seconds.
'What do you do?' Sharon asked as Iris pinned the badge to the front of her dress.
'I own a plant nursery.' Iris answered automatically, then realized that wasn't what Sharon was asking, 'And I,…I guess I feel things.'
'Like an empathy?' Sharon asked brightly.
'Sort of.' Iris conceded, the skin on the back of her neck burning.
She had steeled herself all afternoon to handle the flood of human emotions that would surround her tonight, but she wasn't getting much from Sharon or the older woman at the table. It wasn't the same as the empty sensation she'd received from the bearded man outside the Tropico. It was just a sort of blandness, as if neither woman had a care in the world. Must be nice.
'Well, I won't keep you. Go ahead and mingle. And try the stuffed shrimp-they're delicious.' Sharon waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave, leaving Iris no choice but to turn and start working the crowd.
She spotted a woman sitting alone across the room. Safe enough choice, she thought. She took a deep breath and headed across the room, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
She wished Maddox were here, she realized with surprise. With Sandrine missing, he was the closest thing she had to a friend on the island.
If you need me at the party, holler he be around. Maddox's promise echoed in her head.
I need you, she thought. Where are you?
A sharp flood of dark emotion shot through her, trapping her breath in her lungs for a second. She faltered to a stop, gripping the back of a chair sitting next to an empty table. She pulled it out and sat, closing her eyes against the neon flash of emotion coloring her vision bright red.
Anger. Contempt. Rage.
As suddenly as she felt it, the emotion fled, leaving only a bitter residual sensation inside her.
She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the gold buttons of the waiter's jacket. 'In the mood for a cheese cracker?'
Iris's head snapped up at the soft, familiar drawl.
The waiter was Maddox.
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
