Chapter Eleven

“About the bridal veil,” Amelia said. “And the invitation and the dead bouquet.”

She was sitting in the passenger seat of Gideon’s steel-gray SUV. She had volunteered to drive but it was clear he had been irritated by the offer.

“I am not completely incapacitated,” he had growled.

Men and their egos. But she could take a hint. He was a professional private investigator and he insisted on being treated with some respect. He definitely did not want to be coddled or pitied. To his credit, he had single-handedly foiled an attempt to kidnap or murder her during the night. That was definitely a point in his favor.

And it wasn’t as if she had a lot of options. There weren’t any other convenient PIs on the list, and after the events of the night she had to assume that what her intuition had been screaming at her for days was the truth. Time was running out.

“Right,” he said. “A month ago the parents of a teenager asked me to extract their son from a cult called The Colony.”

Amelia studied the highway taking them into the mountains that separated the urban sprawl on the coast from the vast expanse of desert on the other side. A memory stirred.

“I remember seeing something about the arrest of the leader and a few others involved with a cult based just outside of San Diego,” she said. “I think the leader died in custody. Suicide.”

“His name was Ian Luxford.”

“I admit I didn’t pay much attention. My friends and I have been busy with our investigation.”

“Luxford called himself Merlin.”

“How original.”

“Most of his followers were young people in their late teens and early twenties who were living on the streets. Cult leaders are natural-born con artists and Luxford was no exception. But he had a few additional skills. He was charismatic and he had a genuine talent for hypnosis.”

Amelia turned in the seat, startled. “Are you telling me it was a psychic talent?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Not that the police or anyone outside the cult believed he had any psychic ability. Because, you know, only charlatans, frauds, and deluded people actually take the notion of the paranormal seriously.”

She made a face. “Don’t remind me. But you knew Luxford was the real deal?”

“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Gideon said. “It was the main reason I took the case.”

She got another one of the intuitive pings that told her there was more to the story. “The main reason you took the case?”

“Well, that, and I felt sorry for the parents. They are good people and they were devastated by what had happened to their son.”

“Wait a second,” she said, holding up one hand. “Are you telling me you specialize in cases that you suspect have a paranormal angle?”

“I do.”

She caught her breath. “Like The Lost Night Files ?”

“I’m a licensed investigator,” he said evenly. “I’m not in the business of providing entertainment.”

She summoned up her sweetest smile. “As opposed to The Lost Night Files ?”

He flexed his hands on the wheel. “I think we can agree that true crime podcasts walk a very thin line between fiction and reality. I believe the term is ‘infotainment.’?”

“ The Lost Night Files is not infotainment.”

“Do you want to hear the rest of my story or not?”

“Keep talking.”

“Turned out Luxford was more than just a con with some talent. He had bought into his own press. He was convinced he had a world-changing destiny and he was determined to build an army of followers. He didn’t care who he hurt in the process. He did a lot of damage.”

“How did you rescue your clients’ kid?”

“I coordinated with the local police and went in wearing a wire. Confronted Luxford. Told him that I was taking over the cult.”

“What?”

“The only thing people like Luxford fear is strength. I was stronger than him, but things got messy for a while because he had a security detail and his enforcers were definitely not kids. They were hard guys and they had guns.”

Gideon’s matter-of-fact, business-as-usual tone chilled her. She sat very still in the seat and did not take her eyes off the road. “What happened?”

“I cornered Luxford in his office. He tried to take me out with his talent. When that failed he panicked and called in a couple of his thugs. Told them to execute me. I got that on the recording, by the way, and it is what gave the cops grounds for arrest—not the fact that he was running a cult. Anyhow, the enforcers arrived. Shots were fired. One of them hit my leg.”

“That’s how you were injured.”

“What can I tell you? I got careless.”

“You could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, “and fortunately the police were standing by, waiting to move in. That’s the thing about being a serious, licensed investigator. You can liaise with regular law enforcement.”

She opted not to take the bait. “What about your clients’ teenage son?”

“He’s in therapy but everyone seems to think he’ll be okay,” Gideon said. “Mostly I think he’s just embarrassed that he got taken in by a con.”

“So who is stalking you?”

“For the most part, Luxford’s hold over his followers ended with his suicide. But one young woman is still under his spell. Evidently Luxford told her that she was to be his number one bride. She’s determined to avenge him.”

“That is so sad. Do you know the identity of the woman?”

“No. There was a lot of chaos and confusion after the police arrested Luxford and the enforcers. Several of the followers simply disappeared.”

Amelia shivered. “That means your stalker could be almost any woman of the right age you happen to pass on the street.”

“Theoretically. But sooner or later the bride will make herself known. Stalkers always escalate.”

“You don’t sound especially worried.”

Gideon’s mouth kicked up in a rare, wry smile. “I’m good at compartmentalizing. Ask any of my exes.”

“Ex-wives?”

“None of my relationships got as far as marriage.”

She contemplated the subject of his exes and decided she really did not want to know anything more about them. Then she remembered the paintings on the walls of his home. He might be good at compartmentalizing, but he was paying a price.

“Are all of your cases as exciting as the Colony cult case?” she asked.

“No, fortunately.”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you seem to be very successful in the private investigation business. I always assumed the good money in that line came from corporate security work. But your website states that you don’t take those kinds of jobs.”

“I prefer to work with private individuals. People like you. People who can’t or won’t go to the police.”

“I see.”

His mouth kicked up a little at the corner. “You want to know where my money comes from.”

“You mentioned that you have been successful with your investments.”

“My talent has one useful side effect,” he said. “It gives me a certain insight into the financial markets.”

“Convenient. Wish my talent had an upside like that. How does your special insight work?”

“I know what spooks individuals and markets,” he said, his voice tightening. “With that kind of information it’s not hard to decide where to put your money.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

Gideon did not respond.

“I get the feeling making money is boring for you,” she said.

“I’ve got bills like everyone else.”

“Your investigation work is your true passion, isn’t it?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “I’ve never thought of my investigation work as a passion, but it feels like I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. You could say it’s a branch of the family business.”

“What, exactly, is the family business?”

“Sweetwater Security. It’s a consulting firm. Does mostly extremely boring work for the government and one or two outside clients. What about you? Are you passionate about photography?”

Okay, that was a quick change of subject. She got the feeling he did not want to go too deeply into the work his family’s firm did for the government. Probably classified.

“I’m drawn to photography,” she admitted. “But I can’t seem to find the right niche. I’m getting by, barely, on real estate shoots and CEO headshots and pet portraits, but I don’t love that work. I failed at fashion photography. I don’t have the artistic vision it takes to make it in the art world. I’m not interested in videos. And to make life even more difficult, I prefer to work with old-school prism-and-mirror cameras and black-and-white film.”

“What do you like to shoot?”

“I love photographing abandoned buildings that have an interesting past. Hotels. Spas. Asylums. Hospitals. So much atmosphere. But that’s about it, really, and there’s not much money in that end of the market. As far as I can tell, my stupid talent doesn’t come with a useful side effect.” She paused. “Unlike, say, a psychic feel for the financial markets.”

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Probably not.”