Running Hot (36 page)

Vivien went higher. The notes she sang were still piercingly clear but they began to grow fainter, weaker. Her fury was interfering with her ability to project her astonishing talent. She was literally choking on her frustration and rage. One very high note and then another fractured.

Still singing, Vivien whirled and stalked to the stage steps. It didn’t take a psychic to see the madness and murder in her aura now, Grace thought.

Vivien descended the steps with theatrical deliberation as though she was in the middle of a dramatic production. When she reached the bottom she advanced toward Grace, the dagger held high for a killing blow. The jagged notes of her mad song spilled forth in mere squeaks.

Grace felt the last of the compulsion evaporate. She could move freely now.

She jumped up onto the nearest seat, stepped over the back into the next row and rushed toward the aisle. Running between the closely packed rows proved complicated. Her thigh collided painfully with one of the chair arms.

Vivien was screaming now, her voice hoarse, her power almost gone. She grabbed a fistful of her bloody skirts and raced toward the far end of the front row, dagger poised to strike, clearly intent on intercepting her quarry at the aisle.

Grace scrambled to a halt, climbed up onto another seat and jumped down into the third row. She vaulted into the fourth, trying to put more distance between herself and her pursuer. She gained ground quickly, her bathrobe flying around her.

Vivien was reduced to hoarse screeching.

A blinding light spilled from the lobby entrance. The silhouette of a man appeared.

“Grace,” Luther shouted.

“I’m okay,” Grace shouted back. “Be careful, she’s got a knife but she can’t sing worth a damn anymore.”

Vivien floundered to a halt in the aisle. Her harsh breathing seemed very loud in the sudden silence of the theater. The light from the lobby illuminated her stained gown and disheveled hair. Her aura was a rainbow comprising all the colors of a nightmare.

“I am La Sirène,” she whispered.

She dropped the dagger, turned and fled back down the aisle toward the stage.

Luther started forward, cane in one hand, gun raised in the other. His aura was flaring, an icy-hot spectrum of violent hues.

“No,” Grace said quietly. “It’s not necessary. Let her go.”

For a few seconds she was afraid he wasn’t going to pay any attention to her. Then he lowered the gun and his aura.

Vivien raced up the short flight of stage steps and vanished behind the bloodred curtain.

FORTY-EIGHT

J&J sent out more people from the Society’s L.A. offices to deal with Newlin Guthrie. The minute they arrived on the scene, Luther briefed them and then bundled Grace into the car.

“Are you sure it’s necessary to drive back to L.A. tonight?” she asked, yawning.

“As long as that Siren is still on the loose, we are not hanging around Acacia Bay.”

It was a command decision. She was too exhausted to argue. She rested her head against the back of the seat and looked out over the night-darkened Pacific.

“I’m so glad to know that wasn’t real blood on her Lucia outfit,” she said. “It was just a costume from the wardrobe department.”

“Fallon Jones thinks your theory about her descent into insanity is right. She was unstable to begin with. Using her voice to kill people for little or no reason just made her crazier. And with craziness comes loss of control on both the normal and the paranormal plane.”

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“I’ll always be able to find you,” he said.

She smiled. “You are such a romantic. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She turned her head to look at him. “Come on, tell me how you knew that Guthrie had taken me to Guthrie Hall.”

“Process of elimination. She had a limited choice of venues. It’s a small town, after all. There was a big reception going on at Guthrie’s house so she couldn’t use it. Smuggling you into her hotel room would have been dicey. Where else was she going to go? You told me yourself she loves the spotlight. And Newlin Guthrie had access to the finest stage in town.”

“That was brilliant.”

“Yeah, I used to be a detective once.”

She rested her hand on his injured leg. “Once a detective, always a detective.”

FORTY-NINE

La Sirène looked down at the cauldron of crashing surf far below. A swath of cold moonlight stroked the scene; the perfect spotlight for her final performance. The cliffs were not the ramparts of the Castel Sant’Angelo that Tosca used after discovering that her lover had been shot by the firing squad, but they would do.

It was over. The Renquist woman had proved too much for the Voice. Her power was almost gone now, and she knew it would never recover. La Sirène was doomed. Better by far to depart the stage tonight. Tomorrow the critics would make her famous once again as they rhapsodized about her Queen of the Night and simultaneously mourned the loss of her incredible talent. Her death would make headlines.

She spread her arms wide and sang her own death song as she flung herself over the castle wall.

Really, she had always been so much better than Callas. She was La Sirène.

FIFTY

The three-way conference call with Fallon took place the following day in their hotel room near the L.A. airport.

“Ryan’s body was found washed up on the rocks at a place called Hellfire Cove,” Fallon said. “Evidently it’s a major scenic attraction in Acacia Bay. Lots of rough, dangerous surf. Photographers love it. Strictly off limits for swimming or diving.”

“Tosca flinging herself from the castle wall,” Grace said. “A fitting stage for La Sirène’s final performance.”

“You knew she was going to jump?” Fallon asked, sharply curious.

Across the room, Luther looked at her, too.

“I didn’t know how she would do it,” Grace said quietly. “But yes, I was fairly certain that she would commit suicide. It was there in her aura when she ran back toward the stage.”

“Well, it looks like we won’t need Sweetwater’s services on this case,” Fallon said. “That simplifies matters.”

“What about Damaris Kemble?” Luther asked.

“She’s being debriefed as we speak. She’ll get her first injection of the antidote later today.”

“So soon?” Grace said. “I thought she still had a three-week supply of the drug.”

“It was her decision,” Fallon explained. “She wanted to get started on the antidote as quickly as possible. Apparently she’s been experiencing some unpleasant side effects from the Nightshade drug. She gave her remaining vials to the lab techs to study. They’ve been trying to figure out how Nightshade genetically tailors the formula for each individual. The information may be useful for tweaking the antidote.”

“How did she take the news of her sister’s death?” Grace asked.

“One of the Society shrinks who is talking to her told me she was sad but not surprised.”

“Poor Damaris,” Grace whispered. “She lost her father and her sister within a year of finding them. Now she’s alone again.”

“She’s alive,” Fallon pointed out drily.

“Thanks to Luther,” Grace said.

Luther frowned. “How the hell did Craigmore manage to slip past all the scrutiny that would have been given to a member of the Council?”

“Good question,” Fallon said, sounding more than a little annoyed. “But bear in mind that he was appointed fifteen years ago.”

“In other words, before you took over J&J?” Luther prompted.

“My uncle was running the West Coast office at that time. He was good but he didn’t have the research capability I’ve got now. In addition, Craigmore came out of the depths of a government agency that specialized in creating false backgrounds. He had the perfect résumé, literally. And it was solid. Those who knew he’d worked as a spook figured him for a patriotic hero. Which is exactly what he was when you get right down to it, at least until he fired up Nightshade. And last but not least, he pulled off the oldest trick in the world.”

Luther looked at Grace. “He hid in plain sight.”

“Right. I’ve recently initiated deep background checks on all Council members. The process probably would have uncovered Craigmore or at least raised some red flags. According to Damaris, he was getting worried and planning to disappear.”

Luther made his way across the room. He lounged against the edge of the desk and hooked his cane over the back of the chair. “Is Newlin Guthrie all right?”

“Yes. Pretty badly shaken up, though. Turns out La Sirène nailed him with his own electroshock gun. Our people from L.A. talked to him. He feels terrible about the kidnapping. Said he knew what he was doing but just couldn’t seem to help himself.”

“That is the truth,” Grace said. “When I found him waiting for me in the hotel room, his aura seemed weirdly frozen, which would not be normal for anyone committing an act of violence. He was under La Sirène’s spell.”

“He wanted to turn himself in to the police but the J&J agents talked him out of it. They told him that you were fine and that no one was going to report the incident. With Vivien Ryan dead, it’s all moot, anyway.”

“How did he get into my room?” Grace asked.

“Through the connecting door between your suite and the neighboring room.”

“That door was locked,” she said. “Luther and I both checked it.”

“Guthrie owns the damn hotel. He had no trouble getting a master key.”

“He’s a smart man,” Luther said. “How did the agents explain what had happened to him?”

“They told him he was the victim of a unique kind of hypnotist. That depressed him even more because guys like that don’t like to think they can be hypnotized. He perked right up, though, when he was informed that J&J was interested in purchasing some of his electroshock devices.”

“For what it’s worth, from the brief look I got at his aura, I’d say he is a high-level crypto talent,” Grace offered. “Probably never realized he’s a sensitive.”

“Funny you should say that. One of the agents who spoke to him suggested that he get tested at the L.A. lab. Guthrie seemed enthusiastic about the idea.”

“What happens next?” Luther asked.

“Case closed as far as you and Grace are concerned,” Fallon said. “Send in your bill. J&J will cover your airfares home. Check the Society’s travel agency site online. Your reservations have been made.”

“Luther meant what happens now with Nightshade?” Grace said.

“On that front, things are moving fast.” Fallon sounded weary and determined, not excited. “Since Craigmore handled the Eubanks operation privately, the board of Nightshade doesn’t have any idea that we have four of their people under observation, and we’re waiting to see who takes the place of the fifth. They may not even realize yet that their founder and CEO is dead.”

“There’s going to be some interesting political infighting at the top to see who takes his place,” Luther observed.

“Especially after we start taking apart those five labs.”

“What five labs?”

“Forgot to tell you. Those four Nightshade execs that you ID’d?”

“What about them?”

“Looks like each of them is responsible for a lab that is either conducting research on the formula or producing it. They’re all small operations. Evidently Craigmore liked to keep things decentralized for security reasons.”

“Smart.”

“Zack and the Council authorized action an hour ago. J&J agents will go into all the labs, seize whatever computers and notes they can find and burn everything else to the ground. Standard procedure when dealing with a formula lab.”

“And no one involved with Nightshade will run screaming to the cops because no one wants an investigation that would turn up proof that some kind of illegal drug lab had been operating,” Luther concluded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how it works,” Fallon agreed.

“That’s going to be a big blow to Nightshade,” Grace said.

“The problem is, we don’t know how many labs are currently operating. You’re right, though, between losing their founder and five of their labs, they’re going to be in disarray for a while. The goal now is to identify as many operatives as possible. We still don’t know who sits on that damn board.”

“Can’t Damaris Kemble tell you?” Luther asked.

“She said Craigmore didn’t consider her ready to receive that information. The debriefing people believe her. I’ve got people tearing apart Craigmore’s mansion, his office, his computer and his entire past. We’re getting information but we’ve got a long way to go. He was very good at keeping secrets.”

“Lot of work ahead for J&J,” Luther said.

“Tell me about it,” Fallon muttered. “I’m going twenty-four/seven here.”

“That’s not good, Mr. Jones,” Grace said. “Sooner or later you’re going to burn out. That would be a disaster. The Society needs you at your best in the months ahead.”

Fallon snorted. “Not like there are a lot of options here.”

“Yes, there are,” Grace said. “You just need to focus on the problem for a couple of minutes the way you focus on other issues. Start by getting yourself an assistant.”

“Forget it. I work alone.”

Grace smiled. “That’s what Luther used to say, too. At least until you assigned me to work with him. You’ve got to admit that we made a pretty good team.”

“There’s a reason I work alone,” Fallon said bleakly. “No one can stand working with me for longer than about five minutes.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been your research assistant in Genealogy for several months. I didn’t have a problem working with you.”

Across the room Luther grinned but kept quiet.

“You’re different,” Fallon grumbled.

“So? Find someone else who is also different. You need an assistant, Mr. Jones. Make hiring one a priority. Think of it as a puzzle that needs to be solved as soon as possible.”

“It would have to be someone I could trust with the Society’s secrets,” Fallon said, unconvinced.

“Of course. But it won’t be the first time. Keep in mind that the founder of J&J, Caleb Jones, eventually acquired a partner who became his wife. She was the second Jones in Jones & Jones, remember?”

“You don’t need to tell me my own family history. I’m sure as hell not looking for a wife.”