Mystical Love (83 page)

Her aunt always attracted attention when fired up, and right now Sonny realized her heaving breasts and stiff posture were garnering a lot of attention from the male officers on standby. Her turquoise eyes, sharp and assessing, finally took in the activity on the second floor and then impaled the lieutenant again.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Her voice arced to a high-sonic falsetto, and hearing it, she broke off, obviously afraid to continue. At her look of consternation, Sonny rose from the sofa.

“Calm down, Aunt Charlotte; we're fine. Not even Dick could've imagined a second attack coming so soon.”

Charlotte touched her cheek, her expression softening. “Are you alright? No dizziness or sudden headaches?”

“I'm fine.” Her aunt's smile made Sonny pat her fingers with a stilted laugh. “Don't go reading anything into this episode. I'm not dizzy, at least not in the way you mean.”

“Now, Char, don't be an alarmist,” her uncle scolded. He popped up from the sofa and threw an arm around his wife's shoulder, attempting to draw her back to the couch. Irritated by his overt mothering, she smacked his hands away.

“Don't patronize me, Brad. I hate it when you do.”

As if stung, he dropped his fingers and stalked back to the sofa. “I'm not so fond of you, either, at the moment.”

Seeing her aunt's mutinous glare, Sonny changed the subject. She had to ward off the ugly confrontation brewing between the pair. “We really are fine—all of us.”

Hearing Sonny's words, the lieutenant cleared his throat and gave Logan a long, unfeeling stare. “Just what do you think happened, Reed? Cop to cop, I mean.”

“A definite arson—which was set off when Sonny used her personal keyboard. It triggered a full-scale meltdown of the computer. We could hear the static as the wires crackled.” He whirled about, glancing at Sonny. “Do you remember anything different, Sonny? Something your mind might've recorded?”

“No. It all happened too fast.”

Her aunt shivered, tossing the lieutenant an anguished look. “See, Dick? The bastard knows how to circumvent computer systems. We'll all be murdered in our beds before the night is out. Do something!”

“Calm down. I'm working on it,” the lieutenant replied.

She took his answer in stride, but not without a loud sigh. He then turned to Ned, slipping his notepad into his back pocket.

“Could David have fallen into partnership with some unsavory characters, Ned? Someone with the knowledge to crash an entire network of enterprises?”

Brad interrupted with a frivolous toss of his hand. “Our security system cannot be overridden by outside forces,” he declared. His wiry fingers shot up, raking his dark hair and then dropping to pull a crumpled Salem cigarette pack from his shirt pocket. He surveyed Sonny's outraged face just as he lit up. A second later, he had pocketed the cigarette pack and stamped the cigarette tip out. “Sorry, Sonny. I forgot what a bitch you are about smoking in the hacienda.” He stuffed the unsmoked stick into his pocket and then continued with his soliloquy. “I'm not saying this wasn't arson, but an electrical short in the walls is certainly possible, too.”

“I pay big bucks to keep this room's security tight,” Sonny said. “Brad's right. No hacker gets in, period.”

The lieutenant cut in. “But a meltdown did occur, preprogrammed or not.”

Sonny turned her irritation on him. “Hackers worm their way into mainframes all over the world daily. However, I pay big bucks for a system that can't be hacked.” She rubbed her arms briskly to warm the goose bumps suddenly rising. Why did her head feel like it was stuffed with musty cobwebs all of a sudden? She glanced at Logan, wishing he would look at her. She longed to tell him her senses were kicking in with an unwanted vision.

And then it happened: a vision that took her breath away and sent her senses spinning. She flew through the white vortex, as if shot from a cannon. By the time she hit solid ground, she was standing in a small, cramped room, where she heard a male voice droning monotonously.

“You're safe; nothing can harm you. Where are you now?”

A melodic voice answered, “I'm in Venice on my honeymoon. Matthew and I are riding a gondola to our hotel. Check-in is at four.”

“And where are you now?” the voice asked, inflectionless.

“Umm.” The melodic voice turned breathless. “Matthew and I are having sex. His hands are all over me … We're climaxing ... ”

The vision shattered into a thousand pieces, and Sonny was hurled back into reality, like a dart winging its way to a marked target. She came awake with a start, finding herself on the floor, in Logan's arms. Their eyes met and held, and Sonny saw the panic written on his face. He was wiping blood from beneath her nose, and her hands covered his.

“How long was I out?”

“About forty-five seconds.” He knocked her gloved fingers out of the way as she tried to wipe her upper lip. “Put your head back,” he ordered. “The bleeding's stopped, but let's be sure.”

Sonny did as instructed but found the motion nauseating. When a sea of upside-down faces swam into view, she closed her eyes. She had been thrown into a vision of another hypnotherapy session in progress, but who had been the participants? Definitely one male and one female.

“Can you sit up?” Logan asked, slipping his hand behind her neck. He offered his other hand to her, and Sonny took it. In seconds, she was sitting upright. “What the hell happened?” he asked once she sat staring out at the sea of legs surrounding her.

“Too much smoke,” she lied.

“Too much excitement, you mean,” Logan said. “Can you stand?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Every damn day,” Logan replied, scrambling to his feet. He then hauled Sonny up from the floor, whirled her around, and captured her shoulders. He tucked her into his chest, glancing at the group watching the action.

“Show's over,” he stated firmly. He glanced over his shoulder, signaling to Conseula, who stood in the kitchen doorway, wringing her hands. She bustled forward, making clucking noises as she walked.

“
Sí, señor
?” she asked when she reached him.

Logan palmed Sonny's hand off to her. “Take Sonny to her room and see that she lies down. I'll be along later to tuck her in.” His glance found Sonny's surprised one. “I mean it, Sonny. Lie down and get some sleep, or else.”

Consuela tugged on Sonny's hand, but Sonny held her off. Instead, she tapped Logan's chest with her free hand. “What are you going to do?” she queried softly.

“Talk to Cutter and then get some shut-eye myself,” Logan replied. He signaled to Consuela again, who clucked at Sonny affectionately.

“
No es bueno
to go without sleep, querida,” she said. “I shall bring you warm milk to sleep. And then I shall make a bed for
su enamorodo
in the guest room. He is, how you say, ‘done in'?” Sonny's eyes crinkled at the corners. Consuela clucked again. “He no make love to you tonight, I think.”

“Especially if I wear those dreaded pajamas you hate so much,” Sonny said, lowering her voice so only Consuela could hear. “Any thoughts of
mi enamorodo
making advances while I'm wearing them are nonexistent.”

Consuela clucked disapprovingly.

“Don't worry, Consuela; I like a woman in PJ's,” Logan said, overhearing Sonny's last comment. “It makes the sexual adventure so much more fun.”

“Don't be a smart-ass,” Sonny chided, dragging Consuela away. However, when they reached her bedroom door, she whirled around, surprised to find Logan right behind her. “I don't need a babysitter,” she exclaimed, pushing him back.

His grin surfaced, but no comment. Instead, he gave her a mocking bow and rejoined the group.
Damn toad!
Sonny thought. She wanted him to stay and discuss her vision.

The bedroom door closed in front of her, blocking out the living room and its occupants.

“You must rest, querida, Consuela said. “It is the
señor
's wish.”

Sonny sighed. Even Consuela had fallen under the man's spell. She headed for bed, shedding her clothes as she went. In minutes, Consuela was snatching up Sonny's clothes from the floor and hanging them over a chair.

“I check on you, querida, before I leave—in case you need me to stay.” She continued to the door, and then Sonny heard it close softly. Tuning in to the quiet, Sonny quickly drifted off to sleep.

Logan held his stance, waiting for the bedroom door to close behind Sonny. He realized he must look like a lovesick fool to the group around him.
An
absolute
idiot
, his inner voice agreed.
You're acting as if the woman's welfare is a personal matter.

The truth was not that kind, Logan knew. His concern was simply ego-driven. He hated not being in control of an investigation from start to finish. And more than that, he hated feeling like he had been thrown into the middle of a hungry pack of wolves. A feeding frenzy was coming; he just didn't know from which family member it would come.

Whirling around with a sigh, he found Charlotte Fletcher standing close behind him. She was staring at him as if she couldn't quite fathom what kind of meal he would make.

“I don't approve of you and Sonny working together,” she stated rudely. “She has a full schedule of clients on her calendar already. To ignore them, and concentrate on solving a case of serial killings, can only jeopardize her health, as well as her reputation.”

The attack took Logan by surprise, but he didn't show it. He smiled at her instead. “Sonny assures me that my time here will be brief. She's already studied the case files and evidence. I'm waiting for her to render a verdict, and then I'll be out of your hair.”

No answering smile came his way, just an icy retort. “I've seen the way you look at Sonny. And I saw the way she molded herself against you when you kissed her. Sonny's extremely impressionable. It's easy for her to misinterpret a cavalier kiss as something binding.”

Logan suppressed a sudden urge to strangle the woman in front of him. He had wondered how long it would be before someone took potshots at the kiss he and Sonny had shared in the cottage. Charlotte Fletcher was the first, and hopefully she'd be the last.

“If I've learned anything since meeting Sonny, it's that she never misinterprets her feelings for anyone. She's too bright, too articulate, and too in tune to her talent to make that mistake. The kiss was spur-of-the-moment on my part, and Sonny shut me down quite thoroughly after it.”

“Did she indeed? Perhaps I've misjudged her.”

Logan heard the mocking sarcasm in the words and knew the woman was not pleased with his explanation. She gave him a last stony glare, and then, as if he was nothing more than a lowly amoeba on the scale of evolution, she shifted her attention to the activity going on in the computer room above.

Logan let his grin surface. “No need to freeze me out, Mrs. Fletcher. I already got the message loud and clear.”

“And what message is that?” she asked, not bothering to glance his way.

“That men looking for a marriage partner are unwelcome in Sonny's life.”

“Well, as long as you know it, we needn't spend any more time discussing it.”

She left him then, moving up the staircase towards the activity beyond the French doors.

“Touché,” he mumbled softly, shifting his torso to relieve a growing kink. And then, like Charlotte, he turned and focused his attention on the police techs vacating the upstairs room. Watching them shuffle through the door, dragging their equipment down the stairs behind them, Logan's mind slid into an uneasy game of brain tag. What was the next tack to try when it came to dealing with the family? Background checks were a must, he knew.

His gaze sought the lieutenant's tall frame. He would need to utilize Cutter's clout to get the info he needed. He could call Meta Corps himself, of course, but then he'd have to sell Dresden a pack of lies about Sonny. Not seeing Cutter, Logan's gaze turned to Ned and Brad, who were standing just inside the French doors. Their resentful stares were aimed at him, which made him realize the pair disliked him as much, if not more, than Charlotte Fletcher. He schooled his features into an impassive stare, wondering which one of them had killed Blake. He was sure one of them had.
Better yet,
his ego nudged,
which one of them is trying to kill Sonny now?

Lieutenant Cutter's large frame finally appeared in the doorway, shooing the pair out of the room. They hustled down the stairs, allowing the lieutenant to dismiss the blue uniforms standing about. The room emptied fast, except for the family. And then, to Logan's surprise, the lieutenant ordered everyone out of the room, including himself.

The family went reluctantly; however, Logan was not about to be dismissed so easily. He shored up his Meta Corps persona.

“A word with you, Lieutenant,” he muttered, seeing the man about to vacate the room behind Ned and Brad.

The lieutenant paused, giving Logan his undivided attention. “I recognize that look from this morning,” he said. “You want something from me.” He moved back into the room. “Access to the crime scene, maybe?”

“It's too late for that,” Logan replied. “What I need is information.” He pulled his ID wallet from his back pocket and headed for the kitchen counter. Once there, he plucked a business card from the wallet and then pulled a pencil out of a glass jar. He scribbled on the back of the card and then handed it off to the lieutenant. “I need you to call this number, but ask for Dresden Charles this time. Tell him it pertains to the serial killings. Ask him to do a code-one background check on Ned Chalmers and Brad and Charlotte Fletcher. Ask him to go back at least thirty years. And while you're at it, have him search the files for any project that might be labeled ‘Pandora.'”