He told himself that he could always swim back to the surface. But what if he got caught in a riptide and became disoriented, like a diver hit with the unpredictable effects of nitrogen at depth? The poetical term for it was rapture of the deep. The slang was narced. It could thrill you or terrify you. It could also kill you.
“Jack?”
Winter’s voice yanked him out of the dark thoughts. Back to the surface.
He turned away from the crashing waves with a sense of relief and watched her come toward him. The dark fire of her hair was tightly bound up under a scarf to protect it from the cleaning operation. The old-fashioned apron that Arizona had provided covered her from throat to knee. For once she was not wearing all black. She had on an old, faded pair of jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Her hands were sheathed in oversized cleaning gloves.
Beautiful, he thought.
At the sight of her the ominous darkness that hovered at the edge of his own personal Darknet receded. The crisp, blustery day got a little brighter. And suddenly the currents of his investigation began to come into sharper focus.
“How’s the cleanup going?” he asked.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.” Winter came to a halt in front of him. “Most of the blood was soaked up by the rug under the coffee table. We wrapped it in the sheet of plastic that AZ brought with her. She’s going to discard it in the town dump. I’ll never be able to look at the coffee table the same way again but AZ understands. She promised to replace it. Aside from that, it’s mostly a matter of sweeping and straightening.”
“Good.” He glanced at the cabin and then looked back at her. “Did you come out here to take a break?”
“No.” She searched his face. “I came out here to see how the conversation with your foster dad went.”
And maybe because she had seen him standing on the edge of the bluff, looking down at the surf, Jack thought. The possibility that she might suspect he was a little unstable was starting to really piss him off.
He reminded himself that at the moment he had other priorities.
“Here’s what I’ve got, based on what I know about Zane,” he said. “If he’s back and making big moves like the one last night, it’s because he feels safe, in control of the ground. And because he thinks he’s well hidden.”
“But you think the screwup last night will agitate him, maybe cause him to take some risks.”
“Right.”
“I keep wondering why he would try to come back in the first place. You said he’s an expert on running cons and pyramid schemes. Do you think maybe there’s a lot of money at stake?”
“No—or, at least, it’s not just about the money.”
“You seem very certain of that,” Winter said. “But con men are all about the money, aren’t they?”
“No, that’s a secondary objective. The real rush for a con artist is the thrill of manipulating the mark. Trust me, if making another fortune was Zane’s goal, it would be easier and much safer for him to continue operating abroad. He knows that.”
“What else would draw him back?” Winter asked.
“If Zane is back, it’s because there is something he wants very badly, something he can’t get living on another continent. Sooner or later I’ll figure out what that is. In the meantime, I don’t think he’ll pull the plug and walk away because of what happened last night, not unless he feels he has no choice.”
“Are your brothers going to start investigating, too?”
“I told Anson to keep them in the loop but I don’t want to pull Max and Cabot in on this just yet. We need to verify that Zane really is behind Moseley’s attack on you.”
Winter gave him a knowing smile. “This time Zane is the mark. You’re going to try to draw him out into the open, aren’t you?”
“Thus far no one seems to have a better idea.”
“I admit I’m not an expert on this kind of thing but it looks like Kendall Moseley is your only good lead.”
“Right.”
“You’re going to go down to California to start digging into his life, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Jack said. “I want you to go to Seattle and stay with Anson for a few days.”
“No,” she said.
“Winter—”
“You need me,” she said. “You’re going to be interviewing the people at the spa where I used to work, including Raleigh Forrester. I can tell you right now he’s not going to be cooperative. But I can lean on him for you.”
“You’re going to lean on your former boss?”
“Yep.”
“How, exactly, do you propose to lean on him?”
“It’s complicated,” Winter said smoothly. “But here’s my logic. If I go with you, anyone who happens to be watching us—Zane, for instance—will most likely assume that we have concluded that the attack last night was, indeed, aimed just at me. If you send me to Seattle and then travel down to California by yourself, Quinton Zane will have every reason to wonder if you’re looking for him.”
“Your logic leaves a little something to be desired.”
“Keep listening. If we do it my way, Zane can still tell himself that we aren’t looking for him, not yet, at any rate.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Because, unlike you, I’ve got a really good reason to go back to California.”
“What’s that?”
“Now that I’m no longer hiding from Moseley, I’m free to collect my last paycheck from Forrester and pick up the things I had to leave in a self-storage locker. I want my red sofa. I think it will look great in my cottage.”
“Don’t you think the fact that I’m traveling with you will make Zane wonder about what is going on?” Jack asked.
“Maybe,” Winter said. “But it’s also possible he’ll believe what everyone else in Eclipse Bay believes.”
“What?”
“That you and I are involved in a torrid affair.”
“As cover stories go, it’s damned weak.”
“Face it, Jack. This is your only real shot at keeping Zane in the dark. If you ship me off to Seattle, he will know for sure that you suspect him. There is no other reason why you would send me to stay with your family—not now that the guy who attacked me is dead.”
“Damn.”
“Got a better idea?”
“Well, no.”
She smiled. “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself. We’ll make a great team. You’ll see.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. It’s settled, then. When do we leave?”
“We both need sleep. Neither of us got any last night. We’ll drive to Portland this afternoon. Spend the night at an airport hotel. Fly down to the San Francisco Bay Area first thing in the morning. Rent a car—”
“Van.”
He paused. “Van? Why the hell do we need a van?”
“I’m going to pick up my things at the storage locker, remember? It’s part of our cover story.”
“You’ve got enough stuff to fill up a van?”
“We’ll need the van for my sofa.”
“That means we’ll have to drive back here to Eclipse Bay.”
“I can drive the van if you’d rather fly.”
He groaned. “Never mind, we’ll figure it out. Right now all I care about is that we’re at the front door of the Cassidy Springs Wellness Spa sometime tomorrow.”
Enthusiasm glinted in Winter’s eyes. “Raleigh Forrester will be there and he won’t be expecting us. We can take him by surprise. That’s settled, then. I’d better go help AZ. I have to tell you, she tackled the cleanup job like a pro.”
“A pro?”
“Between you and me, I don’t think this is her first experience with cleaning up a crime scene. She knew just what to do with the blood spatters.”
Jack glanced past Winter. He watched Arizona haul a black plastic trash bag out onto the front porch.
“Obviously a woman with a lot of hidden talents,” he said.
Arizona noticed him and raised a gloved hand in greeting before disappearing back into the cottage.
Winter followed his gaze. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was enjoying herself.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Winter had held her breath when they checked into the airport hotel in Portland. She and Jack had talked about a lot of things during the nearly two-hour drive from the coast but whether they would share a hotel room was not one of them. She had sensed that Jack did not like the idea of letting her too far out of his sight but she had no idea if that translated into rooming together.
She should have known better than to waste time obsessing over how he would handle the delicate situation. At the front desk Jack did not request one room or two separate rooms. He asked for—and got—connecting rooms.
Sometimes you overthink things, Winter told herself.
But even the thought of sleeping in a room that was connected to the room in which Jack was sleeping would probably be enough to keep her awake half the night.
From her perspective, that single hot kiss on her front porch had changed a lot of things. Nearly getting murdered, however, and teaming up with Jack to find Quinton Zane had absolutely upended her world. She was flying.
She decided she should probably meditate before she tried to sleep.
They ate an early dinner in the hotel restaurant and went upstairs. Without comment Jack unlocked the door between the rooms and then he paused. He took off his glasses, yanked a handkerchief out of a pocket and proceeded to polish the lenses.
“I don’t plan to do any lucid dreaming tonight, but sometimes, when I’m a little sleep deprived, for example—”
“Like tonight?”
He jaw tightened. “Like tonight. Sometimes when I’m a little sleep deprived or when I’m really involved in a case—”
“Which you are at the moment.”
“Yes.” He exhaled slowly, slipped on his glasses with exquisite care and fixed her with a steady, determined look. “Sometimes under those circumstances I sleepwalk. In the past when I’ve done that I’ve always been inside the fire maze.”
“Interesting.”
“Actually, it’s a pain in the ass because people who are unlucky enough to catch me in the act always freak. I guess I’m a scary sight.”
“I understand,” she said. “If you start to sleepwalk, I’ll wake you up.”
“No.” He looked alarmed.
“What if you leave your room and go out into the hall? We don’t want hotel security wondering what the heck is going on,” she said.
“That’s unlikely.”
“Why?”
“I’ve never actually gone through a closed door while I was sleepwalking. I have enough awareness of my surroundings to prevent myself from doing that. But I have walked through open doors so I’m telling you to keep your door closed. If you do hear me moving around and if it makes you feel uncomfortable, you can always lock your door.”
She understood that he didn’t want her to see him in a sleepwalking state. It would embarrass him.
“I’m sure it won’t be necessary to lock my door,” she said gently. “Good night, Jack.”
He nodded once, very brusque, and started to retreat into his own room, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Good night,” he said.
“Oh, Jack?”
He paused. “What?”
“Don’t forget your escape word. Repeat it to yourself just before you go to sleep. Meditate on it for a moment. With your lucid dreaming ability you should be able to call it up if you need it.”
He frowned. “The escape word is for my intentional dreams in Ice Town. My problem is with the old fire maze dream.”
“Your special word will work there as well. If you get lost in that maze dream, just look for the word. It will be there. You will find it.”
“Huh,” he said.
“What?”
He smiled a little. “Did you just try to hypnotize me to reinforce my escape word?”
She was shocked. “No. I would never do that, not without your permission.”
“Whatever. But just so you know, I’ve got my escape word down. I’m not going to forget it. Ever.”
He closed the door.
She got undressed and went through the getting-ready-for-bed ritual. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, face scrubbed, teeth brushed and wearing her nightgown, the adjoining room was very quiet. Jack was probably already in bed and, no doubt, asleep.
She turned out the light in her own room, opened the curtains and sat down on the edge of the bed.
For her, meditation was not about trying to empty the mind. She had long ago decided that was not only impossible, it made no sense. The brain could not be turned off except by death. Awake or asleep or meditating, it hummed along, working 24/7. Sensory input was received, processed and analyzed. Logical connections and intuitive leaps were made. Information was organized. The vital functions of the body were serviced and maintained. Above all, it did its most important job—it maintained a coherent vision of reality, and it somehow did that in both the dream state and the waking state. The two realities were experienced very differently but, astonishingly, each worked. Mostly.
She focused on her breath and slipped into the light, self-induced trance with the ease of long habit, practice and natural talent.
Memories surfaced. She let them come . . .
. . . The two women looked as if they had just walked out of a jungle, boarded a couple of long-haul flights and caught an airport cab that had driven them straight to the social worker’s office. They wore jungle trek gear—utility trousers and shirts studded with zippered pockets, scuffed boots and floppy, wide-brimmed hats. They each gripped a canvas duffel bag.
Both were in their midthirties. One was tall with light brown hair and a sharply etched profile. The other was shorter and built along compact, wiry lines. Her hair and eyes were very dark.
The light of the overhead fixtures gleamed on the matching gold wedding rings on their hands.
“Aunt Helen.” Alice leaped out of her chair. “Aunt Sue. I told them you would come and get us. They didn’t believe me.”
“Hello, sweetie.” The tall woman opened her arms. “I am so sorry it took us so long to get here.”
Alice flew across the room and flung herself into the arms of the tall woman first, and then she hugged the shorter one.
The tall woman looked at the social worker. “I’m Helen Riding. This is my wife, Susan. We were working in a village upriver at the time of the plane crash. We didn’t find out what had happened until we took a canoe back down the river to the town to pick up supplies. There was a message from the foundation. That’s when we learned that my sister and her husband had both died and that Alice had been taken into foster care. But when we got in touch with the foundation people, no one seemed to know where she was.”
“That’s because Alice and her friend, Winter, got lost in the system,” the social worker said. “Rather deliberately, I think.” She got to her feet to shake hands. “I’m Brittany Nettleton, the caseworker for the girls. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”
Winter didn’t know which of them—Brittany or her—was the most astonished to meet Helen and Susan Riding. Winter was pretty sure the social worker had shared her own doubts about the existence of Alice’s aunts. The only reason she and Alice were in Brittany’s office now was because a volunteer at a shelter had said they could trust her.
Alice had been determined to keep checking in with the system because she was convinced that it was the only way her aunts would be able to find her. She had be
en right.
“Alice said you would come,” Brittany said.
“Of course.” Susan put a comforting hand on Alice’s small shoulder. “We would have been here long before now if we had known what happened.”
“This is a somewhat complicated situation.” Brittany glanced uneasily at Winter and then turned back to Susan and Helen. “I would like to explain things to you privately. Alice and Winter, why don’t you two go down the hall to the lunchroom and get a soda?”
“Yeah, sure,” Winter said.
She knew what was coming. By the time she and Alice returned, the situation would have been explained to the aunts. Brittany would take Winter aside and inform her that only Alice would be leaving with Helen and Susan Riding. Winter would be going to a different home.
Except that she wouldn’t be going to a new foster home, Winter thought. She could take care of herself on the streets. In fact, she would leave right now while everyone figured she was getting a soda. That way she would not have to say good-bye to Alice. Wouldn’t have to watch Alice cry. Wouldn’t cry herself.
“I don’t want a soda,” Alice announced in a loud, ringing voice. “I want to go with Aunt Helen and Aunt Sue right now. Winter is coming with me, aren’t you, Winter?”
Winter shrugged. “The system doesn’t work that way, kid. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself, remember?”
Alice ignored her. She faced Helen and Susan.
“Winter is my sister,” she explained.
Brittany sighed. “Alice, you know that Winter isn’t your sister.”
“Foster sister,” Alice clarified quickly.
“Not anymore,” Winter said. She went to the door of the office and wrapped one hand around the knob. “You’re out of the system now. You’re going home.”
Helen and Susan exchanged unreadable looks.
Brittany cleared her throat. “As far as I’ve been able to tell, the girls have been together for nearly two months now.”
“In a foster home?” Susan asked.
“Not exactly,” Brittany said. “They’ve got a history of running away. I think mostly they’ve been living on the streets. They’re here now only because I promised them I would do my best to find the two of you for Alice.”
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