Mystical Love (69 page)

“You can be an awful bitch sometimes, Sonny.”

Sonny's mouth snapped open, as if to vent an objection; however, seeing the fire behind Ned's eyes, she wisely backed down.

“I'll apologize to Aunt Charlotte as soon as my class is through.”

“See that you do.” He approached the desk and studied the plastic bags spread out on the desk. “Is it wise to help Meta Corps with such a big case?” he asked. “Your talent is fine in small doses, but to burden yourself with a serial killing seems like psychic suicide.” He fingered the plastic coverings, and it took all of Sonny's willpower not to snatch the bags away. She admonished him verbally instead.

“You know better than to touch pieces I'm working on, Ned. You'll smudge the vibrations with your own energy.”

His fingers drew back. “You really
are
a bitch, Sonny.” He whirled from the desk and exited the room, leaving Sonny to curse softly.

“In my world, it takes a cunning bastard to recognize a cunning bitch. Welcome to my world, Ned.”

Glancing at the three women assembled beyond the two-way mirror, Ned Chalmers smiled. It was going to be a very productive morning fulfilling these women's desires. Their pleasure always got his juices flowing. He studied the woman closest to the window. Sarah Winters was a mid-fifties empty nester who longed to relieve her boredom by reliving her youth. She paid him big bucks for the adventure, and he always paid special attention to her desires when he put her under.

His gaze tripped to the teen seated beside her. Troubled Maddie Sharp. She sought a different way out of her problems, besides heroin and coke. He always paid special attention to her, too. Once under, he gave her the ultimate high—a new and improved sex life. He snickered at the thought. He hoped her boyfriend back home was grateful for his new-found sex slave.

Next, his gaze landed on a blonde in a yellow tank top and matching shorts. Margie Hunt was a frequent visitor to the retreat, and while here, she always spent her time and money delving into past-life regressions. To her credit, she wasn't one of the messed-up ones. Her sparkling personality was always in force, and that joy never wavered, not even under hypnosis. It was as if her spirit was so good that no amount of negativity could touch it.

She was his first appointment today, and by the looks on the other women's faces, she was regaling them with some past remembrance of a therapy session. They were all laughing, and the sound filtered through the mirror, reminding him of his last session with Margie. She had gone under fast and stayed under longer than he expected. And for that he had been paid handsomely when she woke.

A familiar figure appeared in the waiting room, greeting the women and then heading for the chamber door. As it opened, Ned turned.

“You're up early, Charlotte,” he greeted her.

She shut the door quietly. “We're heavy on appointments today. I noticed an odd thrumming in the headpieces yesterday, so I'm recalibrating all of them before the sessions start. We can't risk being sued because we've electrocuted one of our guests.”

Ned frowned at her words. “I check my headpieces daily. They don't need any further monitoring.”

“That doesn't seem to stop you from checking my equipment daily, though, does it?”

“You're hallucinating,” Ned said. “I've never interfered with your dream lab equipment.”

She ignored his statement, moving to the mirror instead. She gazed out at the seated women. “I see Margie Hunt's here again. Perhaps we should restrict how many sessions she's allowed to indulge in while she's here.”

“It's her money,” Ned retorted. “Let her spend it how she wants. Besides, it's clients like her that bring in other clients. When she leaves here, she recommends The Sanctuary to all her friends. I have no intention of telling her she's unwelcome.”

The woman beside him sighed. “Very well. Do as you like. You always do.” She moved from the window to a raised chair on a platform. Once there, she lifted a green headpiece from its holster and studied the dials situated on either side of the crown. Obviously not liking what she saw, she withdrew a small screwdriver from her pocket and adjusted the screws.

Giving her space, Ned returned to the main console and waited for her nod. When it came, he powered up the circuit board. Green lights rolled on one by one, and in seconds, the entire system was set to go. He moved to the door and then stepped back as Charlotte swept past him, back into the waiting room.

“You're first, Margie,” she called. “Have a great session.”

The woman sprang from her chair, her face glowing with an eagerness Ned couldn't help but savor. The woman couldn't wait to go under, and he couldn't wait to give her what she wanted. She took her seat in the chamber chair quickly, settled the green headpiece on her head, and then waited patiently for Ned to acknowledge her readiness. He hit the “on” button, and a prerecorded voice came through the room's speakers.

“It's only moments before dawn. It's a beautiful summer morning, and you're outside, enjoying the beginning of a new day. You notice a gentle, warm breeze and the scent of the morning air. You can hear birds chirping in the distance, and the sound is muted and pleasant as they welcome the dawn of a new day … In front of you, you see a very beautiful, gated gazebo. There are four steps up to a gate. It's a green gate … Can you see it?”

“I see it.”

“You walk towards it, thinking it's the perfect place to relax and watch the sunrise from … And now you're going beyond the sunrise … beyond the colors of dawn, into the center of the sunrise … Where are you now?”

“I'm riding in a gondola in Venice. Monte and I are on vacation. The sky is blue, and music is playing from an apartment building nearby. We're happier than we've ever been … ”

“And where are you now?”

“Monte and I are having incredible sex in the moonlight. The stars are shimmering like silver. Monte's a wonderful lover, knows just where to touch me … ”

“And where are you now?”

Panting heavily, Logan rubbed his right side. He wasn't used to hiking up steep hillsides, and his body was rejecting the climb with every step he took. So far, he had stalled by two rocks, clung to a tree, and pleaded for a refreshing drink of water. When he didn't oblige his body, his brain complained of all the dirt and rubble on the path. He grimaced. Dirt
had
been his only companion as he ascended the hill, and he was damn tired of breathing in the particles.

Glancing up, Logan was grateful to see he was finally closing in on the jutting overhang above him. He had been following the marked path of arrows since starting his climb, and he wondered if he was ever going to reach the scenic overlook.

Bent on reaching the overlook in less than two minutes, he doubled his pace. Three minutes later, he reached the scenic plateau, wheezing lightly. Studying the vista now spread out before him, Logan immediately took in its beauty. The Sanctuary was a magnificent piece of real estate; Dresden hadn't lied about that. Down the hillside, the canyon floor was awash with colorful blooms of purple, yellow, and blue. To his right, adobe cottages dotted the hillside, and off to his left, tall buildings surrounded a large lake. Serenity, the shuttle driver had called it, as the van had circled the lake—the side of the retreat that catered to the guests' desire to take classes, have personal readings, or indulge in a variety of metaphysical pursuits.

Seeing the sparkling sheen on the water, Logan realized the retreat had a true Southwestern charm. Pools, gardens, waterfalls—it had “rich and classy” stapled all over it. He grinned. Dresden hadn't lied about The Sanctuary's elegant reputation either. All the buildings were beautifully tailored and sculpted. He could also see why Sonny conducted her Sunday-morning classes two miles up from the hotel. Up here, the guests got a two-for-one bargain. Spiritual solace, plus a spectacular view of the countryside.

His gaze scoured the landscape below again, pleased when a cool breeze swept up from the desert floor and licked his face. Suddenly in no hurry, he leaned against a post marked “Mystic Overlook.” Crossing his legs, he chuckled at the name etched into the wood. Since he had exited the shuttle, he hadn't seen a name that didn't have a spiritual tie. Spirit Lake, Mystical Gardens, Sacred Path, Holistic Gardens.

He glanced north, realizing that the turquoise sky, winding trails, and hiking paths also added charm to the desert locale. To its credit, the Loop, formally known as The Spiritual Path, paid homage to the natural beauty of the hillside.

Logan glanced at his watch. The receptionist had told him Sonny's class would end at eleven, and by the sound of the New Age music blaring above his head, the class was running late. He let another five minutes slide by, enjoying a smoke while he waited. When another five minutes passed and the music still blared, he sighed loudly. How long did it take for people to get in tune with their auras? Surely not the two hours listed on the retreat brochure.

The music suddenly stopped, and Logan hoisted himself from the column. At last. He squashed his cigarette in a nearby garbage bin and continued his climb. As he trudged upward, his mind circled back to the question he had been asking himself since he had boarded the plane at JFK. Did Sonny Blake have any clue she might be harboring a serial killer at the retreat? If she was so damn good at reading people, she must've at least had an inkling of something sinister.

His foot hit the end of the path, where he found an empty clearing, but no people. Where the hell had everyone gone? He scanned the rows of chairs, looking for signs of life. When he heard the sound of fading voices, he realized the group was leaving the plateau by a separate route.

Swinging left, he studied a decimated buffet table. Only a scant tray of food was left. It was clear doing aura portraits made one ravenous. Entering the canopy, he plucked two last croissants from the tray and leisurely popped the first one in his mouth. His eyes watered at once, and he dove for the pitcher sitting in the middle of the table. Holy crap! Talk about a spicy kick! He poured water into a glass and then chugged the refreshing liquid down. The burning fire coating his larynx quickly eased.

He poured a second glass, pleased when his tongue and throat stopped burning. Chucking the second croissant in a trash container at the end of the table, Logan ducked back out from under the canopy and studied the rest of the mesa. Looking northeast, he spotted a sign marked “Chapel” and headed for the structure. What else did he have to do? Sonny Blake had obviously escorted her group to a descent path, and he didn't intend to stand around, twiddling his thumbs, while the woman took her time coming back.

Following a paved-stone sidewalk, Logan reached the chapel and ascended two wide steps into the small, yet cool, dwelling. He headed for the large open-air window at the front of the church. When he reached it, he drew in his breath. Another magnificent vista with God's name scribbled on it. Up this high, it was easy to believe God existed, and that all was right in the world.

Embarrassed by such spiritual whimsy, Logan whirled rapidly and slipped into the first pew. He studied the cross hanging over the small altar and wondered when he had become such a jaded ass.

• • •

Returning to the rows of chairs, Sonny rubbed her face. Thank God the class was over. She had barely made it through the last portrait without throwing up. She plopped into a seat and dropped her head into her hands. There was no denying it now. Something major was wrong with her skills. Ever since she had pulled herself from her bed this morning, she had been besieged with a fear so paralyzing she could hardly breathe.

Lifting her head, she glanced down at her gloved fingers, willing them to stop shaking. She'd make an awful criminal, she knew. She made an awful empath, too. How could she help a client when her hands were shaking like fruit whirring in a blender? Shaking hands screamed fear, and fear screamed mental breakdown. Last night's nightmare hadn't helped. She had dreamed of thousands of Death cards being hurled at her by a shadowy figure who kept shouting: “I know who you are and where you live!”

A stark thought hit her. Perhaps she had been wrong to agree to Meta Corps' request. She was clearly in some kind of personal meltdown, and getting into the head of a serial killer might be the final push that sent her into a rabbit hole filled with dead bodies and no way out.

Relax, Sonny. Rely on your spiritual prowess to get you through
, her inner voice advised. The thought was so ludicrous that Sonny laughed. Hadn't she been doing that? The question gave her a chance to take a closer look at the table. The setting had been sweet at the start, the stemware elegant and the wine glasses celebratory. That was before the hordes had descended and devoured all the canapés. Now, it looked like a team of pigs had stampeded through.

Hit by a sudden desire to clean up, Sonny jumped up and entered the canopy, shivering when a cool gust of air fanned her uncovered arms. She tilted her face to study the wind chimes dangling from the canopy edges. The chimes were also sweet, as if announcing to the world: “Here lies God's goodness.” She shifted her gaze to the majestic landscape and beyond. No crouching tigers or hidden dragons, she mused.

The arbor is a
perfect backdrop for an ambush, though,
her inner voice warned.

Stow that kind of thinking, Miss Empath
, she responded.
We're already stressed to the max
.

Hearing a soft scurry on the ground behind her, Sonny glanced over her shoulder quickly. She spotted a large iguana darting under the edge of the buffet table and stomped her foot, hoping to scare it away. Cleaning tables with a determined lizard was not how she wanted to end her morning. When she saw no sign of its body, she sighed in relief.