normal.
Thankfully, thus far Rafe appeared to be blithely unaware of the sensations she experienced during their focus sessions. As far as she could tell, he seemed completely unaffected. Nevertheless, even though she was not afraid of him, Orchid was beginning to think that it might not be a good idea to work with him again in the near future. Something about their link was definitely weird.
Suddenly Rafe moved closer to her, coming to stand directly behind her. He studied the book over her shoulder.
'Most experts believe that Percy Morland was a very high-class vision-talent who suffered from periodic bouts of unaligned synergy on the metaphysical plane,' he said.
'I've heard that,' Orchid murmured. She wondered if Rafe knew how irritating he was when he went into his lecture mode.
'He refused treatment,' Elvira put in helpfully. 'Apparently Morland was paranoid about the syn-psych labs. Seemed to think the experts might destroy his artistic visions if he allowed them to try to realign his metaphysical energy waves.'
'Can't blame him for steering clear of the labs.' Orchid reflected briefly on her own extremely unpleasant experiences in a synergistic psychology research lab three years earlier. Lately the old nightmares had returned in full force. She'd had two this week. 'If I could make a fortune writing poetry like that, I wouldn't want anyone messing with my para-energy waves, either.'
Elvira chuckled. 'An excellent point, my dear. I take it you are not a great admirer of the meta-zen-syn philosophical poetry?'
'To be honest, no,' Orchid admitted.
Rafe did not bother to conceal his exasperation. 'Why not?'
She wondered, not for the first time, why her opinion mattered to him. 'I consider it at best to be a dead-end in literature. More likely it was a huge joke foisted on the literary world.'
'I see.' Elvira raised her delicately arched silver brows. 'How very intriguing to think that I risked so much just to steal a poetic joke.'
'But I do admire the writers' financial sense,' Orchid added. 'Unlike most poets, they got rich. Their works still grace the shelves of every library in the tri-city-states and there was a time when they were the hottest thing in the bookstores. Everyone who was anyone read the stuff.'
'I have three originals in my own collection,' Rafe said in a dangerously neutral voice. 'A Morland, a Jenkins, and a Singh.'
Orchid told herself that she should not allow him to goad her. But the man had an attitude and it made her reckless. She'd always had this problem, she thought. She could already hear a distinct sucking sound but she could not resist putting her foot a little deeper into the jelly-quicksand.
'Got to hand it to those meta-zen-syn philosophical poets,' she said cheerfully. 'Morland and his pals were shrewd businesspeople, even if their poetry does sound like something a fifth grader might write.'
There was a short, highly charged silence.
'I suppose it would be too much to expect you to appreciate the clear, strong visual strength of meta-zen-syn poetry,' Rafe said in suspiciously civil tones.
The polished edge of his voice was so sharp Orchid was pretty sure it could have severed bone. She gave him her brightest smile.
'Yeah,' she said. 'A little too much to expect.'
His eyes narrowed.
'You may as well give it up, Rafe, dear.' An amused twinkle lit Elvira's merry blue eyes. 'I don't think that you will be able to intimidate Miss Adams into pretending that she admires philosophical poetry.'
'Obviously,' Rafe said dryly.
She did not look at him but Orchid knew that, unlike Elvira, Rafe was not twinkling.
Orchid smiled blandly. “‘Synergy, confluence, harmony. Even chaos seeks balance'.' She quoted smoothly.
Elvira's eyes widened in appreciation.
'Why, that's those lovely, dear. Which meta-zen-syn poet wrote lines?'
'I did. Mrs. Kramer's fifth-grade class.'
Elvira laughed. 'Point taken.'
Rafe did not laugh. She could feel the brooding stillness in him as surely as she could sense his aura of paranormal power. She was fairly certain that if she turned around to look at him she would risk a nasty cut from the knife-sharp edge of annoyance in his icy gray eyes.
Why did he care whether or not she admired the stolen volume of Morland poetry? she wondered. The question was just one more on the long list that she had been compiling on Rafe Stonebraker all week.
She did not know what to make of him. At times she had the disturbing impression that he was studying her.
Or perhaps testing her would be more accurate, she thought. Either way, the weird sensation was making her edgy.
Unfortunately, contrary to what she had predicted to Clementine, she was enjoying her assignments with Rafe. They had proved very different and far more interesting than her usual focus projects. She was beginning to think that she had a flair for the private investigation business.
In the course of the first two assignments she had assisted Rafe in the recovery of a lost third generation painting and helped him trace a highly prized racing pony-hound that a groom had taken from its stable.
It had become clear that Stonebraker Investigations handled only the most confidential of inquiries. Rafe was called by clients who did not want publicity or the attention of the police.
This evening's assignment was the most unique yet. Orchid was still not sure why Rafe had even bothered to hire her. She was almost positive that he had known who had stolen his client's stolen volume even before he had phoned Psynergy, Inc., and asked for her.
To make matters even more curious, Elvira Turlock was not the least bit concerned about the fact that she had been caught redhanded with an extremely valuable stolen book. On the contrary, she obviously took great pride in displaying the volume to Orchid and Rafe.
Orchid got the impression that Elvira and Rafe were old acquaintances who had long ago established a quasi-professional relationship.
Elvira glanced at Rafe. 'I suppose you feel you must return my Morland to George.'
'He did hire me to find it.' Rafe sounded mildly apologetic.
'Yes, of course,' Elvira said.
Orchid cleared her throat discreetly. 'George?'
'George Yeager.' Elvira's smile was warm and tinged with an odd wistfulness. 'An old friend of mine.'
Orchid blinked. 'You stole this book from a good friend?'
Elvira chuckled. 'Why not? Six months ago he snatched my Kingsley. I had to even the score.'
'I don't get it.' Orchid glanced from Elvira to Rafe. 'Is this some sort of game?'
Rafe shrugged but said nothing. There was almost no expression on his austere, bluntly carved features.
'George and I see it as more of a challenge,' Elvira explained lightly. 'Rather like a sailing regatta or a golf- tennis tournament. The goal, of course, is to make it appear that the theft was carried out by someone else.'
'A challenge,' Orchid repeated. A light went on somewhere in her brain. 'I think I get it.'
Elvira gave her a droll smile. 'George and I are both widowed. Perhaps it would help if I explained that the two of us are more than merely good friends. Our little adventures serve to keep a certain zest in our relationship.'
Elvira and the unknown George were lovers. Orchid grinned. 'Why, Mrs. Turlock, that is incredibly romantic.'
'Five hells.' Rafe sounded thoroughly disgusted. 'It's not romantic. It's a complete waste of everyone's time.'
Orchid glowered at him. 'Why are you complaining? You get paid to track down the thief, even though you obviously know who the culprit is before you even start. Sounds like easy money to me.'
