Obsidian Prey (25 page)

“Make sure it gets found so that Sweetwater will stop looking for it. We need to get him off our trail. At the rate he’s going, he’s liable to uncover our little sideline. We can’t afford that.”

Fairstead picked up the amethyst relic. The stone was warm in his hand. It glowed faintly. For a moment the connoisseur in him surfaced. He savored the strange, elegant carvings that covered the purple amber.

“Exquisite,” he breathed. “If only we knew how to activate the energy inside. Is it true that Lyra Dore can rez up images inside these stones?”

“That’s what they say. Give it to me.”

Fairstead sighed and handed him the relic. “Pity. It would have been the biggest sale we’ve ever made.”

“Some risks aren’t worth taking.”

“I agree.”

Fairstead walked out of the vault. He turned to close the door.

He never saw the mag-rez gun in the other man’s hand. The first shot struck him in the back, flinging him halfway into the vault. The second shot took him in the head.

CRUZ AWOKE TO A WARM, SILKEN BREEZE THAT CARRIED the familiar scents of the ocean and the feel of Lyra’s fingers entwined with his own. Satisfaction flooded through him.

He opened his eyes and saw her. She was sitting in a chair positioned very close to the bed, holding his hand and looking out the open glass doors of the bedroom, watching the sun-flashed sea. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a snug little black T-shirt. She looked incredibly sexy. The shirt hugged her breasts and emphasized the sleek curves of her shoulders and upper arms. Then, again, she always looked incredibly sexy.

For a moment he did not speak or move. He just watched her, fascinated by everything about her. It had been like this the first time he saw her, he thought. And it would be like this every time he looked at her for the rest of his life. The psychic connection between them was real, and it was intense, just as everyone in the family had promised it would be when he finally found the right woman.

Vincent chortled exuberantly and bounded up onto the bed. His beret was at its usual rakish angle. He fluttered up the quilt to perch on the pillow.

Startled out of her reverie, Lyra turned in the chair. It seemed to Cruz that everything about her glowed.

“Hey,” she said, smiling. “About time you woke up.”

“How long was I out?”

“It’s a little after nine AM. You’ve been in la-la land since late last night.”

He looked out the open doors again, taking in the lush green gardens and the view of the sea. He knew the setting as well as he knew his own name. They were in his personal cottage on the island, the one above the cove.

“You got us to Amber Island,” he said. “Good.”

“Jeff took care of everything. How much do you remember?”

He thought about that for a moment. “The two men on the balcony. The hallucinations—”

She blinked. “What hallucinations?”

“Yeah,” Jeff said from the doorway. “What hallucinations?”

“That’s the interesting part.” Cruz gave Lyra’s hand a quick squeeze and then shoved aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He looked down and discovered that he was still wearing the pants he’d put on just before the intruders had arrived. The trousers were splashed with dried bloodstains. More memories slammed into place. “Someone used some kind of psi on me last night. It created a dreamscape like the waking nightmares that you described, Lyra.”

“You’re kidding,” she said. Her eyes widened. “You think one of those attackers created those hallucinations?”

“Someone is responsible for inducing them. I’m not sure who, yet. One thing I do know, you can be certain you aren’t on the verge of a mental breakdown, Lyra. And neither am I. Life is good.”

She stood, picked up Vincent, and hugged him close. Her eyes were shadowed, but he could see the relief shining in them.

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. “After all these weeks of wondering.”

“We’ve still got a problem,” Cruz pointed out. “We need to find out why that pair was trying to kidnap you.” He looked at Jeff. “What have you got?”

“The man you took down last night will probably make it, but he’s still zoned out on the drugs they gave him for the surgery. We picked up the other one last night, but I gotta tell you, he doesn’t seem to know much.”

“Just more dumb muscle off the street.” Cruz rubbed his jaw. “Like the first two someone sent to take me out.”

“Looks like it. Same vague description of whoever paid them. Guy was wearing some kind of face-distorting mask.”

“Not a mask,” Cruz said. “He was generating a hallucination that concealed his features—” He broke off as another memory slammed home. “Damn. He was there last night. I saw him.”

“What are you talking about?” Jeff said.

“There was a third man. Last night I thought he was just part of the dreamscape, but he must have been real. Make sure the PF team checks out the adjoining loft. He was on the other balcony.”

“I’ve got people there now.” Jeff took out his phone. “But they’re only looking for the psi traces of the two men who left residue in Lyra’s place. I’ll tell them to go next door and search for a third guy.”

Cruz headed for the bathroom doorway. “I need a shower, and then I need food.”

Jeff looked at Lyra. “See? That’s why they made him the boss of AI Security. He knows how to prioritize.”

Lyra gave him a weary smile. “I could use a shower, myself. I’ll see you gentlemen later.”

With Vincent tucked under one arm, she walked out of the bedroom.

Jeff watched her go and then turned back. “She spent the night sitting beside you, holding your hand. At first she wouldn’t let go of you at all. Benson, the med tech, finally convinced her that you were okay. But aside from changing into some clothes that we picked up for her at the loft and using the powder room a couple of times, she wouldn’t leave your side.”

“She saved my life,” Cruz said. He went to the sink. “Or, at least, my senses.”

Jeff said nothing. He didn’t need to. They both knew that, for anyone in the family, it amounted to the same thing. The thought of having your psi senses permanently fried was harrowing. Over the years more than one strong talent in the Sweetwater clan had opted to take his own life when some rare catastrophe had deprived him of the psychic side of his nature.

The thought reminded Cruz that he’d ruined a perfectly good piece of obsidian. Automatically he glanced down at his hand and saw that he was still wearing his ring. The black stone glinted in the light.

“I need to get some fresh amber,” he said. He glanced at Jeff through the open doorway. “I destroyed mine last night.”

Jeff grinned. “No problem. Lyra retuned your ring for you while you were sleeping.”

He frowned. “She tuned obsidian?”

“I get the feeling she can tune just about any kind of amber.”

Cruz thought about that for a moment. “She uses amethyst. Within the Society there have always been a few rumors about people who can work that kind of amber.”

“I know,” Jeff said. “They’re supposed to be descended from Old World crystal workers.”

Officially, all types of psychical abilities were considered equal within the Arcane Society, but human nature being what it was, some forms of talent got more respect than others, just as some were more feared than others.

Historically, those who worked crystals had always occupied one of the bottom rungs of the Society’s social ladder, ranking below aura readers and low-grade intuitives. They were right down there with sleight-of-hand talents, another bunch who tended to make their livings in less than legal ways. A psychic skill with sleight of hand usually pointed one toward a career as a pickpocket or card shark. Those with the ability to read crystals had often ended up as carnival fortune-tellers who took advantage of the gullible.

But the Sweetwater family talent hadn’t always been considered respectable, either, he reminded himself. And just as Harmony had produced some interesting twists in the clan’s various psychic abilities, it had probably had some unpredictable effects on people like Lyra.

“You know, sir,” Jeff said, “if you’re really nice to her, she might give you her special amber tune-up service. She did my amber and, wow, what a difference.”

Cruz swung around and started toward him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked softly.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Jeff retreated toward the open doors. “I didn’t mean anything like what you’re thinking, honest.”

“Yeah? What was I thinking?”

“Haven’t got a clue,” Jeff said quickly. “Look, I’m just trying to tell you that Lyra has this really cool thing she can do when she tunes amber. I saw her do it for one of her clients. I asked about it, and she did it for me.”

Cruz closed the distance between them. “What kind of really cool thing are we talking about?”

Jeff took another step back. “She locks the frequencies on to your specific wavelengths. It makes the focus more precise. When you use the amber, you don’t have to generate as much raw power to get the same effect. Think about what that might have meant last night. You wouldn’t have had to push so much energy through your ring. Maybe it wouldn’t have shattered.”

Cruz stopped, frowning a little. “Assuming she can do that special tuning thing to obsidian.”

“Right. Assuming. But I use tourmaline, and she did it for me. You know how complicated tourmaline is. I ran some experiments yesterday. Works like a charm. Not only do you get more bang for the buck, you get incredible precision. It’s the difference between driving a tractor and a Slider. Both will get you from point A to point B, but the tractor requires more fuel, and it squashes a lot of stuff along the way.”

“The woman never fails to surprise me,” Cruz said.

He headed into the bathroom and contemplated the image in the mirror. The guy staring back at him looked like he’d just surfaced from a weeklong bender. His eyes were bottomless pits, and he really needed a shave. But mostly he needed to find the SOB who had tried to kidnap Lyra.

One thing at a time. Got to prioritize here
. Always with the damn priorities when all he really wanted to do was settle down with Lyra and get started on the next generation of Sweetwaters.

He opened the mirrored cabinet and took out the razor. “Any news from the people watching Fairstead’s gallery?”

“I talked to Flagg a few minutes ago. We’ve got another situation.”

Cruz rezzed up some lather. “Why?”

“Fairstead was seen returning to the gallery around midnight last night. He let himself in through the alley entrance. He never came out. The gallery employees found his body in a little room at the back of the main showroom this morning.”

“Huh.” Cruz thought about that while he went to work with the razor. “But Flagg’s people didn’t see anyone else enter or leave the gallery last night?”

“No. There may be a reason for that. The cops found a hole-in-the-wall entrance to the tunnels inside Fairstead’s office.”

“The killer came and went from underground.” Cruz angled the razor for another stroke. “I assume the vault was opened?”

“Yes. But here’s the weird part. My friend in the Frequency PD says that the gallery employees did an inventory and told him that nothing was missing.”

“The killer took the relic. It wouldn’t have been on any inventory list.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, CRUZ WALKED OUT OF THE BEDROOM wearing a fresh shirt and trousers from the selection of clothing he kept at the cottage. He headed toward the kitchen, thinking of Lyra and coffee, in that order.

Jeff appeared in his path. “Bad news. We have what you might call a situation.”

“What?”

“Big Jake arrived by boat while you were in the shower.”

“Should have known he’d find out what happened last night. Now that he’s supposed to be retired, he’s got way too much time on his hands, and he likes to meddle.”

“That’s probably what he’s doing as we speak. He grabbed Lyra.”

“
Grabbed
her?”

“Okay, maybe that’s a little over-the-top,” Jeff conceded. “Here’s the deal. After Lyra got out of the shower, she decided to take the path down to the cove. Big Jake came here as soon as he got off the boat. He wanted to know where she was. Someone told him. He went looking for her.”

Cruz headed for the front door. “You’re right. We’ve got a situation.”