All the Colors of Night (Fogg Lake #2)(8)

He did not dare remove the glasses for more than a few seconds at a time. He even wore them in the shower. The doctors had warned him that every minute he spent with his eyes unshielded, the greater the risk of getting lost in the ghostly hallucinations.

“About time you got here. Where have you been?”

North turned and saw Jake Martindale. They were both on the same team of cleaners. They were more than colleagues; they were friends. He trusted Jake and he was certain Jake trusted him. Jake didn’t give a damn that North was the grandson of the notorious Griffin Chastain, a man believed to have betrayed his country. Sure, everyone else at the Foundation pretended the past didn’t matter. The sins of the fathers were not supposed to be visited on the sons and grandsons. But North knew the reality was that there were a number of people affiliated with the Foundation who questioned the integrity of Griffin’s descendants.

“Spent a little time at Area Fifty-One first,” North said. “Looks like the party is just getting started.”

“It is. Most of these folks will be here until dawn.” Jake raised his bottle of beer in a toast. “We did good work today, pal.”

“Yes, we did.” North clinked his glass against Jake’s beer. “So why are you drinking alone here at the bar? What’s the matter? Won’t anyone dance with you?”

Jake looked across the room. “I don’t feel like dancing.”

North lounged against the bar and followed Jake’s gaze to a booth that was occupied by a man and a woman. The two sat very close together, sipping cocktails. Grant Wallbrook and Kimberly Tolland were scientists who worked in one of the Foundation labs. Wallbrook was a smart, ambitious researcher with a lot of degrees after his name. North was pretty sure Kimberly was every bit as intelligent as Wallbrook—she had a few degrees herself—but she lacked the charismatic energy of the man sitting beside her. She was an attractive woman with serious glasses and a quiet, studious air. Jake had been secretly lusting after her for months.

“Okay,” North said. “Now I understand why you’re drowning your sorrows here at the bar.”

“Wallbrook is using her for some purpose,” Jake muttered. “I know it. He doesn’t care about her. He’s a self-centered narcissist.”

“Give it time. She’s a smart woman. She’ll figure it out.”

“Sure. But probably not before she gets hurt. And even if she does see him for what he is, she’s not going to turn to a guy like me. She’ll go for someone else with a PhD after his name. I’m just a college dropout who hunts bad guys for a living.”

“You really are in a mood tonight, aren’t you? Have another beer.”

“Good idea.” Jake raised his hand to signal Hank.

“Look on the bright side,” North said.

“What side would that be?”

“Got a feeling Victor Arganbright is going to put you in charge of a cleaner team one of these days. You’re good, and he knows it.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “You’re talking about me taking over your job, aren’t you? That’s not the way I want to advance my career.”

“We both know it’s not going to be long before Arganbright removes me from the team. I won’t be any good to him once I’m totally psi-blind.”

“Shit, man. I can’t believe this is happening to you.”

“If you had to wear these damn glasses day and night, you’d believe it.”

“I think we both need another drink.”

“A brilliant plan,” North said.

Being pulled from the one job he was good at was going to be bad enough. He had not told anyone—not even the doctors or his parents—his deepest fear. He was terrified he was losing his sanity as well as his talent. He worried that even the special lenses in his glasses could not save him. The hallucinations were getting worse.

No one wanted to work with a talent of any kind who might be mentally and psychically unstable. That went double if the talent in question happened to be the grandson of Griffin Chastain, the man who was believed to have sold some of the secrets of the Bluestone Project to the former Soviet Union. The fact that Griffin had disappeared altogether after betraying his country had convinced everyone that he had been quietly executed by the Soviet spy who had recruited him.

Griffin Chastain had vanished not long after North’s father, Chandler, was born. North knew that his dad had carried the burden of the dishonor that Griffin had brought upon the family name all of his life. North had also understood from a very young age that the weight of that dishonor had fallen on him as well.

“Some good news headed your way, at least,” Jake said.

North watched a long-legged brunette in a snug red dress emerge from the crowd. She stopped in front of him and gave him an inviting smile.

“How about a dance?” she said.

Her name was Larissa Whittier. She worked in the Foundation museum. She was smart, talented and ambitious. They had dated a couple of times but it had quickly become obvious to both of them they were doomed to remain friends.

North managed a smile. “Thanks, Larissa, but I’m beat. Long day.”

And an even longer night lay ahead. He knew he was seriously sleep deprived. Relying on his psychic senses to supply the energy he needed to maintain the inner balance required to keep from falling into the abyss was weakening him on several fronts. He had a hunch that when he finally went down, he would go down hard. And when he woke up, he would be psi-blind. Or insane. Or both.