Chapter Two

Gideon Sweetwater looked up from the photos scattered across his desk. “What do you expect me to do with these pictures, Ms. Rivers?”

“As I told you on the phone, I have a stalker,” Amelia said. “I want you to identify the individual in those photos.”

“You said you are a professional photographer.”

“That’s right.”

“No offense, but these images are not helpful. All I can see is a lot of foggy glare around the figure in the hoodie, and the spots on the sidewalk look like splashes of phosphorescent paint.”

Amelia tried to suppress her disappointment. She told herself not to give up. It wasn’t like she had a lot of alternatives. But the interview with Gideon Sweetwater was not going well.

The address of Sweetwater Investigations had been her first clue that Sweetwater might not be the private investigator she had been hoping to hire. Instead of the parking lot of a commercial building, she had found herself in the driveway of a lushly landscaped Spanish Colonial bungalow. The house was in an exclusive, gated community perched on the bluffs above the Pacific. It was the sort of neighborhood that had not only a guard at the front gate but actual, roving security.

It had immediately become evident that Sweetwater Investigations was a one-man agency. There was no sign of any staff.

She had told herself that Gideon Sweetwater had to be very good at his work if he could afford such a high-end residence. Her next thought was that she hoped he was serious about his “negotiable” fees. That morning Bridget Hampstead, one of her real estate clients, had left a message explaining that the can’t-miss deal on the McCall listing had fallen apart and that the payment for the property photo shoot would be delayed. Again.

The upscale address of Sweetwater Investigations had given her an uneasy feeling but the real shock had been Gideon Sweetwater himself. He looked like he had recently survived a serious accident. He was not in a neck brace or a cast, but he was not in good shape. He had answered the door leaning on a cane. When he led her down a hallway lined with creepy, depressing, dystopian landscapes, he limped. When he sat down in the chair behind his desk he had winced and gingerly touched his ribs.

He had not offered any explanations for his injuries and she told herself it would be rude to ask about them, so she was pretending not to notice his beat-up condition. She knew she was probably in denial. She couldn’t help it. She was a desperate woman.

He considered her in silence for a long, unnerving moment, as if he had never before encountered a client like her. Fair enough. She had never met anyone like him.

She was not sure how professional private investigators dressed, but she had not expected one wearing a button-down oxford cloth shirt, chinos, and wing tips. It was all very ordinary.

The man, himself, however, was anything but ordinary.

Her photographer’s eye was intrigued by his watchful, hazel eyes and fiercely etched profile. The whisper of energy in the atmosphere around him tugged at her senses. She could not see his aura or his energy prints, because her new vision only worked at night or in deep darkness. Nevertheless, she had been sensitive to the energy of other people for most of her life. That ability told her that Sweetwater radiated the centered strength of a man who had mastered himself. He would make a very good friend or a very bad enemy.

A very interesting—make that fascinating—man, but probably not her type. The fact that the thought even crossed her mind was alarming. The closest thing she’d had to a dating relationship in the past seven months was the therapy sessions with Dr. Pike. She wasn’t looking for a type. She needed a qualified investigator. Focus, woman .

Gideon’s office was as unexpected as the man himself. It was more of a private library. There were a lot of floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Many of the books on the shelves were old and worn. A few were bound in leather. There was an assortment of nonfiction, memoirs, fiction, and poetry. Judging by the titles she could make out from her position in front of the desk there was a disturbing theme to the collection. All of the volumes she could see appeared to deal with the subjects of dreams and visions.

There were several more of the end-of-the-world landscapes on the walls. Like the paintings in the hallway, the bleak scenes raised the fine hair on the back of her neck.

There were no helpful placards to provide details but she was pretty sure Visions of Nightmares would be an accurate title for the collection.

“I was hoping you would find the photos useful,” she said.

Gideon glanced again at one of the black-and-white pictures and shook his head. “I don’t see how I can use these to identify anyone. Perhaps the lighting was bad? Nighttime photography is complicated, especially when you’re using film instead of a digital camera. Even the experts have difficulty getting good images after dark.”

She gave him her most polished smile. “I am an expert, Mr. Sweetwater.”

“Right. Well, these pictures might qualify as art, Ms. Rivers, but I don’t see how I can use them to identify anyone.”

“They aren’t examples of art photography,” she said. “I assumed you would recognize the pictures as aura and energy prints.”

“I’m aware that sort of fake photography was popular in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries but I didn’t know people were still claiming to be able to take pictures of that kind of thing.”

Crap. Now he was watching her as if he was wondering if she might be delusional or, possibly, a con artist. The situation was deteriorating rapidly. So much for her intuition.

She had not plucked his name off a search engine at random. She had selected him because she had every reason to believe he possessed some genuine psychic talent. If that was true she did not expect him to advertise his ability. It was only to be expected that he would try to keep a low profile. Everyone she knew on the Lost Night Files podcast crew had a sixth sense, and they were all careful to maintain a veneer of normalcy.

And if, like her and the others involved on the podcast, Sweetwater had experienced a night lost to amnesia and awakened with enhanced abilities, he had every reason to be wary of her.

She had to convince him to take her seriously. There wasn’t time to find another private investigator. She was certain that whoever was hunting her would act soon.

She would have to take the chance of showing a few of her own cards first.

“Yes, Mr. Sweetwater, I see auras and energy prints, but only after dark,” she said, doing her best to sound crisp and self-assured.

“Interesting,” Gideon said, his tone unnervingly polite. “And you believe that you can photograph that kind of energy?”

She plunged ahead because it was too late to bail.

“Yes, but only with a traditional film camera, one that uses old-school prism-and-mirror technology. Digital cameras don’t work for me. Even if they did, I would prefer not to use one, because it would leave a digital trail. I see energy fields in color, but unfortunately color film isn’t technologically capable of capturing the various shades of aura light, because they come from beyond the normal, visible end of the spectrum. You know, like ultraviolet light.”

Was she flailing? Talking too much? Did she sound delusional? She could not be sure, because Gideon’s reaction was unreadable.

“I understand you believe you can see someone’s aura and perceive energy prints,” Gideon said. “But how can you get them on film?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Aunt Cybil thinks it probably has something to do with the way I manipulate the camera’s prism and mirror with my own energy field. I just know that if I get the focus right I can use gray scale to capture some of the bands of energy.”

Gideon contemplated her in silence for a long moment. “Who is Cybil and what does she know about auras and energy?”

Amelia winced. “Aunt Cybil is what my mother likes to call the family eccentric. I seem to be following in her footsteps. But that’s not important. Can we focus on my case?”

“Yes. After you tell me a bit more about your aunt.”

It was clear Gideon was not going to move forward unless she met his demand.

“All right, I come from a long line of overachievers,” she said briskly. “Academics, researchers, doctors, and writers. But occasionally the DNA gets screwed up and someone like Cybil or me appears on the family tree. We get stuck with a psychic vibe. Mostly we fail at a lot of things until we figure out what to do with our other vision. To be honest, there aren’t a lot of practical uses for the ability to see auras and prints.”

Gideon looked fascinated now, and not in a good way, she decided. He was watching her as if she had just dropped in from outer space.

“Out of curiosity, what does your aunt do with her other vision?” he asked.

Amelia raised her chin and narrowed her eyes, prepared to defend Cybil to the end. “My aunt makes a very good living as a psychic. She gives demonstrations on cruise ships. She is very popular and is always booked out for months. At the moment she is on a round-the-world cruise.”

“I see,” Gideon said. He picked up one of the photos and tapped it gently on the desk. “Are you considering a similar career in show business?”

“I would rather not go in that direction,” she said. She gave it a beat and then added, “Not that my career plans are any of your business. Do you mind if we get back to the subject at hand?”

“Right,” he said finally. “Do you think you might have attracted a stalker because of that podcast you and those other two women produce? The Lost Night Files ?”

Excitement sparked through her. She smiled. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to know that you follow the Lost Night Files podcast. That’s wonderful news. It makes things so much easier. Relax. It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend that you don’t believe in the paranormal. Not with me. As we say at the end of every episode, we’re in this together until we get answers.”

Gideon did not move. “To be clear, Ms. Rivers, I did not say I was a fan. I didn’t know your podcast existed until I ran a background check on you after you called for an appointment.”

“Oh.” Her spirits dropped like a rock. “I see.”

“I listened to some of the episodes. They are quite…imaginative. Murders committed by psychic means. Rumors of illegal experiments disguised as legitimate drug trials. Convenient episodes of amnesia. Reminded me of old-fashioned radio dramas.”

Fury surged through her. She had been willing to work with an investigator who was afraid of revealing his own talent. She had been prepared to deal with skepticism and questions. But damned if she would tolerate outright insults.

“This isn’t going well, is it?” she said in her iciest tones. “My fault. I assumed you would understand, or at least hear me out.”

Gideon’s expression didn’t change but she could have sworn his eyes got a little hot.

“Don’t give up on me, Ms. Rivers,” he said. “You are here in my office because your case interests me.”

The energy in the atmosphere became more intense. Somewhat belatedly she realized that she was alone in a house with a man she did not know. Yes, given his physical condition she could outrun him, maybe even topple him with a well-placed kick to his injured leg. Still. If he pulled out a knife or a gun she was in an extremely vulnerable position.

Cold perspiration trickled down her sides. She finally remembered that her voluminous tote was on the floor beside the chair, her Taser inside. She leaned down and picked up the bag with what she hoped was a casual motion. She rested her hand on top. The tote was open. The weapon was tucked into a side pocket.

She smiled again, cool and composed this time—a client preparing to terminate an interview and walk out the door.

“It’s obvious I’m wasting your time and mine, Mr. Sweetwater,” she said. “My apologies. If you’ll give me my photos, I’ll be on my way.”

She gripped the handles of the tote and got to her feet.

“Please sit down,” Gideon said, his dark voice very soft. “I like unusual cases, and yours qualifies. I will take it.”

Be careful what you wish for , she thought. But she was short on options. She sank back down onto the chair, careful to keep her hand on the tote.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Do you think I’m delusional?”

“No, Ms. Rivers, I don’t think you’re delusional. But when it comes to clients there are other categories.”

“Such as con artist? Conspiracy buff? Or maybe you think I’m one of those gullible, naive people who get sucked into cults?”

To her surprise, something dangerous shifted in Gideon’s eyes. She knew she had struck a nerve.

“It’s interesting that you mention cults,” he said.

“Why? There is a long history of people joining cults because they are convinced the leaders have some sort of psychic powers.” She paused a beat and gave him another cold smile. “You know, like the ability to see auras.”

“I am well aware of that,” Gideon said. His jaw tensed as he appeared to consider whether or not to pursue the topic of cults. “Let’s focus on your case.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing until you made it obvious you don’t believe I can see auras or prints.”

“Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

He watched her closely. “What made you think I wouldn’t question your claim to be able to view auras and such?”

She hesitated and then decided she did not have a lot left to lose. Time to play another card and see how he responded. “I found your name on a certain list.”

“A list of search engine results?”

“No, a list of people who participated in a certain psychological research study several years ago. I’m on that list, and so are my friends on the podcast crew. The study consisted of a lengthy questionnaire and some odd tests. We were told the results would help provide us with career guidance but now we’re convinced the study was a cover for the real purpose.”

“Which was?”

She got ready to take the next big leap. Gideon’s reaction would tell her everything she needed to know.

“We believe that the study was designed to identify individuals who possess some natural level of paranormal talent. We all took the test and forgot about it. No one told us we had landed on a list of people who were identified as having psychic abilities.”

“After all these years, why are you so concerned about that list now?”

“Because someone is hunting the people on that list,” she said. “People like you and me and the members of the Lost Night Files podcast team.”