The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(7)
“You know as well as I do that you can tell only so much about a man by viewing his aura,” Catalina said. “Granted, Emerson Ferris is not a sociopath, and he’s not mentally fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be comfortable accepting the truth about you.”
Olivia straightened her shoulders and got a determined look. “If he can’t handle my psychic side, then I need to know now. Until I see how he deals with it, I’m trapped. I can’t move forward with our relationship until I’m sure it’s right for both of us.”
“You know I understand,” Catalina said. “But I’m so afraid he’ll react badly. You were devastated when that bastard McTavers told you that you needed psychiatric help. I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Olivia’s brows rose. “The same way you were hurt when you realized Ben Thaxter wanted to use you as a test subject for his crazy research project?”
Catalina held up both hands, palms out. “I admit I screwed up when I got involved with Thaxter, but I learned my lesson. Just because a man is curious about your psychic vibe doesn’t mean he doesn’t secretly think you’re delusional.”
“It’s not like things worked out for you when you hooked up with someone who did understand and accept your talent,” Olivia said. “Roger Gossard used you until he was afraid you’d become a liability to his business. When he concluded that you were a threat to his brand, he couldn’t throw you under the bus fast enough.”
“Okay, that relationship didn’t end well, but there were extenuating circumstances. Once again, lesson learned.”
Olivia’s expression softened. “You got over Thaxter and Gossard and you will try again. Give me some credit. If Emerson tells me he thinks I should check into a psychiatric hospital, I will be hurt but I’ll survive, just like you did.”
“All right. I’ll shut up now.” Catalina crossed the room to hug her friend. “I really hope things go well tonight.”
Olivia returned the hug. “I know you do. Don’t worry, if it turns out to be a disaster, you’ll be the first person I call. I’ll stop by your apartment for some therapeutic wine and sympathy. But if you don’t hear from me this evening, you’ll know Emerson took the news well and that I’m spending the night at his place.”
“Right.” Catalina took a step back. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
“Careful?” Olivia’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned that Emerson might be dangerous.”
“No, of course not. I just want you to protect yourself.”
“I can’t,” Olivia said gently. “Not in the way you mean. But I can be strong. That’s all that matters.”
Catalina smiled. “Yes, that’s all that matters.”
CHAPTER 3
The need to contact Marsha Matson had become too intense to ignore.
Catalina stopped her small car in the circular driveway of Matson’s home and sat quietly behind the wheel for a moment, absorbing the feel of the scene. There was nothing that jumped out at her, but she finally decided that things just felt off. Maybe it was the fact that the only light in the house emanated from somewhere deep inside. Probably my imagination. She had done too much crime scene work, she decided. It made a person jaded.
She left the car engine running and got out. Again she took a few beats to try to figure out what was bothering her. She could not identify the vibe, but whatever it was, it was not good.
There was only one way to find out if the client was all right.
Leaving the driver’s-side door open, she went toward the imposing entrance. It was nearly eight in the evening, but it was April, so there was a little light left in the sky. The short, dark days of the Pacific Northwest winter had passed. The long days of summer were on the horizon.
Marsha Matson’s home was located in an exclusive neighborhood in one of the little boutique communities clustered around the shoreline of Lake Washington. The residence was a testament to Matson’s real estate success. It loomed two stories tall and sprawled across a large chunk of property.
Catalina was sure that there was a lot of electronic security.
The lights over the three-car garage revealed that all the doors were closed. There were no other vehicles in the driveway. If Marsha was home, she was alone. That was a good sign, Catalina thought, but she could not shake the uneasy sensation that had been riding her hard all evening. She had called Marsha three times over the course of the past few hours. On each occasion she had been dropped immediately into voice mail.
There could be any number of reasons why Marsha, a business-woman who lived on her phone, might not be taking calls that night. One possible explanation was that the anger that had glittered in her eyes that afternoon had been transformed into an equally powerful depression.
Catalina went to the front door and paused to look up. Sure enough, a small camera was discreetly tucked under the eaves of the roof.
She hesitated before pushing the doorbell, still not certain that she was doing the right thing.
The vision whispered across her senses the instant her finger touched the doorbell.
Rage—murderous, howling rage—coalesced into a ghostly vision. She saw a man coming up the steps. He was the source of the wild fury.