White Lies (32 page)

The psychic spoor left by someone who had committed an act of violence was as distinctive as a fingerprint. But unlike a fingerprint, it was given off only when the individual was physically aroused by, and in the grip of, intense, violent emotions. The energy of such emotions was so strong that it resonated on the paranormal plane and clung to surfaces for a long time.

Jones & Jones would take his findings seriously, but psychic traces were not much good in a courtroom. “Well, Your Honor, I was walking through the dead woman’s house and I sensed the psi energy of her killer. Yeah, sure, I could identify him if he leaves any more of the same kind of energy behind. But he’s got to be in a killing mood, if you see what I mean. What’s that, Your Honor? Yes, as a matter of fact, I do think that I’m a psychic detective. Why do you ask?”

There was a reason why members of the Society who wanted to lead normal lives did not go around claiming a connection to a group of people who all believed they had psychic powers. That kind of thing came under the heading offamily secrets.

Now that he knew he was looking in the right place, it was time to find some more traditional evidence to turn over to the local police.

There was a large wine vault adjacent to the kitchen. He took the black leather case out of his pocket and used one of the items inside to unlock the door. It took a few minutes to go through the rows of elegantly stored bottles. He also looked inside the white wine chiller.

He found nothing except a lot of very expensive wine.

He let himself out of the vault and went down a wide hall that led to the other wing of the big house. Archer had told him that Shipley’s study was the first door on the left. That seemed like a reasonable place to continue the search.

He paused when he caught sight of a small object sitting on an end table. A cell phone.

He crossed the living room and picked up the device. More of the vicious energy scalded his senses. Shipley had picked up the phone while still in a killing rage. Maybe Valerie, realizing she was in danger, had tried to dial 911. Or maybe Shipley had wanted to erase any record of her incoming and outgoing calls.

He put the phone down on the end table.

The study door was open. From the entrance Jake could see a heavy wooden desk, a couple file cabinets and a bookcase. A computer sat on the desk.

He powered up the computer and slapped the small storage device he had brought along into the USB port. While the files listed on the screen were being copied, he went through the desk drawers. Nothing jumped out and screamed incriminating evidence.

When the copying was complete he removed the storage device, dropped it into a pocket and powered down the computer.

He went back out into the hall and started toward the master bedroom suite.

The faint change in air pressure in the hall ruffled his senses. Someone had entered the house. Whoever he was, he was moving in a stealthy manner.

Another intruder. That was interesting. Who else had a reason to come here tonight?

Hungry, predatory excitement splashed through him. He glided into the deep shadows of a bedroom doorway and waited. The other intruder might or might not be a sensitive but either way, he would be jacked, too. Adrenaline was adrenaline, whether or not you were running hot. People got killed fairly easily, often accidentally, when the stuff was flowing.

If the guy was any good, it wouldn’t be long before the newcomer realized he was not alone in the house.

Let the hunt begin.

He realized his mistake an instant later when the psychic firestorm electrified his senses. The ferocious energy forced him to his knees. Instinctively he gripped his head in both hands, as though he could somehow dampen the blast.

Another scalding flash of energy struck him. This one was followed by a massive wave of night that swamped him in a sea of endless darkness.

Anxiety sparked through Clare, sharp and jagged as a burst of lightning. The panic attack rolled out of nowhere, trampling her defenses before she even had time to erect them.

She was sitting on the sofa, one leg curled under her, poring over the list of numbers she had copied off Valerie Shipley’s cell phone when the disturbing energy frazzled all her senses.

The clanging of every single one of her private alarm bells brought her to her feet, heart pounding, pulse racing. Her palms went cold. Adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream. Everything inside her was at full throttle. She was ready to flee to safety or fight for her life.

No, not her life. Someone else’s.She had never experienced a panic attack quite like this one.

Jake.Yes, she was sure of it now. This involved Jake. He was in terrible danger. But it was impossible for her to know that, she reminded herself. There was no such thing as telepathy or mind reading. The researchers in the Society had investigated the numerous anecdotal stories for decades but had never been able to reproduce the experience in the lab.

Breathe. Calm down. You’re worried about Jake out there at the Shipley house. That’s what triggered this episode.

She started to pace, making herself focus on her breathing while she painstakingly erected the psychic defense mechanisms she had worked so hard to create.

The sensation of intense awareness winked out as swiftly as it had hit. It was as if someone had turned off a switch.

After a couple minutes she felt steadier, more in control.

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly midnight. Jake had been gone for more than two hours. How long did it take to search a whole house?

He ought to be home by now. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and looked at it longingly. But she dared not call him. Surely he had turned his phone off when he entered the Shipley home but what if he had neglected to do so? She didn’t want to risk placing a call that would create a problem for him on his end.

There was always the possibility that a neighbor had noticed something at the Shipley residence and went to investigate. Or called the police.

Please, don’t let it be the police,she thought. The last thing they needed now was for Jake to get hauled in on breaking-and-entering charges.

But something was very wrong. She knew it with a dread certainty that did not diminish even as the initial adrenaline charge of the panic attack faded.

It’s your imagination,she thought.Let it go. Get a grip.

But she couldn’t get past the absolute certainty that Jake was in trouble.

No matter what the Arcane House experts claimed, everyone with half an ounce of sensitivity—members of the Society or not—knew that once in a while two people who had an intimate bond sometimes experienced brief flashes of psychic intimacy. When she and Jake made love they shared some kind of psychic connection. Why would it be strange if she could somehow sense that he was in danger?

Maybe she was coming at this from the wrong angle. It was possible that the panic attack had been triggered by what she had been doing a few minutes ago.

The notebook had fallen to the floor. She scooped it up and looked at the numbers she had written down. When she had found the cell phone on the coffee table in the Shipleys’ house, she was disappointed because there were no incoming or outgoing calls logged on the day of Valerie’s death. In addition, none of the few numbers that Valerie had entered into the device’s phone book seemed unusual.

But tonight when she had gone over the phone book list a second time, one jumped out at her. Valerie had evidently called it with some frequency because she had put it on speed dial.

Take it easy, she thought. It was possible that a lot of women in town had the Stone Canyon Day Spa on speed dial.

Nevertheless, there was one other person in the world who had evidently loved Brad McAllister. And Kimberley Todd was a professional massage therapist who had vanished from her job. Everyone at the Secret Springs Day Spa assumed she had found another position.

What if that was precisely what had happened? What if her new position was right here in Stone Canyon?

What were the odds?

Probably about a million to one, Clare thought. She tossed the notebook on the coffee table and checked her watch again. What was keeping Jake? She was going to go nuts waiting for him.

Lights speared the night outside the window. A car was coming up the road. Relief flooded through her. Jake was home at last.

She rushed down the hall and opened the door just as the vehicle pulled into the driveway.

The car halted but Jake didn’t turn off the engine. The headlights blazed straight into her eyes. Instinctively she put up an arm to cut the glare.

The door on the driver’s side opened. A figure got out. The blinding brilliance of the high-beam lights made it impossible to see anything more than a vague silhouette. Alarm flashed through her.

“Jake? Is everything okay? I was getting worried.”

“I’m afraid Jake has been badly hurt,” Owen Shipley said. “I found him unconscious in my house when I got home tonight. He’s in the emergency room. I’ll take you to him.”

The ultraviolet lie ignited her already sensitized senses. The monster of all panic attacks arced through her.

In the wake of the wave of terror that pounded through her she fought to control her reaction. She could not succumb to the panic. She had to stay in control so she could help Jake.

The searing blast of psychic energy came out of nowhere, frying her fully open senses. She felt herself falling through space, and then darkness descended.

The faint hissing sound finally became so irritating that Clare opened her eyes. She found herself gazing up into an eerie twilight sky. She could feel hard tiles beneath her back. Artistically arrayed benches designed to resemble rocky outcroppings rose up the walls.

“Oh, damn,” she said.

“I think I said something similar when I came around a few minutes ago,” Jake said. “Maybe a little stronger.”

“Jake?” She sat up suddenly. That proved to be a mistake. The interior of the Stone Canyon Day Spa steam chamber whirled precariously around her.

“Take it easy.” Jake crouched beside her, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder. “The dizziness will pass in a minute. At least it did for me. How do you feel?”

“Weird.” Memory tore through her. She remembered Owen getting out of his car, lying to her about Jake.

“I was so afraid he had killed you,” she whispered. Her throat tightened. Panic flickered.

“Breathe,” Jake said.

She did, albeit cautiously because she expected the action to fire up a splitting headache. To her enormous relief, there was no new wave of pain. The blast of psychic energy that had seared her senses had been intense while it lasted but evidently it did not leave a residual effect.

“What did Owen do to us?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. Some kind of trick that temporarily shorted out our senses, I think.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone being able to do that.”

“There are some references to something similar in the old archives concerning the founder’s formula.”

She frowned. “I’ve studied the history of the Society. I don’t recall any stuff about mind blasts.”

“The details are in the private archives of the Jones family.”

“Those files are not open to the regular membership of the Society,” she said. “Only the Master and the Council have access. And the members of the Jones family, I suppose. How did you get to see them?”

“It’s sort of complicated.”

“A J&J thing, huh? Never mind.” Glumly she surveyed the steam room. “We’ve got other priorities here.”

“Yes, we do.”

“I don’t suppose you have your cell phone?”

“When I woke up it was gone. Shipley must have taken it off me. You don’t have one on you, either. I checked before you opened your eyes.”

“Not good.”

“No.” Jake straightened and began to prowl the chamber. “Gotta tell you, this hunting-cabal-freaks stuff is for the young hotshots. I’m too old for this kind of excitement.”

She couldn’t help it. In spite of everything, a little laugh bubbled out of her. “You’re lying through your teeth, Jake Salter. You live for hunting bad guys. Youneed to hunt them.”

“Maybe the old saying is right.” There was no inflection at all in his words. “It’s in the blood.”

“Yep.” She struggled unsteadily to her feet. “Just like lie detecting is in mine.”

He looked at her, not speaking.

She spread her hands. “Hey, we are what we are, Jake, a couple of exotics. We aren’t the first in the Society and we won’t be the last. I say ditch the angst. You know, we might make a good team.”

“You offering me a partnership?”

“Why not? If the two of us work together, we could not only handle a wider variety of cases, we could sell our consulting services to Jones & Jones as a package deal. Think about it. How many lie-detector and hunter investigative firms are out there? Probably none. What we have to offer will be impossible to duplicate.”

There was a short, startled silence. Then Jake took two long strides across the chamber, wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck and kissed her hard and deep.

When he raised his head she was a little breathless again, but not from panic.

“Damn,” Jake said. “I really like the way you think.”

She smiled modestly. “Guess a flair for business runs in the family.”

“Guess so.” He released her and went back to studying the ceiling.

“Where’s Owen?” Clare asked.

“Still here in the building,” Jake said. “I can feel him. He’s throwing off a lot of weird energy.”

“Weird how?”

“I can sense when someone else is running hot. Shipley is definitely at full throttle. But his energy waves feel distorted somehow. Abnormal. Twisted. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Waiting, probably.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Well—” Jake didn’t finish the sentence.

The temperature was starting to rise. Clouds of steam were forming. Clare looked around uneasily.

“Does it feel like it’s getting warmer in here?” she asked.