Chapter Three

It didn’t take any psychic talent to see that she had blindsided Gideon. Excellent. She had his full attention now. Amelia’s spirits lifted.

“Huh,” he said finally. Evidently concluding that response did not sound suitably professional, he tried again. “I did not have time to listen to every episode of The Lost Night Files and I skipped around a lot because I wanted to get a feel for the content. But I don’t recall any mention of a list of people with psychic talents.”

“That’s because we only recently discovered it,” she said. “We haven’t done any episodes about it because we’ve decided to keep the information quiet in order to protect the privacy of the people on it.”

“Good plan,” Gideon admitted. “If word got out that there was a list of people believed to be genuine psychics you would be flooded with cranks demanding details.”

Once again she could not tell if he was being sincere or trying to humor her.

“Exactly,” she said.

He started to lean back in his chair but stopped abruptly, wincing a little. He shifted forward and folded his arms on the desktop instead. “What makes you think you and your friends are being hunted because you are on this list, Ms. Rivers?”

She had given up enough information. It was his turn.

“Before I go any further I need to know if you remember participating in that old research study I just told you about,” she said.

Gideon hesitated. For a moment she thought he would deny everything.

“I seem to recall participating in a study that was focused on career counseling,” he said eventually. “There’s no way to know if it’s the same one you’re talking about. Career guidance is a very common service.”

She allowed herself another little flash of relief. Evidently he had not lost a night to amnesia, but at least he remembered that he had been involved in a study. It had to be the same one that she and the others had participated in, because his name was on the damned list.

It was entirely possible that he possessed only a minimal amount of talent—very strong intuition, perhaps—a sixth sense he took for granted and did not label paranormal. That would account for his skepticism.

“Did you receive any serious career guidance after you participated in the study?” she asked.

“I may have but I can’t recall it.” Amusement flickered briefly, very briefly, in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure no one advised me to pursue a career as a private investigator.”

She made a sweeping gesture that included the library, the expensive house, and the upscale neighborhood. “You seem to have done very well in the business.”

“I’ve had some luck with my investments,” he said. “That gives me the freedom to focus only on the cases that interest me.”

“I see.”

She struggled to quash another wave of disappointment. Perhaps an intuitive ability to play the markets was his real psychic talent. Apparently the private investigation work was more of a hobby. That did not bode well. She did not need investment advice. She didn’t have any extra cash to invest. She needed a skilled investigator who could track down a stalker.

Gideon seemed to be unaware that she was having second thoughts about hiring him.

“Why are you convinced someone is hunting you and your friends?” he asked.

“We aren’t delusional, Mr. Sweetwater. We’re not imagining that the people on the list are being hunted, we know it, because they have already found some of us—my friends and me, for example.”

He stilled. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone on the podcast team has experienced a kidnapping followed by a bout of amnesia at some point within the past year.” She paused. “I take it you have not?”

“There are a few nights I would prefer to forget, but no, I haven’t lost any to amnesia.”

She sighed. “I suppose that explains why you’re having a hard time believing me. The thing is, something happened to us during those missing hours. We were used as unwitting research subjects in an off-the-books drug trial.”

He did not move but she sensed that once again she had startled him.

“Designed to test, what?” he asked cautiously.

“A drug that can enhance an individual’s psychic senses.” She paused for emphasis. “Or kill you. Or drive you insane. Not everyone can tolerate the formula.”

“I see.” Gideon moved deeper into his place of intense watchfulness. “Do you think you were kidnapped by aliens?”

“No, Mr. Sweetwater.” She fought to conceal her anger, reminding herself yet again that she did not have a lot of options when it came to investigators. “The people who abducted us and ran their experiments on us are human. Very dangerous humans. I suggest you listen to a few more episodes of the podcast. They are factual reports, not works of fiction.”

“Did you, personally, experience any aftereffects from the experiments?”

“Yes, I did.”

“A new vision that allows you to see auras and prints?”

“I have always had an ability to sense energy in people and the rooms and buildings they have inhabited. But since my lost night I have begun to perceive human auras and energy prints in great detail.”

He assumed an air of polite interest. “Can you see my aura?”

“No, not now during the daytime. I have some sense of your energy field, but nothing specific. My ability works best at night or in deep darkness.”

“That does not sound like a convenient talent.”

“You’re telling me.”

He raised his brows at that but he didn’t pursue the subject. “How did you come across this list you’re concerned about?”

“That’s a long story. If you decide to take my case, I’ll be happy to give you some of the details.”

“Why so secretive?”

“That list is worth a fortune to certain people. You just told me you are an investor. You might decide you could make money selling the list.”

“You don’t trust me,” he said. He did not seem to know what to do with that news.

“Nope.” She smiled an icy smile. “Just as you don’t trust me. Perfectly understandable. We don’t know each other very well, do we?”

“No,” he said, “we don’t. All right, tell me about the stalker.”

“It’s about time.” She leaned forward a little. “Three days ago I got that feeling you get when you sense that you’re being watched.”

“A feeling,” he repeated without inflection.

She ignored the interruption. “The first few times I turned around I didn’t see anyone, at least no one who looked suspicious. But yesterday afternoon when I came out of the grocery store I saw a man in a white delivery van in the parking lot. He was wearing dark glasses and I wasn’t close enough to get a good look, but I knew he was watching me.”

“Because you had a feeling.”

“Yes, Mr. Sweetwater. Because I had a feeling.”

“Go on.”

“I could not shake the sensation. Two nights ago I saw someone dressed for running access the gardens of my apartment complex and study the layout. I think the stalker was trying to identify my apartment and figure out the best way to get to me unnoticed.”

“Did he do anything threatening?”

“No. Probably because the jerk next door was having a party so there was a lot of activity on my floor. But last night I had a feeling the stalker would return. I turned out the lights in my apartment and went out onto the balcony to grab that aura shot. Then I realized he was crossing the gardens and headed toward the stairs that lead to my apartment on the second floor. I wanted to scare him off so I called down to him.”

Gideon’s brows rose. “You spoke to the stalker?”

“Yes. I warned him I was taking photos and he was in the scene. That stopped him cold. Then my friend Irene heard me and came out onto her balcony to see what was going on. Next thing I know, the jerk next door started yelling at Irene and me, telling us to be quiet. The stalker left in a hurry.”

“How did he leave?”

“He went out through the same gate he had used to access the gardens. The service lane entrance.”

Gideon was quiet for a moment. “A lot of stalkers are exes.”

“Not this one,” she said. “I haven’t been involved in a serious relationship for seven months.”

“That doesn’t mean some obsessive type from the past hasn’t fixated on you.”

“I think someone has fixated on me but not because of a past relationship. I’ve narrowed it down to the three most likely possibilities.”

Gideon looked surprised. “That’s very helpful.” He reached for the notepad and the pen on his desk. “I’m listening.”

Taking notes was a good sign, she told herself. They were getting somewhere at last.

“One possibility is that the stalker is a crank podcast fan,” she said. “Someone who has become obsessed with me and has managed to track me down here in San Diego. Unfortunately, we do attract a number of weirdos because of the paranormal slant we take on the various cases. We try to be careful when it comes to our personal information but you know how it is these days. They say you can find anyone if you look hard enough.”

“That’s what they say,” Gideon agreed. “Please continue.”

“The second possibility is that the stalker is connected to the people or organization responsible for the lost nights that my associates and I experienced. Frankly, as scary as that would be, it would also be the best outcome.”

Gideon looked up at that. “Why?”

“Because the Lost Night Files podcast team is desperately in need of a fresh lead.”

“I see.”

Great. Now he was questioning her mental stability again.

“And the third possibility?” Gideon asked.

“I told you I don’t have any exes,” she said. “And that’s true when it comes to my social life. But I do have an ex-therapist.”

The pen stilled in Gideon’s hand.

“Can I ask why you were seeing a therapist?” he asked quietly.

“I have sleep issues.” There was no need to mention her little phobia about night. “Some sort of PTSD associated with the kidnapping. I thought Dr. Pike might be able to help me. But things got…messy. Complicated.”

“In what way?”

“Pike took what I thought was an unprofessionally intense interest in my problem. He kept pushing for details that I didn’t want to give him. Then he started insisting that we have our therapy sessions at night. I got a bad feeling about the whole situation.”

“No kidding,” Gideon said.

Belatedly she realized what he was thinking. She flushed. “It wasn’t like that,” she said. She paused, mentally rerunning the last couple of conversations with Norris Pike. “At least, I don’t think so. I never got the sense that he was attracted to me in a personal way. To be fair, there were legitimate clinical reasons for meeting at night. My issues were sleep-related, after all.”

“Did he suggest spending a night in a sleep clinic?”

“No. He said he wanted to take another approach.”

“What was it?” Gideon asked.

“I never found out. I started canceling the appointments.”

“How did Pike take that?”

“Not well. He was frustrated by my failure to cooperate. He made it clear he thinks I’m making a huge mistake.”

Gideon glanced at the pictures on his desk. “You must have seen Pike’s aura on several occasions.”

“As I told you, my vision—”

“Only works at night. Right. So you don’t know if Pike might have been the runner you saw in the apartment gardens?”

“No. I’ll give you his card.” She reached into her tote, extracted her wallet and plucked out Pike’s business card. She put it down on the desk. “It’s got his contact information.”

“That will be helpful.” Gideon gathered up the energy prints and the aura photo. “You can have these. I won’t be needing them.”

“Are you sure?”

Gideon’s mouth crooked in a faint curve that might have been a smile. “Unfortunately, they are meaningless to me.”

Amelia hesitated. “But you’re taking my case?”

“Yes. It sounds interesting.”

She should be glad, she thought. Relieved. And she was. But…

There was no getting around it. Something about Gideon Sweetwater made her uneasy. Maybe it was the ominous paintings. Her intuition told her that he was the artist.

“Well, that’s good,” she said. I think , she added silently. “Thank you. What should I do next?”

“Go home. Keep the doors and windows locked. Make sure there are always people around you whenever you are outside. I’ll start making inquiries. Tonight I’ll stake out your apartment complex and see if your stalker puts in another appearance.”

“How will you recognize him if you can’t see his energy field?”

“I’m pretty good at picking out people who are in places where they shouldn’t be.”

She suddenly felt optimistic again. “So you have very good intuition?”

“Sometimes.”

She started to dive into her tote. “You’ll want a retainer.”

“We’ll talk about my fees later, after I’ve had a chance to evaluate the scope of your case.”

“Well, okay, but just so you know, I’m on a budget.”

“My fees are negotiable.”