Silver Master (12 page)

But for some reason she found herself wanting to tell him what had really happened. After four long months of keeping the secret to herself, of thinking that she could and would keep it for a lifetime, she was suddenly overcome with the urge to confide in a man she had only just met.

It was his psi-vibes, she thought. She trusted Davis in a way she had never been able to trust any man.

Still, there was danger in revealing her secrets.

“Yesterday you told me that one of the things you offered your clients was confidentiality,” she said cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Does that extend to other people involved in a case that you happen to be investigating?”

“Depends. My policy is to protect the privacy of everyone involved unless it conflicts with my number one priority.”

“Solving the case?”

“It's what I do, Celinda.”

She twisted around in the seat to look at him. “What about me? Can you guarantee that you'll keep my secrets?”

“Yes. Unless it keeps me from doing my job.”

“What happened to me in Frequency City has nothing to do with recovering the relic.”

“Then I'll keep your secrets, Celinda.”

She watched him for a moment longer and then settled back into the seat. She believed him, she thought. But what if he didn't believe her? She would look delusional, at the very least. Worst-case scenario, he might conclude she was a pathological liar.

Ice trickled down her spine. She folded her arms very tightly around herself. Araminta suddenly hopped down onto her shoulder and made small comforting noises. Celinda unwound her arms, reached up, and patted her gently.

“I never for one moment believed that Benson Landry was worth the risk to my reputation,” she said eventually. “Just the opposite. I think of him as a man out of a nightmare.”

Davis gave her another one of his enigmatic looks. “So how did you wind up in bed with him?”

“That's easy. He drugged me.”

DAVIS FELT AS IF HE'D TAKEN A BODY BLOW. “WHAT THE
hell?”

“I knew he was dangerous the moment he walked into my office,” Celinda continued in that same too-even tone.

“He was a client?”

“No. I never accepted him as one. Never signed a contract. Never took his money.”

“He wanted you to match him, and you refused?”

“Landry's positioning himself to take over the Frequency Guild when the current Guild boss retires. There's the usual power struggle going on. As I'm sure you're aware, very few Guild chiefs retire willingly. Most of them have to be forced out of office by their Councils. Harold Taylor has been in ill health for some time. It won't be long before he either dies or has to step down. He can't hold on to his power base much longer.”

“And Benson Landry is waiting to make his move,” Davis said.

“He's not just waiting, he's actively preparing. Part of that preparation is finding himself a suitable wife. Guild bosses are almost always married.”

“Old tradition,” Davis agreed. “There are reasons.”

“Landry wanted me to find him a match for a Covenant Marriage. Being the arrogant SOB that he is, he had a long list of requirements, of course.”

“Let me hazard a guess,” Davis said. “He wanted someone who was beautiful, rich, and who came from a wealthy, well-connected Guild family.”

“If that was all he wanted, I'm sure he would have done his own matchmaking. Everyone knows that the members of powerful Guild families usually marry people who are also from other high-ranking Guild families. The marriages aren't based on compatibility and love. They're more like old-fashioned political alliances designed to cement power. You don't need a professional matchmaker for that. You use lawyers, accountants, and personal connections.”

“You're right.” Davis considered that for a moment. “As the guy in line to take over the Frequency City Guild, Benson Landry could have his choice of brides from among the most powerful Guild families.”

“Unfortunately, Landry has set his long-range objective on more than just control of the Frequency Guild. He wants to move into politics. I think he plans to use the Guild resources as a power base to fund and operate his campaigns. He wants to become a senator.”

“Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

“No Guild boss has ever been able to get elected to such a high office. I don't think any Guild exec has ever gotten further than a position on a city council.”

Celinda's smile was very cold. “Probably because by the time a man gets to a position of power within the Guild, he has acquired the kind of record that would not stand up to close scrutiny by the media. It would be like a mob boss deciding to run for public office. Too many dead bodies buried around town. Guild bosses usually have to be content to manipulate powerful men from behind the scenes.”

Davis told himself he was under no obligation to defend the Guilds. But, damn it, his ancestors had fought at the Last Battle of Cadence when Guild ghost hunters had been all that stood between the megalomaniac Vincent Lee Vance and his hordes of crazed followers. People tended to forget that the desperate, struggling colonies would have fallen under the tyrannical rule of an insane despot if it hadn't been for the Guilds. Pride ran strong in his blood.

“I won't deny that a certain amount of power brokering goes on in the Guilds,” he said. “But that's true of the rest of society as well. People who have power tend to use it. Sort of goes with the territory. And it takes a certain degree of ruthlessness to get to the top of any organization. You don't really believe that any of the city-state senators or the other members of the Federation Council, let alone the president and vice president, are as pure as untuned amber, do you?”

“Of course not, but they don't usually come to the job with all the baggage that a Guild boss would bring to it. Even if a high-ranking Guild exec was a model of respectability, he'd still have to overcome the public image of Guild CEOs. Let's be honest here. They have some long-standing PR problems.”

“Can't argue that,” Davis admitted. “All right, so Benson Landry wants to become a senator.”

“Yes. And that's why he came to me. To achieve his objectives, he needs to marry outside the Guild, preferably the daughter of a wealthy business family or someone from an elite political family. He requires an alliance that can help him build strong connections outside the Guild.”

“He wanted you to find him that perfect wife,” Davis concluded.

“Yes.”

“You told him no.”

She touched Araminta again, lightly. He was coming to recognize that small action.

“I tried to do it carefully,” Celinda said. “Professionally. I knew Landry was dangerous. I made it clear that I only worked on Covenant Marriages based on sound parapsych principles of personal compatibility, et cetera, et cetera. I told him that I did not believe that marriages based on political connections and financial issues stood much chance of achieving long-term happiness for either party.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he wasn't interested in all that, quote, garbage, unquote, about happiness and that I could ignore the compatibility aspects. I was to concentrate on finding him a wife from a good, socially connected family, and he would take care of the rest. He even had a couple of names for me to start with.”

“Why didn't he do his own courting, in that case?”

“He assumed, quite rightly, that most non-Guild families would discourage their daughters from marrying a Guild man, even one who was set to become the head of the organization.”

No surprise there, he thought. The social divisions between Guild and non-Guild weren't as strong as they had been in the old days, but they still existed, especially in upper-class circles. Landry's decision to try to marry into a socially prominent family outside the Guild was testimony to his determination to achieve his objectives.

“I think I see where this is going,” he said. “Landry figured that if the most exclusive matchmaker in Frequency City recommended a match between himself and one of the women on his list, the woman and her family might be willing to consider the match. Is that it?”

“Yes. I suspect he also planned to apply other kinds of pressure as well, once he had made his selection. The dirty little secret of most of the socially prominent families in Frequency or any other city is that chances are they've had some mutually beneficial dealings with the Guild in the past. A lot of them owe the Guild a favor or two. And just as the Guild always pays its debts, it has a reputation for collecting them as well.”

“Let's not go into that again.” He flexed his hands on the steering wheel, holding on to his patience with an act of will. “All right, I've got the picture. You refused to accept Benson Landry as a client. What happened next?”

“He didn't take being declined well.” Celinda's fingertips tangled in Araminta's scruffy fur. “I knew he was furious, but I hoped that, given his enormous ambition, he would focus on finding another way to achieve his objective.”

“But that wasn't how it went down?”

“For a while I thought I was safe. He never came back to my office. Then, one evening I had an appointment that didn't finish until quite late. After the client left, I stayed at the office for another hour, doing some paperwork. When I finally went downstairs, the garage was almost empty.”

She stopped talking. Davis glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead at the highway, her expression stark and frozen. Her hand was still on Araminta. The dust bunny was huddled very close on her shoulder.

“Go on,” he said quietly.

“I walked past a pillar.” There was no emotion at all in her voice now. “Landry leaped out and grabbed me from behind. He plunged a needle into my arm.”

Cold fire burned in Davis's veins. He gripped the steering wheel so hard he wondered that it didn't shatter in his hands.

“Bastard,” he said very softly.

“I tried to scream for help, but the stuff worked fast. Within seconds I was numb all over. I couldn't even stand. But I didn't go out. I realized later that he didn't want me unconscious, just unable to move or speak. He put me in the trunk of his car. I'm claustrophobic. It was…a nightmare.”

He thought about the weeks he had spent at the Glenfield Institute.
Been there, done that.
He said nothing. He knew better than anyone that there wasn't anything he could say to erase the trauma.

Araminta made a small, anxious sound.

Davis fought his freezing rage in silence.

“He carried me to that hotel room,” Celinda continued, still speaking without any trace of emotion in her voice. “He let everyone think I was drunk. When we were alone, he stripped off my clothes and pulled a nightgown over my head.”

He had to ask the question, had to know how bad it had been for her. “Did he rape you?”

“No.”

But an odd note had crept into her voice.

“He left me in the bed at the hotel. I later found out that he was due at a civic function that evening. He had to make an appearance there.”

“What about the photographers?”

“The drug Landry gave me had just started to wear off when he returned to the room. The first thing he did was pick up the phone and call someone. I heard him say, ‘Bring the champagne up now.'”

Again he detected the curious flattening in her voice. He was no psi-reader, but in his business he'd heard a lot of people tell a lot of lies. He usually recognized them when he heard them. She wasn't exactly lying now, he decided. But he was certain that she was leaving out something important. Perhaps Landry had raped her, and she did not want to talk about it. He could understand and respect that.

“After he made the phone call, Landry changed into a bathrobe,” she continued. “I could move a little by then, but I kept very still, hoping he would think I was still immobile. I knew that my only chance was to shout for help when room service arrived.”

“What happened?”

“Room service was very prompt,” she said. “The problem was that the man pushing the cart wasn't the only person who showed up. There were also a couple of photographers.”

“The tabloid paparazzi guys?”

“Yes. I staggered to my feet and screamed at them, but no one paid any attention. Evidently, ‘Help me, this man kidnapped me,' isn't a universally recognized cry for assistance. The photographers took the photos and ran off. The room service person started to leave.”

“I doubt if that was room service. More likely someone Landry paid to stage the scene.”

She glanced at him in surprise. “I hadn't even considered that, but it makes sense.”

“What did you do?”

“My only thought was to get out of the room before the door closed behind the guy with the cart. My head was spinning. I had a terrible headache, and I thought I might throw up. But at least I could move again. I made it out the door. Landry didn't even try to stop me. He laughed and said something about this being just the beginning. One of the last things he said to me as I left was, ‘I'm going to destroy you.'”

“Bastard,” he repeated, softer this time.

“
Sick
bastard. I told you, the man is not right in the head. He's scary crazy, because he's able to conceal his craziness from others.”

“I believe you. What did you do next?”

“I went down a back staircase and found a hotel linen closet. There were some spare spa robes inside. I grabbed one and left through a back door. But the two photographers were waiting in the parking lot.”

“The bathrobe photos.”

“Yes.”

She stopped talking. He knew she was wondering if she had just made a major mistake by confiding in him.

“Got one more question,” he said.

She shook her head slightly, not saying no, more like pulling herself out of the past and back to the present. She was still petting Araminta.

“Can I assume you didn't go to the cops because you didn't think they would take your word over that of a member of the Guild Council?” he asked.

“No,” she said, visibly regaining her fortitude and iron-willed determination. “I kept quiet because his threat to destroy me was not the very last thing he said.”

He went even colder inside. “He threatened to kill you?”

She shook her head again, a clear negative this time. “Oh, no. The last thing he would have wanted was a murder investigation, especially with me as the victim. There were too many clues that would have led back to him. He had made it clear to the press that I was his mistress, after all. There was a record of the appointment he made to meet with me at my office. I had left notes about my decision not to take him as a client and so on. No, he didn't threaten to kill me.”

“What
did
he threaten?”

“He said that if I went to the police he would destroy my family.”

“Did he say how?”

“He was very specific. He said he'd see to it that my father lost his job at the company where he has worked for over thirty years and that my mother would be forced out of her position at the library. He said he'd make sure my brother never got accepted as a member of any of the new rain forest exploration teams. He even went so far as to promise that he'd make sure my sister's marriage was called off.”

“Does your family know the truth about what happened?”

“No, absolutely not,” she said, sinking a little into the seat. “I didn't dare tell them the truth. They would have insisted that I go to the police and damn the consequences. I just couldn't risk it.”

“They think what everyone else in Frequency thinks? That you fell hard for Landry, and when the affair was exposed in the press, you had no choice but to close your business and leave town?”