by Rachel James
Her gaze drifted to Logan Reed. If the Lovers card represented the two of them, how did Logan Reed fit in? Her father had no knowledge of his existence. So how could he fit her father’s elaborate chest of ills? And who in the mythical story did he represent? Prometheus or Theseus?
“Pride goeth before a fall,” Logan murmured
Sonny caught his meaning at once. “You can say it. I’m not as smart as I thought. I can’t make the password work.”
“It’s simply not the password then,” he replied. He tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and studied her face.
Damn, why did he have to be so laid-back and patient now, just when she had finally gotten used to his overbearing sarcasm? It was unsettling for her concentration for him to give her time to sort it out. Idly, she began drumming her fingers along the side of the console, replaying the sequence of numbers in her head.
“Let’s go about this with a procedural eye,” Logan said. He scanned the screen above them. “Let’s assume your father is here in the room with us, typing the word. What would he be saying to you as he typed?”
Nibbling on her lower lip, Sonny digested the thought.
“He’d be reminding me that everything has its place in the universe. Nothing is random. One plus one equals two; two plus two equals four … ” She broke off, giving the cards on the coffee table a quick look. “Of course, that’s it.” She flew to the sofa, bending over the cards. She studied the engraved numbers at the top of each card. “The Fool equals zero; The High Priestess two.” She studied the remaining numbers as Logan stopped beside her. “Judgment equals twenty, which equals two plus zero equals two. Death equals … ”
“Thirteen,” Logan supplied.
“No, it’s one plus three equals four,” she said quickly. Her gaze found the Tower card. “One plus six equals seven.” Her contemplation stretched back across the cards. “0-2-2-4-7.” Her gaze shot to the TV screen, and she bolted from the sofa. “Pandora’s card is seventeen; one plus seven equals eight.” She sank back onto the computer chair, inputting the sequence of numbers. 0-2-2-4-7-8.
The computer suddenly flickered blue and white and then produced a new sentence:
YOU’RE A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK!
Sonny smiled at the compliment. I’m better than good, Daddy. Even though you never knew these cards existed, your spirit guides did and they routed them into your mind as messages for me. In seconds, sentences began to ripple rapidly across the screen, halting her rambling mind and forcing her to focus on the words. She left the console, joining Logan at the bar stool again. Together, they read the missive rolling across the screen.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, SONNY, I AM DEAD—MURDERED BY A SADISTIC PREDATOR WHO MAKES THE SANCTUARY HIS HUNTING GROUND. I HAVE LEFT CLUES HERE—AND A DVD OFF-SITE. BOTH WILL LEAD YOU TO ‘PANDORA.’ USE YOUR TALENTS TO DESTROY IT. PANDORA MUST NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU KNOW.
The computer paused, awaiting new instructions, and Sonny’s mind reeled under the words. A sadistic predator? She felt warm hands descend on her shoulders.
“Now we know for certain Pandora exists. Next, we need to learn what it is.”
Sonny’s stomach turned nauseous. “The hand of Spirit is moving things into place,” she said, clutching her stomach. “I can feel the shift.”
“When the student’s ready, the teacher always comes,” Logan stated.
“But who’s the student, and who’s the teacher?”
“For the time being, your father is doing the teaching,” Logan said.
“What do you suppose he meant by ‘Pandora must never see the light of day’?”
“We won’t know that until we see the clues he left.”
Sonny suppressed a shiver. She’d rather not see any clues ever. Just hearing that someone hated her enough to kill her was enough to shake her confidence. She didn’t need every detail spelled out.
“Snap out of it, Sonny. We’re wasting precious time.”
Sonny jerked to attention. “Sorry.” Leaning over, she typed a new command into the program and stood back. The drive whirred and finally fed up a new set of items: two Tarot cards and a photograph.
The photo was adorable—a young, petite face wreathed in an animated, carefree smile. Under the picture, a caption read:
AMANDA
“Amanda who?” Logan asked.
Studying the pigtails and heart-shaped face, Sonny felt a surge of inexplicable connection to the girl in the photo. She clutched her stomach again.
“I don’t recognize her, but I can almost see her aura connecting with mine,” she stated. “I wish Daddy wasn’t being so mysterious.”
“Perhaps the truth would’ve gotten him killed sooner. The predator may have discovered his secret was out. Besides, not all mysteries start out that way. Most times they are truths turned upside down by the passage of dark minds,” Logan advised. “At any rate, we have our first clue. And once we match it with the others, we’ll be one step closer to solving the mystery.”
“And where on the predator’s hit list I am,” Sonny muttered. “First, second?”
“One step at a time,” Logan cautioned. His fingers gave her shoulders a final squeeze. He studied the card on the screen. “Another damn Tarot card,” he chided. “I wish your father had added some variety to this game.” He sighed. “Alright, I give up. Who’s The Hermit?”
His question had Sonny moving to the screen with a subtle lift of her fingers. She closed her eyes, drinking in the card’s energy. Her eyes popped open a moment later.
“It’s Foster Sykes,” she said in surprise. She dropped her hands.
“And who is Sykes?”
“He’s a hypnotherapist. He ran my dream laboratory until a car accident left him paralyzed a year ago. He’s wheelchair-bound now and very rarely comes out of his house. Hence, The Hermit.”
A long pause descended, and Sonny sensed Logan was trying to figure out how this information fit a logical solution to their dilemma. And then, as quickly as he fell silent, he rallied.
“Perhaps he became an invalid because of what he knows about Pandora,” Logan said. “If you sense a connection with the photo, then my first thought was right. This mystery revolves around something secretive from your past. Your father obviously learned the secret, and it scared him enough to resort to hiding clues in a computer.”
“But murder!” Sonny stressed. “What secret could be so important that people would kill to keep it safe?” She broke off, covering her trembling lips. She saw Logan’s arms snake out to her in sympathy, and she shook her head, warding him off with a raised hand. “I’m not having a meltdown,” she said.
“Good girl. We can’t get the right answer until we ask the right question. Right now, the connections are vague, but I admit they are connected.” He gave her one of his arrogant grins. “I promise you, as good as you are with interpreting Tarot cards and initiating visions, I am just as good at solving my cases.”
Sonny attempted a smile, but she knew it lacked force. “That’s the spirit,” he chirped, seeing the tilt of her chin. “Now, what does The Ten of Swords mean?” He ran his fingers along the image depicting ten swords embedded in a slain figure’s back. “Not a happy card, by the looks of things.”
Sonny suppressed a shiver. “My least favorite card in the deck,” she remarked. “It represents being s-s-stabbed in the back.”
“Tell me something I can’t see for myself.”
“It’s a card of despair; however, it also represents the ending of unimaginable mental pain. See the sun coming over the horizon in the background? All is not lost.”
“That’s encouraging,” Logan said, throwing her an admirable look over his shoulder. “Why are you frowning? We’re getting better at connecting the dots.”
Sonny shrugged off the compliment. “I’m confused by its appearance. So far, all the cards I’ve been sent have been part of the Major Arcana … No, don’t hiss. I know you don’t know major from minor in
Tarot-speak, but believe me when I tell you, this last card is far removed from the others.”
He studied her stymied expression. “Though these all appear to be separate clues, each one is really part of the whole,” he told her. He began rocking on the balls of his feet. “Which one do we need to know first, I wonder?”
Sonny wondered, too, but not out loud. Her thoughts centered on what the final outcome would be once all their questions were answered. Would The Ten of Swords signal her being stabbed in the back like her father?
The smell of smoke interrupted her sour thoughts, and Sonny looked up at the red warning light flashing across the monitor. On the giant screen, a visual and vocal countdown began.
“Thirty, twenty-nine ... ” Sonny issued a halt command; however, the countdown continued. “Twenty-seven ... twenty-six ... ”
“What’s it doing?” she asked, issuing a second termination command. She felt Logan at her side. “I’ve never seen a program do this before.”
“You should be asking what it’s counting down to,” Logan supplied quickly.
“I don’t want to know,” Sonny said, hitting the reset button and then exhaling loudly when the computer squealed like fingernails down a chalkboard. The screen flicked off, and relieved, Sonny tumbled back into her chair, her legs buckling. “I don’t ever want to know how close that was.”
“You can say that ... What the hell?”
The glass of the monitor in front of Sonny cracked, spewing smoke and emitting an acrid smell of fried wires. Rolling her chair out of the way, she saw small puffs of smoke curling up from the back of the monitor, heading for her chair. The heat bouncing off was an omen that a larger fire was about to erupt. She recognized the danger at the same time Logan did.
“Fire extinguisher,” they said simultaneously.
Logan whirled around first, his glance surveying the walls. When it lit on the red canister, he dashed towards it and ripped it from its holder. He was back in a flash, spraying the back of the monitor with its foam contents and ordering Sonny to get out of the way.
She complied, but not before snatching up her gloves from the console and donning them. Mesmerized, she watched the foam saturate her keyboard and the sides of the console. So much for priding yourself on knowing things before they happen, her inner voice mused. Sonny immediately dammed her ego for pointing out the obvious, and then she nearly jumped out of her skin when a fail-safe shutdown set off every electronic gadget in the room. One by one, each fizzled out and went dark.
Though surprised by the sudden quiet, Logan’s fingers continued to wield the twisted knob of the canister, making sure that no fried wires had a chance of reigniting. It only took a scant ten seconds for the small fire to be totally put out, and another five seconds for Sonny to realize that her father’s killer, a skillful hunter, had made sure the mice didn’t come away with any of the cheese.
Smoke teased her nostrils a few seconds longer, and then, hearing the canister hit the floor with a crash, Sonny sank into her chair again. All remnants of her computer had been turned to melted mush. The clues inside were now nothing, at least nothing that could be traced from this location. Their hunter had put them back at square one.
On the other side of the console, Logan shoved the fire extinguisher with his toe. It scraped loudly, a perfect mirror to Sonny’s thoughts.
“The bastard should be shot,” Logan said. “Preferably twice.”
She heard a sudden, rapid tapping on the door.
“Your sandwiches, querida,” Consuela called through the glass panes. Sonny started to send her away, but Logan’s growl brought her attention back to him. A second rap sounded on the door. “Señorita, I bring food.”
“The computer was triggered with a shut-down,” Logan said, ignoring Consuela’s third hammering. “Who has access to this room?”
“No one,” Sonny said tartly. “This is my home. Besides, the shutdown was done remotely.”
“How the hell did you discern that?”
She waved her gloved fingers at him. “This is how.” She ripped off her glove and skimmed the fried wires. “I can sense the shutdown didn’t come from this computer.” She donned her glove again. “And now, thanks to our hit man, we haven’t a chance in hell of proving who murdered Daddy today. We’ll have to wait and use the main bungalow computer when Dick releases it.”
Even as she said the words, Consuela pounded on the door again, this time yelling in a voice laced with panic. “Señorita Sonny, mi querida!”
The shaking of the doorknob vibrated through the floor beneath their feet; however, neither of them moved to let the housekeeper in.
“I wish to hell we’d thought to print out the clues right away,” Logan said.
Hearing his heartfelt declaration, a lump rose in Sonny’s throat. She was the one who was sorry. Her problems had put his life in danger. He forestalled any comment from her by chanting ominously:
“Three blind mice, three blind mice, see how they run, see how they run … ”
“That isn’t funny,” Sonny chided, shivering.
“Neither is burning to death,” Logan said, finally moving to the French doors to let the housekeeper in. Consuela’s pounding became intense, and to Sonny’s horror, a fire alarm activated. Good grief! Consuela had hit the police emergency button.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Frowning, Ned entered the hypnotherapy chamber, his focus on Logan Reed’s sudden arrival. The man was a stupid bastard if he thought he could protect Sonny from her destiny. No one could stop the hands of time or the plan in motion—especially not a Meta Corps agent. Ned snickered, and the sound bounced off the walls of the empty room. It would be a pleasure to abduct Sonny from under Reed’s nose. He’d never find her in the dark abyss Ned would be sending her to. In fact, when he was finished scrambling her brain, he’d focus on her body. She’d give him weeks of pleasure before he killed her, and he’d make sure he didn’t leave a trail a bastard like Logan Reed could follow. The timing would have to be perfect, though. One false step and his abduction plans would come crashing down.
Sinking into his console chair, Ned continued to fuel his anger. Logan Reed was an unexpected complication. He had already managed to impress Cutter with his Meta Corps badge and credentials. And if he actually had managed to impress Sonny, well, it would be hell to short-circuit their partnership.
Remembering Sonny’s declaration that she enjoyed being kissed by the bastard, Ned’s jealousy flared anew. It didn’t matter how many times the pair kissed. His lips would be the last she tasted. Love wasn’t in the cards for her—only a brief life as his plaything.
Shifting his attention to the console, Ned booted up the machines in front of him, and then, rising, he removed a headpiece from a robotic crane arm. He set the piece down on the seat of the room’s client chair. Too bad he’d had to kill David so soon. The man had been good to him over the years. But the wily bastard had brought his own demise. He had found Ned’s Pandora tape, been appalled by what he had seen on the disc, and then threatened to reveal everything to Sonny first—then to the world. Well, now he wouldn’t have a chance to breathe a word of what he knew to anyone. The secret had gone with him to his grave.
In the distance, Ned heard a police siren wail, followed by the shrill whine of a fire engine. It was obvious the shutdown at the hacienda had occurred. The security team was en route.
Lifting his wrist, Ned checked the time. His last appointment of the day would be here in less than ten minutes. No time to seize Sonny today. Lady Luck had chosen to delay her capture for another day. There’d be another chance to abduct her, though. All one had to do was wait for it. Carpe diem! Seize the day!
Swinging about, Ned headed back to the console; however, before he reached it, the lab door swung open. Margie Hunt shuffled through the door, dressed in a strapless tank top and jean shorts. The energy surrounding her frame sizzled with her apparent excitement.
“I know I’m early, Dr. Chalmers, but this mo
rning’s session was so invigorating, I couldn’t wait to feel that way again.”
Ned signaled her to the chair. “Then why wait? Let’s get right to it.”
She climbed into the chair rapidly, and then, settling into a comfortable posture, she donned the green headpiece and matching headphones.
In seconds, Ned had ramped up the power system and taken his place at the console.
“Close your eyes, and breathe deeply. We’ll start by counting backward from twenty.”
She complied, and soon, she was answering a taped question. “And where are you now?”
“I’m in your bedroom. We’re about to make love.” She gave a breathless pant. “You’re slipping off my clothes.”
Ned flipped off the tape, rose from the console, and approached Margie’s chair. The woman was completely under, with no conscious thought of her surroundings.
“And now what are we doing?” he asked, studying her glowing face.
“We’re naked. We’re kissing.” Her breathing revved up, and Ned reached out and tugged her tank top down. Her large breasts bounced free, the material sliding under and catching. Seeing a pair of large, dusky nipples, Ned inhaled sharply. The woman had breasts to give any man a raging hard-on. Luckily, today, he was that man.
“And where are we now?” he asked, hitting the “recline” button on the chair.
“We’re on the bed.”
The chair slid back, and Ned lowered the arms, locking them into place under the seat. “And what do you want?” he asked.
Her voice became euphoric. “I want you to make love to me.”
“Done,” Ned said.
He began unzipping his pants.
• • •
Standing in the doorway, Sonny watched the security team rummage through the melted debris.
“You cold?”
She jumped, startled to find a lacy shawl being dropped across her shoulders. Tucking it around her, Sonny glanced up at Logan’s face. “I’m freezing.”