So what was Mr. Perfect doing in the company of a police detective?

Assuming a proper, professional smile, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked into the room.

The man and the woman inside both rose from their chairs. The woman was establishing her authority. Celinda sensed that the man felt no need to do the same. He was just demonstrating that he been brought up with good manners.

“Celinda Ingram?” The woman offered an ID encased in a leather wallet instead of her hand. “Detective Martinez. I'm with the Cadence City Police Department. This is Davis Oakes of Oakes Security.”

Security. That didn't sound good.

Celinda set the tote carefully on the floor behind her desk and then took her time examining the woman's identification. She looked up and nodded once, cautiously polite. “Detective.” She switched her attention to Oakes. “Mr. Oakes.”

“Miss Ingram.”

His low voice rolled over her senses like a tropical ocean wave at night, darkly powerful and infinitely mysterious.

She braced herself for his touch. She had a feeling it was going to thrill all her senses.

It did. The skin-to-skin contact produced a strong resonating effect. Little tingles of excitement flickered up and down her spine. Yes, indeed, hormones on parade, just as she had anticipated.

She freed her hand as quickly as possible. This was no time to get distracted. She made herself concentrate on Alice Martinez, who had sat down again.

The detective was an attractive thirtysomething, dark-haired and dark-eyed. Her business suit was as severe as a uniform. The jacket of the suit was a tad lumpy on the left side. The bulge was a strong hint that there was a gun in a holster there.

Alice Martinez wore no visible amber, but Celinda sensed a distinctive psi pattern that indicated that she possessed some sort of fairly strong talent.

Mentally Celinda ticked off the reasons why a police detective and a man who worked in the security business might want to speak to her. It was a very short list. She suddenly went cold. The specter of fear that had become her constant companion during the past four months suddenly leaped from the shadows and wrapped icy fingers around her heart.

“Has something happened to someone in my family?” she whispered, her pulse skittering wildly.

“No.” Alice Martinez gave her a quick, unexpectedly reassuring smile. “This doesn't involve any of your relatives.”

“Thank heavens.” The relief was so overwhelming she sagged a little against the desk. “For a minute there I was afraid…” She let the sentence trail off.

Davis's eyes narrowed ever so faintly at the corners. She knew he had taken note of that brief moment of panic.

“Detective Martinez and I are cooperating in an investigation,” he said quietly.

She gave him a polite smile while she took stock. For years she'd known exactly what qualities she wanted in her dream man. She was a professional matchmaker, after all; she knew what to look for in a mate. The list was long and detailed: kindness, intelligence, loyalty, a strong sense of responsibility, the ability to make a commitment and stick to it, a capacity for love, the right attitudes toward money, children, and family obligations, etc., etc.

But until now she had never had a visual image of Mr. Perfect.

Her ideal man, it turned out, had hair as dark as a midnight sky and eyes of an unusual shade of silvery gray. His face was all hard edges and dangerously interesting planes and angles. He was of average height, but beneath the jacket of the dark business suit there was a lot of sleek muscle, especially in his shoulders.

It dawned on her that he had not taken his seat again. Instead, he stood quietly in that centered, controlled manner that seemed to characterize everything about him.

“As Detective Martinez told you, I'm with Oakes Security.” He handed her a card.

She glanced down and read the fine print. “It says here that you're not exactly
with
Oakes Security. You're the president and CEO.”

His mouth curved faintly at one corner. “Yeah, that, too. Oakes is a private consulting firm. We specialize in corporate security.”

“I see.” She was more mystified than ever. Nevertheless, she made an effort to appear intelligent. “Corporate security. That would be the expensive version of a private investigator?”