The inside of the mansion looked as if it had been locked in a time warp since the early 1960s.
“Wow,” Sierra said. “The original version of mid-century modern. My grandmother says she never did understand why the style came back into fashion. She said the only reason people bought those plastic chairs and shag rugs the first time around was because they were cheap.”
Jake and Zeke appeared from a hallway. “Place feels empty. But there’s some heat.”
“Take the upstairs,” North said. “We’ll go down.”
“Right.”
Jake and Zeke went up the stairs and disappeared onto the upper floor. They reappeared almost immediately.
“Nothing but a lot of dust,” Jake reported. “No footprints. He wasn’t spending time there.”
North found the door to the basement in the big kitchen. When he opened it the unmistakable odor of death wafted up from the darkness. He flipped on the light switch.
Loring’s lifeless body was sprawled at the foot of the steps. A large pool of dried blood stained the concrete floor.
“Looks like one or more of the Puppets got tired of waiting to become a super psychic,” Sierra said quietly.
North led the way down the stairs. The rest of the team followed. Sierra paused in the doorway.
“Just a minute,” she said.
North and the others looked at her. Cautiously she put her ungloved hand on the knob of the basement door.
“Shit,” she said.
She yanked her fingers off the knob and hastily pulled on the glove.
“What?” North asked.
She met his eyes. “Rage. A lot of it. And frustration.”
“Loring would have been pissed as hell when he opened that door and came down here,” North said. “His entire project was in ruins. His grand plan to control the technology Crocker Rancourt stole all those decades ago had fallen apart.”
Jake slipped past Sierra and went down the basement steps.
“Whoever killed Loring would have been in a similar mood,” he pointed out. “A Puppet who has figured out that he was conned would lay down a lot of rage, too.”
“You’re right,” Sierra said. She started slowly down the steps.
North watched her closely. “Same vibe you picked up on the doorknob at the scene of the Garraway murder?”
“No. This is different. But also very unstable.”
“It all fits,” North said. “If Loring really was Rancourt’s grandson, he probably considered the cache of artifacts his inheritance. He must have blamed the entire Chastain line for depriving him of what he believed was rightfully his.”
“Sins of the fathers and all that garbage,” Jake said quietly.
“Whoever shot Loring went old-school with a pistol,” Brianna observed. “Either the killer ran out of paranormal weapons—”
“Aura-balancing devices,” North corrected absently.
Brianna shrugged. “Sure. Whatever. Either the Puppet didn’t have any more lethal tech or else he couldn’t make it function.”
“There’s another possibility,” North said. “Maybe the two remaining Puppets still believe in the con. If they think they can use the para tech without Loring’s help, they may have decided they didn’t need him anymore.”
“You think they came here to kill Loring and steal the cache of devices?” Jake asked.
“It’s a possible scenario.” North surveyed the empty basement. “But I doubt if they found the artifacts. The devices have been concealed for decades. What are the odds that a couple of unbalanced Puppets would be able to find Rancourt’s vault?”
“Not very good,” Sierra said. “In my experience collectors usually go extremely high-tech when it comes to protecting their artifacts. Crocker Rancourt would have had good reason to take a lot of precautions. After all, he had committed murder to get his hands on the devices.”
North began a slow prowl of the basement, his senses heightened. There was no sign of a vault or a gallery but he could see the psychic energy of footprints—a lot of them. They burned on the floor. Some were faint with age. Some were fresh. He followed the hottest prints, old and new, to a blank concrete wall.
“Here we go,” he said. “There’s a door here somewhere.”
The concrete was a solid barrier that effectively blocked paranormal radiation, but there were always tiny cracks between even the most carefully concealed door and its frame.
He could sense small threads of energy leaking out from whatever was behind the wall. He recognized his grandfather’s psychic signature and smiled a little.
“Whatever is behind that wall was designed and built by Griffin Chastain,” he said.
He traced the faint threads of leaking energy with his fingertips, drawing an imaginary line straight down to the floor.
There was a small crack in the concrete that was too straight to be the result of the natural settling of an old house.
“Stand back,” he said. “There’s always a possibility that Loring left a trap behind.”
Sierra and the others retreated a few steps. North studied the hot energy around the crack.
He pushed gently. A small section of the floor slid aside, revealing a traditional bank vault–style lock.
“We’re in luck,” he announced. “Crocker Rancourt used standard technology for his vault. It was probably state of the art at the time, but it’s old and outdated now.”
He dropped his pack on the floor and took out the electronic lockpick. He moved quickly, very sure of what he was doing. It didn’t take long to break the old lock. Gears rumbled inside the wall. A large section of concrete slid aside, exposing the interior of a steel-lined vault. Energy poured out of the opening. An array of artifacts glowed hot on the shelves.
“The weapons,” Jake said. “So they weren’t just a legend after all.”
“Medical devices,” North said.
“Right,” Jake said quickly. “Medical devices.”
“I thought there would be more of them,” Brianna said. “I count five artifacts.”
“Keep in mind that Loring removed at least three that we know of,” North said. “The crystal device that was used to try to murder my dad, the light grenade that Sierra and I encountered back at the start of this case, and another artifact that the Puppets used when they attacked us in the garage. All of the relics probably came from this vault.”
“There wouldn’t have been a lot of devices to begin with,” Zeke pointed out. “The Bluestone Project was shut down while the engineers were still trying to figure out how to overcome the tuning problems. Everything we’re looking at here is probably a one-of-a-kind prototype.”
“And they are all apparently tuned to your vibe, North,” Jake said. He got a speculative expression. “That’s why Loring was never able to use any of them. Why he was desperate to get his hands on the tuning crystal that was intended to be used by Crocker Rancourt. The way things stand now, you’re the only one who can activate any of these machines.”
North looked at him. “Which means I’m the one with the best chance of figuring out exactly what they were designed to do. Let’s get them packed up. The sooner they’re safe in a Foundation vault, the sooner we can all relax.”
“We’ve still got a couple of Puppets to pick up,” Brianna said.
“Ralph and Joe,” Sierra said.
“After we remove the artifacts we’ll report Loring’s murder to the local police and the Foundation cleaners stationed in Seattle,” North said. “By now the Puppets will be disorganized and highly unstable. If they do still have some of the artifacts, they won’t be able to use them, at least not effectively. It shouldn’t take long to find them.”
He waited until he and Sierra were done before he asked the question that he’d been wanting to ask.
“Well?” he said.
“T
he answer is yes,” she said. “The energy on the basement door is the same that is on your glasses. Whoever poisoned the crystals murdered Loring.”
CHAPTER 46
Three days later . . .
Sierra stopped just inside the heavily shadowed entrance of the Fogg Club. She gripped the balcony railing and surveyed the strobe-lit crowd. Fierce rock music reverberated across the room, adding energy to the already hot atmosphere.
She smiled. “Reminds me of the Vault. Is everyone in here connected to the Foundation?”
“Not everyone,” North said. He did a quick scan of the room. “Even though the owner doesn’t advertise, a few tourists and locals occasionally manage to stumble into this place or the Area Fifty-One club a couple of blocks away. It’s another bar and casino that caters to the Foundation crowd.”
The bartender looked up and saw Sierra and North. He raised a hand in a friendly greeting and went back to pouring drinks.
North wrapped his fingers around one of Sierra’s gloved hands. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some friends.”
He steered her through the crowded mezzanine. Several people greeted North and immediately turned to Sierra, varying degrees of interest and curiosity in their expressions. She recognized the heat in the eyes of a couple of the men and one of the women as polite sexual interest, but most were clearly intrigued by whatever they had heard about her. She realized she had become the subject of a great deal of rumor and speculation. She suspected her parents were at least partially to blame. Allegra’s ability to stabilize Chandler Chastain’s aura until North arrived with the balancing device had made the Raines family famous within the Foundation. The fascination had rubbed off on her father. Byron’s inbox was piled high with requests for psychic poems.
The discovery that Griffin Chastain had died a hero and that the machines he had helped invent had been intended as medical devices had produced an instant Foundation legend. As Byron had pointed out, it didn’t make the artifacts any less dangerous, but people were accustomed to the idea that a lot of medical instruments could kill as well as heal. The Halcyon doctors were eager to work with North in hopes of creating some therapies for the poorly understood disorders of the paranormal senses.
Perception was everything, Sierra thought.
She knew that tonight was North’s first visit to the club since his vision had returned to normal. It was his way of making it clear he was back and in full command of his talent. Given the significance of the occasion for him, she had spent the afternoon shopping at the pricey boutiques that were tucked away in all the big hotel casinos on the Strip. She had taken her mother with her for a second opinion. In Vegas there was a fine line between fabulous and over the top.
Allegra had declared the black slip of a dress to be safely in the fabulous category. It was discreetly studded with black sequins that caught the light in an elegant but understated way. Her black locket, black jet earrings and stiletto heels were the perfect accessories. The slim black leather gloves added an edge to the look.
The outfit had cost a small fortune, but thanks to the generous bonus the Foundation had tacked on to her normal commission, she could afford it. Earlier that evening she had concluded the dress was worth it when she descended the grand staircase at the Abyss and saw North waiting for her at the bottom. There was so much hot energy in the atmosphere and so much heat in his eyes that she was amazed they hadn’t started a fire right there in the foyer of the big house.
They made their way through the crowd to a booth on the mezzanine, greeting more of North’s friends and associates along the way. When they were finally seated at the table a waiter took their orders for drinks. Sierra asked for a glass of wine. North went with whiskey. More people dropped by the table to congratulate North and ask him when he would be rejoining his team.
“I’m moving into engineering,” he said. “Paranormal light R and D.”
Several people turned to Sierra and asked her if she would be going to work at the Foundation.
“I’ve got a job back in Seattle,” she said.
North gave her a brooding look each time she said it but he made no comment.
Jake arrived at the table, a beer in one hand. “About time you two showed up. The Loring case is the main topic of conversation here tonight.”
“Any update on the two Puppets?” North asked.
“Not yet, but like you said, it’s just a matter of time before they get picked up.”
“What if they’ve left the country?” Sierra said.
Jake shrugged. “I doubt if they have the kind of cash it takes to just disappear. If we’re right about their unstable conditions, they won’t be capable of carrying out a complicated escape plan.”
Another couple arrived at the table. An attractive woman with serious-looking glasses smiled at North. Her companion was a handsome man whose excellent profile and toned body were ruined by his arrogant vibe.
“Congratulations,” the woman said. She gave Jake a quick, shy glance and then turned back to North. “I hear your father has recovered and that you and your team closed a major case.”
“Nice work, Chastain,” the man said.
His attention was on something else on the far side of the room. He hooked his hand around the woman’s arm and started to urge her away.
His companion, however, stood her ground, pretending to ignore the tug on her arm.
“It was the team that closed the case,” North said. “Jake was there, too.”
The woman smiled tentatively at Jake. “I’m so glad everyone is safe. It sounds like you were dealing with some very dangerous relics.”
“It’s been interesting,” Jake said.
Sierra got a ping. Jake’s tone of voice was a little too neutral. The woman seemed to sense it, too. She turned quickly back to North.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” she said.
“Sorry,” North said. “This is Sierra Raines, the go-between who handled the case. Sierra, meet Kimberly Tolland and Grant Wallbrook. They are both researchers in one of the Foundation labs.”
“How do you do?” Sierra said.
Wallbrook nodded once in a curt, barely polite greeting. “Sierra.”
“Welcome to Las Vegas,” Kimberly said. She started to offer her hand but she glanced at Sierra’s black leather gloves and stopped. She smiled sympathetically. “I heard you got burned by an artifact.”
“A job hazard for a go-between,” Sierra said.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Jake had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He looked as if he wanted to escape.
Grant pulled more forcefully on Kimberly’s arm. “Let’s get a drink, Kim. We have things to talk about.”
Kimberly looked as if she wanted to protest but she managed a smile and acquiesced.
“Sure,” she said.
She allowed Wallbrook to steer her away from the booth. The action took them directly past Jake. Sierra opened her locket as if to check her makeup in the mirror. She heightened her senses and turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of the reflections of the auras of Jake, Wallbrook and Kimberly.
The couple disappeared into the crowd. Jake watched them go.
“Wallbrook just landed a big promotion,” he said. “Head of a research lab.”
“Is that right?” North said.
Jake downed some beer and lowered the bottle. “Came with a big raise, too. Earns a hell of a lot more than a cleaner does now. It’s that damn PhD after his name. Kimberly thinks he’s Mr. Right.”
“He’s not,” Sierra said. She snapped her locket shut. “At least, not for her.”
Jake scowled. “What makes you say that?”
“Intuition. I’m pretty good at figuring out that kind of thing.”
North raised his brows.
“Except when it’s persona
l,” she added quickly. “Jake, if you want my opinion, you should ask Kimberly out on a date.”
Jake looked dumbfounded.
“She’d never go out with a guy like me,” he finally managed. “I dropped out of college in my junior year to go into security work at the Foundation. She’s a scientist with a hell of a lot of fancy degrees.”
“You never know,” Sierra said. “Worth a try. I think you two would be an excellent match.”
Jake looked as if he was about to argue the point. Instead he turned thoughtful. “I’ll let you guys have some time together. Your first real date, right?”
“Right,” North said, putting some emphasis on the word. “We’ve been a little busy lately. Haven’t had time to get to know each other.”
Jake chuckled. “Hint taken. Consider me gone.”
He headed off into the crowd. A silence fell on the booth. Sierra cast about for a safe topic.
“How does it feel to finally know what you want to do with the rest of your life?” she asked.
North leaned back and looked at her over the rim of his whiskey glass. The energy in his eyes and in the atmosphere around him sent a zingy little thrill through all of her senses.
“Feels good,” he said. “I think.”
“You aren’t sure?”
“Let’s just say I’m still working on the logistics of the situation.”
“What logistics?” she asked.
“Me working here in Las Vegas. You in Seattle, working at the Vault. That puts us about a thousand miles apart.”
“Yes, it does,” she agreed. “Where are you going with this?”
“It occurs to me,” he said, speaking in a very careful, even manner, as if each word was potentially risky, “that you could work as a go-between for the Foundation museum. They collect artifacts from all over the world. They are always in need of people who have the kind of talent it takes to authenticate the objects. I’m not saying the museum would pay better than the Vault, but there is a nice benefits package and the working conditions would be safer.”
“Is that right?”
“You wouldn’t have to operate on your own,” North said, warming to his argument now. “You’d have the backing of other members of the staff and even a team of cleaners on jobs that might be dangerous. No more midnight runs to deliver hot artifacts to crazy collectors on your own.”