Forbidden Touch. Paula Graves
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refused to come had she known about the conference.
She read through the brochure, looking for more information about the organization, but most of the text inside outlined the conference schedule and speaker bios. There was almost nothing about the Cassandra Society itself.
She sat on the edge of the bed, wishing she’d brought her laptop computer from home. If there’d ever been a time for a Web search, it was now. There had to be more detailed information about the Cassandra Society on the Internet than she was finding in this oh-so-uninformative brochure.
She finger-combed her damp hair away from her face and crossed to the closet where she’d deposited her luggage without unpacking yesterday afternoon. The second luggage rack in the closet sat conspicuously empty, reminding her that wherever Sandrine had gone, she’d taken her bags with her.
Pushing away a wave of despair, Iris unzipped the garment bag that contained the two dressy outfits she’d brought with her. The cinnamon-red silk dress was a little longer than the natural linen sheath and would hide her skinned knees. She pulled it from the bag and smoothed the sleek skirt. It would work for the cocktail party.
Meanwhile, she had just a few hours to research the Cassandra Society before the party.
MADDOX STARTED undressing as soon as he stepped inside his squat little bungalow nestled at the outer edge of the rain forest north of Sebastian. The house wasn’t much to look at, but the view from his back veranda was worth every penny he’d spent on the place. Mount Stanley, the dormant volcano that had formed the island of Mariposa centuries ago, had long since transformed to a lush, blue-green peak towering over the tiny Caribbean island. Its southwestern face filled his panoramic view of the rain forest that spread, thick and teeming with wildlife, as far as he could see.
He didn’t let many people in town know about this place. It would raise too many questions about where he got the money to buy a decent-sized house with a spectacular view on an island where land and housing were at a premium. Even inland places such as his cost a small fortune, a fortune a jack-of-all-trades beach bum like Mad Dog Heller shouldn’t have at his disposal.
He’d created his life from scratch on the island. Well, from scratch and occasional dips into a massive trust fund that had sat in a bank accruing interest from when his father had died and left him his fortune eight years ago.
The old man hadn’t bothered to acknowledge him before that. Married, rich and successful, he probably would never have admitted paternity if he hadn’t gotten sick of his legitimate kids and their profligate spending and left Maddox half his fortune to spite them.
The money was still there, for the most part. Maddox had spent some of it, early on, taking care of his mother. But she’d died two years after his father, and he’d left the money mostly untouched since then.
When he decided to make the move to Mariposa, he’d brought nothing but the clothes on his back and the ancient Steinway upright piano that had been his mother’s.
He showered quickly, taking time to shave the shadowy thatch of beard darkening his jawline. Toweling dry his hair, he booted up his laptop computer and typed in a search for “Celia Shore.”
Scores of hits came up immediately. The first link read Celia Shore—Official Web site. He clicked it and the Web site loaded a splash of vibrant pinks and teals. Across the top of the page was a photo of a beautiful blonde in her thirties. A radiant glow of pearl pink edged the image. To her right, her name was written in looping cursive, with a line of narrow, straight type below: Psychic Healer.
Well, hell.
Chapter Three
“Are you calling from Mariposa? Is something wrong?”
Tears stung Iris’s eyes at the sound of her sister’s concern. “Yeah, Lily, there is.” She told her older sister, Lily McBride, what she knew about Sandrine’s disappearance, including the Cassandra Society. “Ever heard of it?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“I need to find out more about who they are and if they’re somehow connected to what’s happened to Sandrine. You got a minute to do an Internet search for me?”
“Don’t start playing Nancy Drew with this, Iris. Take the next flight home and let the police handle it.”
“They’re not handling it, and I don’t think they will unless there’s someone here to push them into it. I have to stay, at least a few more days. I’ll be careful, I promise.”
“No, you won’t. You never are.”
Iris couldn’t blame Lily for thinking so; she’d always had an impetuous streak to go along with her insatiable curiosity. But the last couple of years had taken a toll on her impulsive tendencies. She couldn’t afford to take too many chances; her body wouldn’t hold up.
But Lily didn’t know that. Iris hadn’t told either of her sisters just how bad the pain had become. Her younger sister, Rose, was still a newlywed who deserved a little uninterrupted happiness, and Lily was eight and a half months pregnant with her first child and didn’t need any added stress.
Iris couldn’t burden either of them yet. Not until she figured out how to stop the pain from rendering her an invalid.
“Lily, please. I just need you to do a quick Web search.”
Lily exhaled audibly. “Cassandra Society, you said?”
“Thanks. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, Lily told Iris all she’d found, which was next to nothing. “It’s mentioned on a few paranormal Web sites, but none of them really say much about the society and what it’s about. Do you want me to read what the pages say?”
“No, thanks,” Iris said, hearing weariness in Lily’s voice. “How’s McBride Junior?” The baby Lily was carrying was a boy.
“Playing soccer with my bladder as we speak.”
The joy in her sister’s voice brought tears to Iris’s eyes. She didn’t begrudge Lily a minute’s happiness—God knew, she’d earned it—but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for herself at the same time. Her sisters had found something she’d begun to fear she could never have in her own life.
She cleared her throat. “Lily, I’d better go—”
“Please reconsider catching the next flight out of there.”
“Just a few more days, Lil.”
Lily sighed. “All right. I’ll see if McBride has ever heard of the Cassandra Society. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her brother-in-law was a policeman. If the Cassandra Society wasn’t legit, he might know about it.
“Just stay safe, okay?” Lily said. “It’s bad enough that Rose has gone all crime fighter on us—”
“Love you, Lily. Talk to you soon.” Iris rang off, tucked her phone in her purse and slumped on her bed, glancing at her travel alarm clock. Almost two. Still plenty of daylight left if she felt like venturing out for another round of “Have you seen this woman?”
Or maybe she could start looking for an Internet café and look up more on the Cassandra Society herself.
MADDOX SLUMPED BACK against his desk chair, his eyes narrowing as he read through Celia Shore’s bio and a rundown of her claim to psychic fame. She listed several mid-tier actors as satisfied clients, and her photo page included images from television and red carpet appearances.
What the hell did a woman like that want from him?
He glanced at the clock over the piano. Just after two. He’d been in Mariposa long enough to adjust to living on island time, but somehow, he didn’t think the same could be said of Mr.