by Rachel James
Seeing the sparkling sheen on the water, Logan realized the retreat had a true Southwestern charm. Pools, gardens, waterfalls—it had “rich and classy” stapled all over it. He grinned. Dresden hadn’t lied about The Sanctuary’s elegant reputation either. All the buildings were beautifully tailored and sculpted. He could also see why Sonny conducted her Sunday-morning classes two miles up from the hotel. Up here, the guests got a two-for-one bargain. Spiritual solace, plus a spectacular view of the countryside.
His gaze scoured the landscape below again, pleased when a cool breeze swept up from the desert floor and licked his face. Suddenly in no hurry, he leaned against a post marked “Mystic Overlook.” Crossing his legs, he chuckled at the name etched into the wood. Since he had exited the shuttle, he hadn’t seen a name that didn’t have a spiritual tie. Spirit Lake, Mystical Gardens, Sacred Path, Holistic Gardens.
He glanced north, realizing that the turquoise sky, winding trails, and hiking paths also added charm to the desert locale. To its credit, the Loop, formally known as The Spiritual Path, paid homage to the natural beauty of the hillside.
Logan glanced at his watch. The receptionist had told him Sonny’s class would end at eleven, and by the sound of the New Age music blaring above his head, the class was running late. He let another five minutes slide by, enjoying a smoke while he waited. When another five minutes passed and the music still blared, he sighed loudly. How long did it take for people to get in tune with their auras? Surely not the two hours listed on the retreat brochure.
The music suddenly stopped, and Logan hoisted himself from the column. At last. He squashed his cigarette in a nearby garbage bin and continued his climb. As he trudged upward, his mind circled back to the question he had been asking himself since he had boarded the plane at JFK. Did Sonny Blake have any clue she might be harboring a serial killer at the retreat? If she was so damn good at reading people, she must’ve at least had an inkling of something sinister.
His foot hit the end of the path, where he found an empty clearing, but no people. Where the hell had everyone gone? He scanned the rows of chairs, looking for signs of life. When he heard the sound of fading voices, he realized the group was leaving the plateau by a separate route.
Swinging left, he studied a decimated buffet table. Only a scant tray of food was left. It was clear doing aura portraits made one ravenous. Entering the canopy, he plucked two last croissants from the tray and leisurely popped the first one in his mouth. His eyes watered at once, and he dove for the pitcher sitting in the middle of the table. Holy crap! Talk about a spicy kick! He poured water into a glass and then chugged the refreshing liquid down. The burning fire coating his larynx quickly eased.
He poured a second glass, pleased when his tongue and throat stopped burning. Chucking the second croissant in a trash container at the end of the table, Logan ducked back out from under the canopy and studied the rest of the mesa. Looking northeast, he spotted a sign marked “Chapel” and headed for the structure. What else did he have to do? Sonny Blake had obviously escorted her group to a descent path, and he didn’t intend to stand around, twiddling his thumbs, while the woman took her time coming back.
Following a paved-stone sidewalk, Logan reached the chapel and ascended two wide steps into the small, yet cool, dwelling. He headed for the large open-air window at the front of the church. When he reached it, he drew in his breath. Another magnificent vista with God’s name scribbled on it. Up this high, it was easy to believe God existed, and that all was right in the world.
Embarrassed by such spiritual whimsy, Logan whirled rapidly and slipped into the first pew. He studied the cross hanging over the small altar and wondered when he had become such a jaded ass.
• • •
Returning to the rows of chairs, Sonny rubbed her face. Thank God the class was over. She had barely made it through the last portrait without throwing up. She plopped into a seat and dropped her head into her hands. There was no denying it now. Something major was wrong with her skills. Ever since she had pulled herself from her bed this morning, she had been besieged with a fear so paralyzing she could hardly breathe.
Lifting her head, she glanced down at her gloved fingers, willing them to stop shaking. She’d make an awful criminal, she knew. She made an awful empath, too. How could she help a client when her hands were shaking like fruit whirring in a blender? Shaking hands screamed fear, and fear screamed mental breakdown. Last night’s nightmare hadn’t helped. She had dreamed of thousands of Death cards being hurled at her by a shadowy figure who kept shouting: “I know who you are and where you live!”
A stark thought hit her. Perhaps she had been wrong to agree to Meta Corps’ request. She was clearly in some kind of personal meltdown, and getting into the head of a serial killer might be the final push that sent her into a rabbit hole filled with dead bodies and no way out.
Relax, Sonny. Rely on your spiritual prowess to get you through, her inner voice advised. The thought was so ludicrous that Sonny laughed. Hadn’t she been doing that? The question gave her a chance to take a closer look at the table. The setting had been sweet at the start, the stemware elegant and the wine glasses celebratory. That was before the hordes had descended and devoured all the canapés. Now, it looked like a team of pigs had stampeded through.
Hit by a sudden desire to clean up, Sonny jumped up and entered the canopy, shivering when a cool gust of air fanned her uncovered arms. She tilted her face to study the wind chimes dangling from the canopy edges. The chimes were also sweet, as if announcing to the world: “Here lies God’s goodness.” She shifted her gaze to the majestic landscape and beyond. No crouching tigers or hidden dragons, she mused.
The arbor is a perfect backdrop for an ambush, though, her inner voice warned.
Stow that kind of thinking, Miss Empath, she responded. We’re already stressed to the max.
Hearing a soft scurry on the ground behind her, Sonny glanced over her shoulder quickly. She spotted a large iguana darting under the edge of the buffet table and stomped her foot, hoping to scare it away. Cleaning tables with a determined lizard was not how she wanted to end her morning. When she saw no sign of its body, she sighed in relief.
Now what? her inner voice asked. We shift our thoughts to physical activity and hope to God we don’t get hit with any more surprises today. Amen, her ego replied. Agreeing, Sonny popped one last, stray cheese ball into her mouth and munched on it with relish. Leaning over, she began collecting the paper plates into a pile and scooping them into the garbage.
• • •
The dining hall was filled, but Ned found the trio he was looking for right away. He zigzagged his way between tables, and, reaching the group, he plopped down in an empty chair.
“You need to talk to Sonny,” he told the mustached figure on his right.
“Why? What has she done now?” David Blake asked, glancing at Ned over the rim of his coffee cup.
“She’s brought Meta Corps down on us.”
Charlotte Fletcher stopped smearing jam on her toast. “Meta Corps is here?”
The lanky figure to her right dropped the piece of toast he was buttering. “Bloody hell! That’s all we need. A government agent poking into our business.” Brad Fletcher glared at Ned. “You’re sure your info is right? You’ve seen the man? Talked to him?”
Ned shook his head. “I heard him checking in, but before I could touch base with him, Jessie sent him up to the mesa to meet with Sonny.”
“It’s that damn case she’s looking into,” Charlotte exclaimed, shivering. “Touching the evidence of a serial killer is just plain crazy. You know how sensitive she is to negative vibes. She could have a meltdown or something.” She glanced at her brother. “You need to talk to her, David. Convince her to send this agent packing.”
David frowned, setting his cup down. “You know I never poke my nose into Sonny’s business. She’s a grown woman with a mind, and a schedule, of her own.”
“She’s a bitch, you mean
,” Ned said heatedly.
Brad stirred. “That’s my niece you’re talking about, Ned. She’s no bitch; she’s just remarkably smart when it comes to reading people—and their vices.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ned asked.
“It means, like the rest of us, she’s noticed how much time you’re spending in late night sessions with the same female clients,” David cut in. He poured himself another cup of coffee. “We cater to all of our guests here, not just a select few. It sends the wrong message to our guests when the appointment ledgers are filled with the same client names all the time.”
Ned’s stomach curdled at the criticism. He obviously had been too overt in his session scheduling. He’d have to back off some.
“I wasn’t aware I was hogging the limelight,” he finally chided. “From here on out, I’ll turn down some clients. Shall I send them your way, Brad?”
Brad shoved his plate away. “Don’t be an ass. Just put a little more variety in your scheduling from now on.”
Suppressing the urge to throttle the man beside him, Ned rose instead. It was time to beat a hasty retreat up to the mesa. He needed to put a little scare into Sonny and her companion. He shoved his chair back.
“I need to see you privately,” David said, seeing him prepare to leave. “Company business. When can we meet?”
“In a couple of hours. I’m having brunch with a friend today.”
A snicker echoed from Brad.
“How old is she? Sixteen? Seventeen?”
“Fuck you, Brad!” Ned whirled from the table and struck out for the entrance. Fucking prick! He’d see to it that Brad paid for that cutting remark. But first, he had to learn how safe his secret was from Sonny and her companion.
• • •
Coming out of the chapel, Logan heard a husky laugh and halted. What the hell? He stopped on the bottom step, studying the figure beneath the canopy. Thin, but not too thin. Nice legs. Nice ass. His gaze swept higher. Full, rounded breasts, tiny waist. He felt a nudge in his groin and winced.
Store those insane desires to touch and feel, Reed, his inner voice warned. Desires like that landed you in a hospital bed last time.
Yeah, but a well-stacked mouse had an amazing beauty. He left the steps and started across the stone pavers. As he strode, his thoughts turned to his ongoing bad luck with women. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. He let his gaze rest on the figure again. Damn, but she had a gorgeous body, even from the back. Would the face match the figure?
Whoa, forget that kind of question, his inner voice urged. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous the mouse is. We’re here to solve a case, nothing more. Besides, we’ve given up trifling with mice. They’re trouble, with a capital T. And the one thing we don’t need at the moment is more trouble in our life.
Right, he agreed. Just keep on walking.
CHAPTER SIX
Sonny popped the last chocolate pastry into her mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. If she didn’t figure out what was causing her overwhelming shutdown soon, plus her sudden uncontrollable urge to eat everything in sight, she’d end up eating herself to death. This chocolate pastry was heavenly.
Thirsty, Sonny turned to the standing coffee urn, bent on taking a shot of caffeine; however, her hand paused over an empty cup when she spied a white envelope propped in the center of the mugs. She scooped up the note, spotting her name on the front. A secret admirer? her inner voice asked. She ripped open the flap. Probably a thank you note from a guest.
Feel the texture of the envelope with your fingers, her inner voice prodded. It’s probably the owner of that distant, sexy voice wanting to make mad, passionate love to us.
Shut up, she told the nagging voice.
She peered inside the envelope, spotting a splay of colors. Her heart tripped suddenly. A Tarot card?
Curiouser and curiouser, Miss Alice in Wonderland, her inner voice mocked her.
Sonny peeped about her.
No White Rabbit today, Miss Empath; we are alone.
She pulled the Tarot card from the envelope, studying the image depicted. The Lovers. Naked bodies entwined in a highly erotic pose. She shivered at the thought. Just whose naked bodies did the card represent? She examined the card more closely. It was from the Morgan Greer deck, and that, in itself, was odd. She had stopped using that deck for readings a long time ago, and her spirit guides knew it. So, who had left the mysterious card for her?
She turned the card over and saw a typed note Scotch-taped to the center. She read the words.
Sonny:
We need to talk. You are in grave danger. Meet me in the bungalow after your class on the mesa is finished. And don’t tell anyone you’re coming. Your life depends on it. Trust no one. DAD.
The cryptic words made Sonny’s mouth turn dry as dust. Trust no one. Not even her aunt? Her gaze strayed to the bottom of the hill. Meet him in the bungalow. Done, she decided. She slid the Tarot card in her dress pocket and whirled around. She hit a rock-solid wall of chest. Long arms came up and around her, encircling her like strands of a spider web. Stunned, she glanced up and then inhaled sharply. God, what a magnificently sculpted face! Her thoughts soured immediately. Trust no one. Not even a gorgeous face with electric blue eyes and a disarming lopsided grin.
Trust no one, Sonny, her inner voice stressed. Don’t even think about how well your curves mold against the contours of his lean body. Forget the divine, masculine smell of his aftershave. Get out of his arms! Sonny lifted her hands and pushed at the chest. To her surprise, the man didn’t budge. The word “nice” echoed in the air, and she wondered what was “nice.” The sky? The trees? Her breasts tucked tightly against his warm chest?
Embarrassed by such a starkly erotic thought in the face of such uncertainty, Sonny squirmed. The movement caused her breasts to sway across his chest, and a rush of pink stained her cheeks. They were welded so close that she couldn’t tell which of their heartbeats was racing faster—his or hers. Should she scream for help?
Yeah, her inner voice chided. Scream for help. See who comes.
Sonny bit her lip at the rebuke. Right, we’re alone, in the arms of a man who smells divine and whose embrace feels safe.
Get a life, Sonny, her inner voice scoffed. And get out of his arms.
Luckily, she didn’t have to push him again. The arms holding her released her from his embrace. She retreated a step, unnerved by his piercing stare.
“May I see what you’ve just tucked in your pocket, Miss Blake?” The voice was deep and pleasant, and sounded familiar. Sonny felt her heartbeat quicken but ignored it. She was acting like a star-struck tween focused on Justin Bieber when she should’ve been telling the stranger to go to hell. Trust no one, her father had warned.
Before she could utter the word “no,” the stranger’s hand slipped inside her dress pocket and foraged for the card. Outraged, she slapped at the fingers.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? How dare you? Give that back to me!”
She attempted to snatch the card back but found her gloved fingers slapped. Fast, she concluded—he had soft, gentle, and fast hands. She watched as he scanned the card leisurely.
“I suppose you know what the picture on this card represents?”
The question hung in the air, and her response was filled with dripping sarcasm. “Of course.”
“I thought as much.” Looking her over, he handed the card back. “I don’t suppose you’d care to translate it for me?”
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory,” she retorted. Who the hell was this man? And why was he quizzing her on the Tarot card?
“Somehow, I knew you’d be a stubborn wench.” Reaching into his left shirt pocket, he hauled out a cigarette and lighter, and Sonny saw him grimace as the cigarette flared, leaving smoke trails skimming his nose. His bold stare continued, and this time, she tried to ignore it by stuffing the card back into her dress pocket.
An uncomfortable silence descended be
tween them, and Sonny cleared her throat. What was the man thinking about so intently? His keen, thoughtful gaze was lingering on her shape, his interest curious and obvious, but his mind elsewhere. Clearing her throat again, Sonny centered her thoughts on the stranger’s identity.
“What can I do for you, Mr. ... ?”
“Reed. Logan Reed. And to answer your next question, no, I’m not a guest.”
Smoke coiled, hiding his expression, and Sonny frowned. Why was he here then? And blast it, why did she have to be more interested in learning what his taste in women was, rather than finding out what he wanted from her? And he did want something from her. She could sense it.
“Surely you must want something from me,” Sonny stated. “You tracked me all the way up here.”
Crusty laughter startled her. “Hopefully you’ve already done what I need, and I can get the hell out of here.”
Sonny’s brow furrowed. “You seem familiar. Did I do an aura reading for you recently?”
“Not bloody likely. I don’t do spiritual shit.”
“What do you do then?” Sonny asked, surprised by how offended she was by his “spiritual shit” insult.
His hand reached into his back pocket, and she saw his amused grin emerge again. “I’m from Meta Corps. You’re expecting me.” He flashed his ID badge in front of her face and she scanned the name quickly. Logan Reed, out of New York City. The wallet snapped shut and was pocketed again.