Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-four

“The enhancement serum was developed by a small, private offshore research facility,” Cutler began.

“The Aurora Islands Pharmaceutical Laboratory,” Amelia said.

Cutler looked shocked, or maybe horrified. “How in fucking hell did you discover that?”

“The podcast has its sources.” Amelia switched her attention to Irene. “I’m guessing that when you took those trips to the islands during the past few months you did not end up in Hawaii.”

The three of them were in the great room of the big house. She was perched on the edge of a large leather chair. Irene sat on the matching leather sofa across from her.

Cutler Steen prowled the room. Everything about his body language indicated a barely controlled agitation. He looked like a man who might explode at any moment. From time to time Irene cast him an uneasy, covert glance.

Curious family dynamic , Amelia thought.

A muscular man with a shaved head hovered in a doorway. Not a butler, Amelia decided.

“No,” Irene said. “I did not visit Hawaii on those trips. I went…home to see my father and the rest of my family.”

The slight pause before the word home was another interesting factoid, Amelia decided. One thing was clear. Gideon was alive. She was certain of it. He would be searching for her, and he was very, very good at that kind of thing. She had one job now. She needed to buy time.

“Your home is on an island?” she asked.

“My father is the head of a large global business,” Irene said smoothly. “There are tax and logistical advantages to the island location.”

“Got it,” Amelia said. “The Steen family business is running drugs on an international scale.”

“I am not in the fucking drug business,” Cutler snarled from the far side of the room.

“Gosh, I wonder where I got that idea,” Amelia said. “Probably because my friends and I were drugged and kidnapped and then forced to become test subjects for some extremely dangerous drugs. Yep, that was why I jumped to such a ridiculous conclusion. Silly me.”

Cutler looked as if he wanted to throttle her but he succeeded in gaining control of himself. “You have no idea who you are dealing with or the stakes involved in this situation.”

“Maybe you could explain both to me,” Amelia said. She looked at Irene. “But first I’ve got a couple of questions for you. What makes you sure that Falcon is dead?”

“I’m the one who shot him,” Irene said calmly.

“Oh.” Amelia took a beat. “Okay, I did not see that coming.”

“When he showed up at my door that night he was in a panic,” Irene continued. “He kept saying Sweetwater had tried to drop him straight into hell and that the only thing that had saved him was one of his men who got in the way. Claimed he’d barely escaped and that he was on the run. He had to get out of the country. He wanted my help.”

“You knew who and what he was all along. Why did you kill him?”

“He said he wanted me to escape with him. But I was sure he planned to use me as a hostage.”

Amelia stilled. “I don’t understand. How would that have worked?”

“He thought that as long as he controlled me he would have access to the drug. My father is the only one who can supply it, you see. He deals directly with the Aurora Islands people. He has never read me or my brother and sister into the details of the arrangement that he has with the source. To make a short story shorter, I agreed to run off with Falcon. I went back to his place with him. He wanted to collect the fake IDs stored at the safe house. When I got the chance, I shot him.”

Cutler paused his pacing long enough to grunt. “Falcon was becoming unstable. He couldn’t handle the drug.”

And maybe you can’t handle it, either , Amelia thought, but she did not say that aloud. The possibility that the drug was making Cutler unstable was terrifying. Did it mean she and her friends were doomed, too?

A sudden thought occurred. She looked at Irene, who was pouring coffee for herself with a steady hand. “You’re not on the enhancement drug, are you?”

“No,” Irene said. “My father thought it would be unwise to experiment on ourselves until we had enough data from the drug trials to make an informed decision. He changed his mind a couple of months ago, however, and began injecting himself with the serum.”

She spoke in a cool, nonjudgmental voice, as if she was simply offering a reasonable answer to a reasonable question. But the unstable vibe in the atmosphere flared. Amelia did not have to look at Steen to know that Irene’s casual words infuriated him. There was probably nothing more annoying than having your offspring point out your poor decisions.

“The drug fucking works ,” Cutler growled.

“If it doesn’t make you insane or kill you outright,” Irene added. “We knew going in that not everyone could tolerate the serum. The goal of the trials was to develop a profile of the ideal candidate, quantify the risks, calculate the proper dosage, and establish the maintenance schedule, if one was necessary.”

Amelia looked at Cutler. “If the idea was to be careful and methodical, why did you jump the gun?”

“Because thanks to you and your friends we were able to build a profile of the ideal candidate and I fit the fucking profile ,” Cutler shot back.

“Which is?” Amelia asked, her breath very tight in her chest.

Cutler took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, and resumed his pacing. “The basic requirement for success appears to be that the subject possesses a degree of natural paranormal ability, a core talent.”

“But you had no practical way to test for that particular quality until you found the list of names from the old research study,” Amelia said.

“The list changed everything,” Cutler said. “Up until that point all we had was a string of failures. But when the directors of the pharma company gave us the list of people like you, people who had been tested and found to have a genuine paranormal talent, we turned a corner. We knew we were on the right track.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes. “People died in those tests.”

“It’s true we lost a few subjects due to their inability to tolerate the drug. Having some degree of latent talent is not enough to guarantee success. But you and your friends not only survived—you appeared to be stable. That was a big step forward. Unfortunately, though, it looked like you hadn’t developed any measurable new paranormal ability. That was…discouraging.”

“My father considered you and your podcast friends to be failures,” Irene said.

Cutler stopped and slammed a clenched fist into the nearest wall. “Because paranormal talent is so damned difficult to observe or measure, especially from a distance.”

“My friends and I grew up with at least some awareness of our psychic vibes,” Amelia said. “We learned early on that it was best to keep quiet about it. We all doubled down on that approach after you ran your experiments on us because we didn’t want people to think we were completely delusional.”

Cutler shot her a fierce look. “I didn’t realize that until recently. In the meantime we did have some clear successes.”

“You managed to produce a couple of psychic assassins,” Amelia said. “My friends ran into one on Night Island. Congratulations. You must be so proud. Definitely the kind of scientific advance that will improve the quality of life for human beings around the world. Yep, I can see a Nobel Prize on the horizon for you.”

“Shut your fucking mouth, you stupid bitch,” Cutler roared.

The atmosphere in the great room was electric. It was easy to believe lightning would strike at any second. For a moment Amelia was afraid she’d gone too far.

But Irene stepped in to manage the situation. It was obvious she’d had some practice with the task. The relationship between father and daughter was clearly fraught.

“I’m sure you’re curious about the origins of the enhancement serum,” Irene said, pretending not to notice that Cutler looked like he badly wanted to murder someone.

Cutler fixed Amelia with a lethal expression. “How did you find out about Aurora Islands Pharmaceuticals?”

“Among other things that Dr. Fulbrook left behind in his room at the Cactus Garden Motel was a portion of a box with the label of the company on it. Oh, and he also left a helpful note.”

Cutler stared. “How did you discover that Fulbrook stayed in that motel?”

“I hired a private investigator, remember?” Amelia said. “I admit I had my doubts at first, but it turns out Mr. Sweetwater is very good at his job.”

Cutler flushed a violent shade of purple. “Sweetwater will be dead before the night is over.”

Amelia checked the time. “It’s been a few hours since he walked into your trap. He’s still alive. I’d know if he wasn’t. I’m psychic, remember?”

“You stupid bitch.”

“You don’t know what’s happening at Falcon’s house, do you? You’ve lost contact with whoever you sent to take out Gideon. No wonder you’re on the brink of a panic attack.”

This time she knew she had gone too far. Cutler moved toward her, rage heating his eyes.

“Dad, please,” Irene said quietly. “We need information. Let me finish questioning her.”

Cutler turned away without a word and resumed his restless pacing. Amelia drew a shaky breath. Note to self: Try not to poke the bear again .

“Interestingly, the drug is not the result of a new scientific breakthrough,” Irene continued as if there had been no interruption. “From what we’ve been able to learn, it’s based on a formula that was developed in the course of some clandestine research conducted by the U.S. government back in the latter half of the twentieth century.”

“The Bluestone Project,” Amelia said.

“How much do you know about Bluestone?” Cutler demanded.

“Very little,” Amelia said. “Just that it was a top secret program designed to conduct research into the paranormal. The U.S. government was really into the psychic thing at the time. So were the Russians.”

Irene gave her an approving smile. “I’m impressed. The Lost Night Files crew has uncovered some very closely held secrets.”

“We haven’t had much choice,” Amelia said. “You and your father stole a night of our lives. We want answers.”

“So do I,” Cutler grated.

“You’re the one who orchestrated this mess,” Amelia said. “That makes you the guy with the answers. What do you think I know that you don’t?”

Cutler took a few steps closer to her, stopping a short distance away. His eyes glittered with a feverish light.

“I want to know why you and your friends are still alive,” he said. “Why are you still sane? You should be dead or locked up in an institution by now.”

Amelia watched him warily. “Because?”

“You survived the first round of trials, but you haven’t had the fucking boosters.”

“Right. The boosters. Well, we can’t say for sure, but we have a couple of theories.”

Cutler took another step closer, hands bunched. “Tell me about your theories.”

“One is that our core paranormal senses were strong enough to handle the new sensory input, so we’ve been able to adapt. It wasn’t easy, you understand, but we managed.”

“That theory doesn’t explain anything.” Cutler resumed the restless pacing. “I’ve got a strong core talent. I tolerated the initial dose of the drug. I tolerated a second injection. The serum worked. But after that I realized I needed a booster. And then another. The same is true for the members of my security team who survived the first and second doses of the serum. We all require boosters. Why don’t you and the others?”

Irene was sitting very still now. She watched the scene taking place in the great room as if it were a high-wire act, one being performed without a net. The security people were staying out of sight.

“Let me get this straight,” Amelia said, feeling her way. “You’re asking me to diagnose your problem?”

Cutler froze. “Can you?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I’m still getting the hang of reading auras but I might be able to analyze yours.”

Cutler’s mouth thinned with disappointment and disgust. “That’s all you can do with your talent? View auras?”

“Well, I can see energy prints, too, of course. That’s how I recognized Falcon when he and his men ambushed Gideon and me at the old hotel. Do you want me to take a look at your aura?”

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Cutler said. It was clear he did not expect much.

“We’ll have to go outside onto the deck,” Amelia said.

Cutler glared. “Why?”

“My talent works best in darkness.” She looked around. “I suppose we could turn off all the lights in here. Your choice.”

She could tell Cutler was torn, but he was a desperate man. He made his decision.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll go out onto the deck.” He glanced at the guard hovering at the entrance to the great room. “Twitchell, stay here. Keep an eye on us.”

“Yes, sir,” Twitchell said.

Amelia noticed that the guard looked anxious and desperate, too. He was on the drug, she realized.

Irene got to her feet. “I’m coming with you. This should be interesting.” She looked at her father. “How will you know if Amelia tells you the truth about what she sees in your aura?”

Cutler did not take his feverish eyes off Amelia.

“I’ll know,” he said.

Amelia remembered something Irene had once said about her father. He always thought he was the smartest one in the room. And he was. Right up until he wasn’t.

At the time Irene had used the past tense, as if her father was dead. That bit of sleight of hand had been a cover to conceal the truth. Cutler Steen was very much alive. But it looked like the rest of Irene’s analysis was right.

You’re buying time. Just keep talking.

“It would be best if you dimmed the lights in here a little so that they don’t shine too far out onto the deck,” she said. “The darker it is, the more accurately I can read the currents of your energy field.”

Cutler shrugged and looked at the guard. “Twitchell, dim these lights, but don’t turn them off altogether.”

“Yes, sir.” Twitchell reached out and pressed a wall switch.

The great room lights lowered to what, in other circumstances, would have been deemed a romantic level.

“That’s enough,” Amelia said.

Cutler opened the glass doors and led the way across the large deck. Amelia followed him out into the moonlit night. So did Irene.

Cutler stopped at the far side of the deck, gripped the railing with one hand, and turned to watch Amelia.

She took a breath and heightened her senses.

Cutler’s energy prints seethed on the wooden boards of the deck and on the railing. She was not surprised to see that his aura blazed in the shadows, powerful but dangerously erratic. Several bandwidths appeared to be in the process of growing weak. Failing.

She cleared her throat. “Please keep in mind that I’m still getting the hang of this aura reading business—”

“What in fucking hell do you see?” Cutler said through his teeth.

She decided to go with the truth. There did not seem to be any point in lying. “You are being slowly poisoned, Mr. Steen.”