Mystical Love (85 page)

She took another sip of coffee, her gaze softening as she realized the toad's luggage had been delivered to her home. Who had authorized the transfer? The toad himself? She wouldn't put it past him. Had a good night's sleep in her guest bedroom recharged his Meta Corps skills and readied him for whatever battle awaited them today?

“How long have you been up?”

The question startled Sonny so much that she almost dropped the mug in her hand. She whirled around, spotting Logan walking out onto the terrace. She studied his appearance as he came. He had shaved, showered, and donned clean clothes, and like the first time they'd met, she could smell the manly scent of his aftershave. He walked quietly, too; in fact, everything about his demeanor was quiet—except for his ego.

“I've just finished dressing,” Sonny answered. “Did you find everything to your liking in the guest suite? A comfortable bed? Fluffy towels? Bath soap?” Her words were dripping with sarcasm, and she didn't know why she was taunting him.
You're mad that he didn't come to our room, buck naked,
her inner voice supplied.

“Soften your tone,” he said, reaching her. “I haven't had my morning coffee yet.” He took the mug from her gloved fingers and drained the contents. He handed the mug back with a grin. “That hit the spot.”

“What happened after you sent me to my room?” Sonny asked, getting right to the point.

He chucked her nose. “I stayed and filled Lieutenant Cutter in on our touching the knife
and
your father's suspicions.”

Sonny bristled. “You told him about Pandora, too, I suppose,” she groused. When he didn't deny it, she suppressed the urge to box his ears. “Are you insane? I thought we agreed to tell him together.”

He gave a fractured growl in return. “I dropped hints, nothing more. Besides, we were treading on dangerous ground by keeping pertinent information from him.”

Hearing the censure, an army of snakes began to coil in Sonny's stomach. “I suppose he threatened to jail us,” she said.

“You suppose wrong. He threatened to jail
me
. He's too fond of you to upset you in that way.”

Sonny whirled back to the landscape, her gaze grazing the desert scrub below. She ran her fingers around the rim of the mug. “He will blame me for the tampering, though,” she stated. “We're friends, and friends should always be honest with each other.”

“Relax. He knows I'm to blame for our staying quiet.”

Sonny's heart did a flip-flop. Why had the toad taken the blame?

“What happened last night?” he queried, his breath teasing her hair. “Your collapse, I mean.”

Sonny brushed her temple, unable to keep her voice from trembling. “I think my talent is unraveling,” she said. “I got thrown into that same therapy session again, but this time, it felt off.”

“Off, like how?”

“The young girl was excited, but at the same time afraid. It was as if she was experiencing both at the same time. The man kept asking her where she was, and each time she answered, I felt my skin crawl, which means the girl's was too. She was waffling between delight and disgust, and I can't explain how she could be enjoying the session and hating it at the same time. An ambivalence like that has never come up before.”

“What about the nosebleeds? How recent are they?”

“They started about a year ago, sporadic at first, but getting progressively worse.”

He rounded her shoulders and lounged against the balcony wall. “I can see why you might be reluctant to discuss this, but I need to know what could throw your talent off like this.”

“I have no way of knowing, since I was born empathic,” Sonny replied. “It's not as if being empathic has a time limit.” She frowned. “I suppose it could, though. The mind is an unfathomable world really, and you can't explain spiritual gifts in human terms.”

“It's possible the nosebleeds are separate from the talent,” Logan remarked. “They might be a warning from those spirit guides of yours—for taking on too much.”

Her hand flew up quickly. “Spirit guides don't issue warnings. They flat-out say what they mean and mean what they say. Besides, I can feel when I'm overdoing it. It's usually thanks to Ned and Uncle Brad; they make it very hard to ignore their demands.”

Logan grabbed Sonny's gloved hand and pulled her towards the living-room couch. Once there, he took a seat beside her.

“Brainstorm with me for a moment. Do you remember hearing about any lawsuits being leveled against The Sanctuary when you were young?”

“No,” Sonny remarked quickly. “A lawsuit would've made headlines, which in turn, would've sunk the retreat, especially since it was just gaining financial momentum. Besides, a father wouldn't discuss those kinds of things with a young daughter.”

“I'm asking because Lieutenant Cutter told me Foster Sykes and your father pooled their money and bought the land The Sanctuary sits on.”

“What?” Sonny went pale at the news. “Foster and Daddy were business partners?”

“According to Cutter, they met in college, and the friendship stuck. It's possible Sykes was, and still is, a silent partner in the retreat.”

“Well, that would tick Aunt Charlotte off big time,” Sonny said, “but I can sense you think she didn't know. If that's true, and she recently found out, it would make a pretty powerful incentive for murder. Even twenty years after the fact.”

Logan sank back, raking his hair feverishly. “God, if only I could manage to connect the dots faster.”

“We'll figure it out together,” Sonny said emphatically. “With my talent and your firecracker brain, we can't lose.” She saw his scowl and spoke up. “You are not going to leave me out of the investigation.”

His head shot up. “Simmer down. No one's leaving you out of anything. In fact, from here on out, you won't be staying anywhere alone. You've acquired a heavy-duty bodyguard, whether you like it or not!” He dipped his head in emphasis.

Sonny's lips tilted in amusement. Rotten toad. Arrogance was certainly his middle name.

“What time do you think Sykes rises?” Logan asked. “I'd like to catch him off guard—the earlier, the better.”

Sonny cleared her throat. “I refuse to visit him until we've had one of Consuela's delectable Mexican omelets. They cure early-morning grouchiness."

He grinned at her jibe. “And if I say I hate eggs?”

“You'll eat them and like it, or face Consuela's nagging persistence that
no es bueno
for
mi enamorodo
to skip breakfast.”

“Would this be a good time to tell you that I minored in Spanish in college?”

The front door opened suddenly, preventing Sonny from telling Logan what she already knew: he had a deceitful nature. She turned to find Consuela bustling over the threshold, grocery bags in hand. Spotting the pair, she clucked her approval, heading for the kitchen counter.

“I cook you
bueno
breakfast,” she said, plopping the bags on the counter. She gave them a toothy smile. “I make fine Western omelet, the best in Mex-hee-co.” She began pulling bread, eggs, and milk from the bags. “You see, I good cook.” She glanced at them quickly again. “You make love tonight.” She went back to fussing with the groceries. “You make fine
bebés
. I take care, and we all live happily ever after,
sí
?”

The pair on the couch exchanged grins. “
Sí
,” they said simultaneously.

• • •

Two hours later, they were on the road. The highway was a sheet of blinding light as the SUV sailed through Echo Underpass and continued its northward trek up the Double S Highway. Each mile brought them closer to a towering series of mountain ranges. Forked saguaros crowded the lengthy roadway, and the blacktop sizzled from the rotation of the tires crackling across its surface.

From her vantage point in the passenger seat, Sonny could see the morning sun being covered by a darkening skyline. In a few moments they'd be at the Adobe Lakes turnoff and five miles closer to their goal. What kind of reception would Foster Sykes give them? Perhaps not cordial. Ever since Logan had shared the possibility of Foster and her father being partners, her senses had shored up. She knew what that meant. Foster and Pandora were connected. Had her father given Foster the Pandora DVD for safekeeping? If not, why else throw his name in the ring?

The car lurched as it began its final descent through the last of the mountain underpasses. They were now four miles closer to their goal, and she hoped Logan wouldn't go all Meta Corps badass when they reached the Sykes hacienda. She should have dissuaded him from coming altogether, convinced him that Foster would be more agreeable to speaking with a friend rather than a stranger.

Stealing a peek at Logan's profile, she realized he had been overly silent during the ride, and she could see why. His brain was in solve-the-puzzle mode. He was so in the Meta Corps zone that he hadn't noticed the care she had taken with her appearance. Dressed in a yellow-gray blouse, with a gray pleated skirt and matching jacket, she looked like the latest corporate CEO fashionista. She had chosen steel hoop earrings that dangled and spun, and on her feet, she wore the latest in fashion footwear. Her gaze drifted from Logan's profile. It wouldn't have killed the toad to notice how pulled together she looked.

“Do I look presentable?” she finally asked.

His gaze scanned her face. “Don't be coy. You have a mirror.”

A rush of color stained Sonny's cheeks; however, before she could offer any kind of retort, she caught sight of a gated row of buildings and the sign adjacent to the turnoff.

“We're here. Turn left at the first street after the entrance. We'll circle the lake and come in behind the hacienda. That way we'll miss the guest traffic.”

Following her instructions, Logan slowed the car to a crawl and waved at the security guard who responded with a quick lift of the barricade arm. Soon they were traversing two yellow speed bumps and turning left at the first intersection. In a matter of minutes, they were skirting the lake and heading towards the residential area of the complex.

“How shall we play this?” Logan asked, slowing the car to allow a young couple to jaywalk across the street.

“No good cop, bad cop,” Sonny said, pinching her lower lip with her fingers. “If Dick's info is right, Sykes may take one look at us and slam the door in our faces.”

“Did you ever talk to him after his injury? Offer your condolences?”

“Of course I did. How could you even ask such a question? We were colleagues. I was heartbroken when he got hurt.”

“I meant no criticism of you,” Logan said. “I just want to be in control of this interview, not the other way around.”

“Foster's body may be crippled, but his mind is as sharp as a tack,” Sonny relayed. “Or at least it was six months ago. I'm ashamed to say I let my classes and client appointments take precedence over visiting him. Turn left at the next gate.”

The car veered around the designated corner, and before another minute elapsed, the Kia was braking in front of a hacienda covered in clinging vines.

The pair studied the rambling structure in front of the car. A sudden chill swept over Sonny, and she inhaled sharply.

“What?” Logan asked, picking up on the noise.

“Something bad's coming. I can sense it.”

“Too much caffeine,” Logan stated, opening the car door and slipping out. Hearing the door click, Sonny sighed. Logan was right. Three cups of coffee in an hour was
way
too many.

• • •

Ned slowed the van, watching the Kia turn into the front gates of Adobe Lakes. His instincts had been right when he woke this morning. Sonny and her companion were up to something. But what did Sykes have to do with it? He pulled the van to the shoulder of the road and let it idle. He watched the Kia crawl through the barricade and then turn left towards the row of cottages encircling the lake. When the back of the car disappeared around a row of hedges, he pulled onto the road and into the left-turn lane.

Braking at the guard shack, he greeted the guard pleasantly, and then, given the wave-through, he rolled the van through the rising arm and followed the arrow pointing right, opposite the route the Kia had taken. In seconds, he was circling the lake from the east and pulling into an empty parking spot not far from the parked Kia.

He sat for a moment, thinking over the events of the last couple days. Had he made any mistakes in murdering David? Left any evidence that could be traced back to him? He couldn't imagine what. As soon as he realized David had videotaped one of his late-night sessions, he had attempted to find the damming tape and destroy it. But David had been in the power seat. He hid the tape and demanded Ned's resignation. Ned had refused, of course. He had no intention of leaving such a perfect hunting ground. Not when it was so easy for him to move the blame to someone else.

He saw movement by the Kia and saw Sonny and Logan traversing the front walkway. As quietly as he could, he slipped from the van, rounded the front bumper, and slid the side door of the van open. Reaching in, he snatched a duffel bag from the floorboard and closed the door. In seconds, he was darting around the side of a yellow cottage and out of sight.

• • •

“We should've called first,” Sonny remarked, as she pressed the doorbell.

“Surprise has its advantages,” Logan told her, as a bell pealed deep inside the house. Unnerved by the sound, Sonny shifted her weight, warning her ego to hang tough during the upcoming confrontation. No matter how badly Foster treated them, they couldn't leave without learning the truth. If he held the Pandora DVD, they had to convince him to give it up.

The door swung open with a sudden jerk, and Sonny had her first good look at Foster Sykes in six months. The emaciated face staring up at her from the wheelchair was a shock. He had grown old so fast. And worse, it wasn't fair to come to his home and grill him as if he were a hardened criminal. He sat staring at her for a moment, as if he didn't have the foggiest idea of who she was, and then his eyes fired up in recognition, and his mumble was frigid.