Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island (27 page)

The phone rang in Larry's office. Had the Sheriff located Susanna? He feared picking it up; it might be them, some new threat. He excused himself to Noel and Kyra.

As soon as he left, Kyra said, “How big a reach is it to assume Rossini is serious?”

Noel took a moment. “About his Dream Visualizer, very serious. Whether it does what he claims, I don't know. But if he's given fifteen years to it, I think he's resolute. And he's absolutely right about the kidnappers taking the project very seriously—they did, after all, snatch his daughter.”

“Yeah, so whether or not the Visualizer can do what he claims, Susanna is still out there somewhere.”

“And our job is to find her. We start on that as soon as he comes back.”

“Won't be easy if no one's supposed to know she's been kidnapped. Hard to question friends and acquaintances without letting them know what's happened.”

“That's our first question to Larry Rossini—how he wants us to proceed.”

ROSSINI PUT THE
phone down. He felt anger grow in his gut. Not at Mick Dubic, good of Mick to fill Larry in, a valuable warning. Larry had expected it, awaited it, but figured the DHS or the CIA or whoever would come to him personally and he could tell them to their faces to go screw themselves. Why he should've expected a straightforward approach from any agency, he couldn't say; nothing about those guys was ever up front.

Come what may, he wasn't going to let them grab this project. Not for any amount of money. Twenty years ago he'd made that mistake and they'd stolen the rights to his Memory Enhancer in what still felt like a legal minute. He'd never believed the contract they gave him could be construed to let them pry his discoveries from him. He'd needed their money to finish the Enhancer, and the money had been good. But he'd not consulted a lawyer, just checked with a couple of colleagues. In the end the judge agreed with the Commercial Certification Division legal team's interpretation: because he was a salaried employee of an agency that was a hidden unit within the FBI, any fruits of his labors belonged to them. They'd robbed him of his intellectual property with a courtroom decision.

But this time he'd played all his cards right. The contract with both Morsely and Foundation Innovate made him the principal investigator, not an employee of either. They'd come to Duke to lure him away. They'd dangled large grants before his eyes, a spacious laboratory, assistants' salaries. He'd made certain the research salaries, his included, came from the grants. And he'd insured that this would remain the pattern for thirty years. And what he produced would be his alone, to do with as he wished. He knew O'Hara wanted the Dream Visualizer for Morsely so he could sell it to the highest bidder—and there'd be real money involved—so he could build his dormitories and expand Morsely into a year-round campus-based university. All he needed was the multimillion-dollar check from one or another spook agency and he'd have the largest part of his building fund. He knew the lure of San Juan—students and faculty would flock to be part of the University of the Islands. He also knew that Mick Dubic would never try to grab control of the Visualizer. Though no doubt he might have liked the money it would sell for, to allow FI to make more grants available.

Neither Morsely nor FI would ever gain ownership of the Visualizer.

But the detectives were waiting. He re-entered the living room. They were sitting together on the couch, speaking quietly.

“Sorry that call took so long,” Rossini said.

“Anything to do with Susanna?”

“No, just university business. Now, where were we?”

“We've been thinking.” Noel stood. “It's going to be hard for us to investigate Susanna's kidnapping if you put the same constraints on us as you've put on the police. We have to interview people who may know something you don't.”

“He's right, Larry. No wonder the Sheriff hasn't made any headway.”

“So if you want us to go ahead, we've got to do it our way.”

Larry looked out the window at the gathering twilight. “Your card claims you're discreet. On this you have to investigate with world-class prudence.”

“That's the way we work,” said Kyra.

Rossini sighed and looked back. “Then do what you have to.”

“Okay, we'll begin with the Sheriff.”

“Now? In the morning?”

“No time like the present,” said Noel. “At his office?”

“Likely won't be there this late.” He glanced at his watch. “It's nearly 8:30.”

“His home, then. Can you call, tell him we're on our way?”

“Yes. Name's Marc Coltrane. His Undersheriff's Charlie Taunton.”

“Undersheriff?”

“Chief deputy.”

“Undersheriff,” Noel muttered. And won't the Sheriff—and his Undersheriff—be surprised to learn Larry has mentioned the kidnapping to a couple of strangers. Worse, who were going to be poking around about it.

Kyra said, “We've been trying to figure how to think of the kidnapping.”

“How do you mean?”

“If she's being held captive, it has to be either on San Juan or off San Juan. If it's off the island, she could be anywhere. We're not equipped to investigate everywhere. That's a large operation. You'd need to pull in the FBI—kidnapping is their jurisdiction anyway—or at least the state police.” Noel was certain he'd just seen Larry cringe. “So for our part, we have to assume she's still on San Juan, and that's where we'll devote our energy. And you'll need to tell the Sheriff what we're doing.”

Rossini nodded. “That's reasonable. Though it's hard for me to think she might have been right here all this time.” He stood. “I'll call Marc.” He left them again.

They got up, Kyra saying, “Better to catch him wherever he lives. He'll be—”

A loud knocking at the front door. They looked at each other. Another knock. No response from Larry. Kyra marched to the door and opened it. A woman and a suitcase. “Yes?”

“I'm looking for Professor Rossini.”

“He's on the phone.” Kyra stared at her. Obviously too old to be Susanna. A stunning face. “Will you come in?”

The woman picked up her suitcase and entered, glancing around.

Incredibly gorgeous. Wearing a red silk blouse, shimmery pants and sandals with three-inch heels. “He won't be long, I don't think.”

The woman smiled. “And who are you?” Glancing at Noel, “And your friend?”

Noel joined them. A beautiful woman. Beautiful and hard. He felt a triumphant superiority: the kind of beauty that didn't move him. He introduced himself and Kyra.

She told them she was Dr. Celeste-Antoinette deBourg, a friend and colleague of Professor Rossini.

Who, at the moment, returned to the living room. “Toni! What are you doing here? Lovely to see you again!”

“I've come for a brief visit.”

He grinned with pleasure. “That's good, very good. Here, let me get your suitcase.” To Kyra and Noel: “I reached Marc. Here's his address. It's very close. He's expecting you.”

Why did Noel feel he was being rushed out? Pushed out, even. “Thank you. We'll be in touch tomorrow.” He headed for the still-open door, Kyra following. They both called, “Good night.”

The door closed behind them. They said nothing till they were seated in the Honda. Noel turned the key. “And who do we suppose that is?”

“A woman who can come to Larry's home just like that. With a suitcase.”

“Anyway, not our problem.”

“As far as we know.” Kyra combed her hair with her fingers. Damn curly stuff always all over the place. How do women like that get hair like that? Unfair.

A long kiss, and afterward they held each other tight. Larry stroked the line of her spine. “I'm so glad you're here.”

“Even uninvited,” she whispered.

“I wanted to ask you to come over. But I was frazzled. I could easily have brought you back.”

“This way I have my own car. My rental.” She smiled and pecked at his lips. “Since I had nothing else to do this evening . . . And since my flight doesn't leave till the day after tomorrow, in the evening . . .”

“I'm very glad.”

“And those two were?”

“Oh. Yes. The investigators I hired.”

“You went ahead anyway.” She scowled. “Even if it's dangerous.”

“We don't know if it's more dangerous than doing nothing. And I'm incapable of doing nothing.”

She set her cheek against his. “I do understand. But you worry me sometimes. Doing what isn't helpful may make the situation worse.”

“Let's leave it, okay? Would you like a drink? Or do you want to get settled in first?”

She smiled, as coyly as she could. “In the guest bedroom?”

He picked up her suitcase and headed upstairs. “I hope not.”

In his bedroom they made love with so much intoxicated passion, neither would have thought they'd been together only hours earlier. After, they lay silently for a few minutes, holding each other. Till Toni nibbled at his ear and whispered, “Larry? Would you demonstrate the Dream Visualizer for me?”

For a moment he said nothing. Then he joked, “Right now?”

“Tomorrow will be fine.”

“I—I'm not—I mean, I haven't—except for the team—Oh, I don't know.”

“You've told me everything about it. It's not really a secret from me. I'd be fascinated to see images on the monitor. It must be exceptional to actually view someone's dreams. Magical.”

He chuckled. “Now there's a real scientific term.”

She smiled back. “From a real scientist.” She slid a hand down to his bare buttock and palmed it. “So. A demonstration?”

He sighed. “Toni, Toni, you're impossible. You make me break all my rules.”

“Like I break mine. With you.”

“What? What have you broken?”

“To come to you when you've abandoned me.”

He kissed her deeply, then pulled away. The idea of her pleasure at seeing the Visualizer's images suddenly appealed to him hugely. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Electronic recordings? Or a live session?”

He buried his face between her breasts. “I'll see what I can do.” But that would be the end to their discretion. They'd been so careful. Till now. What did it matter anyway. Soon he'd want to proclaim their love, shout it from the rooftops. As it were.

Still light enough to distinguish house numbers. They found the Sheriff's home up Tucker Avenue around the corner from Peter's condo. They pulled into the drive and walked to the deck of a cedar-sided two-storey coastal home, large front windows facing south. Noel knocked on the door and waited.

It opened. A tall man with a blond ponytail said, “Yes?”

“Are you Sheriff Coltrane?”

“I am. And you are Franklin and Rachel, yes?”

“We are.”

“Please come in.” He stepped aside to let them pass.