High Energy (29 page)

loving her to the point of exhaustion.

The pirate.

He had laid siege to her! Not with the traditional tools of his craft—no, not

with cannon and cutlass, but with honeyed lips and heated caresses. With the

scorching press of his body. With the masterful command of her pliant response

to his overwhelming sensuality.

She had been broadsided.

Zanita winced and took a deep breath, valiantly trying to salvage the wreck. She

was still afloat. The grappling hooks had been thrown, but she wasn't boarded

yet.

Her eyes narrowed while she observed him through the window.

The two men had stopped walking and were facing each other, deep in

conversation. Tyber's long legs were spread in a familiar stance, his hands

planted firmly on his hips. Convince me, the arrogant pose said. She had seen

this invincible stance before. Many times. The overbearing rogue!

Well, she would convince him! Later, when she could be sure they wouldn't be

interrupted. This time she was going to pierce through his vigorous hide to

impress upon him exactly what was what.

No more lavish displays of affection.

No more just one more time, baby heatedly whispered in the middle of the night

into her ear.

No more!

They were working together for a common cause. Co-workers and… friends. It was

time Tyber was reminded of just where they stood.

Zanita swallowed the lump of agitation and something else which didn't bear

examining but which had suddenly lodged in her throat. Her shoulders squared,

resolutely quelling the irksome feeling. She recognized this feeling as one

which could get her into deep trouble. Had gotten her into deep trouble in the

past.

Tyber was an adult. He would see reason, would listen to her when she told him

he needed an attitude adjustment.

If Zanita had her druthers, remodeling Tyberius Augustus Evans was not a task

she would have voluntarily taken on, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do.

After all, it was up to her to get them back on track. Left to his own devices,

Tyber would lead them down a very dangerous road.

She had no intention of being derailed from her course of self-preservation.

A realignment was definitely in order.

"Tyber, you have created an oasis of tranquility in this jungle of stress called

modern life. No wonder you choose to spend your working day right here in the

peaceful beauty of your gracious estate."

Tyber listened to LaLeche, dark lashes veiling light blue eyes clouded by

disgust. He'd seen Rocky Mountain oysters with less bull. He inclined his head

slightly, as if thanking and agreeing with LaLeche at the same time.

"You know, I believe most people, given a choice, would prefer just such an

environment in their daily lives."

Tyber wondered where LaLeche was leading with this. "Oh, I don't know, Xavier,

different strokes for different folks. I'm sure many people couldn't bear this

type of isolated work and living environment. Some people thrive on the

excitement of rubbing up against the mass of humanity on a daily basis. Just

look at New York City."

"No, you look at it," LaLeche quipped.

Tyber smiled in spite of himself. "People do choose to live there—strange as it

may seem to you or me. Sometimes even I enjoy an occasional foray into the Big

Apple. The theater, restaurants, shopping, nightlife…"

"Yes, there is something to say for the culture and choices available there."

The man was smooth, Tyber gave him that. He knew just how to oil a conversation

so no offense could possibly be taken, no real opinion given.

"This has all got me thinking…." LaLeche rubbed his chin, trying to convey the

impression of a man on the verge of a great idea. Tyber waited patiently; he was

positive he would soon find out where LaLeche was going with this "fresh" idea

of his which had probably been bubbling around in the man's head for ages.

"What's that?" Tyber played along.

"What you're saying is very true—even if people do live in the city, they need

to get away on occasion to untangle the spirit, to renew their sense of

perspective."

I said that? I must've stepped out of this dimension for a minute and missed my

brilliant observation. Silly me. Tyber gave himself a mental shake of the head.

LaLeche enthusiastically continued on his preordained pathway. He vaguely

reminded Tyber of Venus in retrograde.

"I've often thought how very wonderful it would be to have a retreat like this

for people to come to when they feel a need to seek inner harmony."

Tyber stopped walking. LaLeche was looking to fleece his sheep in better

surroundings. He better not be coveting his surroundings. He turned to the

shorter man, hands on hips. "Are you saying you want me to open my home to

your—"

"Oh, heavens no, Tyber! I would never suggest invading your personal space in

such a manner."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"Look around you, Dr. Evans." His arm swung in an arc indicating the gently

rolling landscape. "Think about what such an environment would do to open minds,

enlighten beings!"

He wanted money. Lots of it, if Tyber was on to his little game plan. Tyber

rocked back on his boot heels, quelling the distaste he had for this charlatan.

"You're talking about a retreat?"

"More than just a retreat! A center for personal growth and study! A research

facility for psychic endeavors! A place for spiritual peace and harmony for

everyone."

A place where workshops for the individual ran into the hundreds of dollars. A

place where LaLeche could sell videos and tapes of himself being wonderful. A

big business New Age kinda happening sort of thing. Tyber got the picture.

"I don't know, Xavier, won't that be kind of expensive?"

"Think of it as an investment, Tyber."

Here we go. "An investment? What do you mean?"

"If you would like to get in on the ground floor of this, I can pretty much

guarantee you a fine return on your money."

"Are you saying you'd profit from this, Xavier?" Tyber couldn't help throwing

that in.

"Everyone would profit from it in all ways, spiritually and monetarily. There's

absolutely nothing wrong with making money, Tyber. It's one of the very topics I

plan to have a seminar on."

For fifty-nine ninety-five. "How do you incorporate a… zest for making money

into spiritual practices? Aren't the two mutually exclusive?"

LaLeche sighed deeply, shaking his head sadly as if to convey that such a wise

teacher as he often had to deal with the ignorance of his pupils. It irritated

Tyber no end. "Unfortunately, a widely held misconception. Negative attitudes

regarding success run deep. It is this type of unhealthy conviction toward

abundance in our personal lives which needs to be healed."

"Healed? How can the attitude of money being an end to a goal be healed?"

"Think of money as you would sunshine." LaLeche seemed extremely proud of this

idiotic comparison.

Tyber's voice was bland. "How so?"

"Sunshine brings light into our lives; its rays shed warmth and enlightenment on

us. It brings us happiness; it brings us life. By the same token, sunshine is

also responsible for drought, sunburn, unbearable heat, burnt crops."

"I don't know that I follow your train of thought." Especially since the tracks

of those thoughts are following a Mobius strip of convoluted logic.

"I'm saying that the effects of sunshine can be good for us or bad for us,

depending on how careful we are in our relationship to it. You see, the sunshine

is neither good nor evil in and of itself. It is simply an energy. Money, a

materialization of energy, is the same way—it can be good for us or not good for

us, depending on how we choose to utilize it."

Tyber stared back at him, dumbstruck. The man had just whipped together a

seemingly palatable omelet from chalk and cheese.

The fact of the matter was that sunshine had nothing whatsoever to do with

money. One was radiant energy, the other a medium of exchange. With carefully

chosen words, tangled mystical principles, and a dash of spiritual superiority,

the man had made a sweeping conclusion.

And why not, Tyber asked himself facetiously; after all, nature abhors a vacuum.

Would some people actually buy this ridiculous analogy under the guise of

self-fulfilling enlightenment?

Yes. Definitely.

"I hadn't thought of it in those terms before. I can see what you're saying now.

So tell me, Xavier, how much of an investment would we be talking about here?"

"Not much, considering the size of the project. We'll need some raw acreage, of

course. Although it would be nice to find a site that already has a suitable

building, I don't think that will occur. After all, we have certain special

needs for the buildings. A dormitory. A cafeteria. Grounds…"

Uh-huh. LaLecheville. "So what were you thinking?"

"I figure if I could get together two more investors, each of us would have to

throw in about three hundred grand."

Tyber tried not to cough. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Three hundred, huh?"

"If it's too steep for you—"

"No. Of course not, but just what kind of a return can I expect on my money?"

"How does five hundred percent sound?" LaLeche's mouth wiggled with a smirky

grin.

"Sounds like you might have an investor." Tyber returned his smirk with a

mysterious little grin of his own.

"Wonderful!"

"Of course, I have to shuffle some funds around, free up some cash—you

understand. Come to think of it, I have some extra bonds coming due in a couple

of months—why don't you start scouting out a location in the meantime?"

"I'll do that!"

"Oh, one other thing, Xavier, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention my name in

connection with this project. I prefer to be a silent investor." The last thing

Tyber wanted was LaLeche using his name to hoodwink other investors into this

scam.

"I understand, Doctor." LaLeche winked at him, interpreting Tyber's remark in

his own way. Which was just as well, as long as it achieved his objective of

keeping LaLeche silent.

So now he could string LaLeche on a little longer. This "business" venture was

just the legitimate cover Zanita and he needed to stay in constant touch with

the man. Hopefully they wouldn't need to be in touch with him for too much

longer.

As Tyber made his way back to the house, he realized that if worse came to

worst, he could try to set up a sting operation with the phony investment scam,

although that could be a tricky business and he hated the idea of exposing

Zanita to the kind of danger it might entail. On the other hand, he wanted the

scum out of their lives A.S.A.P.

He wondered just how risky it would be, thinking he might eventually be forced

to call Sean in.

Zanita had come straight upstairs after dinner. She had one hell of a headache.

She immediately threw off her clothes, donning her thick flannel nightgown.

Proper clothes for the proper job.

Moistening a washcloth with ice-cold water, she draped it across her forehead

and flung herself prostrate onto Tyber's oyster bed. Zanita on the half-shell.

She grimaced.

Dinner had been a complete fiasco.

Blooey got into another fight with My-Maggy. This time they fought over the

sequence of the layered salad.

Auntie had proclaimed the escarole quiche marvelous but terribly rich, this last

said while pointedly staring at Mills.

Mills threatened to use her fork as a catapult for said quiche, aiming it

directly at Auntie when Auntie wasn't looking.

LaLeche, lapping up Blooey's cooking and casting the occasional lecherous glance

at her chest, continued dropping pearls of spiritual wisdom, somehow managing to

look like the cat who had swallowed the Tyber canary.

Hambone took turns wailing piteously during the meal at the lack of tidbits

forthcoming and growling at LaLeche's ankles. At least the cat was a good judge

of character.

Throughout it all, Tyber sat in stony silence while being mercilessly grilled by

Auntie on aspects of his virile physique.

No wonder her head was splitting.

She supposed she should feel bad at deserting Tyber to their guests, but her

head was pounding too loudly for her to care. Besides, she needed to get rid of

this headache to make room for another one. She was going to confront Tyber

tonight with his attitude adjustment.

The door to the bedroom flew open—and slammed shut.

Zanita twitched, then moaned as the reverberations hit her skull. Tyber's words

sliced across her brow.

"Thank you very much for leaving me with that barracuda, Zanita."

"LaLeche?" came the muffled voice from under the washcloth.

"No. Your aunt."

She could hear him stomping across the floor toward the bed. Zanita lifted one

corner of the cloth to peer surreptitiously at him. He was unbuttoning his shirt

with short, angry movements of his fingers. When he finished, he dragged it off,

wadded it into a ball, throwing it in the general direction of the closet

hamper. It bounced off the lid, puddling on the floor. Tyber, who normally was