"We'll need something of Merry's. Something she wore quite a lot," Ben said quietly.
"Why?" The older man's question was gruff, full of suspicion.
"Have you ever heard of psychometry?"
"No." Larson's gaze narrowed. "Why?"
Ben's smile was so bland, she had to sip her coffee to hide her grin.
"Not many have," he continued. "Psychometry is the ability to hold an object and sense some history of the owner. If the link is strong enough, you can sometimes use the object to trace people."
"Yes? So?"
"So, Shirley has that ability. We think we can use it to trace your daughter."
"Right. And my left foot plays „Jingle Bells.‟ What are you two trying to pull?" Heat suffused his cheeks, making them look mottled. And him uglier, if that were possible.
Ben shrugged. "If you don't believe us, why don't you go see Briggs Matt? Shirley found her daughter alive and well, two days after the cops had given up looking for her."
Larson suddenly looked thoughtful. Definitely no fool, despite outward appearances. He might not like the agency, or their methods, but he would use them—or anyone else— in order to bring his wayward daughter back.
He nodded abruptly. "All right. There's a charm bracelet Merry wore up until a week ago. I'll go get it—but if you think I'm going to let it out of my sight..."
"Fine," Ben interrupted smoothly. "You can be here when Shirley makes the attempt to find Merry."
Shirley opened her mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Ben glared at her. She sipped her coffee and seethed in silence. Did Ben really expect her to find Merry with Larson breathing down her neck? Her talent wasn't always reliable, and distractions only made matters worse.
Larson rose. "I'll go fetch it now, then."
"Fine. But don't bring it back until..." Ben hesitated and she held up her fingers. "About six this evening. Shirley has to rest before she tries this."
The older man grunted and strode to the door, his steps powerful despite his short legs.
"Phew," she said, once he'd gone. "Talk about a powder keg."
"He's worried, believe it or not. But he's definitely in line for a heart attack if he keeps going." Ben relaxed back into his chair. "And don't say the world would be better off. It's not polite."
"Neither am I." She yawned. "Sorry. It's been a long night."
"So tell me what really happened tonight, then you can go home and rest."
"It's a long story, boss." And not one she was sure she could really explain.
"I have all day, kiddo."
She smiled wryly. That was a lie, and they both knew it. In his early forties, Ben didn't fit the typical image of private investigator. Absent were the scruffy looks, clothes in serious need of an iron and scuffed shoes. Ben's image was more the successful businessman.
Not only did it make his clients more at ease, it gave him an extra advantage on the job. His look at the office was never the one he used in the streets.
She dug out a couple of doughnuts then tossed the box across to him. He caught it deftly and munched in silence as she gave him an edited version of the night's events. The zombies she left out, not sure if she could convince him they really existed. Ben had a hard time believing anything he couldn't see for himself.
He whistled softly when she'd finished. "Sounds like Merry's got herself into something serious."
"It's more than serious. The man she's with ... he's evil, Ben. Pure evil." She leaned back in her chair, shuddering at the seductive memory of fiery blue eyes. "I don't think we have a hope of getting her away from him."
He shrugged. "We have to try."
She bit into her doughnut. Yeah, they had to try, but she didn't hold much hope of succeeding. Evil had too strong a grip on Merry now.
Ben rose and poured himself a cup of coffee. "And this man that helped you, Ethan Kelly? Where does he fit in?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know."
"There's too much going on here that we just don't understand. I don't like it, Shirley."
She struggled to smother another yawn. "Neither do I. Not a lot we can do about it, though."
"I could take you off the case."
"And just who would take it over? You?" She grinned at him. "You're so busy now, you don't have time to scratch."
"This is true." He shrugged. "One of these days I'm going to have to hire myself another investigator." He gave her a sympathetic look as the yawn she'd been fighting broke free. "Why don't you go home and get some sleep? You look dead on your feet."
His words revived memories of the fetid breath and cold flesh of the creatures. She shuddered and rose quickly. "It's an offer I can't refuse. I'll leave the rest of the doughnuts, in case you want them."
"An offer I can't refuse." He grinned, and helped himself to another doughnut. "Just make damn sure you're back by six. I might be tempted to murder our client if I have to put up with him for any amount of time tonight."
"Then I'll make sure I'm late," she replied sweetly and stepped out the door before he
could throw something at her.
****
In the end, exhaustion and a broken alarm clock made her late getting back to the office.
"And what happened to six o'clock?" Larson said the minute she opened the door.
His voice was mild given the anger she could sense in him. She looked at the clock. It was nearing six-thirty, so he had every right to be annoyed.
"What happened?" Ben asked, his irritation undisguised.
She grimaced. "Alarm clock."
Ben just shook his head. He'd been telling her for weeks to replace the damn thing, but she hadn't considered it a priority.
She glanced at Larson. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Did you bring the bracelet?"
He nodded. "Yes. Ben has it."
Ben gave her the bracelet, sealed in a plastic bag. He knew from past experience that too many people handling an object spoiled her ability to get a strong reading.
She sat down, stomach suddenly churning. She'd done this a hundred times before. It was simple.
Easy.
But never before had her life been at risk.
She frowned at the thought and tore open the plastic, dropping the delicate gold bracelet into her hand. Her skin tingled as she closed her fingers around the charms, pressing them into her palm. Shutting her eyes, she reached for the place in her mind that could call forth the images locked within the bracelet.
Gradually, they came.
A factory. Three floors. Broken windows. Dark. Her mind seized the pictures, storing them for examination at a later point. She had to go with the flow or lose it. She didn't have the strength for a second try.
The smell of the sea ... creak of boats. Inside ... evil. She recoiled.Oh God, he's here!
Panic seized control, and for an instant, the images faltered. Now she understood her earlier intuition. Evil was here in the darkness—and hunting her. Her fingers twitched against the bracelet, but she fought the instinct to break the contact. Time was running out for Merry. She had to find her quickly, and this was the only way of doing it.
And surely the man she feared couldn't harm her spirit. Could he? Sweat broke out across her brow, but she reached again for the images.
Stairs ... a basement. Two rooms, three. In the fourth one, Merry. Naked. Unconscious but alive.
Something hit Shirley hard, drawing her into darkness, snaring the very essence of her soul as securely as a fly in a web.
And the spider laughed in demonic delight