Sizzle and Burn

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Yes.”

  “What was the point? If the plan had failed, why take the risk of murdering a Jones? She must have known J&J and the Council wouldn’t stop until they caught her.”

  “She was desperate. I told you, failure is not an option in Nightshade. The poison she used would have imitated a heart attack. She hoped that if I died of natural causes, her handlers would not hold her responsible.”

  “Tough crowd.”

  “Very tough.”

  Raine pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around them. “Does everyone in the Society know what happened between you and Jenna?”

  “No. The entire affair was hushed up by the Master, the Council and J&J. The official story is that my fiancée committed suicide.”

  “Which is the truth,” Raine said.

  “Sort of. As far as I’m concerned, though, Nightshade murdered its own agent.”

  Raine studied him with troubled eyes. “You had one heck of a close call.”

  He smiled grimly. “Perfection isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “You really didn’t love her?”

  “I was dazzled for a while,” he admitted. “But eventually I had to face the fact that there was something missing.”

  “It shook your self-confidence, though, didn’t it? Made you question your own intuition.”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “In a much less extreme way, that’s what happened to me after the debacle with Bradley. I keep wondering how I could have convinced myself that he was Mr. Perfect.”

  He reached up and caught her wrist. “You’re sure he’s not?”

  She smiled. “Not a doubt in my mind.”

  He tugged her gently down onto the bed and levered himself up on his elbow.

  “No doubt in my mind, either,” he said.

  He lowered himself along the soft, warm length of her.

  He made love to her slowly in the dawn light, savoring the sheer pleasure of watching her eyes grow hot and unfocused with passion. When she turned to molten fire in his arms he sank deeply into her. Her legs closed around him and the bedroom was suddenly filled with the effervescent energy of life.

  Thirty-eight

  They ate vibrant red raspberries with their whole wheat toast and peanut butter. Zack made coffee for himself. Raine prepared tea and privately concluded that it was one of the finest meals of her entire life, maybe the best. She knew she would treasure forever the warmth and intimacy that pervaded the kitchen.

  “You know,” Zack said, munching a bite of toast, “I think I could get used to peanut butter for breakfast.”

  She could certainly get used to seeing him sitting across from her at the breakfast table, she thought. A pang of wistfulness whispered through her. Don’t go there.

  The doorbell rang an hour later, just after she put the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

  “I’ll get it,” Zack said, setting down his coffee cup. “It’s probably Mitchell. He must have heard about the incident at the club last night.”

  She straightened. “I thought he said something about driving up to Shelbyville today.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind.”

  Robin and Batman trotted after Zack, evidently anticipating another new game.

  She listened to the sound of the front door being opened. Zack greeted someone. The next thing she heard was a woman’s voice, charming and vivacious.

  “Oh, how cute,” the woman said warmly. “I adore cats.”

  “I’m allergic to them,” a second woman stated.

  She walked into the living room. A petite woman in snug black jeans, high-heeled boots and a black turtleneck stood chatting with Zack. She had delicate, elegantly fashioned features and vivid eyes. Her face was framed by a wild mane of amber brown curls. A large chunk of turquoise hanging from a silver chain reflected the color of her eyes.

  “Cassidy Cutler,” she said to Raine before Zack could explain who she was. She waved a hand at the woman standing a little behind her. “And this is my assistant, Niki Plumer.”

  “How do you do, Miss Tallentyre,” Niki Plumer said. She eyed Robin and Batman uneasily.

  Niki was taller than Cassidy and a few years older, probably thirty-six or thirty-seven. She was dressed in a rumpled-looking pantsuit. Tortoiseshell glasses framed her dark eyes. She clutched a heavy-looking leather briefcase in one hand and wore a perpetually harried air.

  Raine scooped up Batman and Robin. “I’ll put them in the library,” she said.

  “Oh, please don’t worry about the cats,” Cassidy said quickly.

  “I’ll be right back,” Raine assured her.

  Niki gave her a pathetically grateful look.

  She hurried down the hall and deposited Batman and Robin in the library. They were not pleased.

  When she returned to the living room, Cassidy and Niki were seated on the sofa.

  “I’ll get some coffee,” Zack said.

  Cassidy turned to Raine.

  “Bradley has told me so much about you,” she said. “I’m thrilled to meet you. I’ve never talked to a genuine psychic before. Bradley says you do amazing things at crime scenes.”

  Out of the corner of her eye Raine saw Zack emerge from the kitchen. She knew he was working hard to conceal his amusement. She ignored him and Cassidy’s comment.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, keeping her voice smooth and cool.

  “I apologize for showing up unannounced like this,” Cassidy said. “As I just told Mr. Jones, I hope I’m not interrupting breakfast. I took a chance coming here early today because I wanted to catch you before you went to work. Bradley mentioned that you own a costume rental shop here in town.”

  “You want my help with the book you’re writing about Bradley,” Raine said.

  Cassidy did not seem the least bit disconcerted by the directness of the statement.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, assuming a more businesslike tone. “What’s more, I’m prepared to make it worth your while.” Her brows rose in gentle disapproval. “I understand that Bradley never compensated you for assisting him with those cold cases.”

  “I didn’t do it for the money,” Raine said quickly.

  “Obviously. But I believe in paying for services rendered. And, believe me, given the advance my agent got for this book, I can afford to make it worth your while to take part in the project.”

  “I’m a little busy at the moment, Miss Cutler.”

  “I understand. Bradley told me that there was a recent death in the family. Please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  Cassidy folded her hands in her lap and looked at Raine with a very serious expression. “I also realize that you use your psychic talents not for money but because you feel a responsibility to help the families of the victims find closure. All I’m asking is that you help Bradley give that peace of mind to the Dellingham family. You are the only one with the power to do it.”

  The damn guilt card, Raine thought.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have the time right now,” she said. She knew she sounded weak.

  Righteous indignation seemed to crackle through Cassidy. Her chin came up, her shoulders stiffened and steel glinted in her eyes. “I’m afraid that’s exactly what the Dellingham family has heard from law enforcement for the past five years, Raine. Are you going to shatter their hopes again?”

  Raine snapped out of her guilt trance. She smiled coolly. “We just went over the part where you stand to make a lot of money on this book project, remember? That’s the real reason you’re here today, isn’t it?”

  Cassidy’s mouth tightened. “I won’t deny that I make money on my books, but that isn’t the main reason I write them. I would have written crime fiction, not true crime, if money was the only thing that interested me. I write my books for the same reason that you assist Bradley. I, too, feel compelled to speak for the forgotten victims.”

  Another wave of guilt rolled thr
ough Raine. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you don’t have a personal interest in the cases.”

  Cassidy’s expression softened. “There’s another reason I do what I do. We, as a society, need to examine criminal behavior and figure out ways to identify and deal with vicious psychopaths before they slaughter their victims. Do you know what Lynda Dellingham’s murder did to that family? It absolutely shattered those poor people.”

  “I’m not saying that you don’t have a calling to write true crime,” Raine said hastily. Damn it, she was feeling the pressure, the way she had when Bradley tried to talk her into helping him.

  “I’ll be honest,” Cassidy said. “I won’t pretend I wasn’t skeptical when Bradley told me that you claim to be psychic. You can’t blame me. In my line I meet a lot of frauds. In fact, I even wrote a book about a fake psychic.”

  “Cruel Visions,” Raine said.

  Cassidy blinked, pleased. “You read it?”

  “Yes.” She had read it in the hope of finding someone like herself, someone who understood. But the psychic in the book was, indeed, a phony.

  “Well, then, you know where I was coming from when Bradley told me that you claim to hear voices,” Cassidy said. “He tries to tell himself that you simply have special powers of observation and that you can pick up tiny details at a crime scene that others miss. But I believe you’re the real deal, Raine, and I want to write about you and your gift. I want to follow you and Bradley and tell the story of bringing justice to the Dellingham family.”

  “You don’t understand,” Raine said. “The last thing I want is to have my name show up in one of your books.”

  Cassidy softened visibly. “I respect that. I promise I’ll use a pseudonym for you.”

  “I don’t think that would work. It would be too easy for bloggers or the tabloids to figure out my identity.”

  Cassidy leaned forward earnestly. “I guarantee I’ll preserve your anonymity. Trust me. I have always protected the identities of my sources.”

  “No,” Raine said. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to get involved in the project.”

  For the first time, Cassidy displayed a hint of impatience. Raine could tell that the slight shift in mood worried Niki. She watched her boss with an uneasy expression.

  Cassidy drummed her fingers on the black leather sofa cushion and fixed Raine with a determined look. “The problem is Bradley, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Raine said.

  “I understand.” She flicked a quick glance at Zack and then turned back to Raine. “Bradley explained that you misinterpreted his friendship. Read more into it than was there. Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

  Raine glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got to go to my shop now. Good luck with your writing project.”

  Cassidy made no move to rise from the sofa.

  Niki was starting to look downright nervous. She blinked several times and cleared her throat. “Uh, perhaps we should leave, Miss Cutler. Don’t forget you’re supposed to call your agent at nine.”

  Cassidy hesitated a few seconds longer, clearly annoyed. Raine contemplated throwing her out bodily. It wouldn’t be difficult. She had the advantage of height and weight.

  But Cassidy finally seemed to comprehend that the situation had become awkward. She rose reluctantly and held out a hand to Niki.

  “Card,” she said brusquely.

  Niki hastily opened the leather briefcase and took out a gold card holder. She extracted a business card and placed it in Cassidy’s outstretched palm.

  Cassidy handed the card to Raine. “I want you to think about this, Raine. Regardless of the status of your personal relationship, you and Bradley share a very special working partnership, one that enables both of you to make a unique contribution to justice. Please keep my card. When you’re ready to consider my offer, give me a call at that number. It’s my cell phone.”

  Raine took the card. It seemed the quickest way to get Cassidy out of the condo.

  Zack was already in the foyer, opening the door. Cassidy walked outside very quickly. Niki threw Raine an apologetic grin and followed.

  Zack closed the door and looked at Raine. “That is one very determined woman.”

  “She thinks the reason I won’t help with the project is because of what happened between me and Bradley,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “That’s got nothing to do with it. I just don’t want to take the risk that I’ll end up named in her book.”

  “You don’t trust her to keep you anonymous?”

  “Nope. My cover would start falling apart the first time a blogger got curious.”

  “Got a hunch you’re right.”

  Raine looked at him. “What’s the next step in your investigation?”

  “Well, to begin with, you’re not going in to work today. I assume Pandora can handle the shop?”

  “Yes. What are we going to do?”

  “I think it’s time we talk to the last people to see Vella Tallentyre alive.”

  Thirty-nine

  Dr. Baxter Ogilvey looked at Raine across the expanse of a desk piled high with files, papers and scholarly journals. He was the director of St. Damian’s Psychiatric Hospital. Over the course of the year that Vella had been a patient at the hospital Raine had come to like and respect him.

  He was a compassionate man steeped in traditional medical and psychiatric practices. She knew that he’d never had a clue as to the true nature of Vella’s mental illness. To fully comprehend her pathology, he would have been forced to believe that Vella possessed psychic senses. Raine knew that he had never been able to make that leap. To the end Ogilvey had considered Vella’s claim of hearing voices a symptom of her illness.

  Nevertheless his approach to what had to have been one of his more unusual and challenging cases had been surprisingly open-minded and wide-ranging. It had included nutritional aspects such as vitamin supplements as well as cutting-edge psychotropic medications, traditional talk therapy and, above all, a tranquil environment. Raine knew that she would always be grateful to him. Ogilvey had done what she and Gordon and Andrew had been unable to do on their own in the past year. He had given Vella a degree of mental and emotional peace for the first time in years.

  He had clearly been surprised to see Raine and Zack walk into his office a short time before but he had offered condolences again.

  “I understand that you are still grieving,” Ogilvey said to Raine. He folded his hands on the desk and studied her through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. “Sometimes the process makes us demand answers where there are none, at least none that the medical world can provide. You might want to consider consulting a religious or spiritual adviser.”

  “We’re not here to ask those kinds of questions,” Raine said quickly. “We want to know more about what happened the night my aunt died.”

  Ogilvey began to look troubled. “As I recall, you requested and were given a copy of the file relating to your aunt’s case.”

  Zack looked at him. “We know that Vella Tallentyre suffered cardiac arrest shortly before midnight. We also know that extreme resuscitation attempts were made but failed. We’re not questioning the cause of death or your staff’s efforts to revive her.”

  Ogilvey frowned, bewildered. “Then what do you want from me?”

  “We’d like to talk to the members of your staff who had contact with Vella during the twenty-four hours before her death,” Zack said.

  There was an edge to his voice. Raine knew that it wasn’t just because he was now in full investigator mode. Like her, he was dealing with the swirling chaos of psychic energy that permeated the lobby and the office. Like any hospital, St. Damian’s had absorbed the psychical essence of desperation, fear, anxiety, rage, pain and just plain craziness given off by patients and their families over the years. The energy had literally soaked into the very walls.

  Ogilvey stiffened in reactio
n to Zack’s tone. “Surely you don’t expect me to subject the members of my staff to questioning by a private investigator? If you suspect criminal negligence, there are procedures that must be followed.”

  “No,” Raine said, interrupting before Zack could alarm Ogilvey any further. “That’s not what this is about. We understand that you have an obligation to protect your staff. But, as you probably realize, I have been dealing with my aunt’s estate for the past month and certain questions have arisen.”

  Ogilvey was watching her with grave caution now. She knew he was giving serious consideration to calling his lawyer. At this rate she and Zack would soon be asked to leave.

  “You should be able to answer the single most important question we have,” Zack said. “Did Vella Tallentyre have any visitors on the day of her death?”

  Ogilvey hesitated, dubious but uncertain.

  Raine leaned forward earnestly. “Please, Dr. Ogilvey. It’s very important. I know you keep careful records. As far as I am aware, in the year that my aunt was here at St. Damian’s the only people who came to see her aside from me were Gordon Salazar and Andrew Kitredge. We always had to sign in and show identification.”

  “The family has a right to know if the patient received any other visitors,” Zack said with an air of quiet authority.

  Ogilvey’s jaw flexed but he nodded once, brusquely. “Yes, I can give you that information.” He punched the intercom on his desk. “Mrs. Thomas, would you please bring in the log of all visitors who came to see Vella Tallentyre on the twentieth of last month?”

  “Right away, Dr. Ogilvey.”

  A short time later the assistant walked into the office, a computer printout in one hand.

  “Is this what you want, sir?” She handed him the sheet of paper.

  He glanced at it quickly, gray brows bunching a little. “Yes, thank you.”

  The assistant left, closing the door behind her. Raine realized that Ogilvey was staring intently at the printout.

  “I was out of town on the twentieth,” Raine said. “But I know that Gordon stopped by for a few minutes around lunchtime. Is there anyone else on that list?”