Marge nodded with a sage expression. “Right. You’re one of the cleaners from the Foundation, aren’t you?”
Catalina could have sworn her jaw dropped. “You know about the Foundation?”
“Met someone at that secret lab the Riverview bastards operate,” Marge said. “Another captive. He talked about it. I remember he told me that if the people from the Foundation found out we’d been kidnapped they’d send the cleaners to rescue us. No one ever showed up to get us out of that place, though, so I figured he was just another crazy. But a while back Olivia told me Catalina was working for a client from Las Vegas. She said he ran a Foundation that understood people like me.”
“There’s a lot about people like you and me and Catalina that the Foundation still doesn’t understand,” Slater said. “But we’re working on it.” He took a card out of his pocket and handed it to Marge. “If you get kidnapped again and taken to Riverview or anywhere else that you don’t want to be, you make sure you tell whoever works there that they have to call that number. The cleaners will come and get you.”
Marge looked dubious. “What if the clones won’t make the phone call?”
Slater smiled coldly. “You tell them that as soon as Catalina and Olivia figure out that you’re missing, they’ll make the phone call. And if that happens, the folks at Riverview will find themselves dealing with a lawsuit as well as the cleaners. Trust me, someone will make that call.”
“Okay,” Marge said. She studied the card, her lips moving silently. Then she nodded once, satisfied. “Got a pretty good memory for numbers. But just in case, I’ll keep this card handy.”
She tucked it under her knit hat.
“Anything else I should know about the clones who took Olivia?” Slater asked.
“That big car they were driving looked real new,” Marge said. She shrugged. “And the one who used the needle on Olivia knew what he was doing. Expect he’d done it before. That tell you anything?”
“It tells me I’m dealing with professionals,” Slater said.
“Exactly,” Marge said. “Talent like that doesn’t come cheap. Takes money to set up an operation slick enough to make a woman vanish without a trace.”
“Money and resources,” Slater said. “You’re right, Marge, this has all the hallmarks of a sophisticated operation.”
Catalina looked at Slater and then at Marge. Somewhere along the line they both appeared to have forgotten about her. The whole thing felt a little unreal but there was no getting around the reality of what had just happened. A stranger with a very weird aura had immediately been able to establish communication with a homeless woman whose psychic senses had been scrambled by drugs.
Marge eyed Slater. “Has your energy always been like it is now?”
“You know how it is, Marge—you can’t see your own aura,” Slater said. “But people have told me that mine was always a little different. Six months ago it got a lot different because something happened to me.”
Marge squinted knowingly. “The clones used drugs on you?”
“Radiation.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
“I have no idea.”
Marge nodded. “Changed you, though.”
“Evidently,” Slater said.
“What are you now?”
“Still trying to figure it out,” Slater said.
CHAPTER 9
Talk to me, Arganbright,” Catalina said. “I want to know everything you know.”
Slater considered how and where to begin. It wasn’t easy to concentrate on her question, because he was still adjusting to the effect she was having on his senses. When they had slammed into each other on the street a short time ago it was as if he had been plunged straight into the heart of a different version of the “Sleeping Beauty” fairy tale. In this story he was the sleeper, and he had been awakened not by a kiss but by the electrifying energy of Catalina’s fierce aura.
Or maybe this wasn’t some psychic edition of “Sleeping Beauty.” Maybe this story had more in common with Frankenstein. That would make him the monster. Marge’s question whispered through him. What are you now?
They were less than a block away from the offices of Lark & LeClair, walking quickly. After leaving Marge, Catalina had said very little. He knew she was trying to figure out what the hell to do about him.
He had been warned that she was going to be a problem. What he hadn’t realized until the moment she walked into his arms was that she would prove to be an exciting problem.
He had known that she was smart. Victor had also made it clear that she was a strong talent and that she was in full control.
He studied her now, trying not to be obvious about it. She was no longer using her psychic senses, so her aura was not as fiery as it had been when they had slammed into each other. But the fact that her energy field was calm did not diminish the effect she had on him.
He was just as intensely aware of her vibe now as he had been earlier when they had collided on the street. The difference was that without the distraction of her intoxicating aura he was aware of other, more subtle things—the rich, lustrous brown of her tightly bound hair; the cool challenge in her green eyes; the aloof image projected by the black trench coat and low black boots.
He was intrigued, curious, fascinated, thrilled to be this close to her.
“I’m sorry I got here too late to save Olivia LeClair,” he said.
Catalina shot him a somber, searching look. “Do you know who took Olivia and why?”
“I don’t have any solid answers for you. Just a theory.”
“That’s more than I’ve got. Talk fast, Arganbright.”
“Three days ago a collector named Royston was murdered. The circumstances of his death are similar to those of the Ingram murder.”
“Ingram was the victim in the case your uncle asked me to investigate.”
“Right. Both of the victims were known to be eccentric and secretive. Both were obsessed with acquiring objects with a paranormal provenance. Victor is convinced the deaths are related. He believes someone is looking for a particular artifact.”
“What artifact?” Catalina asked.
“We don’t know, but Ingram and Royston were both known to be obsessed with objects linked to what may have been the old Fogg Lake lab.”
“What makes you think Olivia’s kidnapping is linked to the murders?”
“I don’t like coincidences, and it would be a hell of a coincidence if your friend, who has a very specific connection to Fogg Lake, just happened to get kidnapped three days after Royston’s murder.”
Catalina caught her breath. “You think that whoever killed Royston found what he was searching for and then went after Olivia.”
“It’s more than that. If I’m right, it’s all connected to the murder you and Olivia witnessed fifteen years ago.”
Startled, she looked at him and then quickly glanced away. “You know about that?”
“Rumors of murder have a way of leaking out. The story of a couple of Fogg Lake kids who thought they witnessed a killing made it into the Foundation files. It was noted because one of the Foundation researchers disappeared right around the time of the murder. His name was John Morrissey. His body was never found.”