Running Hot

TWENTY-SIX

Eubanks heard the singing when he emerged from the men’s room. It emanated from somewhere in the hotel’s extensive gardens and floated upward to the long veranda. The notes were so pure and high and sweet that at first he thought someone was playing a flute.

Some aria from an opera, he thought. He had never been a fan, but then, he’d never heard anything this thrilling. The music aroused all his senses.

The sound was so alluring, so enthralling, that he momentarily forgot that Clayton should have been waiting for him at the entrance to the men’s room. Belatedly it dawned on him that his bodyguard was nowhere around. A short time ago Clayton had made certain that the restroom was empty and then, per standard procedure, he had gone back outside to make sure no one entered.

Clayton was nowhere around and that was wrong. But the music could not be ignored. It called to him, seductive and inviting.

He forgot about Clayton again and crossed to the railing to look down. The massed foliage of the gardens was so thick it was like looking at the top of a jungle canopy. The moon gleamed on the long fronds of some of the taller palms. Here and there he could see a few of the low lights that picked out the narrow, meandering path that led to the picturesque wedding chapel.

The song tugged at him. He had never experienced anything like this. The flute-like notes were physically arousing. There was no other way to describe the effect. He was getting hard.

The singer was female and he was consumed with desire for her. She was down there in the gardens calling to him. He had no choice but to go to her.

A moment ago he had been focused entirely on his plans to move up into the highest circle of the Nightshade organization. He was being considered for the recently vacated opening on the board of directors. No one deserved it more. Soon he would be leaving the ranks of upper management and going straight to the top of the organization.

He knew that his superiors were extremely impressed with the recent refinement of the formula that had come out of the lab he supervised. There had been some unfortunate incidents in the early human trials but the organization was not the stodgy, timid FDA. The only thing that mattered to the people at the top was success. And he had delivered, big-time.

He had been told that the reason he was on the short list for promotion to the ultimate level of power was because his lab people had come up with a small but highly significant alteration that made it possible to store and transport the drug without the necessity of refrigeration. What’s more, it could now be put into capsule form and taken orally rather than injected. Until now, anyone using the genetically tailored formula had been forced to make certain that the vials were kept on ice or in a refrigeration unit of some kind.

There was no doubt but that he had earned the right to occupy a place on the board. Thanks to the drug, he was becoming a powerful strat talent. It was no secret that most of the people at the highest levels were strats. The ability to outthink, outplan and outmaneuver others was, after all, the master talent. It was what took you to the top.

The other talents had their uses to be sure. But what good did it do to possess a psychic power for charisma or for illusion or for viewing auras if you didn’t know how to use it to achieve your objectives? High-level strat talents used other talents as pawns.

Oh, yeah, he was destined for the board.

But first he needed to find the singer. Nothing was more important tonight. He listened closely with all his senses trying to pinpoint her location. Somewhere in the very heart of the darkened gardens, he decided.

He went down the flight of stone steps. At the foot of the staircase, he started along a narrow path following the lure of the music. When he rounded a corner he stumbled against an object. He tripped and almost fell but managed to catch his balance. When he looked down he saw a man’s leg sticking out from under the fronds of a mass of ferns. The sight briefly shattered the trance induced by the music.

Shocked, he took a quick step back. Then he realized there was something familiar about the dark trousers and the running shoe. Fear sparked through him.

“Clayton?” he said.

The figure did not move.

He crouched to make sure. There was just enough light from the footpath lamp to reveal Clayton’s face. The bodyguard’s eyes were closed. He was not moving but he was breathing. Blood that looked black in the poor light partially bathed his face.

Part of Eubanks continued to focus on the lilting music while another part tried to concentrate on the fact that someone had lured his bodyguard into the gardens and knocked him unconscious with a seriously blunt object. There wasn’t much that could catch a high-level hunter off guard, even one who was only partially enhanced.

Run. Get the hell out of here.

He leaped to his feet, turning quickly to scan his surroundings. It was impossible to make out anything in the shadows. He started back the way he had come.

But the music came to him out of the night, stronger and more powerful now. The singer was close. He could not resist, even though his mind was screaming at him to get to safety.

Against his will, he reversed course and went deeper into the gardens. Slowly, fighting each step, he crossed a small footbridge over an ink-colored koi pond. Something splashed in the dark waters. Now he could see the graceful silhouette of the moonlit wedding chapel. The singing came from within.

He went up the steps and through the open door. The structure was not illuminated but there was enough silvery light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows to allow him to see the figure standing at the front of the room. The singer was dressed in a long white spa robe, her features shadowed by the hood drawn up over her head. She looked like some ethereal being from another dimension.

Fascinated, he moved down the aisle, unable to resist the compulsion of the music. The singer opened her arms to him. Her voice rose higher, becoming a splashing crystal fountain of perfect and somehow terrifying notes.

The pain began then, alternately searing and then freezing his senses. It spread swiftly. The sudden headache was excruciating.

He finally understood that the singer was killing him. Someone had arranged his murder.

This could not be happening, not to him. He was destined for power and greatness. He had killed three women to get this far.

He fell, drowning in darkness. A horrifying thought came to him. Was the woman who was killing him with her music the ghost of one of the three he had murdered?

The crystalline notes followed him into the depths.

And then there was nothing.