Amaryllis (38 page)

An hour later Lucas paused by a public phone on the way out of the restaurant. He dialed Amaryllis's number, hoping that she would still be awake. He wanted to talk to her. More and more he found himself wanting to share things with her. Tonight he wanted to tell her about Dillon.

Instead, he got a message on her answering machine: “This is Amaryllis Lark. I am not able to come to the phone right now. If this is Lucas, I'm in Founders Square. Vivien called and told me she wanted to talk. Don't worry, I took a cab. I'll call and tell you all about it when I get home.”

“Damn.” Lucas slammed down the phone.

Dillon glanced at him. “What's wrong?”

“I have to go to Founders Square.” Lucas headed for the front door. “Don't forget. Report to employment tomorrow.”

“Don't worry,” Dillon called after him. “I won't forget.”

Without warning, a fresh surge of fierce, questing talent swept out of the darkness behind Amaryllis.

This was a new talent, not the one that had been hunting her.

Strong power searched for a prism and
demanded
a mind link. The shock of stunning intimacy that accompanied the whip of psychic energy identified the source immediately.

Lucas. He was somewhere in the building.

Amaryllis crouched between what seemed to be two large wooden crates and almost sobbed with relief. The brief flare of hot talent winked out of existence before she could unlock her own damped down power.

Frustrated by having missed the opportunity to link with Lucas, she fought the compulsion to rise to her feet and scream his name aloud. Even as the dangerous thought occurred to her, she experienced another brush from a slimy tongue of talent.

The killer was still here with her in the darkness.

Amaryllis forced herself to think. She had to let Lucas know that she was nearby. She readied herself so that she would be able to link with him the next time he sought her out.

It occurred to her that there might be some risk involved in using her prism capabilities to identify herself to Lucas.

She had no fear that the murderer would seize the link during those first few seconds of disoriented vulnerability. In spite of her affection for psychic vampire romances, she was too well schooled in the focus sciences to believe that a rogue talent could actually take control of her.

The real hazard in linking with Lucas right now was that the killer might be able to get an approximate fix on her location during those few seconds when her mind was open.

But she had to do something, Amaryllis thought. If Lucas did not find her with his psychic search, he might conclude
that she had left the building. He would never know about the danger that was closing in on her.

Lucas's dark whisper of power unfurled through the shadows once more. Amaryllis mentally leaped for it, caught it as if it were a swinging trapeze, and formed the link. Talent surged through a prism in a display of chaotic light. Amaryllis wondered if this was the psychic color of relief or anger or frustration. There was no way to tell. But at least Lucas now knew she was nearby.

It was unfortunate that there was no such thing as telepathy, she thought. It would have been very useful to be able to have a quick chat with Lucas at that particular moment.

She was trying to think of a way to use the psychic connection to warn him of danger when the scent of a man's cologne wafted toward her through the shadows. It shattered her concentration so completely that she dropped the link.

The booming music masked sound but not smell. The masculine fragrance drifted past her nose again. It was vaguely familiar. Definitely not Lucas. He did not use any cologne.

The killer was close. Much too close. She wondered if he could smell the fear she knew she must be exuding like some dreadful perfume of her own.

She put out a hand, groping cautiously for something that she could use as a weapon. There was nothing on the floor beside her. With the music as a cover for any sound she might make, she rose slowly to her feet and felt for one of the crates.

The lid on the nearest one was open. There were objects inside. Hard objects.

Amaryllis selected one at random. She had no idea what it was, only that it seemed to be made of metal and it fit her grasp.

She sensed rather than saw something move in front of her. The smell of the expensive cologne was very strong in her nostrils.

She swung wildly with the long, heavy object that she had
taken from the crate. Her makeshift weapon thudded against flesh.

“Uuumph.”

Amaryllis did not wait to see the results of her handiwork. She dropped the metal object and bounded forward into the shadows. Her toe caught on something, a foot, perhaps. There was a muffled curse. She leaped aside and nearly fell.

She was totally disoriented in the darkness. The roar of the music was her only guide. She went toward it, hands outstretched to ward off any collisions with crates, stage props, or killers. She came to a jarring halt when one palm touched stone.

A wall.

Using her sense of touch, she made her way along the stone barrier. The music grew louder. She turned a corner and saw a sliver of light beneath a heavy blue stage curtain. The music was thundering in her ears now.

At that moment Lucas attempted another mind link. She knew from the strength of his energy thrust that he was very, very close. Amaryllis responded as she fumbled to find an opening in the curtain.

She felt a hemmed edge and yanked it aside.

Intense white light blinded her. The music was deafening.

Amaryllis blundered out onto the stage, blinking furiously against the brilliant light. The drummer saw her first. He shouted something at her, but she could not hear a word he said.

Two couples, one garbed in matching black leather and hoods, the other nattily attired in a few strategically placed silver sequins, simulated some very energetic sexual gymnastics at the front of the stage. Moans of excitement emanated from the audience.

Two handsome young men in red tights and flowing blond hair stood in one corner of the stage. Their faces were contorted with grimaces as they did an excellent impression of focusing the sexual energy that was being expended on stage.

It was obvious from the feverish sounds produced by the
audience and the rising throb of the music that a climax, both literal and figurative, was close at hand.

Amaryllis ran to the front of the stage. The performers ignored her as she came to a halt in their midst. She frantically waved her arms to get their attention.

“Stop. Stop. There's been a murder. A killer is loose in the building.” She realized that no one could hear her above the relentless music. “
Stop.
”

The audience, apparently concluding that she was part of the act, went into a frenzy. The performers rose to the occasion in several senses of the word. Sequins and portions of black leather underwear fell to the stage at Amaryllis's feet. The musicians redoubled their efforts.

Out of the corner of her eye, Amaryllis saw a figure stagger through the dark blue curtain and emerge onto the stage. He stood there, dazed and blinking in the unrelenting glare. He clutched his shoulder with one hand. His hair was standing on end, and his elegant suit was rumpled, but there was no mistaking his identity.

Madison Sheffield.

He spotted Amaryllis at the same instant that she recognized him. Rage replaced the confusion in his eyes. He took one step toward her and then apparently realized that he was standing in front of an audience. He swung around and tried to flee back through the stage curtain.

Lucas came through the heavy velvet drapes in a long, low rush. He plowed straight into Sheffield. The two men crashed to the floor and rolled toward the front of the stage.

The musicians went wild. The overworked sound system shrieked in protest. Amaryllis could smell the performers' sweat.

Lucas managed to straddle Sheffield. He slammed a fist into the senator's jaw.

The audience went orgasmic.

“Vivien was obviously blackmailing Sheffield with the contents of the file that Professor Landreth left with her.” Amaryllis, seated on the sofa in front of Lucas's exotic fireplace, pulled up her knees and hugged them. She still
shivered from time to time, even though the room was warm. “It's hard to believe.”

“I'm sure Sheffield's hoping the cops will find it hard to believe, too.” Lucas picked up the two glasses of moontree brandy that he had just poured and walked toward Amaryllis. “He told the police that the reason he happened to be backstage at the SynCity tonight was because he was investigating the club's activities. Fulfilling a campaign promise, as it were.”

Amaryllis gave a ladylike snort. “Likely story. He can hardly deny his motive for murder now that they've found what's left of the file.”

Lucas nodded as he sat down beside her. “It was in the restroom sink. That was the source of the smoke you smelled. Sheffield apparently tried to burn the file after he shot Vivien, but he must have had trouble keeping the fire going. It was a charred mess, but his name was all over what remained, together with a lot of observations about his lack of ethics. All neatly typed and annotated, I might add. Nothing illegal, but the accusations of unethical behavior could have ruined him.”

“Professor Landreth was always very thorough. Well, so much for the expertise of Mr. Stonebraker. He never did find the file. I had to do it myself.”

Lucas raised his brows. “That's one way of looking at it.”

“I trust he'll give you a refund.”

“I'll be sure to ask for it.”

Amaryllis frowned. “Professor Landreth realized that Senator Sheffield was focusing in an unethical manner. He documented it in that file. But why did he give the file to Vivien?”

“Landreth was probably afraid that Sheffield would try to snatch the file before he was ready to go public with his accusations.” Lucas cradled the brandy glass in both hands. He gazed thoughtfully into the fire. “He must have figured that no one would think of searching for the evidence in the dressing room of a syn-sex stripper.”

“He was right. Poor Vivien. She must have realized that she was in danger tonight. That's why she phoned me. But I
got there too late to save her. I wonder if she called the guard?”

“Wouldn't have done any good. The cops found the guard a block away getting drunk in a bar. Said some guy gave him a hundred bucks to get lost for a couple of hours.”

“Sheffield was safe. With the music pounding away, there was no way anyone would have heard the shot.”

“No.” Lucas put down his brandy glass and reached out to catch Amaryllis's chin on the edge of his hand. His eyes were more intense than the jelly-ice flames on the hearth. “You should never have gone to that club tonight. Do you know what I've been through?”

“Now, Lucas, I had to do something when Vivien called. There was no time to track you down at the restaurant.”

“Damn it, I went through all five hells when I got that message on your answering machine. And that was nothing compared to what I endured when I realized that you were somewhere in the darkness behind the stage. The alley door was locked. I had to find and break a window to get into the back of the club. You should have called the cops if you couldn't find me.”

“In retrospect, I can see that you have a point.”

“A point? I've got more than a point. I've got the whole damn argument.”

“Lucas, be reasonable. I didn't know that Vivien was in imminent danger. She didn't tell me that. All she said was that things were getting a little out of hand. One would think that if she had felt she was in real jeopardy, she would have called the police herself.” Amaryllis paused. “Come to think of it, why didn't she do just that?”

“Because, as you just pointed out, she was a blackmailer. At any rate, that's not what I want to discuss here.”

The phone rang.

Amaryllis smiled brightly. “Better get that. It might be the police. They may have a few more questions to ask you.”

“I've already answered more than enough questions tonight.” But Lucas released her to grab the phone. “This is Trent. Oh, hello, Stonebraker. We were just talking about you. Amaryllis tells me I should get a refund.”

Lucas fell silent as he listened to whatever Stonebraker was saying on the other end of the line. Amaryllis sipped her moontree brandy and stared into the fire. It was nearly three in the morning, but she still did not feel normal. Her pulse no longer pounded, and she was able to breathe properly, but she felt strange. Exhausted, yet unnaturally, painfully alert. She was practically tingling with an overstimulated sense of awareness. Memories of the evil, questing tongue of talent flickered at the edge of her mind.

“Interesting,” Lucas murmured. “Possible. Yeah, don't worry, Amaryllis gave the cops a stern lecture about the necessity of reopening an investigation into the circumstances of Landreth's death. I think they'll do it.” He paused again. “Right. Talk to you later.”

Amaryllis looked at him as he hung up the phone. “Well? What did your brilliant private investigator have to say?”

Lucas's mouth curved faintly. “He said he'll consider the refund when he gets around to billing me.”

“I should think so. What else did he have to say?”

Lucas stopped smiling. “He said he just learned that the New Portland city police picked up Merrick Beech late this afternoon. Miranda Locking was with him. They were boarding a plane to the Western Islands.”

“Beech and Locking? Did they have anything to do with tonight's events?”

“Doesn't look like it. But they apparently admitted that they paid those thugs who attacked us that first night in Founders Square.” Lucas stretched his legs out in front of him. His face was grim. “Said something about wanting to teach me a lesson.”

Amaryllis shivered. “That's the last of the answers then. For both of us.”