Orchid sh-3

by Джейн Энн Кренц

  "I think I've figured out how he did it." It had taken her a while to come up with a scenario that explained how Dr. Preston Luce had managed to get himself matched with her, but Orchid was convinced she had arrived at a probable explanation.

  "Are you sure you're not just being a little paranoid here?" Veronica asked. "As good as the matchmaking process is these days, mistakes do happen once in a while. Fortunately, they almost always get corrected before things have gone too far."

  "It wasn't my counselor at Affinity Associates who figured out that Luce was a sneaky, low-down, conniving little worm-snake. I was the one who realized after three dates that he only wanted to use me to get himself introduced into the right circles in Northville. And that's just what he did."

  "Now, Orchid, you don't know that for certain."

  "Yes, I do. And when I refused to go out with him again, he told my parents that he was heartbroken. Claimed he was willing to wait for me to come to my senses. They actually believed him for a while, even though I warned them that he was a user."

  "Preston can be very charming."

  "Of course he's charming." Orchid narrowed her eyes. "Sucker is a high-class charisma-talent, I'd bet my next royalty check on it. By the time my folks realized that he wasn't the nice guy he made himself out to be, it was too late. He had gotten himself hired into the department of synergistic studies at the institute."

  "I'll admit that now that I've known him for a few months, I'm very glad you didn't marry him," Veronica said slowly. "I don't think he's very popular with his research assistants, either. But there's no denying that he earns his keep at Northville."

  "You mean he brings in the grant money."

  Veronica chuckled wryly. "Never underestimate the power of a person who can pull in large corporate grants. The North Institute is an ivory tower. Those of us who live in it like to pretend we're above such grubby, mundane concerns. But everyone knows that it takes cold, hard cash to run the place."

  Orchid sighed. "And whatever else he is, Preston Luce is a rainmaker."

  "That he is. He landed two more major corporate sponsors just last month. Luce is golden at the institute."

  Orchid wrinkled her nose as the waiter returned with a tray. "I suppose he'll be at the wedding?"

  "Of course." Veronica paused while her salad was placed carefully in front of her. "You know how it is at the institute. It's a small world. One can hardly exclude a high-ranking member of the research faculty from a guest list."

  "I guess not." Orchid eyed her platter of hot, greasy fries with moody resignation. "I'm not looking forward to seeing him, but don't worry. I won't make a scene."

  "It never crossed my mind that you would." Veronica drizzled one tiny spoonful of dressing over the artfully arranged greens on her plate. "I know it's never easy for you to come back to Northville and Preston being there will only make it more awkward for you than usual."

  Orchid bit into her dripping salmon-tuna burger. "I can handle it."

  "I'm sure you can. But I know it will be a strain for you."

  Orchid shrugged. Veronica was right. Going home was always a source of tension for her and it was getting more difficult as the years went by. All of the kids who had been her classmates in school had gone on to get advanced degrees and doctorates in various fields related to synergistic theory. Most had taken prestigious positions at the institute. Almost all of them were married and had started their families.

  In a world where getting married was considered a social and moral obligation as well as a serious family responsibility, she had not even managed to find a husband.

  When you got right down to it, Orchid thought, all she had done thus far in life was publish three psychic vampire romance novels. As accomplishments went, by Northville standards, that did not add up to much.

  Returning to Northville was a little like going back to a high school reunion and discovering that you were the only failure in the class, she reflected. The fact that everyone believed that she had rejected a legitimate match with Preston Luce simply because she liked to rebel only made things worse.

  Veronica looked thoughtful. "You know what you ought to do?"

  "What?" Orchid asked around a mouthful of burger.

  "Bring an agency date to the wedding."

  Orchid nearly choked. "Are you kidding?"

  "I'm serious. It would make things so much easier for you."

  Orchid slowly put down her burger. "Veronica, I just told you, I haven't had a single call from my marriage agency since my counselor tried to match me with Preston."

  "So?"

  Orchid scowled, exasperated. "To put it bluntly, I can't get a date. At least, not an agency date and, at my age, that's the only kind that counts."

  Veronica smiled her serene smile. "You've got friends. Bring one of them along and pass him off as an agency date."

  Orchid stared at her, goggle-eyed. "I can't believe you just said that. Bring a fake date to your wedding?"

  "Why not?"

  "I'm already having anxiety dreams. I don't need any more problems, thank you very much."

  Veronica frowned in concern. "Anxiety dreams? Why?"

  Orchid pushed a fry through some hot sauce. "Probably because ParaSyn contacted me again. I got a letter from them a few days ago. They want me to return for a follow-up to that ice-prism study I was involved with three years ago."

  "The one you walked out on because the researchers wanted you to focus for some criminally insane talents?"

  "Yeah, that's the one." Orchid shuddered.

  The psychic talents Dr. Gilbert Bracewell, the head of ParaSyn, had asked her to focus had not been just mentally disturbed. They'd had violent criminal tendencies. She had recoiled from the darkness in them. Morgan Lambert and Theo Willis had also been repulsed by the researchers' desire to see if ice-prisms could handle such deeply disturbed mental patients.

  It was Orchid who had led the small revolt that had resulted in the termination of the project. She had walked out of ParaSyn in the middle of the study. Morgan and Theo had followed.

  "I hated that place," Orchid said. "The last thing I'd ever do is go back for some stupid follow-up research."

  "What about the other two ice-prisms who were part of that study?"

  "I'm still friends with Morgan Lambert." Orchid put down her half-eaten fry, her appetite suddenly gone. "But I heard yesterday that Theo Willis died in a car crash recently. They say he drove himself off a cliff. Apparent suicide."

  "How sad."

  "Theo was not what you'd call a friend. I don't think he had any friends. But he and I and Morgan sort of bonded during our experience at ParaSyn. He was a little weird. Maybe even crazy. But, hey, he was an ice-prism, just like me. Everyone knows we're not exactly normal."

  Chapter 4

  "About time you showed up." Byron Smyth-Jones, Psynergy, Inc's receptionist, secretary, and avant-garde fashion guru, glared at Orchid over the rims of a pair of glasses fitted with purple lenses. "The boss is having a fit."

  Orchid raised her brows at the sight of Byron's latest wardrobe addition, a violet-colored, skin-tight suit styled with massive shoulder pads and wide cuffs.

  "How can you tell if Clementine is having & fit?" she asked with grave interest.

  "Very funny." Byron took a bunch of notepads out of a box and stacked them in a supply cupboard. "And completely beside the point. This time it's serious."

  "It's always serious." Orchid glanced at the notepads. They were each neatly imprinted with the Psynergy, Inc. logo and the words "Think Exclusive" at the top of each page. "What's going on?"

  Byron glanced over his shoulder. Orchid followed his gaze to a large poster featuring a photograph of an improbably huge chunk of extremely rare fire crystal. It was emblazoned with the logo and partially obscured the closed door of Clementine's office.

  "Her new exotic is here to sign another contract." Byron lowered his voice to a hissing whisper. "He insists on using you."

  "Th
e new exotic?" In spite of herself, Orchid felt a tiny thrill go through her. "You mean Rafe Stonebraker asked for me again?"

  "You got it. He's been here for the past half hour, signing papers. Clementine tried to get hold of you to confirm the assignment, but when she couldn't reach you, she went ahead and drew up the new contract anyway."

  A fluttery sense of panic instantly wiped out Orchid's incipient excitement. Last night in the euphoria that had ensued when she and Rafe had escaped the gallery, she had thought it would be exciting to work with him again. Now, in the cold light of day, she was not quite so sure.

  "I was thinking of talking to Clementine about using someone else the next time Stonebraker called. If he called, that is."

  "He called, all right," Byron assured her.

  "I wonder why. I got the feeling he was not overly pleased with my services."

  "Whatever gave you that idea?" Rafe drawled softly behind her.

  Orchid spun around and saw him standing in the doorway behind her. He wore a dark jacket over a dark shirt and a pair of dark trousers. There was a plastic cup of coff-tea in his left hand.

  She narrowed her eyes. "Must you sneak up on people like that?"

  He looked amused. "Sorry." He held up the cup in his hand. "I just went down the hall for coff-tea. You were here when I got back."

  With an odd sense of desperation, Orchid glanced at Clementine's closed door. "I, uh, thought you were in there with my boss."

  "Ms. Malone and I finished our business a few minutes ago. She said you were due to stop by the office after lunch so I decided to wait."

  "I see." Orchid tried to squelch the embarrassed heat that threatened to rise in her cheeks. She devoutly hoped that he had not overheard the reference to exotics, but something told her that he had. Rafe had extremely sharp hearing. She managed a cool, professional smile.

  "I'm flattered that you asked for my services again so soon, Mr. Stonebraker. But when you dropped me off last night you didn't mention that you had another job in mind."

  "I didn't get my new client until after I left you." He studied her with an unwavering gaze.

  There was nothing overtly rude, threatening, or intimidating about his gaze. He simply watched her.

  From out of nowhere, the familiar hunted feeling came over Orchid, just as it had last night in Elvira Turlock's gallery. She glowered at him. He bunked, frowned slightly. The sensation vanished.

  If not for the fact that it had left every hair on the nape of her neck standing on end, she could have blamed the incident on her imagination.

  "I'm a little busy at the moment," she said as the door of the inner office slammed open.

  "No, you're not," Clementine announced. "I've canceled all of your other appointments. You're free to work with Mr. Stonebraker for the next month."

  "A whole month?" Orchid whirled back around to stare at her boss.

  "Yep." Clementine, built like her favorite form of transportation, an ice-cycle, bristled in her signature black leather and gleaming silver studs. Her stark white hair, styled in a short brush-cut, was set off by steel hoops in her ears. "Stonebraker says his new case may take a little longer than the others."

  Orchid had no trouble seeing the dollar signs that glittered in Clementine's shrewd eyes.

  "But I'm not free for a whole month." Orchid felt pressured. She needed to think about this, she decided. "I've got commitments."

  "Nothing that can't be rescheduled," Clementine countered. "I checked."

  "I'm talking about personal commitments, not Psynergy, Inc., commitments." Orchid was intensely aware of Rafe listening to the exchange. "I'm going to attend my cousin's wedding."

  "That's a week off and you said you'd only be away overnight, anyway," Clementine said smoothly.

  Orchid groped for another excuse. "Founders' Day is coming up soon. Only five days away."

  "So?" Clementine shrugged one sturdy shoulder. "Have a beer, get a little crazy down in Founders' Square, sing the Founders' Anthem. Big deal. There's still plenty of time to work for Stonebraker."

  "I do have another career, you know."

  "You told me just the other day that you were on schedule with your writing."

  "That's not the point."

  Clementine planted her broad fists on her hips. "What, exactly, is the point?"

  "Yes." Rafe gave her a curious look. "What is the point?"

  There was no point and Orchid knew it. She had no excuse for turning down the focus assignment. She was not even certain that she wanted to turn it down. She was starting to enjoy the private investigation work Rafe did. But she did not like the feeling of being maneuvered into a neat little trap.

  She turned back to Rafe. "When did you want to start?"

  "Tonight."

  "Impossible." A ridiculous sense of triumph soared through her. "I have a previous engagement."

  "Cancel it," Clementine ordered.

  "I can't do that." Orchid gave them all a somber look. "I'm meeting someone at the Volcano Club. We're going to hold a small wake for a friend of ours who died recently."

  "Oh, yeah, that's right." Byron balanced another stack of notepads. "I remember. You and Morgan Lambert are going to drink a toast to that poor ice-prism you both worked with. The one you said was weird."

  "Yes." Orchid challenged Rafe with another cool glare. "An acquaintance died a couple days ago. You know how it is."

  "Sure," Rafe said. "I know how it is. I'll go with you to the Volcano Club. We can discuss the new assignment after you hold your mini-wake."

  "Uh—" Orchid's brain shut down for an instant.

  "I'll pick you up at eight." Rafe glided back out into the hall.

  He was gone before Orchid could think of any more excuses.

  A hush fell over the office. It was broken only by the sound of Clementine brushing her hands together in gloating satisfaction. Nothing made her glow like a newly signed focus contract.

  "He may not be one of the Stonebrakers of Stonebraker Shipping, but he's certainly a Stonebraker," Clementine said. "I'll settle for that."

  "What do you mean?" Orchid asked.

  Clementine shrugged. "Gracie gave me the lowdown on him. Seems our client was in line to inherit control of Stonebraker Shipping at one time."

  Orchid frowned. Gracie Proud was Clementine's permanent partner. They had been matched by a marriage agency several years ago. Sooner or later, gay or straight, almost everyone on St. Helens got married. The Malone-Proud relationship was, from all appearances, a blissful union.

  On the surface the two women could not have been more different, Orchid thought. Gracie was a petite, stylish woman with a knack for high fashion and social contacts. She owned and operated Proud Prisms, one of Psynergy, Inc.'s chief competitors. She was an unfailingly accurate source of gossip and information.

  "Whew." Byron's eyes got very big behind his purple glasses. "We're talking about those Stonebrakers, are we?"

  "Yeah." Clementine grimaced. "But our maybe not-too-bright client quarreled with his grandfather, old Alfred G. Stonebraker, years ago. Young Rafe lit out for the Western Islands to find himself, as they say. His grandfather never forgave him. Cut him off without a cent. Actually, Gracie says it was more like Rafe cut himself off. Apparently he refused to have anything to do with the family fortune or the company."

  "But he's back in New Seattle," Byron pointed out. "Maybe he and his grandfather have been reconciled."

  "Not likely," Clementine said. "Gracie knows about these things. She tells me that everyone who moves in the same ritzy circles as the Stonebrakers is aware that Rafe has no interest in the family business. Apparently Rafe's cousin is scheduled to take over control of the company in a few months."

  "How sad," Orchid said.

  "I'll say," Byron murmured. "Just imagine walking away from all that money and social clout. Clementine's right. Maybe our client isn't all that bright."

  Orchid glared at him. "I was referring to the rift in the family. It's alwa
ys sad when families are torn apart by a quarrel."

  "Yeah, sure." Byron draped himself over the half empty box of notepads. He gave Orchid a deeply fascinated look. "So, tell me, is it true what they say about strat-talents? Can they really sense it if you lie to them?"

  "That's just an old myth," Orchid said crisply. "Everyone knows that."

  "Well, what about the other stuff?"

  "What other stuff?"

  "Are they really sort of, you know, primitive?" Orchid picked up a stack of Think Exclusive notepads and sent them raining down on Byron's head.

  At nine o'clock that evening the Volcano Club was only half full. Orchid, seated at a small table with Morgan Lambert and Rafe, studied the shadowed room. The place was a cross between a nightclub and a coff-tea house. It catered to a bohemian crowd of poets, artists, and assorted wannabes.

  A young man on stage hunched over a microphone and growled the words of a poem he had written.

  Images burn in jelly-ice. Frozen forever in jelly-ice Shimmering in jelly-ice Dreams of synergy and orgasm In jelly-ice.

  It may not have been deathless prose, but it beat the heck out of meta-zen-syn philosophical poetry, Orchid thought.

  Tiny jelly-ice candles flickered on the tables. The small flames revealed an assortment of expressions, most of which fell into two categories, world-weary ennui and passionate intensity. The majority of the clientele was dressed in gray, the fashionable color of the moment among the artistic set.

  Morgan Lambert fit well into the ambiance of the Volcano Club. He was a thin, intense man with sharp, ascetic features and the long, sensitive fingers of an artist. He looked at Rafe.

  "Did you know Theo Willis?"

  "No."

  "He was sort of weird, but he was okay." Morgan glanced at Orchid. "Not much else you can say about poor old Theo, is there?"

  "I guess not." Orchid slumped back in her chair and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Never thought he'd kill himself, though. He didn't seem the type."