Chapter Four

Gideon stood in the doorway, braced on his cane, and watched the little blue compact pull out of the front drive and disappear around a curve. She had no way of knowing it, but Amelia Rivers had just thrown his life into chaos.

And to think that only yesterday he had been coping with acute boredom. Be careful what you wish for, Sweetwater .

He shut the door and made his way back down the hall lined with scenes from his nightmares and went into the library. He sat down behind the desk, trying to ignore the dull ache in his right leg. Some days were better than others. This was not one of the good days.

It was his own fault. He had tried not to lean too heavily on the cane in front of the client. Tried not to limp. The result was that he had pushed certain muscles to the limit.

The damage done by the bullet had healed, according to the doctors. Yes, he knew he had been lucky. Yes, he was alive, so obviously things could have been worse. But he was beginning to realize he might have to live with the nagging on-again, off-again pain for a long time, maybe indefinitely. He probably ought to shift some of his investment cash into a couple of distilleries that made good whiskey.

He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and put his fingertips together. For a time he sat quietly and considered his new client. He did not think he had made a good impression. The cane and the sore ribs did not project an inspiring professional image. He had not intended to take any new clients until he was more fit and had also resolved a certain personal problem. So much for that plan.

Amelia Rivers would have been an intriguing distraction under any circumstances—everything about her sharpened his senses. It had started with the sound of her voice on the phone. Smart, warm, and engaging, it had hit his senses like a double shot of a highly caffeinated energy drink. He had suddenly felt more alert, more focused, and very, very curious to find out more about her.

The quick background check he had conducted should have dampened his interest. The whole podcast thing was a real red flag. He should not be getting involved with a client who had been sucked into the murky world of paranormal conspiracy theories and amateur sleuths. He had enough problems.

Still, against his better judgment and compelled by boredom he had made the appointment with Amelia. In hindsight it occurred to him that loneliness also might have been a factor. Virginia had ended what he had considered their very comfortable arrangement shortly before the Colony case. He understood. He always understood. They had both known the affair was going nowhere. His affairs never did. He had an unblemished track record of romantic relationships that ended with polite goodbyes, an agreement to remain friends, and the suggestion that he see a therapist about his commitment issues.

He was used to sleeping alone. He liked to think that he had come to terms with the realization that he would be doing so for the rest of his life. He enjoyed the company of interesting, successful, single women. Virginia was a professor of marine biology. She had the athletic, outdoorsy, high-energy vibe of someone who was passionate about the ocean. Her career whisked her away on a research vessel for days, sometimes weeks, at a time, and that had worked out well for both of them. The lengthy separations meant it had taken her longer than usual to grow bored and frustrated with him.

Before Virginia he had dated Dora, an ambitious, sophisticated financial adviser who catered to the high-net-worth individual market. They had shared an interest in the arcane mysteries of finance. The demands of her job had ensured that she spent a lot of time on private jets bound for New York, San Francisco, Aspen, and Jackson Hole. The constant travel had helped keep the relationship going for nearly four months, but eventually Dora had informed him that it was time for both of them to move on.

Amelia Rivers was now a client. He should not be contemplating her from the perspective of a man looking for a date. It was a reckless, dumbass thing to do, but that’s exactly what he had started doing when he heard her voice on the phone.

The situation had intensified when he watched her climb out of the blue compact and walk briskly up the path to his front door. When she got close he was deeply aware of the compelling vibe in the atmosphere. Your pheromones and hormones at work, Sweetwater .

She was fascinating but in unexpected ways. You had to study her for a while to understand the appeal. There was feminine strength and determination in her profile and insightful intelligence in her sea-green eyes. Her shoulder-length hair was a warm tawny brown, not the familiar Southern California gold. Her jeans and gray pullover hinted at a sleek, feminine body that had not been enhanced by implants.

When she entered his office and sat down across from him it was as if he had plugged in a new lamp. The room seemed to brighten in response to her energy. His paintings looked a bit less ominous—not a lot less ominous; nightmares were nightmares, after all. There wasn’t much you could do about them except put some distance between them and the waking mind. Still, while she was in the room the scenes on the walls had looked more like abstract art than snapshots of chaos.

He really needed to get a grip on his imagination.

So many questions, so few answers. Was Amelia Rivers delusional? He didn’t think so but he could not be absolutely positive. As he had told her, he had pretty good intuition, but he was not a psychiatrist.

Was she a fraud? The so-called aura and energy print pictures could easily have been faked. There was a long history of fraudulent aura photography. But if she was running a con, why come to him? Was she working a complicated scheme to sell the list to him? Maybe he was her target.

That question led to another possibility. Con artists were bound to accumulate a few enemies in the course of their careers. It was entirely possible that a seriously annoyed mark had found her and was now stalking her for the sake of revenge. It made sense that she would hire a private investigator to identify the individual who was making her uneasy.

But she was more than uneasy. On the surface she appeared cool, calm, and determined, but he was an expert on hidden fears. Amelia Rivers was scared. She might be delusional or she might be a con, but he did not doubt that she believed her stalker was real.

Maybe he was overthinking things. It wouldn’t be the first time. There was a possibility that everything she had told him was the truth. If so, she had just opened one hell of a Pandora’s box.

He took out his phone and called a number on his list of family contacts. His uncle answered immediately. Shelton Sweetwater greeted him with his usual enthusiasm. Shelton was fond of all his nieces and nephews, but he had always claimed that Gideon was the one who had inherited the biggest dose of what he called the most dangerous of the Sweetwater family traits—curiosity. He also understood that Gideon used curiosity the way other people used fast cars. It was a way to channel the dark side of a very dark talent.

“Gideon,” Shelton said. “Good to hear from you. How’s the leg?”

“The leg is fine,” Gideon lied. Absently he rubbed his aching thigh. “I’ve got another problem. It’s connected to a new case.”

“Yeah?” Interest sparked in Shelton’s voice. “You know I like to talk about your work.”

“My new client selected me because she found my name on a certain list.”

“I thought you mostly worked by referral.”

“I do. I try to stay off lists. But I know for a fact that I’m on the one my client has, because you’re the one who put me there.”