“She’s both depressed and pissed off,” Catalina said.
Olivia emerged from her office. She had grown into a striking woman endowed with an artistic, bohemian vibe. Today she wore rust brown wide-legged trousers that flowed with every step. She had topped it off with a sleek long-sleeved silk blouse in deep yellow ocher. Her auburn hair was cut in an artful wedge that framed her hazel eyes and delicate features.
Next to Olivia and Daniel, Catalina always felt like a fashion failure. She had tried to find an appropriate style; really, she had worked hard at it. Olivia had taken her shopping innumerable times. But somehow nothing had ever felt right except her uniform of basic black. Today she was wearing black trousers, low-heeled black boots and a black crew-neck top. Her dark hair was caught back in a stern twist at the back of her head.
Olivia folded her arms and lounged in the doorway. “Marsha Matson is definitely pissed off.”
“She’s got every right to be angry,” Daniel pointed out.
“Yes, but I worry that she’ll confront Hopper face-to-face,” Catalina said. “I tried to reinforce the idea that he could be dangerous if cornered but I don’t think she was paying attention.”
“You did all you could do,” Daniel said.
“He’s right,” Olivia said. “All we can do is offer advice. It’s not your fault if Marsha Matson doesn’t follow through on your suggestion of how to handle Hopper.”
“Right,” Catalina said. “Now if only I could convince myself of that.”
Olivia sighed. “If only. Well, let’s just hope she calms down before she does anything rash, because I agree with you. Hopper is volatile.”
“I’ll give her a call later and see what sort of mood she’s in,” Catalina said.
Daniel glanced at his watch. “It’s after five. Unless you need me for something else, I’ll be on my way.”
“That’s it for today,” Catalina said. “See you in the morning.”
Olivia waited until the door closed behind Daniel before she turned to Catalina.
“Well, this is the big night,” she said. “Emerson is cooking for me at his place. I’ve got to pick up the wine. Wish me luck.”
“You know I wish you all the luck in the world, but are you sure you want to go through with your plan? Emerson’s a nice guy. The two of you enjoy each other’s company. Why take the risk of messing up a good thing by dropping the bombshell on him?”
“I can’t wait any longer, Cat. Things are getting too serious between us. It wouldn’t be fair to string him along. And to be honest, I need to know if our relationship is going to go somewhere good or if it’s doomed.”
“You think he’s the one, don’t you?”
“Maybe. I hope so. I know he’s attracted to me. He’s kind. Thoughtful. He cares about art and he’s got a good relationship with his dog. A man’s relationship with his dog says a lot about him. In addition, his aura is stable. Healthy.”
“You know as well as I do that you can tell only so much about a man by viewing his aura,” Catalina said. “Granted, Emerson Ferris is not a sociopath, and he’s not mentally fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable accepting the truth about you.”
Olivia straightened her shoulders and got a determined look. “If he can’t handle my psychic side, then I need to know now. Until I see how he deals with it, I’m trapped. I can’t move forward with our relationship until I’m sure it’s right for both of us.”
“You know I understand,” Catalina said. “But I’m so afraid he’ll react badly. You were devastated when that bastard McTavers told you that you needed psychiatric help. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Olivia’s brows rose. “The same way you were hurt when you realized Ben Thaxter wanted to use you as a test subject for his crazy research project?”
Catalina held up both hands, palms out. “I admit I screwed up when I got involved with Thaxter, but I learned my lesson. Just because a man is curious about your psychic vibe doesn’t mean he doesn’t secretly think you’re delusional.”
“It’s not like things worked out for you when you hooked up with someone who did understand and accept your talent,” Olivia said. “Roger Gossard used you until he was afraid you’d become a liability to his business. When he concluded that you were a threat to his brand, he couldn’t throw you under the bus fast enough.”
“Okay, that relationship didn’t end well, but there were extenuating circumstances. Once again, lesson learned.”
Olivia’s expression softened. “You got over Thaxter and Gossard and you will try again. Give me some credit. If Emerson tells me he thinks I should check into a psychiatric hospital, I will be hurt but I’ll survive, just like you did.”
“All right. I’ll shut up now.” Catalina crossed the room to hug her friend. “I really hope things go well tonight.”
Olivia returned the hug. “I know you do. Don’t worry, if it turns out to be a disaster, you’ll be the first person I call. I’ll stop by your apartment for some therapeutic wine and sympathy. But if you don’t hear from me this evening, you’ll know Emerson took the news well and that I’m spending the night at his place.”
“Right.” Catalina took a step back. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
“Careful?” Olivia’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned that Emerson might be dangerous.”
“No, of course not. I just want you to protect yourself.”
“I can’t,” Olivia said gently. “Not in the way you mean. But I can be strong. That’s all that matters.”
Catalina smiled. “Yes, that’s all that matters.”
CHAPTER 3
The need to contact Marsha Matson had become too intense to ignore.
Catalina stopped her small car in the circular driveway of Matson’s home and sat quietly behind the wheel for a moment, absorbing the feel of the scene. There was nothing that jumped out at her, but she finally decided that things just felt off. Maybe it was the fact that the only light in the house emanated from somewhere deep inside. Probably my imagination. She had done too much crime scene work, she decided. It made a person jaded.
She left the car engine running and got out. Again she took a few beats to try to figure out what was bothering her. She could not identify the vibe, but whatever it was, it was not good.
There was only one way to find out if the client was all right.
Leaving the driver’s-side door open, she went toward the imposing entrance. It was nearly eight in the evening, but it was April, so there was a little light left in the sky. The short, dark days of the Pacific Northwest winter had passed. The long days of summer were on the horizon.
Marsha Matson’s home was located in an exclusive neighborhood in one of the little boutique communities clustered around the shoreline of Lake Washington. The residence was a testament to Matson’s real estate success. It loomed two stories tall and sprawled across a large chunk of property.
Catalina was sure that there was a lot of electronic security.