Newlin glowed with admiration. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I’ll record the conversation.” The words came out in a light, lilting, sparkling pulse of energy. “With luck I’ll be able to find out whether she’s a fan or a dangerous person. If she is a stalker, I’ll have proof that I can take to the police.”
“Brilliant, my love, absolutely brilliant.”
He was already helplessly enthralled. She could see the longing in his eyes.
She began to thread more energy into each word. The Voice took on strength, resonance and raw power.
“You must bring her to me,” she sang.
Newlin’s dark brows crinkled together over the rims of his glasses. For an instant his own considerable intelligence rose to the surface.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler if you just called her at her hotel in the morning?” he said plaintively. “I’m sure Miss Renquist would probably be thrilled at the chance to meet you in person.”
She was suddenly and completely Verdi’s Lady Macbeth, faced with the maddening challenge of trying to urge her lover to overcome his foolish scruples. She launched into the sleepwalking aria, energy soaring through her.
. . . You tremble?
. . . Shame
Toward the end she sailed on the wings of the high D-flat. Even Callas, La Divina herself, had found it difficult to hold on to that exposed note. But it was nothing for La Sirène, nothing at all.
Newlin was transfixed.
“I would do anything for you,” he whispered. “Anything.”
No doubt about it, she still had the Voice.
FORTY-FIVE
Luther swiped one of the laundry carts from the housekeeping closet down the hall and stuffed the still sleeping Damaris into it. When he had her safely locked away in another room on a different floor, he took out his phone and punched in Grace’s number.
She answered halfway through the first ring.
“Luther? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick. I had that terrible feeling again, the same one I had the night you ran into Craigmore in the garage. I tried to call you but your cell was off. Then the sensation just sort of evaporated.”
A sense of deep satisfaction warmed him. Bonded for sure. It felt good.
“It’s a long story,” he said, “but yeah, I’m okay.”
“I just had a call from Fallon Jones. He said they found some files in Craigmore’s safe indicating that Vivien Ryan is his daughter. He was a sperm donor years ago. What’s more, there’s another daughter around somewhere.”
“Her name is Damaris. We just met.”
“What?”
“She’s going to be the first person to enter the Society’s version of a witness protection program.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
“You’ve been busy,” Grace said.
“And the night is only going to get busier. Don’t take this the wrong way, but it looks like I’ll be spending the next hour or so in a hotel room with a blonde.”
“Okay, that’s going to take some explaining.”
He gave her a quick rundown of events, deliberately finessing the confrontation over the laser. Unfortunately, Grace could read between the lines.
“She tried to kill you.”
“She’s on the drug, Grace,” he said quietly. “Her supply was cut off when her father died.”
Grace sighed. “She’s dying.”
“Her only hope is the antidote. She’s willing to talk to J&J and Zack Jones and anyone else in order to get it. She’s not a complete sociopath like her sister. Her spectrum is complete. This was all about trying to please Daddy.”
“William Craigmore.”
“Turns out he wasn’t just a traitor to the Society. He was the founder of Nightshade.”
“Well, that’s going to be a little awkward to explain at the Society’s next general meeting.”
“I think so, yes. Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about the politics of the situation. Start packing. I’ll come back to the hotel as soon as someone arrives to collect Damaris.”
“We’re checking out tonight?”
“I’m going to take you to L.A. I don’t want you in the same town as Vivien Ryan any longer than necessary. We’ve got some time, though. According to Damaris, Ryan doesn’t know we’re here. She also said La Sirène probably won’t return to her hotel room until very late tonight if at all.”
“Because of the reception we read about in the newspapers?”
“Right. It’s being thrown by her current lover, Newlin Guthrie.”
“As in Guthrie Hall, the new opera house?”
“As in. Guthrie made his fortune in software and high-tech gadgets. He owns half the town.”
FORTY-SIX
It was going to be a long night. Now that she was no longer worried about Luther’s safety, Grace became aware of the combined effects of the long flight from Hawaii and the adrenaline rush following the identification of La Sirène’s aura.
She started a pot of coffee in the little machine that sat on the granite counter and went into the bathroom to take a reviving shower. She was not looking forward to the drive back to L.A.
The sense of throat-tightening urgency hit her a short time later when she turned off the water. For no discernible reason, all her senses were suddenly revved sky-high. Intuition worked that way.
She grabbed the white spa robe that had been thoughtfully provided by the hotel and opened the door to the bathroom.
There was a man dressed in a tuxedo in the bedroom. He held an odd-looking box in one hand.
“My apologies, Miss Renquist,” he said. “But I really have no choice.”
“Who are you?” she managed.
“Newlin Guthrie.” He glanced at the strange device. “This is my latest invention. It’s going to be huge in the security market. Similar to a Taser except you won’t feel a thing after the first jolt. Puts you out like a light for a couple of hours but with no lasting side effects.”
She couldn’t believe it. He sounded genuinely apologetic. There was nowhere to run so she launched herself at him, hands outstretched, mouth open on a scream for help.
The twin probes of the electroshock gun struck her before she was halfway across the room. Pain scorched her nerves and her senses for what seemed like an eternity.
Then she plunged into darkness.
FORTY-SEVEN
Notes of pure, crystalline energy drew her up out of the depths of an unnatural darkness. Madness and death pulsed and flashed in the music. The power of the singing dazzled and riveted Grace’s disoriented senses.