Table of Contents
Read a Sample Chapter
The Seeker
By Kathleen Nance
Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © 2001
Kathleen NanceAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0-505-52465-1
Chapter One
Dia Trelawny spun in a flash of strobe light and glitter.
Smoke roiled across the stage, and a frenetic rock beat
vibrated beneath her feet as she vaulted onto the steel-pipe
stand. She raised her hands, planted her feet, in triumph and
confidence. Her lungs sucked in breath but her grin, a mix of
show and genuine delight, concealed the exertion.
Behind her the whirling blades edged closer. Her blond hair
whipped around her neck and shoulders from the force of the
generated wind. Dia shook her head, clearing the untamed
curtain back while Paolo, her assistant, snapped her wrists
into the shackles above her head. She struggled and writhed
against the iron, a vivid demonstration that she could not
escape the deadly bonds.
All part of the effect.
Throbbing drums mixed with the exhilaration of performance,
her reward for hours of practice. Sweat enveloped her, hidden
beneath her silver bodysuit. Before her, beyond the blinding
stage lights and the insistent music, the audience waited,
eyes on stage, while Paolo clicked panels shut around her,
encasing her.
For one second Dia wondered if her sister had used the
complementary tickets-the lights kept her from seeing out into
the audience-then the question vanished beneath the demands of
her performance.
Metal cut the airbehind her, and the skin on her back
prickled from heat and adrenaline. Those blades were real; the
illusion was toothless without that very clear threat. The
lady-sawed-in-half updated to the lady-shredded-by-a-jet-fan.
Dia flashed her grin again, while she tensed, waiting for the
dazzling flares of light. Waiting for the flash, her cue, the
perfect moment to complete the illusion.
No flares. No flash.
Smile frozen, Dia cursed. Her lighting tech had begged for one
more chance, and she'd given in. Her fault for being fooled by
his excuses.
She hated being tricked.
The whoosh of blade closed in. Paolo hid his worried look
behind an athletic flip. Abort the blade? his look asked. Just
do the escape?
Behind the continuing stage performance, Dia grit her teeth
and gathered her strength. She gave a nearly imperceptible
shake of her head. Her show would not be second rate because
she'd fallen for a line. She could do this without the flash.
The timing just had to be faster, and she'd have to ignore the
painful twist in her shoulder the move would require.
Dia took a breath, flexed her muscles, and-
Now!
With an ear-splitting whine, the blades penetrated the
surrounding panels, emerged to the front. Spinning metal
pierced her, right through the belly.
Or, at least that's what the audience believed, judging from
their collective gasp.
Perfect.
Thankfully, the smoke came as planned, and the lady escaped
from bonds and blades. Dia jumped off the platform with a
flourish, displaying an intact body. As she took her bow to
the precious sound of applause, she grinned in relief and
utter joy.
* * *
Hugh Pendragon watched the finale to the magician's act,
knowing it was an illusion, yet still unable to dismiss the
cramp in his gut when it looked like the blades had gone
through her.
Or the heat when she'd flashed that high-volt smile.
Smoke erupted on stage; then a split second later Dia
Trelawny, free of all bonds and dangers, sparkled through it.
She spun and bowed.
The lady was good. A mistress of illusion.
Hugh doubted anyone else in the audience realized there'd been
one tiny kink in the performance. He wasn't sure what exactly
had gone wrong, but he'd seen the split-second falter in Dia's
smile and his muscles felt the alteration of her rhythm.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Amid the thundering
applause, Hugh slipped from his seat, glad to escape the
confines of the crowd and the blood-rousing sight of Dia
Trelawny in silver lamý. Offstage she was charming, but
onstage she was mesmerizing. He'd bet a blood ruby that every
man here was feeling something erotic.
Unwanted fantasies about Dia were a complication he didn't
need in his life.
In the quiet lobby, he glanced at the caller ID: Armond
Marceaux. Last week, the FBI agent had come to him with a
missing person's case, a young woman believed abducted by a
co-worker and taken out of state. Only Hugh's long-standing
friendship with Armond had persuaded him to take the case and
risk another failure.
Had that one faint vision been enough? Dense trees, the
woman's damaged face-too little to go on when she hadn't much
time left.
Chest tightening, Hugh flipped open the phone. "Pendragon."
"We found the lady," Armond told him. "She was right where
you said she'd be, in his hunting cabin near the Canadian
border."
"Alive?" asked Hugh, gripping the phone. Bars of cold iron
banded his chest, until breathing almost stopped. He forced
himself to drag in a painful breath.
Armond hesitated. "She was alive, but just barely. We almost
didn't make it in time."
Breath came easier. Almost was too close, however, and next
time, if he interpreted the scant image wrong-
"Thanks for telling me." Most of the law enforcement types who
consulted him were too busy-or afraid to jeopardize their case
in court if it got out they'd consulted a psychic detective-to
get back to him. He was used to their ambivalence and
discomfort about asking for his help in the first place, but
he disliked discovering the results in the paper. Or in his
dreams. Armond understood, perhaps because he had talents
himself.
"You deserved to know. Thank you. It's good to know I can
count on-"
"I'm retired," Hugh interrupted softly.
"I didn't think you were serious."
Hugh edged away from the stream of bodies leaving the theater.
"I only did this last one because you asked it."
"You can't retire from yourself. Trust me, I know."
"I can, and I have. How're Callie and the baby?" Hugh changed
the subject.
"Both well," Armond answered with a touch of pride. "Louis is
almost sleeping through the night, and Callie is preparing to
film more of the video series."
"I saw the first show. It was good; I went and bought a case
of wine."
Armond laughed. "I'll tell her. Hugh-" His voice sobered.
"Take care of yourself. If there's anything I can do-"
"All I need is some solitude." And maybe his failures would
cease haunting his dreams. Gently, he flipped the phone
closed.
Bodies from the departing audience brushed against him, the
small touches disquieting. He moved away, into a small,
protected niche, until the lobby of the theater emptied then
he prepared to leave.
The door to the theater seating swung open from a final
straggler, and Hugh slipped inside to stand at the rear. Dia
strode across stage, already changed into shorts and a lacy
top, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail. She passed through
a beam of light, shimmering and glittering as he remembered.
For six months, one vivid image had haunted him-Dia Trelawny
passing through a beam of candlelight as she strolled, hips
swaying, across the room at the wedding party for his friend,
Armond. For that one timeless moment, she had seemed infused
with amber.
When he'd seen she was performing in Chicago, he'd come,
hoping to exorcize the lingering image. Instead, he was left
with a mild arousal and the amber image now glittered with
diamonds.
Hugh cast one last glance at the curtained stage, then left.
He'd had one of his increasingly rare dreams last night. His
dreams were sometimes prophetic, sometimes insightful, often
painful and confusing, but they were rarely wrong.
Dia Trelawny would soon come to him.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Seeker
by Kathleen Nance
Copyright © 2001 by Kathleen Nance.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Loading...