Silver Master gh-5 Page 23

  “About Brinker,” Davis said flatly.

  Phillips hesitated and then evidently decided to surrender to the inevitable. “You know I am bound by rules of confidentiality.”

  “This is Guild business,” Davis said. “In any event, the patient is deceased.”

  “Dead?” Phillips was clearly shocked. “How did he die?”

  “The cause is still under investigation, but there is a high probability that it was murder.”

  “Good Lord.” Shaken, Phillips leaned back in his chair. “This is terrible.”

  “Brinker was a Guild man,” Davis said. “His death occurred in the course of an investigation that I am pursuing on behalf of Mercer Wyatt.”

  Phillips pondered that closely for a few seconds and then nodded once. “Well, under those circumstances, I suppose I can talk about Mr. Brinker’s case. But I’m not sure if I can supply you with any useful information.”

  “I’d like to see the file.”

  “Very well.” Phillips got to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared through the glass doors of his office. When he returned, he had a blue folder in one hand. He gave the folder to Davis.

  “Brinker was brought here after he sustained a very serious psi burn in the catacombs,” Phillips said, sitting back down. “The trauma was bad enough, but it was made much worse by the fact that he had a long-standing drug habit that had rendered his parapsych profile extremely fragile and unstable.”

  Davis flipped open the folder and leafed through the notes, pausing occasionally to read more carefully. “It says here that when he regained consciousness, he was prone to both visual and auditory hallucinations. In other words, he heard voices?”

  “Yes.” Phillips sighed. “It was a very sad situation and complicated, as I told you, by his addiction history.”

  Davis went back to the file. “He was treated by several doctors. I recognize most of the names.”

  “No doubt.”

  “They’re all still here at the clinic?”

  Phillips looked troubled by the question. “All but one. Seton Hollings was on the staff at the time Brinker was a patient. He left us shortly before you came to us as a patient.”

  Davis looked up at that, very focused. He might not be sensitive to psi wave patterns, Celinda thought, but there were other ways to read people, ways a good private investigator no doubt utilized instinctively.

  “Why did Hollings leave?” he asked.

  Phillips hesitated. For a few seconds, Celinda was afraid he might not answer at all. She wasn’t sure what Davis would do if that happened. He wanted answers.

  “I’m not certain if the reasons for Hollings’s dismissal come under the heading of Guild business,” Phillips said quietly.

  Davis fixed him with a steady expression. “If he was dismissed in connection with the Brinker case, it does.”

  Phillips struggled with his professional ethics a moment longer and then exhaled heavily. “Very well. It’s not as though I have any interest in protecting the bastard.”

  The outrage in the words made Celinda straighten a little in her chair.

  “You didn’t like Dr. Hollings?” she asked.

  “He was a disgrace to the profession.” Phillips got to his feet and started to pace the veranda, hands clasped behind his back. “In the beginning we were delighted to have him on the staff. He came to us with credentials that positively glowed. But later we learned that most of his publications and references were fraudulent. What’s more, he had been dismissed from his previous post.”

  “Don’t you run background checks on your people?” Davis asked.

  “Of course. But they are fairly routine in nature. We don’t conduct in-depth investigations. Hollings was very clever. He had gone to great lengths to make himself look good on paper, and I’m sorry to say he succeeded.”

  “When did you discover that he was a problem?” Davis asked.

  Phillips came to a halt, his expression grim. “When I realized that he was conducting unauthorized experiments on a small number of the most severely traumatized patients.”

  “Patients like Brinker?” Celinda said.

  “Yes.” Phillips’s mouth tightened at the corners. “The nature of Brinker’s parapsych illness made him extremely vulnerable.”

  “What sort of experiments did Hollings perform on him?” Davis asked.

  “Hollings was a leading light in dream state research. As you may know, new research has confirmed that the dream state is the only state in which the barriers between the normal and paranormal planes are not clearly defined.”

  “No,” Davis said. “Can’t say I did know that.”

  “The study of the dream state is a new and rather esoteric field,” Phillips explained. “Hollings was fascinated with the subject. He was also an expert with psi drugs. I fear he combined the two skills to conduct experiments that can only be described as mind control.”

  Davis watched him closely. “How did he attempt to control Brinker?”

  “To be quite honest, I have no way of knowing how much damage he did to poor Brinker, because shortly after Hollings was dismissed, Brinker, himself, disappeared. In the past nine months I have sent a number of letters to the address that we had on file for him, but he never responded.” Phillips rubbed his forehead in an agitated way. “Now you tell me that he is dead.”

  “I want to talk to Hollings. Where did he go after he left the institute?”

  “Certainly not to a reputable hospital or clinic here in Cadence. I would never have given him a reference, and he knew it. In fact, I filed a complaint with the License Review Board of the Association of Para-Psychiatrists. But by the time they got around to acting on it, Hollings had vanished.”

  “What do you mean?” Celinda asked.

  “To be frank,” Phillips said, “I suspect he assumed a new identity. All I can tell you is that the last time I checked, there was no doctor in the city practicing under that name.”

  Davis looked thoughtful. “Brinker had an apartment here in town. That means that if Hollings is involved in this thing, he’s probably still in town, too.”

  Phillips raised his brows. “What makes you think Hollings is connected to Brinker?”

  “I know coincidences when I see them, and there are a lot of them here. The fact that both Brinker and Hollings have a connection to this place is one of them.”

  “I see.” Phillips inclined his head with a grave air. “I wish you luck in finding him.”

  “Thanks.” Davis closed the folder and got to his feet. “The Guild appreciates your cooperation.”

  “Let me be quite clear about something,” Phillips said, surprisingly brusque. “I did not cooperate in order to please the Guild.”

  Davis looked at him, waiting.

  “I offered my assistance because I trust you, and I trust your motives.” Phillips’s eyes narrowed. “And because I don’t want Seton Hollings doing any more damage with his talent.”

  Davis was silent for a few seconds. Then he seemed to relax a little.

  “I appreciate it,” he said.

  Phillips met his eyes. “I also did it because I am hoping to convince you to return to the institute so that my staff and I can learn from the mistakes we made with you. Thus far, your case still comes under the heading of one of a kind. But in the last several years, a number of new types of psychic talents have begun to emerge in the population. New forms of psi trauma are appearing along with those talents.”

  “Forget it,” Davis said. The ice was back in his voice. “I’m not interested in becoming a research subject again.”

  “Being a doctor is a lot like being a policeman, Davis. As soon as we subdue one criminal ailment or condition, another pops up. We are always fighting a new war. We need allies and spies and raw intelligence. You have a great deal to teach us. I am asking you to help us in this never-ending battle.”

  Davis shook his head. “No more drugs.”

  “No drug
s,” Phillips promised. “You have my word on that.”

  Davis looked at Celinda. She gave him an encouraging smile, letting him know silently that she approved of Phillips.

  “I’ll think about it,” Davis said.

  Chapter 33

  SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT, DAVIS CLOSED THE CADENCE City directory and dropped it on the floor beside the sofa. He leaned back, stretched out his legs, and looked at Celinda.

  “Who the hell knew there were so many people running around claiming to be experts in various forms of psi therapy?” he said.

  She put down the pad of paper she had been using to take notes. The task of sorting through the list of practitioners in the directory in an attempt to pick out the mysterious Dr. Hollings had not been successful.

  The balcony door was partially open. Max and Araminta were outside on the railing. They were sitting very close together, taking in the night. A few minutes ago Max had come inside long enough to fetch another cookie for Araminta.

  Glumly she eyed what she had written.

  “From the looks of it, most of them are self-proclaimed therapists and counselors,” she said. “The number with genuine parapsych degrees of one kind or another after their names is only a small subset.”

  “The problem is that the city-states don’t have any laws dictating who can hang out a shingle calling himself a therapist or a counselor.” He picked up her list. “We’ve got everything from shady gurus to full-fledged doctors of para-psychiatry here.” He frowned at one of the names she had written. “What the hell is a psychic lifestyle counselor, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure, but it’s nice to know there are some out there in case I ever need one.”

  He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes, thinking. “None of the people on that list jumps out at me. Got a feeling our man doesn’t advertise in the phone book.”

  She considered that. “It wouldn’t be surprising, not if he’s going after a high-end clientele. Promises, Inc., doesn’t advertise, either. We work strictly by referral.”

  “Referral,” Davis repeated. He raised his lashes halfway, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “I’ll bet your competitors know who you are, though, don’t they?”

  “Definitely.” She was unable to suppress a twinge of pride. “Everyone in the matchmaking business here in Cadence is well aware of Promises, Inc.”

  “Maybe the way to find Hollings is to talk to some of his competitors.”

  The psi energy of the hunter was pulsing strongly in him. He was running on adrenaline, she thought. Whether he realized it or not, he had not completely recovered from the heavy psi burn in the ruins.

  “There’s nothing more you can do tonight,” she said. “You need sleep, Davis.”

  “I’m too rezzed up to sleep. I’m closing in on him; I can feel it.”

  “All the more reason why you should rest.” She got to her feet and held out her hand. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  Instead of coming up off the sofa, he captured her wrist in his hand and tumbled her down onto his lap.

  “Got a better idea,” he said.

  He kissed her before she could offer a protest. She did not require her psi senses to realize that he was more than just restless and edgy; he was as hard as quartz. The adrenaline and testosterone bio-cocktail that had aroused all of his hunter’s senses was having some predictable side effects.

  She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Holding her locked in the embrace, he reached out and de-rezzed the lamp on the end table beside the sofa. The living room was plunged into deep shadows.

  Turning, he stretched her out on the sofa beneath him, peeling off her clothes with quick, urgent motions. Sensual psi flared hotly in the darkness. Her own senses quickened in response. She could feel the rush of sexual hunger that was heating his blood. It burned through her, as well, creating an urgent ache deep inside. A moment ago she had been intent only on getting him into bed. Now all she could think about was getting him inside her.

  Invisible energy sparked and flashed between them. He got her blouse open and went to work on the waistband of her trousers. She managed to unfasten his shirt, put her arms around him, and stroke the warm, tight skin of his muscled back. He unbuckled his belt and got rid of his trousers and briefs in a couple more swift, efficient moves.

  She reached down between them with one hand and curled her fingers around his rigid length. He made a sound that was part groan and part hungry growl.

  The next thing she knew, he had pushed up her knees and slid halfway down the length of her body. When she felt his mouth on her, she gasped, half-shocked and wholly thrilled. She sank her fingers into his hair.

  The glorious, glittering, throbbing release hit her like a blast of high-powered alien psi, rocking all of her senses. She grabbed one of the pillows and slapped it over her mouth to stifle her thin, high shriek.

  Davis surged back up her body and buried himself inside her. It was an act of possession and desperate need. He yanked the pillow away from her face and kissed her throat. His thrusts were heavy and powerful and fast.

  A moment later he raised his head. Every muscle in his body was tensed as though he was some great, wild beast about to bring down prey with a killing blow.

  His climax struck hard. She put her hands around his neck, pulled his face down, and kissed him, swallowing his roar of satisfaction.

  When it was over, he collapsed on top of her, crushing her into the sofa cushions.

  “Can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against her breast. “I could come just by looking at you.”

  She smiled into the shadows, trailing her fingertips along his damp skin. “More fun this way, though.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He did not open his eyes.

  She edged herself out from beneath his crushing weight and tugged on his arm.

  “Come on, Davis. It’s time to go to bed.”

  “I’ll just sleep here,” he muttered into the pillow.

  “No. You need a good night’s sleep. You won’t get that here on the sofa. It’s too small for you.”

  “What about you? Where will you sleep?”

  Most of the languid satisfaction she had been savoring faded. I prefer to sleep alone. Don’t take it personally.

  “I’ll use the sofa again tonight,” she said. “It works fine for me.”

  Grumbling, he rolled off the cushions and allowed her to steer him down the hall to the darkened bedroom. She pulled back the covers. He fell into bed, closed his eyes, and was instantly asleep.

  She pulled the sheet and quilt up over him and went back into the living room to the open balcony door. She spoke softly to Max and Araminta.

  “Are you two coming in tonight?” she asked.

  They hopped down off the balcony and tumbled into the apartment. She closed the door and locked it very carefully. She checked the cookie jar one last time to make certain the relic was still safely stashed inside, and then she went to the hall closet, took out a pillow and a blanket, and arranged them on the sofa.

  For a long time she lay there looking up at the ceiling, Araminta a heavy little bundle of lint beside her.

  “The thing is, I do take it personally,” she said to Araminta.

  Araminta opened her baby-blue eyes and blinked a couple of times.

  Celinda gave it ten more minutes before she pushed aside the blanket, got up from the sofa, and went down the hall to the bedroom. Davis was sleeping so soundly when she got into bed beside him that he never even stirred

  HE CAME AWAKE TO THE SENSATION OF A HAND ON HIS shoulder.

  “Wake up,” Celinda said. “You’re dreaming.”

  He opened his eyes and saw that a pale dawn light was replacing the green glow of night outside the window.

  He looked at Celinda. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’s my bed, remember?”

  “You slept on the sofa.”

  “Changed my mind. By the way, you will notice that
I’m not screaming.”

  “What the hell?” Still dazed with sleep, he levered himself up on his elbows.

  She glanced down. He followed her gaze. His forearm from elbow to wrist was invisible. The fingers of his seemingly unattached hand gripped the rumpled sheet.

  She held out her own hand, palm up. “You owe me ten bucks.”

  Chapter 34

  “SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT TITUS KENNINGton.” Martin Skidmore lounged deeper into his padded leather chair, folded his hands across the broad expanse of his belly, and regarded Davis with an expression that contained a mix of disgruntled competitiveness and reluctant admiration. “What can I say? The man’s good. He managed to snag a couple of high-end clients right after he opened up for business. Overnight he went straight to the top. Referral only.”

  Skidmore’s office was located in a shiny tower not far from the headquarters of the Cadence Guild. The discreet sign outside the door announced that he was a psychic lifestyle counselor. He was the third therapist on the list that Davis had put together. He had limited the names of those he wanted to interview to counselors who clearly catered to a high-end clientele on the assumption that Hollings would have gone after the same market. Anyone who could afford a lifestyle counselor had to be pretty well-heeled. If they actually stumbled into Hollings working under an assumed name, Celinda would recognize his psi energy.

  “What kind of counseling does Kennington do?” Davis asked.

  Skidmore’s expression twisted in disdain. “I’ve heard he calls it dream therapy. Bunch of guru-babble, if you ask me. But there’s no denying he hit an amber mine. I hear he’s even got Senator Padbury’s wife as a client.”

  “Do you know where his office is located?”

  “Over on Burwell Street in the Old Quarter. Don’t know why he set up shop there. It’s not the most fashionable address in town, that’s for sure. Maybe he likes the atmosphere.”

  “Maybe.” Davis got to his feet. “You’ve been very helpful. The Guild appreciates your cooperation.”