All the Colors of Night

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “All clear,” she announced softly.

  She opened the door and moved out into the hall. North followed with the machine. The ward was still relatively quiet but now there were more faces at the windows of the cells.

  They made it past the nurses’ station before disaster struck. The door at the end of the ward slammed open. A massive figure loomed in the doorway. He was dressed in scrubs and, like Ralph’s and Joe’s, his arms were sheathed in tattoos.

  He aimed a pistol at Sierra.

  “Stop,” he roared.

  The screaming started then. One patient howled. Within seconds the rest joined in. Some of the cries morphed into panicky shrieks. A terrible keening echoed from one room.

  The chorus of the doomed grew to a thunderous roar.

  “Sierra?” North said.

  “I’ve got this,” Sierra said.

  North felt energy charge the atmosphere. Sierra’s locket glowed like a white-hot mirror. The tattooed man staggered as though he had been struck with a blunt object, pitched forward and went down. There was a reverberating thud when his unconscious frame hit the floor.

  “The gun,” North said.

  She swooped down and picked up the pistol.

  Together they ran toward the doors. Tattooed Man had not bothered to lock them.

  Sierra plunged down the stairwell. North followed with the artifact, listening for the sound of footsteps from below. It was unlikely the tattooed orderly was the only person on duty.

  Sierra was on the first-floor landing when the hall door slammed open.

  Another big man in scrubs appeared.

  “Walt? Is that you? Everything okay up there?”

  Then he noticed Sierra. She showed him the pistol.

  “Shit,” he yelped.

  He retreated at full speed and slammed the door shut.

  “Keep going,” North ordered.

  Sierra didn’t pause. She switched on a penlight to guide them across the storage room and then they were through the rear gate. No one followed them.

  They made it to the SUV. North dumped the metal box on the floor behind the front seat and leaped behind the wheel. Sierra scrambled up into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door closed.

  North drove out of the trees and onto the narrow, winding road.

  “Watch our tail,” he said.

  Sierra twisted around in her seat to peer out the rear window.

  “No one is following us,” she said.

  “We had the element of surprise on our side this time. They were watching for us at Loring’s house but they didn’t expect us to go into the asylum. It will take them a while to figure out what happened and where we might be headed.”

  “I assume we’re going back to Seattle?”

  “Not until we have a chat with Garraway.”

  “The director of the asylum?” she said. “When do you plan to do that?”

  “The sooner the better. Now would be good.”

  “I’m not sure that confronting Garraway tonight is a good idea,” she said. “We both burned a lot of energy in the past few hours, physical and paranormal. We need time to recover.”

  “We’ll get some rest right after we talk to Garraway.”

  Sierra did not argue. She understood, he thought. They were running out of time.

  Earlier that evening he had obtained the directions to Garraway’s house from the same helpful local who had told them how to find Loring’s place. At the time Loring had been the priority, but now North’s intuition was raging at him, telling him he had to confront Garraway immediately. Too much was happening too fast. The situation was starting to spin out of control.

  The house Garraway was renting was located at the end of a short drive about half a mile outside of town. The windows were dark. No lights burned over the front porch. A Porsche was parked at the foot of the steps.

  North pulled up to the front of the house and brought the SUV to a halt. Sierra studied the dark windows.

  “Does it strike you as strange that a guy like Garraway, a man who wears expensive jackets and ties and drives a Porsche, would accept a position as the director of a small private asylum located in a remote corner of the state?” she asked.

  “Yes.” North opened the door of the SUV and got out. “A guy like Garraway should be working at a prestigious institution or a hospital located in a major city.”

  “Maybe he went to Riverview because he felt a true calling.”

  “I think it’s a hell of a lot more likely he took the job because someone convinced him that he stood to make a lot of money.”

  “Loring?”

  “Maybe.”

  Sierra got out and joined him. Together they went up the steps. North tried the bell first. When there was no response he rapped sharply on the front door.

  No one answered. Sierra watched him reach into a pocket of his cargo pants and pull out the lockpick.

  “You know, if you keep this up we’re probably going to get arrested,” she said.

  “No, we won’t,” he said. “I’ve got some solid government ID that will cover us if the local cops try to pull us in.”

  “Government ID? Is it real?”

  “I know this will come as a shock, but yes. It’s issued by the Agency for the Investigation of Atypical Phenomena.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “The agency likes to keep a low profile.”

  “No kidding.”

  He was about to insert the pick into the lock but he paused long enough to try the doorknob.

  It turned easily.

  “Huh,” he said. He slipped his gun out of the shoulder holster. “Stand on the other side of the door.”

  Sierra obediently moved out of what might become the line of fire. North flattened himself against the wall, opened the door and shoved it inward.

  “Government agents,” he said in a loud, authoritative tone. “Come out with your hands up.”

  Silence reverberated from deep inside the house. So did a sense of wrongness. You don’t have to be psychic to sense death, especially the violent kind. Humans have acute instincts for it.

  “This is going to be bad,” North said quietly. “You’d better wait out here.”

  He reached around the edge of the doorframe and flipped a light switch. Sierra pushed herself away from the wall of the house and looked through the doorway.

  The hall light illuminated two suitcases.

  Garraway’s body was sprawled on the floor. He had been shot twice, once in the chest and once in the head.

  North went through the ritual of checking for a pulse, but he didn’t expect to find one and he was proven right. After a moment he got to his feet and contemplated the suitcases.

  “Garraway was trying to run,” he said. “He shouldn’t have stopped to pack.”

  North crouched and opened one of the suitcases. Sierra watched him flip through some clothing. At the bottom of the case there was an envelope. He opened it. A flash drive and a sheaf of computer printouts fell out.

  North flipped through the printouts. “Spreadsheets. Financial stuff. Looks like Garraway was the money guy.”

  Sierra took off one glove and gingerly touched the doorknob. A shock of fury zapped across her senses. She jerked her fingers off the metal and shook her hand in a futile attempt to ease the burn.

  North stood, envelope in hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Hurts like hell but I’ll be all right. If it helps, I can tell you a few things about the killer.”

  “Talk.”

  “Whoever it was is unstable.”

  “How unstable?”

  “Without being able to see a reflection of the person’s aura in a mirror, I can’t give you a lot of details. All I know for sure is that the shooter’s aura is pretty messed up.” />
  CHAPTER 23

  To be honest, I didn’t think Sheriff Kincaid was going to buy that government-issued identification you showed him,” Sierra said. “But he seemed thrilled with it.”

  She and North were finally warm and dry and ensconced in front of a fire in room 210 of a local inn. She had not protested when North had decreed that they would share a room. It was a pragmatic decision. They now knew for certain they were chasing a killer. They needed sleep and they needed to watch each other’s backs. The most effective way to do both was to remain in close proximity.

  She and North had stayed at the scene of the Garraway murder until the sheriff and his team had assessed the situation and taken their statements. It had soon become apparent that all four orderlies had vanished, leaving no one to manage Riverview. That presented a host of additional problems.

  North had contacted Victor and Lucas to give them a rundown on the rapidly evolving situation. Victor had dispatched a forensics team from Las Vegas to take charge of the investigation and some members of the Halcyon Manor staff to assume control of Riverview. They were expected to arrive midmorning. In the meantime the sheriff had called in a retired doctor and a couple of former military medics who lived in the area. They had agreed to keep the situation at the asylum under control until the medical team from Las Vegas could get there.

  It was clear the local authorities could not wait to hand all the problems connected to Riverview to the agents of the Foundation.

  “Sheriff Kincaid didn’t question my ID for two reasons,” North said. “The first is that it’s legit. The Foundation is a genuine government contractor.”

  “What’s the second reason?”

  “Kincaid is smart enough to know there’s no upside for him if he gets involved in the investigation. Think about it—Garraway and the orderlies are from out of town and are widely disliked by the locals. The Riverview hospital makes everyone around here nervous. And now a card-carrying agent of a government contractor says his employer will be arriving to make all his problems go away. No one is going to be happier than Kincaid when the Foundation teams get here.”

  “I see what you mean. But our problems are just beginning.”

  “No,” North said. He contemplated the machine he had taken from Loring’s lab. It was currently sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. “We have a lot more information than we had at this time yesterday.”

  Sierra followed his gaze. “Yes, but it’s not getting us anywhere. That machine seems to be important, but we don’t even know what it’s supposed to do.”

  North drank some wine. He did not take his attention off the machine.

  “We have an eyewitness who may be able to answer some of our questions,” he said.

  Sierra started to ask who he was talking about but the answer dawned on her in the next breath.

  “Marge, the street lady?” she said.

  “According to Victor she spent a lot of time in Loring’s lab.”

  “Marge is now in Fogg Lake,” Sierra said. “I assume that’s our next stop?”

  “I think so. It feels like the right move.”

  “Long drive to the mountains from here. We need some sleep. A couple of hours, at least.”

  North did not respond at first. Then he turned his head to look at her. The firelight glinted on his mirrored glasses. His jaw was tense.

  “You could have been killed tonight,” he said.

  “We both could have been killed.”

  “I never intended for you to be put in the line of fire.”

  “I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m just the hired go-between. You thought you could use me to track down an artifact and then, when you got what you wanted, you could kick me to the curb.”

  He winced. “That’s a little harsh considering the fact that I am paying you a hell of a lot of money.”

  “It’s the truth. Don’t bother denying it. You’re still thinking you can dump me. But you’re afraid to cut me loose and send me back to Seattle because I might be in danger. I know too much for my own good now, don’t I?”

  “Probably. Until this thing is over it would be best—”

  “If you shipped me off to Las Vegas.”

  “I’ve got a solid lead on Loring now,” North said evenly. “I may be losing my talent but I’m still a decent investigator. I’m good at finding people.”

  “Forget it. You still need me, because I’m the one with the feel for artifacts.”

  “Damn it, Sierra—”

  “Give me a minute.” She stripped off one glove, sat forward, reached out and touched the black box machine. She winced and quickly removed her fingers.

  “You said you could sense your grandfather’s signature in that device. I can tell you that the last person to handle it was really, really pissed off. But there’s a layer of much older rage and frustration infused in it, too.”

  North’s expression sharpened. “How old?”

  “Lost lab–era old.”

  “But some of the anger is fresh?”

  Sierra sat back against the cushions. “Definitely.”

  North considered briefly. “The more recent prints most likely came from Loring.”

  “Who may or may not be Harlan, Crocker Rancourt’s grandson.” Sierra paused, processing what she had experienced when she touched the machine. “There might have been more than one set of new prints. Maybe one of the Puppets touched it.”

  “They’re definitely hot-tempered.”

  Sierra eyed the black box. “Think it’s another weapon?”

  North sat forward on the sofa, his forearms resting on his thighs, and studied the machine. “I can sense the heat in it and Griffin Chastain’s vibe, but there’s only one way to get a real feel for it.”

  “You’re talking about using your talent?”

  “What’s left of my talent,” North said.

  “You’d have to remove your glasses to do that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes. It’s a risk, but I don’t have a lot of choice. I need information.”

  He took a deep breath and reached up with both hands to remove the mirrored glasses. He set them down on the coffee table.

  For the second time since they had met, Sierra saw his eyes. The first time had been in the abandoned building when they had encountered the light grenade. She had not been able to get a close look on that occasion. But tonight she could see them clearly. North’s eyes were a mysterious shade of green and gold. They burned with energy. For a few seconds she could not look away.

  North was the one who broke the moment of connection between them. He blinked several times as if trying to clear his vision. Then he turned back to the machine and reached out to put both hands on it.

  “Hot as hell,” he said. “Light energy.”

  “That makes sense if it has your grandfather’s vibe,” Sierra said. She started to say something else but a tingle of heat snagged her attention.

  The vibe was not coming from the machine. North’s mirrored glasses were the source.

  Slowly she removed her glove. “Can I touch your glasses?”

  “What?” North was concentrating on the machine. “Sure. Help yourself.”

  She picked up the glasses and opened her senses. “Shit.”

  A shock of chilling awareness rattled her so badly she almost dropped the glasses.

  North turned his head to look at her. “What is it?”

  She took a breath, tightened her grip on the glasses and concentrated.

  “Rage,” she said. “And frustration. Some instability.”

  North froze. “Heat laid down by me? Are you picking up my frustration and the deterioration of my talent?”

  “No.” She took another breath. “This feels like some of the new stuff I sensed on that machine.”

  “The same sens
ation you got off the doorknob at Garraway’s house?”

  Sierra hesitated and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “You told me you got these glasses from a lab at Halcyon Manor.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think whoever handled these lenses before you started wearing them hates you, North. I think the radiation infused in the crystals is poisoning you slowly but surely. Someone is deliberately trying to destroy your talent and drive you mad.”

  CHAPTER 24

  For a few seconds North stopped breathing. He was so stunned that he neglected to put on the glasses until the visions at the edge of his awareness began to seethe and roil.

  “Damn,” he whispered.

  He grabbed the glasses and put them on. The hallucinations faded. Sierra watched him, not speaking, silently challenging him.

  He took a determined breath, braced himself for the hallucinations and removed the glasses. Deliberately he opened his senses. For a few seconds everything seemed normal. He could access his talent, whatever was left of it.

  But in the next moment the apparitions began to coalesce at the edges of his vision. The ghosts whispered to him of the madness that awaited. His nightmares rose up in waves.

  He could not afford to be running dangerous experiments on himself, he thought. He had to stay focused on saving his father. With a groan that was part disgust and part despair he started to put on the glasses.

  “Wait,” Sierra said. “Please. What do you see?”

  “What I always see when I take off the glasses for more than a minute or two. Nightmares. Ghosts.”

  “Tell me about the ghosts.”

  “They are vague, foggy images for the most part, but I can hear them. They are telling me the glasses are the only way to save my sanity.”

  “Hypnotic suggestion,” Sierra said. “Not the first time we’ve run into it in this case. The man Matt Harper met at the Vault, the one we assume is Delbridge Loring, gave Matt a hypnotic suggestion meant to keep him from remembering any details of what happened that night.”

  “You don’t understand,” North said. He looked at the glasses. “I was having visions and hallucinations before I got the glasses. They started soon after my team closed a case. That night I went to a club to celebrate with the others, went home to bed—and woke up the next morning to the nightmares and hallucinations. I thought I had gone insane overnight. Eventually the doctors concluded that I was going psi-blind. They gave me the glasses.”