White Lies (36 page)

“What injections?” Jake asked.

“A couple of times when I was with him Owen had to stop and give himself a shot,” Archer explained. “The last time was on the day Valerie died. He told me it was medication for some kind of neurological problem. Said he didn’t want anyone to know about it because he had his image to maintain.”

Jake drummed his fingers on the table. “Wonder if there’s any of the stuff left at the Shipley house. Fallon would give a lot to get his hands on it to run some tests.”

“The refrigerator,” Myra said slowly.

“What are you talking about, Mom?” Elizabeth asked.

“I went to see Valerie one afternoon about a week ago,” Myra said. “Owen asked me to do it. He was trying to cement the image of Valerie being in need of rehab, I suppose.”

“What happened?” Clare asked.

“Valerie was drunk, as usual,” Myra said. “She offered me a cocktail. I said no. She said there was a fresh pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator in the kitchen and told me to help myself. So I did.”

Archer gave her an inquiring look. “What are you getting at, honey?”

“There was a glass vial stored in the very back on the top shelf. It looked like a regular medicine bottle but I remember thinking it was odd that there was no label on it. You know how carefully pharmacies label meds.”

Jake was on his feet, anticipation flowing off him in waves. “The drug must require refrigeration. Not many places in a household can provide that. Damn. I’ve got to get over there before the cops think to search the kitchen.”

No one looked pleased to see him when he arrived at the Shipley house, but he was waved inside.

“Guess we owe you that much,” the detective in charge said. “And you’re a pro. You know enough to stay out of the way and not contaminate anything. Not that we’re turning up anything useful here.”

Jake wandered into the kitchen. There was no one in the room. He opened the refrigerator. The unlabeled bottle of clear fluid was still sitting on the top shelf.

He tucked the bottle inside a pocket and made his way leisurely to the front door. A man stood just outside, trying to talk his way into the crime scene.

“The name is Taylor,” the stranger said. He sounded edgy. “I’m with thePhoenix Star. ”

“Sorry, Mr. Taylor, no press allowed inside,” the young officer said firmly.

“Look, my editor is going to be really pissed if I don’t get this story,” Taylor said. “Give me a break here.”

Jake felt his hunter senses stir. Taylor practically vibrated with tension. Definitely not your typical hard-bitten, seen-it-all-and-written-about-it crime reporter.Running hot .

“Excuse me,” Jake said, moving past Taylor and the cop.

Taylor swung around abruptly, eyes darkening with sudden suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Knew the family,” Jake said casually. Clare was right. He did do the truth-veiled-in-a-lie thing rather well.

He walked back to the car and got inside. Taylor threw him one last uneasy look and then resumed his urgent appeal to the cop.

Jake reached into the glove compartment, removed the small digital camera he kept there and took a shot of the reporter.

Might be nothing at all, he thought. But he would e-mail it to Fallon when he got home. Couldn’t hurt.

When he loaded the photo onto his computer a short time later he realized that he had taken a pretty good picture. Taylor’s features were very clear. Fallon ought to be able to identify him fairly easily.

He studied the picture for a long moment and concluded that he had been right back at the Shipley house. The hunter in him had sensed more than tension in Taylor. What he had detected was fear.

He picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number.

“What have you got?” Fallon asked.

“I think the cabal sent someone out to collect what was left of the drug Shipley was taking. Guy called himself Taylor. Said he was a reporter. I’ve got a photo for you.”

“What about the drug?” Fallon asked urgently.

“Got that, too.”

“You just earned that inflated consulting fee that you’re charging J&J.”

“Owen Shipley was committed to a psychiatric hospital for observation?” Clare lowered the morning edition of theStone Canyon Herald and looked at Jake, who had just ended a call.

“He was sent to one outside Phoenix yesterday.” Jake put the phone down on the counter and went back to flipping the blue corn pancakes on the griddle. “Fallon says the local authorities think he just snapped. Apparently he’s delusional and incoherent and getting worse by the hour. No one expects him to be declared competent to stand trial.”

“What does Dumbass think really happened?”

“Fallon says the initial tests on that drug I took out of the Shipley refrigerator indicate that it is powerful but very short-acting. He suspects there are devastating effects if it is withdrawn abruptly. He thinks Shipley started to slip into insanity as soon as his supply of the stuff was cut off. Either that’s an unpleasant downside of the drug or else the cabal lab techs engineered the stuff that way in order to limit the amount of damage that could be done by any of their members who wound up in custody.”

She shuddered. “Talk about cold-blooded.”

“But effective. By controlling the drug, they control their people.” Jake lifted the pancakes off the griddle and divided them between two plates. “This way they don’t have to worry about any cabal member giving too much information to law enforcement or to J&J.”

“The organization really knows how to cover its tracks, doesn’t it?”

“Looks that way. J&J is going to be very busy for the foreseeable future.”

Clare thought about that while she used a fork to cut a bite of the pancakes. “They’ll probably need some occasional, expert,very expensive consulting from a hunter and a human lie detector.”

Jake smiled slowly. “I believe I mentioned on at least one prior occasion that I like the way you think.”

She felt him leave the bed just before dawn. A small flicker of her senses told Clare that Jake was using some of his hunter talent in order to avoid awakening her. She smiled to herself. He could be as stealthy as he wanted. She would always know when he was near her and when he was not.

She gave him a few minutes to collect his jeans and leave the room. He went down the hall toward the kitchen. He was probably going to make the morning tea. That sounded like a good idea.

She gave him some time to get the kettle going. Then she eased the covers aside and rose from the bed. The white robe was hanging on a hook in the bathroom. She pulled it on, tied the sash and took a few minutes to run a brush through her hair.

When she reached the kitchen she saw a pot of freshly brewed tea on the counter. She poured a mug for herself, savoring the delicate aroma of the clean, elegant green.

Jake’s computer was open and glowing malevolently on the kitchen table. She wondered what he had been researching at this hour of the day.

The sliding glass door stood open, allowing the exhilarating predawn air and the fantastic light into the room. There was nothing like morning in the desert, she thought. It gave her a rush. Or maybe she was still riding last night’s afterglow from their lovemaking.

She could see Jake on the other side of the pool security gate, standing at the edge of the patio. He was watching the three coyotes, a mug in one hand.

She started across the kitchen with the notion of joining him outside to savor the very special time of day.

When she went past the table she caught a glimpse of an all-too-familiar logo on the bright computer screen. A jolting chill swept through her. She stopped abruptly.

Welcome back to Arcanematch.com, Jake Salter Jones. Congratulations, we have a match for you! Please click on the link below to see a profile of the woman who is perfect for you.

She staggered a little under the impact of what could only be described as a double whammy. First she had to deal with the shock of what was apparently Jake’s real last name. There were plenty of Joneses in the world but when it came to members of the Arcane Society, the name always gave one pause. Given Jake’s strong hunter senses, it was probably not a coincidence. Odds were pretty high that Jake was a direct descendent of Sylvester Jones, the founder of the Society.

No wonder he had concealed his real name while he was working undercover in Stone Canyon, she thought. But why had he let her find out the truth in this stark fashion?

Because he didn’t know how to tell her that he had just been matched by www.arcanematch.com, she thought. After last night’s passionate lovemaking, he hadn’t been able to face her with the news.

She was going to lose him to some unknown woman the matchmakers had dredged up out of their damn computer files. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She and Jake were made for each other. Ideal. Perfect. Surely he could see that.

She wasn’t supposed to be able to pick up the psychic vibes of an electronic lie but she was certain that the arcanematch.com computers lied.

The panic attack screamed through her, igniting all her senses. Fight or flight.

Her first instinct was to run.Get away from this place. Save yourself. You can’t continue with this affair now that you know they’ve found someone else for him. If you stay here your heart is going to be broken for all time. Pack. Now. Where are the car keys? Run. Hide.

Belatedly, the psychic reflexes she had built up over the years slammed into place, damming the torrent of mindless panic.Fight. You can do this. Get a grip. You have to try. You’re not going to run. Not yet, at any rate. This is worth fighting for.

She dragged her attention away from the cruel words on the computer screen. Jake was still out there at the edge of his territory. His back was to her.

If you run, there’s no hope. You want him? Fight for him.

The heat of battle rushed through her veins. She went through the open slider, circled the pool and stalked out to the edge of the patio.

“Those stupid matchmakers at arcanematch.com are wrong,” she announced.

She didn’t realize how loud her voice was until she saw the three coyotes whip around to face her, ears rigidly erect. Jake turned, too, albeit in a more relaxed manner. Four sets of watchful, intelligent eyes gazed at her. Probably trying to calculate whether or not she qualified as prey.

“No,” she said to the coyotes. “In case you’re too slow to figure it out, I’m not breakfast.”

Jake smiled slowly. “But you taste great.”

The wicked humor infuriated her. She marched closer to him, stopping just two steps away.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.” Automatically she started to put her hands on her hips, but she realized that was impossible because she was still gripping the mug. “Not after what I just saw on that computer of yours.”

The amusement faded from his expression. “What, exactly, did you see?”

“The arcanematch.com people say they found a match for you.”

“Yeah?”

“They lie.”

Paranormal energy was invisible to the human eye, but she could have sworn that the air around him was suddenly shimmering with the stuff. She could feel the potent waves pulsing invisibly in the atmosphere.

“You sure about that?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.” She moved another step closer. “I am absolutely positive they’re wrong.”

“Why?”

“Because you belong to me, that’s why.” She swept out her free hand. “We’re perfect for each other. I love you. Why do you need arcanematch.com? What’s that woman they claim they found for you got that I don’t have?”

The dangerous energy that had swirled around him shifted with disconcerting abruptness into sensual hunger.

“Interesting question,” he said.

“The answer is nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada. She’s got absolutely nothing that I don’t have. Don’t bother to set up a date with her because there will be three of us there and I don’t think she’s going to feel real comfortable chatting with me, do you?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “It would certainly make for an unusual first date.”

“Skip the snappy repartee. I am dead serious, Jake SalterJones. ”

His mouth tweaked up at the corners. Heat burned in his eyes. “About me?”

“About you. And me. We’re a match. Can’t you see that?”

“Yes.”

“What’s more, there’s no frickin’ way those arcanematch.com people could have found anyone who will love you more than I do.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

She stopped cold. “You’re laughing at me.”

“No. Honest. I’m not laughing at you.”

“Liar.” Scalding tears of outrage welled in her eyes. She jabbed him in the chest with a forefinger. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Let’s go inside.” He took her arm. “I’ll show you.”

He walked her back into the kitchen and halted at the table where the dreadful news from arcanematch.com still glowed with macabre good cheer.

Jake clicked on the link that was set up to take him to a profile of his perfect mate. She watched, stomach clenched, dread in her heart, as a screen full of data and a photograph popped up. The photo was shockingly familiar.

Meet: Clare Lancaster.

Parasensitivity level: Ten*

Description: Extreme sensitivity to the inconsistent psychic energy generated by those engaged in willful prevarication and/or deception.

Clare stopped reading. “That’sme. ”

“Thought I noticed a resemblance.” Jake studied the photo on the screen with an air of satisfaction. “Great picture. I like your hair that way. The ice princess look is cool. It’s got a real touch-me-if-you-dare thing going on. I think I can feel my pulse kicking up.”

“Where did they get that photo?” she yelped. “That was taken for the annual report of the Draper Trust last year. I never sent it to arcanematch.com.”

“Wasn’t hard to find. I just looked up a copy of the annual report online.”

“Yousent it to arcanematch.com?”

“Sure.” He poured himself a second cup of tea. “I got Fallon Jones to ask one of his computer techs to dig out the old registration you filed with arcanematch.com a couple of years ago. Figured Fallon owed me that much.”