The Collector (26 page)

Gina sighed. “You know how it works, Carin. I have no idea what that represents. It could be a clue leading to a clue that leads to another clue…or it could be my imagination.”

Carin frowned. “You have a powerful talent. Just like your mother.”

But Gina shook her head. “I am
nothing
like my mother.”

Carin sighed. “I meant it as a compliment. Now, how about some coffee?”

“I was hoping you weren’t staying that long.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” She lifted up her leather satchel. “You and I have some business together.”

Carin walked past Gina, heading toward the small kitchen they’d walked through on their way to the garage studio. “By the way, I take my coffee black.”

“Shocker,” she heard Gina say under her breath.

Gina didn’t need to voice the subtext:
Like your black, black heart
.

Again, Carin let out a deep sigh. She didn’t expect their meeting to improve Gina’s opinion.

D
avid Gospel stared down at the piece of paper on his desk. It was a perfect square, like one of those sheets used for origami. Even though it was spread open, it appeared crumpled, as if someone had grabbed it and crunched it into a ball—which was exactly what he’d done.

When he’d taken the moon cake to his car, out of nowhere a kid on one of those mountain bikes had sped down the street. In that instant, David had felt exposed to the eyes of a ready witness…and he’d panicked.

In one motion, he’d opened the trunk and dumped the moon cake wrapped in his handkerchief inside. The damn cake had rolled out. That’s when he’d seen the edge of the paper sticking out.

When he’d stood over Velvet’s dead body, looking into those dead eyes as he pried the moon cake from her mouth, he’d assumed a piece of the necklace would be tucked in that cake—just like the bead stuffed inside Mimi’s bird. But that’s not what he’d found.

Instead, a folded sheet had been forced into the moon cake. Once the kid had passed, David had taken the paper out and read the message with shaking hands.

There was one word scribbled on the paper:
Gotcha!

Just that.
Gotcha!

Actually, it was quite brilliant, forcing his hand like this. No doubt, the cops would figure out he’d tampered with the crime scene. Soon enough, some CSI asshole would come knocking on his door, shoving evidence under his nose.

He could just hear the district attorney during the trial on cross-examination.
Tell me, Mr. Gospel, why did you take that moon cake from the mouth of your dead mistress?

Thinking just that—how
fucked
he was—he’d been so angry, he’d totally lost it. Somebody was pulling the strings, engineering his demise. He’d taken evidence from a crime scene, basically pointing the finger to himself as the killer.

In another rash move, he’d balled up the paper and thrown it into the bushes.

Which was exactly where he’d found it after the cops impounded his car and clothes.

Once he was home, he’d spread the paper open on his desk. He’d spent a good hour just staring at it, realizing his mistake.

He’d failed to see that whoever had left the note had written on both sides of the paper.

The second message was eerily familiar:
That which is invisible is always the most dangerous.

Mimi’s warning at his last reading.

Someone knew entirely too much about his personal life.

As surely as they knew that David would take that moon cake, whoever planted it there as a decoy most certainly had left something else behind. He thought about poor Velvet’s defiled body, her intestines popping out from the stomach cavity. He’d made a couple of phone calls. His source at the police didn’t have anyone inside the coroner’s office. But it didn’t matter. David would bet money that they’d find something in poor Velvet that he’d missed.

He’d already called Rose Fletcher, one of the top criminal attorneys in L.A. She’d gotten him out of hot water before and he was counting on her to pull another rabbit out of the hat.

Last night, he’d had a long talk with Rocket, who’d confirmed he’d been with Owen the entire time the murders had been committed, which was good. Surprising, but good.

Only now, the only person who didn’t have an alibi was David himself.

That which is invisible…

As far as David was concerned, there was no one who could be that invisible. It was just a matter of time before he found the son of a bitch trying to destroy him. After that, David would be back in charge.

He’d been thinking just that—
you’re the man
—when he felt a presence behind him. On edge, he jerked around.

Meredith stood in the doorway. He must have forgotten to close his office door, something he would normally do.

Talk about losing it….

She was holding a tray with a coffee carafe, cup and saucer, and all the trimmings. “Maria just made some biscotti,” she said, in that breathy voice he hated. “I brought you some.”

He picked up a notebook and placed it on top of the crumpled paper. “Fine.”

She was wearing a flowing gown. Swear to God, it looked like a freaking muumuu on her. He wondered if she thought she could make up for her own lack with the yards of fabric.

He tried to recall those early years when her blond hair had been long and lustrous, her figure full. But he couldn’t connect this bag of skin and bones to those memories.

She placed the tray on his desk. There was a china bowl with sugar cubes and a tiny silver creamer. She poured him a cup of coffee, added one sugar and lots of cream, just the way he liked it. She followed up with the plate of biscotti. Only, when she finished, she didn’t leave. She stood there, hovering.

“What is it?” he asked. Shit. He didn’t have time to deal with his neurotic wife.

“I spoke to Rocket last night,” she said, surprising him. “He explained how you’re helping Owen.” She paused, the words almost too much for her. “I appreciate it, David. I most certainly do.”

He stared up at his wife, trying again to remember the woman he’d married. Jesus, how many times had he seen her do a line of coke? How often had he heard her scream in orgasm? But these days, his wife spoke like a Puritan.
I most certainly do.
…

“Rocket called you?”

She nodded. “He wanted to make sure I understood. We’re all in this together.”

David stared up at his wife, nonplussed. Someone had stolen the Eye. They were trying to frame him for the death of three women. And Rocket, dear Rocket, was trying to save his marriage?

“Meredith,” he said. “Let me be very clear. At this point, I don’t give a shit what happens to Owen.”

She looked as if he’d hit her. “Then why call Rose Fletcher—”

“It’s me, Meredith. They think I killed those women.”

She cocked her head like a bird, the very idea that he could be any sort of threat completely foreign to her.

After a while, she spoke. “I know you don’t love me, David.”

Oh, shit. Here we go again.

“But we must stand united as a family, just like Rocket said.” She paused, as if choosing her words carefully. “Whatever you need, David. As long as Owen is safe, you’ll have my support.” Those dull blue eyes met his. “Do you understand, David? Anything.”

She reached out with an ice-cold hand and gripped his on the desk, as if the statement needed emphasis. “I’ll come back for the tray later.”

In shock, he watched her turn and walk out of the room. Had she really said what he thought?

Anything….

But there was no mistaking her intentions. That tone, the look in her eyes.

“Fuck me,” he said under his breath.

Who knew the bitch could still be of use to him?

He picked up the phone and called Rose. Her secretary put him through immediately.

He said into the phone to his attorney, “I have an alibi.”

It took only one sip of Gina’s coffee to let Carin know she was dealing with a caffeine aficionado.

She put down her cup. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

Gina didn’t even pretend to care.

With a sigh of regret, Carin reached for the file she’d been given. She turned to the first highlighted passage.

“‘There were eyes everywhere,’” Carin read from the transcript of Gina’s interview with homicide. “‘And there was something in her mouth. Something very old—very powerful. And small. Blue. No red. Perhaps made of glass.’”

When Gina didn’t respond, she said, “At that point, they began video taping you. You articulated a perfect description of one of the beads from the Eye.” When Gina still didn’t respond, Carin added, “There’s also a sketch.” She placed the pencil drawing on the table, the one Gia Moon had delivered to the police.

“It’s very accurate,” Carin said.

Estelle had confided in only a few people the intimate details of the Eye, what it looked like and how it worked. Certainly, her daughter was one of those people, but the drawing was almost too real, as if Gina had actually seen it, held it—something Carin had never had the opportunity to do.

The minute Carin had seen the sketch she’d begun to wonder. When and where had Gia seen the Eye? But her question was met with only silence and an almost obstinate glare.

“Of course,” Carin said, “you would have to pretend you knew nothing about the artifact. Obviously, you’ve gone to great lengths to hide here.” She indicated the kitchen, the house. “In plain sight, as they say. I just want to know what else you’re hiding.”

Gina turned her coffee cup in her hands. Carin could almost see the wheels turning.
Do I trust her?

“Have you heard from Thomas?” Carin asked, pushing a little.

Gina glanced up at the clock in the kitchen above Carin’s head. “I think it took you all of fifteen minutes to bring out the heavy artillery. That’s got to be some kind of record for you.”

Carin could see immediately she’d made a mistake. “Have I ever held back?”

“I don’t know where the Eye is, Carin. If that’s why you’re here, you’re wasting your time. So don’t bother with the veiled threats.”

Carin didn’t know how she’d expected Gina to react when she mentioned Thomas. But she wasn’t here to threaten anyone. “Your mother was the only person in this world who gave me hope. If Thomas finds you, it won’t be through me.”

“You have what you came for, then,” Gina said, referring, no doubt, to the painting. “You can show yourself out.”

Carin nodded, seeing that her olive branch had done no good. She packed up the sketch and transcript. “We’ll keep in touch.”

Terrence had warned Carin.
Don’t go in like a bull in a china shop
.

Outside, she took out her cell phone as she walked toward the rental car she’d parked outside Gina’s house. She punched in the number for the coroner’s office. She knew how to cut through the red tape.

In less time than it took for Carin Barnes to get inside her rental and start the engine, she was talking to the coroner.

“Check everything in the stomach cavity of Velvet Tien,” she said into the cell phone. “Call me as soon as you find it.”

T
homas Crane was reading through The Lunites Web site. The board had lit up like the Fourth of July with the breaking news: there’d been another killing in the case of the fortune-teller.

Two murders, actually, from the accounts picked up by the wire services. This time, it was the fortune-teller and her lawyer client who’d been slaughtered…in the middle of a reading, judging from the I Ching yarrow sticks found on the floor.

The murders were incredibly brutal, including what looked like a ritual evisceration. But what captivated Thomas the most was the fact that the police were working with a psychic by the name of Gia Moon.

“Aren’t you a clever girl, Gina.”

After all these years, he’d fucking found her.

Even the thought of seeing her again, the anticipation, was laced with rage, No one could make him angrier than Gina.

They’d met that summer at Estelle’s dig site. Gina didn’t advertise that she was Estelle’s daughter. It was Estelle herself who had given him the news.

He remembered as if it was yesterday, instead of twelve years ago.
Don’t you break my baby’s heart,
Estelle had said with a wink.

At first, he thought the relationship could be advantageous. No way would Estelle play ball with the likes of David Gospel, selling the Eye to a private collector if she should ever get her hands on it. Thomas had thought that if he had Gina on his side…

As things turned out, Gina’s love was worth shit. Pure shit. She’d crapped all over him.

Ever since he’d met that bitch it was like someone had dropped the fucking A-bomb on him. Wasn’t it her fault Estelle was dead? She’d filled her mother’s head with these great aspirations. Estelle wanted to find a place for psychics in society, trying to make a “better world” for her little girl. Once she found the Eye, Estelle planned to use it to give normal people “the psychic experience,” as she called it. Forget faith; once and for all people could see it up close and personal. Psychics would no longer be those bizarre beings nobody believed. With the Eye, the paranormal would practically be a science.

But thanks to Gina, Thomas ended up losing both Gospel’s money and the Eye. He hadn’t counted on Estelle leaving her “psychic” clues for her daughter. Here she was carrying his child, but did that stop Gina from turning him in? To get his ass out of jail and back home in one piece, it had cost him almost every penny Gospel gave him.

As his anger grew, Thomas noticed the creeping scent of sulfur filling the air. He closed his eyes and lifted his hands off the keyboard, knowing what was coming. The last thing he saw was that photograph of Gina on his screen saver.

He woke up on the floor. As he slowly rose to his feet, the memory of what had triggered the attack came over him.

He groggily climbed back into his chair. He checked the postings again, making sure he had it right. That the name Gia Moon on the screen wasn’t some sort of delusion.

Thomas smiled. Sometimes, if a man was patient, life might just hand him a gift. And this was a gift.

He’d been forced into this low, hidden life by Gina. She’d stripped him of everything. Even his dreams. He could close his eyes this very minute and she’d be there, taunting him, always whispering with a beguiling smile,
One day I will be the end of you, Thomas
.

“Not if I get to you first.”

In Greece, he’d found out she’d been the one to tip off the police before she’d disappeared. If she’d stuck around—if he’d killed her in the heat of passion—that mistake could have earned him a life sentence. Now, he had time to plan.

Like mother, like daughter.

He smiled. Someone was killing psychics?

He picked up the phone. “Imagine that.”

Stella was crying. That in itself made Gia’s job more difficult. Stella never cried.

“I don’t want to go. Something horrible is going to happen. That’s why you’re sending me away. You’re trying to protect me. And you can’t.”

Stella had refused to pack, but her mother had been way ahead of her, doing the packing for her. She’d contacted Stella’s school, completed the necessary forms for her daughter to attend school where she’d be staying.

The hardest part: calling Morgan and setting the rules.
She doesn’t even accept her gifts—don’t push her
. Gia didn’t know how much she could trust her ambitious father and his band of psychics-with-doctoral-degrees.

“You won’t even tell me what’s going on!”

Gia pulled her daughter into her arms, hugging her. “Because it’s nothing.”

“Nothing” that came in the form of a newspaper article, exposing Gia Moon to the world.

“I can handle this,” she whispered. “Okay?”

But when she looked into her daughter’s eyes, she only saw Stella’s fears.

“What if I could help?” Stella whispered.

Gia smiled. “A mark of true desperation—you admitting you actually have psychic abilities.”

The girl knuckled the tears from her eyes, impatient with her own emotions. She was the little warrior, ready to take on anyone. “If you need me, yeah. Okay.”

Gia kissed the top of her head. “Of course I need you, sweetheart. But not like that. I’ll be fine. I swear.”

A necessary lie, she told herself. What good would it do to worry Stella?

But Gia knew she was on shaky moral ground…not exactly new territory for her. Not since her first vision with Mimi Tran through the eyes of her demon killer. She hadn’t been able to help those women. Her gift—knowledge of the future without the power to change it—made her that much more culpable.

Now Carin was on the scene, threatening her. Because Carin was dead right; there were things Gia couldn’t tell Stella or Seven or anyone else, for that matter. Not if she wanted to keep her daughter safe.

Still holding her, she made a silent vow that she would be ready…and she had little enough time to prepare. She’d read the article in the paper this morning, just like everyone else.

Cops Use Psychic in Fortune-teller Murders.

By now, the information would have spread through blogs and Web sites, delivered with the ease of a high-speed connection.

The truth was, ready or not, he would come.