Forbidden Touch

Chapter Five

Maddox grinned at Iris's look of surprise, pleased that he'd been able to pull off this investigative coup. It brought back a few of the better memories of his former life.

"How did you manage this?" Iris selected one of the crackers and gazed up at him with an admiring gleam in her dark eyes.

"I know people." Maddox answered, deliberately cryptic.

Desire fluttered in his gut, not unexpected but not particularly welcome. Iris Browning was a complication he couldn't afford.

"Anything new on the Cassandra Society?"

"Not much more than we found online." Iris murmured, nibbling at the edge of the cracker.

"Same here. So, your friend Sandrine is the hoodoo sort?"

She frowned, apparently not happy with his characterization of her friend. "She considers herself a medium"

"Do you? Consider her a medium, that is?"

Iris looked down at the cracker. "She's very perceptive. More than the average person."

Lots of people are perceptive, he thought, but they don't think they've got some special gift from the gods.

"Reckon why she signed you up for this thing?" he asked.

Iris didn't answer. He started to repeat the question when he caught sight of a man gesturing at him from across the room. He sighed. "Duty calls. Go mingle."

He worked the room slowly, listening to snippets of conversation that gradually began to draw a clearer picture of what the Cassandra Society and the conference here at the Hotel St. George were about.

As one plump, over earnest woman holding court in a group of five expounded, "It's about science, not magic, and it's time we prove it to the skeptics."

Good luck with that, Maddox thought, heading back to the kitchen for a new tray of appetizers.

In the kitchen, the pretty Creole sous chef, Darlene, flirted as he loaded the tray with coconut shrimp and stuffed mushrooms,

"Anybody put the hex on you out there, Maddox?"

He flashed a smile. "Not yet. But the night is young "

"I hear they found that American psychic lady, Celia Shore, all beat up on the beach." Darlene leaned closer, lowering her voice to a half-whisper. "You'd think a psychic would've known the attack was coming." She laughed at her own joke.

Maddox smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd seen firsthand the kind of injuries Celia had sustained. She might be a big old faker, but she hadn't faked the scrapes and bruises on her wrists and ankles or the concussion she'd sustained. Something bad was going on here at the Hotel St. George, something to do with the Cassandra Society,

And he intended to find out what.

Iris's feet were aching. Though she wore low-heeled and ridiculously comfortable, she suspected most of the pain was a vicarious sensation from the short-skirted blonde standing next to her in a pair of spike-heeled strappy sandals. Iris was tempted to make an excuse to leave, but the blonde, a "sensitive" named Andrea Barks-dale, seemed to know something about everyone in the room. So Iris ignored her aching feet, discreetly pumping Andrea for information.

"That's Trevor Mac Allan." Andrea pointed to a tall, gaunt-looking man in an ancient tweed suit. "He has a show on British television where he goes to various haunted places and speaks to the dead. Really quite amazing the people he's spoken with. Ask him about his talk with William Shakespeare"

Why, Iris wondered, did celebrity mediums always have conversations with famous people? Never Joe Blow from Peoria who died of a heart attack while shoveling snow.

"Well, hello "Andrea said, her voice tinged with intrigue.

Iris followed her gaze. Near the entrance, a slender, well-built man in his thirties survived the room calmly. He was dark-skinned-Arabic, perhaps-with strong, even features. The stylish cut of his short black hair accented his striking bone structure. His dark eyes met hers, and he gave a polite nod.

"Who's that?" Iris asked Andrea when he looked away.

Andrea shook her head, "I don't know, but I'm damn well going to find out."

She set her martini glass on a nearby table and crossed the room to greet the stranger. For a moment. Iris watched Andrea pour on the charm feeling a little sorry for the newcomer. Turning her gaze back to the rest of the meeting room, she spotted Maddox a few yards away, gathering up empty glasses, his head cocked as lie listened in on conversations. As if he felt her appraisal, he turned his head and shot her a conspiratorial look so intimate that it stole her breath for a moment.

We're in this together, that look seemed to say.

The sense of relief that flooded her in response caught her by surprise. She looked away quickly, annoyed at herself. You're not in this together, she scolded herself. You're in this to find Sandrine, and if Maddox wants to help, you'll take it, but you're not a team.

The pain in her feet, which had eased now that Andrea headed across the room, was back. Iris turned her head to find the blond Canadian approaching, the swarthy stranger in tow.

"Iris Browning, this is Tahir Mahmoud. He's from Kazarastan."

"Kaziristan." Tahir corrected gently. He spoke perfect English, his accent British and formal. "Have you heard of it?"

"Of course. The embassy siege was only three years ago." she said softly. "I've kept up."

He laughed, reassuring her that she hadn't insulted him by bringing up his country's troubled past. "So you have. I assure you the country has vastly improved in the interim. Miss Barksdale tells me that you're an American."

Iris took the hand he extended. The second his flesh touched hers, a sharp pain raced through the right side of her face, as if she'd just bitten the inside of her cheek. She couldn't suppress a wince, though she recovered quickly as the pain receded to a tingle. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Malunoud."

Tahir released her hand. If he'd noticed her reaction, he didn't show it. "Please, call me Tahir. May I call you Iris? It's a lovely name."

"Of course. And thank you." Iris smiled politely.

"Tahir is an anthropologist." Andrea interjected, obviously not happy to be left out of the conversation.

"I am writing a book connecting the mystic traditions of my people with mystic traditions around the globe. When I heard of this conference, I knew I would have to attend."

"You consider this an exploration of mystic traditions?" Iris asked, both intrigued and skeptical.

"Traditions are continually recycled." Tahir answered.

"One man's shaman is another man's medium?"

"Exactly." He motioned toward an empty table near the back of the room. "Shall we sit and discuss this further?"

Iris glanced at Andrea, whose sharp green eyes were focused on Tahir's face. Safe enough to go with him, she thought, since we obviously have a chaperone. "Certainly."

The three of them settled at the small, round table.

"Andrea tells me she is a sensitive "Tahir said, "Are you a sensitive as well?'

"I'm here in my friend Sandrine's place." Iris sidestepped the question. "Sandrine Beck, Do you know her?"

Tahir's brow accordioned with thought. "I am not familiar with the name, but there are so many people here."

"The name rings a bell with me." Andrea interjected.

"What does she look like?"

Iris pulled Sandrine's photo from her clutch purse and laid it on the table. Both Andrea and Tahir looked at it, Tahir shook his head, but Andrea nodded, "I remember her. She was one of the focus groupers."

"Focus groupers?" Iris asked.

As Andrea opened her mouth to answer, a familiar drawl interrupted. "Canapes?"

Ins looked up at Maddox who stood at her elbow with a tray "No, thank you" she murmured, her voice tighter than she intended.

His eyebrow twitched upward as he offered the tray of appetizers to Andrea and Tahir. Tahir shook his head, but Andrea took a couple of stuffed mushrooms from the tray.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Maddox asked.

"I'm dying for another appletini." Andrea said. "Tahir?"

"Alcohol is forbidden by my religion." Tahir said, his tone gentle, as if to assure Andrea he was not offended.

"I can get you a Shirley Temple."' Maddox drawled. "With a cute little cherry on top."

Tahir's gaze rose slowly to meet Maddox's. There was no humor in their ebony depths. "No, thank you."

"That'll be all, thanks" Iris glared at Maddox.

"Yes, ma'am" he murmured, moving on to the next table.

"Well, he was a bit fresh, wasn't he?" Andrea asked. "I suppose hotels can't always be picky about the help they hire "

Iris was surprised to find herself angered by Andrea's remark, given how annoyed at Maddox she'd been seconds before.

"He is not a native." Tahir murmured.

"He's been here a while " Iris said without thinking.

When both Andrea and Tahir looked at her for further explanation, she realized she'd almost given away her prior connection to Maddox.

"I noticed him talking with one of the other waiters earlier." she explained. "They spoke like old friends, so I assume he's been here a while."

Her table companions seemed satisfied with her explanation to her relief. She turned to Andrea. "You were saying something about a focus group before the waiter interrupted."

"Yes." Andrea nibbled around the edge of the stuffed mushroom. "Yesterday morning, after our first seminar session, Dr.Grinkov selected eight panelists and attendees to join him in an intensive focus group session"

"Are any of the focus group here tonight?" Iris asked,

Andrea looked around. "I don't think so. Your friend didn't tell you anything about the group?"

"I flew in yesterday afternoon. I haven't seen Sandrine at all. I'm beginning to worry about her." Iris confessed.

"Well, since I don't see any of the others, maybe they were moved to a different location for their part of the seminar."

Was the answer that simple? "Was Dr.Grinkov involved in any of today's seminars?" Iris asked.

"I didn't see him." Andrea said. "Tahir, did you?"

"I am sorry, I do not know him." Tahir touched Iris's hand, and a blast of darkness rocketed through her. She struggled to keep from jerking her hand away. Her whole body trembled with relief when he removed his hand.

She tried to read even a hint of the violent emotion she'd sensed in that brief contact, but his expression was placid. Had she mistaken someone else's feelings for Tahir's?

Maddox approached with an appletini. He set it in front of Andrea. His gaze met Iris's, concern in his blue-gray eyes, "Can I get anything for you, ma'am?"

"I'd like a glass of water." she answered, surprised to hear her voice shake.

His brow furrowed, but he headed toward the kitchen.

Tahir leaned toward her, but thankfully he didn't touch her again. "Are you unwell?"

"You do look a bit pale." Andrea agreed, her tone a little too eager. Obviously, she wouldn't mind if Iris left her alone with Tahir Mahmoud.

At this point. Iris wouldn't mind it, either. What she'd just learned from Andrea could explain Sandrine's disappearance. She needed to find someone who could confirm the theory for her.

She glanced across the room, where pretty, red-haired Sharon Phelps from Minnesota sat at the reception table, talking to the older lady who'd been her companion all night. Maybe Sharon knew something about the special focus group.

"I think I'll make this an early night." Iris said, rising from the table. "Please give the waiter my apologies."

Tahir rose with her, bowing. "Delightful meeting you, Miss Browning. I hope to see you at the conference tomorrow."

She smiled but didn't make any promises. If Andrea was right, then all her worries about Sandrine might be unfounded, and she could relax and enjoy her island vacation.

She stopped at the reception table on her way out. Sharon smiled as she approached. "You're not leaving so soon, are you?" she asked brightly.

"I've been fighting off a headache all day" Iris ribbed. "I have a quick question before I go. What do you know about a focus group formed during yesterday's session? I believe a Dr.Grinko may have selected the participants."

"Dr.Grinkov." Sharon corrected with a smile. "Boris Grinkov. Brilliant man. He did a lot of early pioneering in parapsychology in Russia before the end of the Cold War. He's a bit of a psychic himself."

"Dr.Grinkov." Iris corrected herself. "Do you know anything about that group?"

"Dr.Grinkov sometimes takes special interest in certain people and their abilities. He has some theories about synchronized paranormality that are totally fascinating." Sharon's face glowed as she spoke of Dr.Grinkov, reminding Iris of a teenager waxing rhapsodic about a hot new boy band.

"So he might have selected some members of the seminar for a special experiment?" Iris didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed by the idea.

"I'll be happy to ask the organizers for you. Let me see what I can find out tonight and get back to you tomorrow at the conference. If I forget, look for me, yeah? I'll be around."

"Thank you." Sharon's exuberant friendliness was beginning to wear Iris out, so she took her leave and headed for the exit.

"Your water." Maddox's voice stopped her midstep.

She turned to find him holding a bottle of water, "Thanks." She lowered her voice. "I have some information"

"Me, too. I'll tell you about it later." He handed her a bottle of cold water. "Who's the sheikh?"

There was an odd tone to Maddox's voice, a guardedness that she hadn't heard from him before. She glanced back at the table, where Tahir Mahmoud was taking his leave from Andrea Barksdale. "His name is Tahir Mahmoud. He's from Kaziristan."

A sudden jolt of darkness roiled through her, making her legs grow wobbly. She reached for Maddox's arm to steady herself, but touching him only intensified the feeling. She pulled back, gripping the nearby door frame.

"Are you okay?" Maddox started toward her.

She put up her hand to stop him, "Just lost my balance on these darned shoes."

His gaze dropped to her low-heeled pumps. He looked back up at her, his expression guarded. "Go rest. I'll check on you when the party's over."

She should tell him not to bother. She was tired. She had a killer headache starting to form at the base of her skull. Her feet still ached from feeling the pinch of Andrea Baiksdale's spike heels, and the double shot of black emotion from both Tahir and Maddox lingered like nausea.

But when she spoke, she said. "Thanks, I'll wait up." And kicked herself for it all the way back to her room.

Maddox handed the last empty tray to Darlene in the kitchen. "The last folks are leaving. Need help cleaning up?"

She waved him away. "You know they'll kill me dead if I put a waiter on the cleanup. They don't wanna pay you the extra. Maddox."

"I'll do it under the table." he said, his sly grin rendering the offer risqué.

She grinned saucily. "Go on with your naughty self, I know better than to do the cha-cha with a fella like you."

He changed back into his street clothes in the employee bathroom and headed out the back to check on his Harley. It was still sitting, intact, in the parking lot.

But knowing he was living on borrowed time, he flagged down the night shift security guard passing by on his rounds and slipped him a twenty to watch over the bike for the next few hours.He rounded the side of the hotel, heading for the front, but stopped when he heard a familiar voice around the comer.

"It is not a good idea." Tahir Mahmoud's soft, clipped accent carried through the clear night air.

"I have no plausible reason to remain silent" The second speaker was also male, his voice pitched a few tones higher than Mahmoud's. He had a strong Russian accent. "What shall I say?"

"Nothing. I will take care of it." Tahir's voice grew softer, as if he was moving away.

Maddox turned the corner and spotted the Kaziristani and his Russian-accented companion, an older, rail-thin man in his fifties, walking up the steps to the hotel entrance. Maddox stayed in the shadows, watching them disappear inside. He released a slow, unsteady breath.

A Kaziristani. Here. What were the odds?

He made himself keep moving, slowed his racing heartbeat to match the steady cadence of his footfalls on the granite steps of the hotel entrance. Inside, a blast of cool air dried the pearls of perspiration dotting his forehead.

Several guests milled about the lobby, some checking in, others taking advantage of the hotel lounge, Tahir Malinioud and the Russian man were nowhere to be seen. Maddox's heartbeat slowed further. The blackness filling his chest and gut began to recede.

Three years ago, he reminded himself A lifetime.

It felt more like three minutes.

Iris threw the pencil on the desk and flexed her hands and wrists, gazing at the sketch of the bearded man with a critical eye. It was a good likeness, she decided, though it lacked something-the essence of who he was inside, perhaps, since she'd read almost nothing from him but emptiness during their brief encounter.

Still, anyone who had seen him would recognize him from the sketch. She'd show it around at the seminar in the morning, see if anyone knew who he was. A sudden chill washed over her sending goose bumps along her arms and legs. The cold slowly faded, replaced by a strange, jittery sensation that fluttered like a frantic moth.

A knock on her door made her jump. She padded to the door and peered through the security lens. It was Maddox.

She unlatched the security chain and opened the door. Maddox stood with one hand on the door frame, his eyes hooded by his furrowed brow. "I'm not sure I should be here."

The raw honesty in his voice was a surprise. She was used to his glib, sexy-devil side. "Are you all right?"

He straightened slowly. Within the span of a second, the Southern bad boy was back. "Just a bad mood, sugar. I get that way when a bunch of suits order me around all night. Why don't I catch you in the morning?"

She touched his arm, steeling herself against the darkness she knew lurked inside him. "Why don't you come in for a minute and let me tell you what I learned?"

She didn't let go of his arm as she led him to the chair across from her bed. The nausea in the pit of her belly roiled, but she ground her teeth and held herself together, drawing the blackness out of him and into herself He looked up at her, confusion in his expression. The sensation pouring into her changed suddenly, the dark emotions eclipsed by a flood of relief. She released his arm.

His gaze dropped. When he spoke, his voice sounded strange. Shaky. "What did you find out on your little reconnaissance mission, sugar?"

"There's a scientist who's the head of the Cassandra Society. Dr.Grinkov, He apparently pulled aside some of the conference attendees for a special focus group "

Maddox's head jerked up. "Dr.Grinkov?"

"Boris Grinkov. He's a former Soviet scientist whose field of expertise is parapsychology." She cocked her head. "Ever heard of him?"

Maddox's expression darkened. "I think I saw him."

"Dr.Grinkov?" she asked, surprised. "When? Where?"

"Just a minute ago, outside the hotel." A grim smile spread over his face. His eyes met hers, as dark as a stormy sky, "Talking to your buddy. Tahir Mahmoud."