Orchid

by Jayne Castle

  “No.“

  “Then what did you mean when you said that you aren’t exactly afraid of me?”

  She framed his face between her hands, and smiled wistfully. “I meant that I’m afraid that I might be falling in love with you.”

  The stunned expression that flashed in his eyes would have amused her under other circumstances. But tonight she was trapped in the swirling waters of her own emotions. She could not take refuge in laughter. She had an uneasy suspicion that her entire future was at stake.

  Rafe said nothing. He groaned, caught her close, and kissed her with a raging passion that left no room for words. Then he picked her up in his arms, carried her into the library, and pulled her down onto the carpet in front of the fire.

  A long time later Orchid stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. She smiled wryly when she saw Rafe crouched in front of the hearth. He was gazing into the flames as though he could see visions of Old Earth. He had refastened his trousers, but he had not put on his shirt. The firelight warmed his bare shoulders to a rich gold and etched the strong contours of his back. For a moment, she simply savored the sleek, masculine strength in him.

  “You know, this business of making love in front of a roaring fire works nicely in my novels,” she said finally. “But in real life it causes rug burns. Next time let’s put you on the bottom.”

  “Orchid, I want you to think about marrying me.”

  Orchid stared at him. He did not turn his head to look at her. Everything in him was focused intently on the images only he could see in the flames.

  “Rafe--”

  “Just think about it, okay? You said you thought you might be falling in love with me.”

  She licked her lips. “Any matchmaking agency counselor can tell you that sort of emotion can’t be relied upon as a basis for a good marriage.”

  “What else have you got to go on?” he asked with frightening logic. “You said, yourself, that, because you’re an ice-prism, you don’t trust the matchmaking agencies to find you a good match.”

  “What about you?” she whispered. “Why would you want to take such a risk?”

  “My counselor has assured me that I’m almost impossible to match. Odds are I’ll have to find my own mate, I mean, my own wife. You and I make a good team.”

  Orchid did not know whether to laugh or cry. “I see.” Perhaps she should be a little more direct. “Well, how do you feel about me?” Do you love me?

  “I just told you, I want you. I wanted you the first time I saw you and I want you even more now that we’ve been together. You feel... I don’t know, you feel right.”

  She wondered if that was as close to a declaration of love as he could get. “What happens if your marriage agency counselor does turn up a match for you?”

  “I won’t want her.” There was absolute certainty in the words.

  She sighed. “That sounds a little overly simplistic on your part.”

  “Why should it be complicated?” He did turn then. The flames on the hearth were nothing compared to the heat in his eyes.

  “Rafe--”

  “I know I’m not normal. I’m an exotic. The syn-psych experts don’t even know how exotic I really am. But I know some things about myself. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I know that.”

  “Think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  There was nothing to think about. She was in love with him. But he had said nothing about loving her. She had to make certain that he knew his own heart as well as she knew hers. She could not marry a man who did not love her, regardless of how committed or protective he felt toward her.

  But she could think about it. She could even dream about it. At least for a while.

  “All right, Rafe. I’ll think about it.”

  Triumph gleamed in his gaze. He got to his feet, crossed to where she lay, and settled down beside her. He reached for her.

  “That’s all I ask,” he said against her throat.

  When he started to push her back onto the rug, she flattened a palm against his chest. “Hold it right there.”

  He stilled. “Why?”

  “This time you get to be on the bottom.”

  His laughter was a dark, sensual force in the firelit chamber.

  Rafe was still grinning to himself at odd moments for no particular reason the next morning. He first became aware of the strange, new mannerism when he looked into his shaving mirror. He quickly discovered that it was not easy to wield a razor while smiling like an idiot. After the second nick, he forced himself to pay attention to the job at hand.

  It was not a done deal, he reminded himself. Things could still go wrong. But he had the edge now. Orchid wanted him. Of that he was certain. He could work with that.

  He was still feeling remarkably cheerful when he walked into the breakfast room a few minutes later. Orchid was already there. She was hunched intently over the morning paper, a cup of coff-tea in her hand. She did not look up from the article she was reading.

  He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her sitting here in his house in the morning light. Her denim-clad legs were tucked under her chair. The black T-shirt she wore emphasized the elegant curve of her throat. Her freshly washed hair was held back behind her ears with a headband. She looked fresh and vibrant and sexy as hell.

  She looked right.

  “Good morning.” He started toward her.

  She kept her attention fixed on the newspaper article “You aren’t going to believe this, Rafe.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” When she did not lift her face, he contented himself with kissing the top of her head. He did not need para-sharpened senses to enjoy the fragrant mix of her herbal shampoo mingled with her own enticing scent. “This morning I could believe in anything.”

  “Try this.” She pointed at the article she had beer perusing.

  Rafe glanced at the newspaper. The headline was on page three of the front section of the New Seattle Times. An important story but not a major one.

  Syn-psych Therapist Dead--Possible Suicide

  “What the hell?” Rafe snatched the paper up off the table and read the article through very quickly.

  The body of Dr. Quentin Austen, a syn-psych therapist with a practice in New Seattle was pulled from the bay at approximately two o’clock this morning.

  Dr. Austen was last seen on board the ferry Old Seattle, which departed the downtown dock on its last run of the night at one-thirty this morning. He is believed to have jumped overboard somewhere en route. An autopsy will be conducted later today.

  Rumors that Austen had a history of periodic bouts of depression and that he had experienced recent financial setbacks and was facing an impending lawsuit from a former patient led authorities to speculate that he committed suicide. “We get a few jumpers every year,” said a source who asked not to be named. “A man can’t last more than twenty or thirty minutes at the most in the cold waters of the bay.”

  Rafe tossed aside the paper and reached for the phone.

  “What do you think?” Orchid asked.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve got to call my friend in homicide.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he hung up the phone, picked up the coff-tea Orchid had poured for him, and propped his elbows on the table.

  “Tallentyre says there won’t be any formal announcement until the autopsy results are in, but the people who handled the case are definitely calling it suicide.”

  “Mr. Amazing was killed around eleven o’clock last night. Austen would have had plenty of time to commit the murder and make it down to the ferry docks to catch the last run of the night.” Orchid frowned. “But why would he kill himself at that point?”

  “I don’t know. Who can say what a man with a history of syn-psych problems will do in a situation like that? Maybe the act of murdering Mr. Amazing put him over the edge. I know he was definitely panicking last night when he t
ried to shoot Crowder and missed.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just know it.”

  “But how did you know it?” she insisted, curious.

  He shrugged. “I sensed it during the focus link. By the way, Tallentyre says they did not find the relic when they searched Austen’s house.”

  “So we still have a case?”

  “Yes.” Rafe put down his cup and got to his feet. “I’m going to go down to the station. I want to talk to Tallentyre in person. Maybe I can get some more information.”

  Orchid watched him pace out into the hall. The long, eager length of his stride told her more clearly than words that he was wholly intent on the hunt.

  So much for a cozy discussion of their future.

  Morgan Lambert looked toward the door when Orchid walked into his room shortly after nine. He managed a weary smile.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi, yourself.” She leaned on the metal rails that framed the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’ll live. Barely.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “They gave me something to blunt the withdrawal effects, but it can’t mask all of them. I’m still twitching a bit. And I feel as if I’m going to throw up, but other than that I’m just dandy.”

  “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Your friend, Stonebraker, was in early this morning. He said that he was on his way downtown to talk to the police. He told me what had happened. I guess I owe you my life.”

  “Do you remember anything?”

  Morgan’s face twisted in frustration. “Just bits and pieces. The doctor said a few hours of partial amnesia is a common side effect of dirty-ice. I seem to recall leaving a message on your answering machine. Something about a letter from Theo, wasn’t it?”

  “You said you’d received a message from him.”

  “Oh, yeah. I think I remember part of it. Some wild tale about being hypnotized by his syn-psych therapist.”

  “I’ve seen a copy of the letter. Theo claimed that a shrink named Dr. Quentin Austen forced him to steal an alien relic. He also said that Austen needed an ice-prism to control the thing. He wanted to warn you and me because we were the only other strong ice-prisms he knew.”

  Morgan sighed. “Poor, crazy Theo.”

  “It looks as though his therapist was even crazier. Dr. Austen must have believed that the relic really did have some power or he would never have sent those two men to your houseboat to find Theo’s letter.”

  “Power?”

  Orchid gave Morgan a quick rundown of events. When she was finished, he stared at her in amazement.

  “So Austen killed Theo and another guy and then jumped off a ferry?”

  “So they say. Rafe is checking into the details now, but apparently Austen had a history of mental problems.”

  “What a pair he and Theo made, huh? The crazy treating the eccentric.”

  “And now they’re both dead,” Orchid concluded. “And the firm of Adams and Stonebraker is going to find the missing relic.”

  “Adams and Stonebraker?”

  “She means Stonebraker and Adams,” Rafe said from the doorway.

  Orchid turned. “There you are. How did it go with the cops?”

  Rafe shrugged as he walked into the room. “They think it’s pretty open and shut. Crazed syn-psych shrink manipulates equally nutty patient. Arranges to have a valuable artifact stolen and then tries to cover up crime by killing people. Eventually goes completely bonkers from stress of committing murder and kills self. Valuable relic missing.”

  “Hmm.” Orchid eyed him thoughtfully.

  “Precisely my conclusion,” Rafe murmured. He looked at Morgan. “I’m told you’re going to be discharged today.”

  “Right.”

  “I want you to do me a favor.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Get lost for a week. Take a trip to the Western Islands. Pretend you just won a contest.”

  Morgan gaped. “The Western Islands?”

  “All expenses paid by the firm of Stonebraker and Adams,” Rafe said.

  “You’re lucky,” Orchid said. “Second prize was two weeks in the Western Islands.”

  Both men stared at her.

  She blushed. “Sorry. My great-great grandmother told me that one when I was very little. She said it was an old Earth joke.”

  Orchid gave Rafe a long look as she got into the Icer. “What’s wrong? Why are you still worried about Morgan?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But something doesn’t feel right about this case yet. It’s not just the fact that the relic is still missing, either.”

  “Are the police satisfied?”

  “Yes. The important part of the case, the murder of Mr. Amazing and the probable murder of Theo Willis, has been solved. That’s all they care about.”

  “Don’t they have any interest in the relic?”

  “They assume that it disappeared into the underground collector’s market. They’ll keep an eye out for it, but it’s not a big priority for them.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but we’ve still got a client. I talked to Brizo. He definitely wants us to find the relic.” Rafe glanced at her as he drove out of the hospital parking lot. “In the meantime, we’ve also got a date to attend your cousin’s wedding. It’s tomorrow afternoon in Northville, right?”

  Orchid groaned. “To tell you the truth, I’d almost forgotten about that.”

  “I haven’t,” he said a little too smoothly. “I owe you. I always pay my debts. Stonebraker tradition.”

  Orchid wondered why she was suddenly overcome with the old hunted feeling. “Rafe, I won’t he to my family. I won’t introduce you as an agency date.”

  “Of course not. At this point I’m just a regular date. The kind of guy you go away with for the weekend.”

  Her face burned. “But I don’t go away for weekends with guys.”

  “Until you met me.” There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice.

  Chapter 16

  It was a typical meta-zen-syn wedding, Rafe discovered. The bride wore yellow. The groom wore blue. The majority of the guests wore white. Seated next to Orchid in a pew near her parents, he felt extremely conspicuous in his dark suit and tie.

  He had been aware of the meta-zen-syn tradition of wearing white but he just could not see himself in a white suit. He was luckier than the groom, he thought. After the ceremony both the bride and the groom would change into green, the color that resulted when blue and yellow were combined.

  The change of attire was symbolic of the power of synergy.

  Meta-zen-syn was a philosophy, not a religion, but here in Northville many of its symbols had been grafted on to the far more ancient religious portion of the wedding ceremony.

  Rafe was amused to see that Orchid did have some white in her wardrobe, after all. The dress she wore today was a breezy thing that fluttered and drifted with every movement. It was very meta-zen-syn, he thought as he studied it out of the corner of his eye. It somehow managed to reveal and conceal at the same time. Very modest by any standard, it nevertheless managed to make him salivate.

  This was no time to turn primitive, he reminded himself. He was trying to make a good impression here in Northville.

  When the vows had been exchanged, Veronica and her groom vanished into separate antechambers. The congregation meditated in silence while everyone waited for the couple to change into the formal green clothes that symbolized the synergistic result of the chromatic union of blue and yellow.

  Synergistic principles were symbolized everywhere in Northville, Rafe noticed.

  On the way into the austere little chapel, he had seen North’s three basic tenets carved in stone on the outside wall. Not that he and everyone else on St. Helens did not already know them by heart, he thought. Every schoolchild learned them in kindergarten.

  North’s Three Principles, after all, were the philos
ophical bedrock upon which any understanding of scientific and natural phenomena on St. Helens depended. It was the discovery and acceptance of that intellectual framework that had enabled the first generation colonists to survive. The principles were paradoxically both simple and profound.

  The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

  The struggle for balance and harmony governs all natural processes.

  Balance and harmony are achieved only when the synergistic contribution of each element is equal to that of all other elements in the whole.

  Rafe glanced at Orchid. She did not notice. Her attention was fixed on a tall, elegantly lean man dressed in a stylish white suit who was seated in another row. Preston Luce.

  Rafe was relieved to see that Orchid’s expression was thoughtful, not wistful.

  At that moment, Preston turned his head slightly and smiled at Orchid. She immediately switched her gaze, to the large, unframed canvas that hung behind the simple altar. The painting consisted of two lightning bolt slashes, one black, one white. Rafe recognized the picture as the work of Eldon Moss, a master of the Neo-Post Synergistic Abstract School . The minimalist approach of the painters of that school had made their work very popular with the meta-zen-syn crowd.

  Rafe had been in Northville for only a few hours, but already he had seen a lot of art and architectural design that was clearly inspired by minimalism.

  He had to admit that, in large doses, the austere style took on a bland, flat sensibility. He could understand why a young woman with a strong romantic streak might have had a little trouble fitting into the Northville milieu.

  There was a small stir of anticipation in the crowd. Veronica and Terrence reappeared in their formal green attire and were introduced as husband and wife. The congregation rose to greet them with a solemn meta-zen-syn chant of welcome.

  The new couple walked back down the aisle together. Row by row, the guests followed.

  Rafe took Orchid’s arm as she got to her feet “Do we get to eat now?”

  She gave him a fleeting grin. “Yes, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. At a classic meta-zen-syn wedding even the food is supposed to symbolize the Three Principles.”