Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic

by Patricia Rice

  Sitting on his couch, back straight, ankles properly crossed, she went over the financial statements one line at a time while her father crankily rolled his wheelchair back and forth behind the Empire-style table he used as desk.

  Her father was still a large man, with a barrel chest and a full head of curly iron-gray hair. He had fists that could—and had—hammered nails. The stroke had left one side of his face drooping, but his energy was returning. It was hard to imagine he wasn’t pacing as usual. Only the fact that he was limiting his speech instead of bellowing and orating gave real evidence of his disabilities.

  “Revenue is dropping,” he growled huskily. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  There it was—the great pitfall in the task he’d assigned her. Dorrie let the papers fall to her lap. Conan had said she needed to stand up to her father. He was right, damn him. This was the line over which she could not cross.

  “I can hire a professional fundraiser,” she suggested, rather than flat out tell him she couldn’t do anything about it, that she was a clerk, not a charismatic personality capable of persuading money out of pockets.

  “They take half of anything they raise,” her father protested, pronouncing his words slowly and carefully so they slurred only a little. The result wasn’t much better than his usual furious shouts. “You have to make calls, make contacts, see and be seen, attend other functions—”

  Dorrie remembered almost dying on the bluffs, took a deep breath, and said, “No.”

  Her father continued wheeling back and forth, tapping his energetic hands on the chair arms. If he heard her, he gave no indication. “I can make calls, get some invitations. We could do a matching grant—if Franklin Real Estate donates X number of dollars, will you match it? I’ll call around.”

  She’d told him no and the world hadn’t ended. She hadn’t escaped the gerbil wheel either. One small step at a time. “That’s an excellent idea, Papa. You can organize the fundraisers. I’ll run the office. We’re a good team.” Since the stroke, her father was easily diverted. Dorrie rose and returned the reports to the table as if she’d answered his questions.

  “Wait a minute.” He spun the chair to face her. “We’re not done. What’s Zimmer telling me…missing funds? He fired … bookkeeper.” He lost words when he became overexcited.

  Dorrie maintained her neutral expression, trying not to drive her volatile father into higher blood pressure. “Zimmer overstepped his boundaries. I rehired Tillie. The funds have been disappearing since long before her arrival. In fact, she discovered them. We have an audit team coming in tomorrow, and Mr. Oswin is looking for any security breaches. If Mr. Zimmer continues going to you behind my back, I will have to fire him.”

  Well, that wasn’t an announcement meant to placate Ryan’s temper, but if she was stuck running the foundation against her better instincts, she’d have to make the best of it. Her father’s energies overwhelmed the room and nearly shoved her against the wall, but she’d had years of practice at withstanding the push. Usually, she just ran. Staying was harder. Maybe in a few hundred years she might develop a spine.

  “Zimmer…my eyes…ears over there!” he shouted. “…doing zactly what I pay…to do.”

  “Then perhaps you should put Zimmer in charge,” she replied, outwardly nonchalant. “Or you should return to the office. But while I’m in charge, Tillie stays. I have to go now. Shall I take you out for dinner?” She kissed her father’s cheek as if they weren’t at their usual polar opposites. The doctors had said he was well enough to be out and about, but so far, he’d refused.

  “Got date here,” her father admitted. “Don’t fire Zimmer.”

  “Not without your permission,” she agreed. “When will you introduce me to your lady friend?”

  Ryan snorted. “Bring home a husband to run the company.”

  That was an old joke. She patted his big hand and walked away. Her father had set her up with any number of eligible bachelors capable of running Franklin Realty. The problem being that anyone capable of running the company was too much like her father and exactly what she didn’t want in a man.

  Conan Oswin was probably capable of running anything he wanted, but Dorrie thought he was more interested in going his own way than following in her father’s footsteps. Either way, he was too strong for her.

  Case in point—as she departed the home, she found Conan in the parking lot, leaning against his batmobile, arms crossed, waiting for her. How had he learned where her father was staying?

  Stupid question. He probably rifled through the foundation’s files and found the address.

  Better question—why was he here? Maybe she was learning a few pointers from his take-no-prisoners attitude.

  “I thought I left you hacking the Air Force,” she said nonchalantly, heading for her Prius.

  “What’s your thoughts on breaking and entering?” he inquired as she brushed past him.

  “Illegal.” She stopped and offered him a look of exasperation. “Why?”

  “I want a look around Adams Engineering. Sometimes computer files aren’t enough.”

  The wind lifted the hank of hair falling over his shades, revealing a frown. He’d replaced his work shirt with a hoodie, but he didn’t look like a teenager. His casual clothes and sexy crossed-arm stance might have fooled her into relaxing, but now that she paid attention, she could tell his chi was unusually focused. He wasn’t posing for her benefit. He probably wasn’t even noticing her except as a means to whatever end he had in mind. He was terrifyingly single-minded.

  Which raised her curiosity. She was as bad as he was.

  “You found something and you don’t want to tell me,” she guessed. “Are they a front for terrorists and somehow Bo got mixed up with them?”

  “That’s a distant possibility,” he agreed. “I prefer not to make judgments until I have the facts. I’m neither engineer or accountant. I can’t interpret their financial or their research files. I just don’t like the way they smell.”

  He glared at her in a manner that she could almost label defiant, as if he was daring her to doubt him. Odd, but interesting. “So we’re going to sniff around and see if we can find the source of the stench?” she asked with curiosity.

  “Something like that.” His uptight tension relaxed when she didn’t argue. “I cased the closest facility. It’s not one of their larger operations, probably not an important one since it’s surrounded by only chain link fencing and a single security guard. There aren’t any cars there on a Sunday, so I’m guessing if you tell the guard your kitty cat crawled through the fence, he might let you in.”

  “Me? You want me to break and enter? By myself?” Dorrie debated whether she should be outraged or gratified that he thought her capable of such an insane stunt.

  “No, I want you to distract the guard while I climb over the back fence. I want a good look at the building. If I need more, I’ll come back another time.” He didn’t fidget or in any other way indicate this was important to him.

  “You want me to be a decoy.” She frowned, then remembered the reason he was doing this. “You don’t think Bo and Magnus are in there?” she asked in horror. “Do you really think it’s not a legitimate firm?”

  “I told you, I don’t make judgments until I have facts. But Adams had the contract for the experimental helicopter, so Bo and Magnus were essentially working for them.”

  “You know something you’re not telling me,” she accused, finally deciphering that underlying current of strain she felt but couldn’t see. “You wouldn’t be doing this otherwise.”

  Of course, she knew things she wasn’t telling him, so she supposed that made them even. She didn’t even know why she was protesting. She wanted to find Bo.

  Conan lingered, arms crossed, gaze hidden by his shades as if he waited for her to process his outrageous request.

  Dorrie wished she had a smoothie to fling at him. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  Chapter 15

  As he�
�d driven over to meet Dorrie at the retirement home, Conan had considered testing her odd instincts, but he wasn’t certain exactly what she reacted to. The night of the tire slashing, she’d said someone hated her. He couldn’t create a setup like that on his own for the sake of experimentation. And he definitely wasn’t letting her near any more crumbling cliffs to replay that heart-stopping episode. He couldn’t even tell if she knew the full extent of her other-than-normal abilities.

  She didn’t seem to be reacting to his suggestion that they do a little B&E. Did that mean she didn’t sense a problem or that he was all off about her knowing when something bad was going down?

  Judging from her family history, Conan expected psychic resources of some sort. Her maternal line was littered with weirdnesses—including her mother’s death at the hands of a demento who swore Mei Ling Franklin had put a hex on him. The killer had been Chinese and presumably superstitious. Instinct said something was wrong about the news report files, but Conan hadn’t had time to dig deeper. He’d been more interested in Dorrie’s family.

  Forty years ago, her Chinese immigrant grandparents had been sued for breach of proprietary information—her grandmother had revealed that a Silicon Valley corporation for which her husband worked was developing a product that would endanger the environment.

  Exposing a dangerous product before it was on the market had to be a first, especially since the suit disclosed that Grandpa Ling worked in accounting and had no knowledge of the technology or research, and Grandma Ling was a housewife. The jury didn’t believe Grandmother Ling’s claim that she was psychic, but neither could they prove she had access to the secret files that did, indeed, reveal questions about potential environmental consequences. She got off free, but Conan suspected it had been a close call. Weird, but nothing provable.

  Like Pippa and her siren voice.

  He hadn’t found a connection between Dorrie’s family and his sister-in-law’s, but he knew the California Malcolms on Pippa’s family tree were littered with similar incidents. People with weird gifts felt obligated to use them, and the rest of the world didn’t deal well with the result.

  Just as witches had been hung and burned in past ages—people feared what they didn’t understand.

  The descendants of Dorrie’s maternal grandparents had other, although not quite as dramatic, oddities similar to the lawsuit. Conan guessed that once the Ling family had established itself in positions of importance, it was easier to be subtle about what they knew.

  Psychic abilities were not logical. But Conan wanted the facts before saying they were impossible. Except the damned woman wouldn’t talk to him or trust him, so he couldn’t even prove Dorrie had Malcolm connections. Maybe there was a Chinese version of the family.

  Conan had Dorrie follow him in her own car to the engineering office. Their target was in a failed industrial park on a railroad spur in an ageing warehouse section of the city. Most of the deteriorating buildings were graffiti-covered and unused. Empty lots littered with trash surrounded the low Adams structure, but this one building was neat, guarded, and obviously occupied.

  According to plan, Dorrie stopped at the gate while Conan cruised past. Her overstuffed bright blue Prius was sufficient distraction all on its own. In his rearview mirror, he could see the guard stepping up to talk to her. Conan hoped she was good at lying.

  He drove around to a side street and hid his very visible car behind bushes overgrowing an abandoned parking lot. He could keep an eye on Dorrie from here and still observe the building. The chain link was no real obstacle as long as it wasn’t wired, and he’d already tested that. Adams Engineering apparently wasn’t paranoid enough to believe anyone would break in.

  The late October sun heated his hoodie as he watched Dorrie spend an inordinate amount of time telling the guard about her nonexistent cat. She cupped her elbows and seemed to hug herself as she talked. Conan frowned at that unusual gesture. She was wearing one of her business outfits today, and she was usually stiff and formal when she had her hair up. Despite the warmth of the October sun, she appeared to be shivering. Was she getting cold feet?

  She gestured toward some bushes. He couldn’t tell the difference between a jacaranda and a eucalyptus except by their spelling. The shrubs she indicated had long branches, thick leaves, and bright flowers that could conceal a good-sized cat.

  The guard opened the gate. Conan eased into place, hoping distance would prevent the guard from noticing him. He didn’t want to let Dorrie out of his sight.

  Instead of entering, she glanced nervously at the fence, spoke to the guard, and returned to her car. Conan swore under his breath, but she merely produced another of her damned wind chimes. This one appeared to consist of bamboo tubes.

  He didn’t know what the hell kind of explanation she was giving the guard, but the guy was nicely diverted and didn’t stop her when she carried the contraption through the gate. The creep was checking out her ass, and Conan wanted to punch out his lights, but she hadn’t given him the right to do so. He’d see about that later.

  He was up and over and hidden behind a shed before they could even glance his way.

  ***

  As Dorrie entered the parking lot, the force lines inside the gate overwhelmed her, sweeping her along on a powerful tsunami of energy. She couldn’t possibly differentiate the sources of negativity, but the bad vibes jangled her nerves. Of course, she picked up bad vibes at the office, so this wasn’t precisely an indicator of anything except the existence of people and earth—in a building that looked empty.

  There were no cars in the parking lot. There shouldn’t be any people to create such force. Perhaps the land here was polluted and she was reacting to that?

  She was jittery about being swamped by a seemingly uninhabited building. Her skin crawled. The bamboo chimes diffused some of the power, but she was still having a hard time forcing herself to pretend to hunt for an invisible cat.

  The guard watched her jingle wind chimes as if she were crazy, but she didn’t much care. She glanced toward the bushes where she’d seen Conan park, but she couldn’t see him or the car. She hoped he could get out the same way he got in.

  He’d told her to leave quickly, that his getting out wasn’t a problem. She assumed that meant he didn’t care if the guard saw him leaving, that he’d be gone before anyone could catch him. But if there were other people here besides the guard…

  She felt a rumble beneath her feet, a sense of disturbance in the air, and noticed the security cameras at the same time. The spike of urgency in the energy field was an alarm all its own. Someone had seen them. She had to warn Conan to leave now.

  “Casper!” she shouted at the invisible kitty, batting at the oleander branches and raising her voice in hopes Conan could hear. “Casper, get out of there now!”

  She almost fell backward in surprise when a gray tabby darted from the shrubbery, straight across the parking lot, and toward the building.

  She shrieked as further warning, then raced after the cat, almost tripping over a crack in the concrete. She could feel the energy shifting, changing—just as a black Lincoln rolled into the parking lot. Could Conan see the car?

  The cat scampered toward a badly pruned hawthorne hedge along the building’s foundation. Conflicting energies bombarded her as she tried to corner the animal against the building. She concentrated on catching the cat and hoping Conan had the sense to escape unseen. She just prayed she could pull off the lie she’d given because there was no chance she could turn invisible if the guard came after her.

  She’d never done anything this improper in her life. She could barely breathe for fear.

  Dropping her chimes, she reached beneath the thorny hedge and grabbed the terrified kitten. It bit, hissed, and scratched, and she had to shoot mental energy arrows at it until he settled down and narrowed his green eyes at her. She stroked his head and apologized to the kitty as she emerged from the greenery to greet two men in black suits.

  Black suits. In
Southern California. So very uncool.

  She shivered under their negativity, but she supposed if she’d just caught an intruder in a gated parking lot, she’d be unhappy, too. A pity she couldn’t read them better than that.

  Her father had often complained that she didn’t smile enough, resulting in the same inscrutability that her mother had wielded to good effect. Dorrie had never considered that a problem. She didn’t smile to placate the goons now. She merely gathered her wind chimes and bruised dignity and gave them a grave nod. “I apologize for my intrusion, but Casper ran out the door when my boyfriend’s dog chased him. I’m not certain whether to get rid of the boyfriend or the cat.”

  They didn’t smile at her joke.

  They did let her breeze past, stroking the kitten. She figured that was disbelief pouring off of them, but what could they do? Their guard had let her in. She was leaving. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Although she was now wondering why a seemingly empty building needed heavy security.

  Maybe one developed spines from constant stiffening in the face of conflict. She thought her stomach pressed against her backbone as she walked away.

  She prayed Conan had time to run back to his car. Behind her, she sensed the men marching off to circle the building. Could the cameras see Conan? Probably. But maybe the men didn’t realize there were two intruders just yet.

  Practically choking on fear, she clung to the cat, nodded at the now grim-looking guard, and climbed into the Prius. She was sure they’d taken down her license plate number. She certainly would have. What the hell had Conan got her into?

  As she hit the ignition button, the cat she’d petrified with energy arrows huddled on the plastic sack of underwear that had fallen to her floorboard. Trembling, Dorrie drove off without looking back, as if she broke into secured parking lots and chased feral cats all the time.

  She circled the block to the street where Conan had parked. To her utter relief, he was already in the car, facing in the opposite direction. She turned around and followed him out—away from the building instead of around it again.