Falling Awake

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  She was about to start asking questions, lots of them, when she was distracted by a myriad of flashing lights.

  The sputtering neon sign that marked the Breakers Motel and the one that spelled out the words BAR and LIVE MUSIC were directly opposite each other. But neither of them provided the eye-dazzling strobe effects that dominated the scene. Those came from the emergency and police vehicles that sat at angles on the edge of the road, blocking traffic.

  A number of people, most in uniforms of one kind or another, were visible. A gurney was in the process of being loaded into the back of the ambulance. The victim’s face and body were entirely covered.

  “Accident,” Ellis said tersely.

  Isabel watched the doors of the ambulance close. A chill whispered through her. “A very bad one.”

  Ellis downshifted swiftly, slowing smoothly to a halt.

  A police officer, flashlight in hand, walked across the pavement to the Maserati. Ellis lowered the window.

  “Sir, the road is closed for an investigation. Hit-and-run. You’ll have to turn around.”

  “I’m headed for the motel,” Ellis said.

  “Okay.” The officer stood back and waved him into the parking lot entrance.

  Isabel could not take her eyes off the ambulance. “Ellis.”

  “Yeah?” He slipped the Maserati into a space close to room number eight.

  “There are no lights on in Gavin’s room,” she whispered.

  He glanced at her, frowning slightly as he shut down the engine. “Probably trying to keep a low profile.”

  “Maybe.” She gripped the edge of the seat on either side of her knees, staring hard at the ambulance. “But he said he was going to walk back to his room from the bar. You don’t think that . . .” She trailed off, not wanting to put her fears into words.

  Ellis turned to look at the scene on the road.

  “Damn,” he said very softly. “Stay here.”

  This time she did as he ordered, mostly because she did not want to hear the news that she felt certain he would bring back.

  Ellis got out of the car and walked through the rain to where the nearest cop stood directing traffic. There was a short conversation.

  When he returned to the Maserati, he leaned down to speak to her through the open window. His expression was grim.

  “It’s Gavin Hardy, all right. Hit-and-run. He’s dead. No witnesses. I told the cop that you knew Hardy because sooner or later it’s going to come out.”

  She swallowed hard and looked past him. Two officers had detached themselves from the main group and were coming across the motel parking lot.

  “I suppose those cops want to talk to us?” she said.

  “Good guess.”

  “What do we tell them?”

  “The truth. No more, no less. Hardy wanted to sell you some contact information for some of your former clients. You agreed to meet with him to discuss it. When you got here, you found the accident scene. That’s all you know.”

  The cops were closer now, only a few strides away.

  “What about the connection to Jack Lawson’s operation?” she whispered urgently.

  Ellis raised his brows in a politely quizzical expression. “Who’s Jack Lawson?”

  “What about your suspicion that one of the e-mail addresses belongs to that killer, Vincent Scargill?”

  “Guess I forgot to mention one small fact. Vincent Scargill is dead.”

  16

  the following afternoon Isabel sat with Tamsyn at one of the terrace tables outside the café at Kyler, Inc. The rain had stopped shortly before dawn, leaving a day that jarred and strained Isabel’s exhausted senses to the point of pain. The sky was too blue. The sun was too bright. The surface of the bay glittered as though it had been sprinkled with shards of broken mirrors. And then there was Tamsyn, vivid and energetic as ever, her expensive centerfold cleavage on display in her carefully styled Kyler blazer.

  It was all somewhat overwhelming after the long, depressing night, Isabel thought. A person could be expected to endure only so much bright stuff. In self-defense, she removed her regular glasses and reached into her purse for her prescription sunglasses. She positioned them firmly on her nose and immediately felt much better able to deal with Tamsyn and the overbright day.

  “I’m so sorry about your friend,” Tamsyn said. “What a horrible thing that must have been for you, coming across the accident scene the way you did.”

  “He wasn’t exactly a friend. He was a coworker at the center.”

  “If he was just an acquaintance, why did you feel you had to go visit him at one o’clock in the morning?”

  Good question, Isabel thought.

  “He said he was having financial troubles,” she murmured. With an effort of will, she picked up a fork and stabbed a slice of the avocado on her plate. There were a lot of valuable nutrients in avocados. She was in desperate need of nutrients today. “I felt sorry for him.”

  “And Ellis Cutler went with you?” Tamsyn asked, her voice a little too smooth.

  “He wasn’t spending the night with me if that’s what you’re asking. He was asleep at the inn when I called him. I didn’t want to go out to see Gavin Hardy alone at that hour.”

  “But you felt you could ask Cutler to accompany you?”

  “We had dinner together earlier in the evening,” Isabel said tensely. “We’d talked. I felt comfortable asking him, yes.”

  Tamsyn nodded but she did not look satisfied with the answer. “What are the cops saying about the accident?”

  “Not much. No one saw the car that ran down poor Gavin. But they figure that the force of the impact caused a fair amount of damage to the vehicle. They’re hoping for a tip, maybe from an auto repair shop. Meanwhile they’ve got nothing.”

  All things considered, the interview with the police had gone amazingly well. It was fascinating how far one could go with the truth and yet keep secrets if one wished to do so. In the end she and Ellis had been able to answer every question honestly without any references to a clandestine government agency or a dead man named Vincent Scargill.

  Yes, I knew Gavin Hardy. Yes, he said he needed money to pay off his gambling debts. Yes, I said I’d be willing to meet with him to discuss the possibility of paying him for contact information regarding some former clients. No, I never got the addresses. Mr. Cutler? He’s a business associate and a friend. I called him because I did not want to come out here alone in the middle of the night to meet Gavin. I’m sure you can understand. My job? I work at Kyler, Inc. . . .

  Tamsyn crossed her legs and picked up her latte. “What’s going on with you and Ellis Cutler, anyway?”

  “I told you, he’s a new client.”

  “With whom you had a date.”

  “Business dinner.”

  Tamsyn dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “One of the other instructors saw you two at a restaurant in town last night. She said it all looked very cozy.”

  Isabel put down her fork. “Why is everyone so concerned about my relationship with Ellis Cutler?”

  “So it is a relationship?”

  “Not the way you mean.” She picked up her teacup. “Not yet. But say, for the sake of argument, that it turns into the kind of relationship you’re talking about. What’s the problem? I would have thought you’d be thrilled for me.”

  “It’s obvious that he isn’t your type. You can’t blame me for being concerned.”

  “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  Isabel finished munching the avocado slice and swallowed. “Why does everyone say that Ellis isn’t my type?”

  Tamsyn frowned, evidently baffled by the question. “He just isn’t, that’s all. It’s obvious.”

  “Not to me.”

  “Isabel, this is me, your good buddy Tamsyn, remember? I’ve known you since college. You’re the one who warned me not to marry Dixson and you’re the one who helped me get out of the marriage after I realized that you were right about him be
ing abusive. I’m just trying to return the favor here.”

  “Don’t worry, Ellis is not an abusive man.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Positive.” She reflected on the brief discussion she and Ellis had had concerning Vincent Scargill very late last night on the way home. He didn’t go into any great detail, but he promised to tell her the whole story today. “He’s got issues. Who doesn’t? But being cruel is not among them. And you don’t owe me any favors. In fact, I owe you for getting me this position here at Kyler.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I most certainly do. In case you weren’t aware of it, there are not a lot of career opportunities for folks in my line. Furthermore, I’m skating on thin ice, financially speaking. I needed this job very badly and you and Leila are the ones who talked Farrell into giving me a shot at it. So I owe you.”

  “The class on dreams will be hot. I’m sure of it.” Concern darkened Tamsyn’s expression. “What do you mean, you’re on thin ice financially? Are we talking serious debt?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you were getting a decent salary at the Center for Sleep Research. Leila and Farrell kept saying that it was such a relief to know you were financially secure at last.”

  Isabel cleared her throat. “I made some investments.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t do something stupid in the stock market.”

  “I’m not in the market.”

  “Did you buy a house?” Tamsyn looked relieved. “That’s usually a good investment. I’m sure you’ll be able to sell it.”

  “Not a house.”

  “Well, then?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not discuss it.”

  There was no way Tamsyn would understand about the furniture, she thought. Neither would Leila or Farrell or her parents. You didn’t buy several thousand dollars’ worth of furniture when you didn’t have a house or an apartment in which to put it.

  “All right, keep your big secret,” Tamsyn said. “But I’ve got to tell you, you’re just making me that much more nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “For Pete’s sake, you’re involved with a guy who drives a Maserati.”

  “So?”

  “So you have a long history of dating men who drive boring cars.”

  Isabel smiled in spite of herself. “You know, you’re right. I never thought of it like that.”

  Tamsyn flattened her hands on the table. “Pay attention here. You are hanging out with a man who has no visible means of support, drives a very expensive car, wears hand-tailored shirts and is so eccentric he wants to pay you to analyze his dreams. Does any of this worry you?”

  Isabel thought about that. “My life certainly has gotten a lot more exciting lately.”

  “This isn’t a joke. Speaking as your friend, I think you should be very careful when it comes to dealing with Ellis Cutler.”

  Isabel thought about that, too. Then she picked up her fork and attacked her partially eaten salad with sudden enthusiasm.

  “Too late,” she said. “There’s no going back.”

  17

  hardy’s death was no accident.” Ellis lounged against the railing of the inn room’s small balcony and watched the play of sunlight on the bay. “I’m almost certain.”

  Lawson pondered briefly on the other end of the phone connection. “Almost certain?”

  “I don’t have any proof. But if we’re talking coincidence here, it’s a big one. What are the odds that he would get killed by a hit-and-run driver less than half an hour after he talked to Isabel?”

  “Long, I’ll grant you that much. Still, you said the guy was drunk, it was raining and the road was poorly lit.”

  “All true. But the timing stinks.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you on that point.” Lawson fell silent for a couple of seconds. “You said Hardy owed money in Vegas?”

  “Yes. But this isn’t the way those folks usually do things.”

  “True. Not good business. Can’t collect if the guy is dead. But some people might feel there’s value in making a point to other folks who owe money.”

  “Then they would have done something a little flashier. A hit-and-run on a lonely road late at night isn’t going to get a lot of attention outside the town where it happened.”

  “All right, for the sake of keeping this conversation going for another five minutes, let’s say that Hardy was murdered. What’s your best guess?”

  “Unknown Client Number Three,” Ellis said.

  “You’re sure there was a third client?”

  “That’s what Hardy told Isabel. No reason for him to make up something like that.”

  “And this Number Three maintained the same level of secrecy that you and I had?”

  “According to Hardy, the e-mail address was deeply encrypted.”

  “The old man never said a word about a third client,” Lawson muttered. “And here I thought Belvedere and I were pals. Must have worked together for damn near twenty years. Hard to believe he was holding out on me.”

  “You know as well as I do that all Martin Belvedere cared about was funding his research. If he kept silent about Client Number Three, it was probably because someone paid him enough to make it worth his while.”

  “Shit. Another agency. Has to be. No one else would have that kind of money to throw around.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the one who leaped to conclusions,” Ellis said.

  “The difference between my conclusions and yours is that I’ve got several decades’ worth of experience surviving in a government job to back me up. This is a cutthroat world. Everyone knows how hard it’s been to make the CIA and the FBI talk to each other and neither will talk to local law enforcement. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to interagency communication problems. There’s a lot of money and power at stake.”

  He’d heard all this before, Ellis thought. When Lawson got started on this particular rant it was very hard to stop him.

  “Uh, Lawson, maybe we should—”

  “I’m telling you, in my time I’ve seen government agencies spend more money and manpower trying to destroy a rival agency than they did on whatever project they were mandated to complete. Trust me, whoever he is, if he had enough money to buy Belvedere’s silence and cooperation, he’s got a taxpayer-based budget.”

  “Are you finished?” Ellis asked.

  “I need to find out the identity of that third client,” Lawson ground out. “He’s out to get me. I can feel it.”

  There it was, Ellis thought suddenly, the opening he’d been waiting for.

  “Sure, no problem,” he said smoothly. “It so happens that I’m available for another contract. Standard rate. Deal?”

  Lawson swore again and then heaved a resigned sigh. “Don’t look now, but your mercenary side is showing.”

  “It’s the side that pays for the good clothes and the nice car. Hell, what do you care how much I cost? Not like it’s your money.”

  “You’re a little too eager for this assignment,” Lawson said, suspicious.

  “I’m the best you’ve got available and you know it. I’m in place, I’ve got the background and I’m good.”

  “Don’t try to con me, Cutler. I’ve worked in government a lot longer than you have. I know more about conning people than you’ll ever learn.”

  “You want me to take this assignment or not?”

  “I know where you’re going with this and I don’t like it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Two words. Vincent Scargill. Listen to me, Ellis, you’re letting your crazy obsession with that bastard color everything you do. You won’t be able to think, let alone dream clearly, if you don’t step back from it.”

  “I’m not one of your agents anymore, Lawson. I don’t take orders from you.”

  Lawson groaned. “What the hell was I thinking, sending you after Isabel Wright?”

 
; “You were thinking that you could use her to distract me from looking for Vincent Scargill,” Ellis said. “And it worked, at least for a while. But not any longer.”

  There was a short pause.

  “How did she do when you two talked to the cops last night?” Lawson asked.

  “Relax, you’ve got nothing to worry about. She acted like a real pro. Answered all the questions truthfully but she didn’t give up anything that would have complicated your life.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Lawson said, sounding genuinely relieved. “I was afraid I might have to do some damage control this morning.”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s one bit of good news, at least.”

  “That’s one of the things I admire most about you, Lawson. You really know how to do the glass-half-full thing.” Ellis straightened away from the railing. “Don’t worry, I’ll find out who that third client is for you.”

  “Listen up, Cutler. You can have the assignment. Hell, you’re going to go looking for Number Three, anyway. But you’re supposed to be a professional. Don’t go doing anything stupid that will end up bringing down Frey-Salter. You need this place as much as all the other Level Fives need it.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  That seemed to appease Lawson a little. “I’ll talk to Beth and ask her to look into the circumstances surrounding Hardy’s death,” he said. “No sense in wasting your time on that front. She’s got the resources to do it discreetly. And she’s thorough.”

  “No argument there.”

  “Meanwhile, you concentrate on Isabel Wright. She may know more than she realizes or she may know someone else back at the center who can give you an angle on the identity of Client Number Three.”

  “True.”

  “Fine. Stick with Isabel Wright, then, and see what you can learn from her. She’s the best lead we’ve got.”

  “You’re trying to distract me again, Lawson. But it’s okay. I happen to agree with you. Isabel is my best hope.”

  18

  after Tamsyn left for a class, Isabel finished her salad and pushed the empty dishes out of the way. She opened the hefty instructor’s manual to Lesson Six: “Empower Your Students.”