"Oh, no." Zinnia braced her head on her hand and closed her eyes. "He went to see you about it?"
"It was a perfectly normal reaction for a brother. We talked and then I offered to take him with me when I went to Wilkes's house. Which should tell you that I wasn't trying to be secretive. I simply wanted to move fast."
"Would you have bothered to tell me anything about this Alfred Wilkes person if Leo hadn't happened to be there when you decided to talk to him?"
There was an acute silence on the other end of the line.
"I'm getting the impression that you don't trust me." Nick's voice dropped to an exquisitely dangerous whisper.
"You're damned perceptive for a matrix." Zinnia slammed down the phone.
Suddenly it was all too much. She had a vision of pressure building steadily for over four years. Her parents' death, the bankruptcy, the never-ending money problems, the scandals, the marriage-agency verdict declaring her to be unmatchable, her worries about Leo, Aunt Willy's unceasing demands, Morris Fenwick's death.
And now this. The only man she had ever wanted badly enough to have an affair with was acting like the secretive, manipulative matrix-talent that he was.
It was just too much.
She put her head down on her arms and burst into tears.
Chapter 16
She had overreacted, Zinnia told herself later that evening while she held the focus for an accountant. It was all right. Perfectly understandable. There was no need to chastise herself for the emotional outburst and the tears. She had been temporarily overcome by events. That sort of thing happened. One could not always control one's emotions, although certain people seemed to think they could do just that.
The important thing was that it would not happen again.
She had herself together now and she would not allow Nick Chastain to destroy her composure so thoroughly a second time. Sleeping with him had obviously been a grave mistake, but she prided herself on learning from her mistakes.
She forced herself to concentrate on the job at hand. Not that it took a great deal of attention. She estimated Martin Quintana to be approximately a class-three matrix. He had been retained by a midsized manufacturing corporation to find evidence on a suspected embezzler. To that end he had been poring over voluminous computer printouts of various financial transactions all evening, searching for patterns.
He was humming to himself. In typical matrix fashion he was lost in a design that only he could fully appreciate. Zinnia could glimpse some of the rhythms that Quintana perceived because she was holding the focus for him. But to her the subtle ebb and flow of the endless tide of numbers on the printouts were mere curiosities, not compelling puzzles. Only a matrix would find them fascinating.
She glanced at her watch. It was getting late. Clementine had warned her that Quintana only wanted to pay for three hours' worth of focus time. They were well into the fourth hour. Zinnia was getting stiff from sitting still for so long. She was also hungry. She had missed dinner again.
She cleared her throat politely. "Mr. Quintana?"
He did not seem to hear her. He was busily entering a string of figures into his computer.
"Excuse me, Mr. Quintana, but your time is up. I'll have to ask you to stop now."
"What's that?" He jerked his head around to peer at her over the rims of his reading glasses. "Oh, yes, Miss Spring. Three hours I believe I said."
"Yes. If you want to contract for more time, I'm sure my boss can arrange it."
"No need. Can't justify charging the expense to my client." He lounged back into his chair with a long sigh. "I've got all the information I need to nail the perpetrator of the fraud. Had that an hour ago. I'm afraid I was merely entertaining myself."
"I understand." Zinnia gave him a sympathetic smile. Clementine got annoyed with her because she frequently allowed her matrix clients to fool around in the pattern for a while after the agreed-upon allotment of time. It was hard to tell a matrix who was having a good time that things had to come to a halt. "I'm glad you got what you wanted from the printouts."
"Oh, yes, it's all there. I take a great deal of satisfaction in my work at times like this." Quintana riffled through the stack of papers. "Money always leaves a trail, you see. It's almost impossible to hide the traces when one knows where to look."
"I see. Well, I'd better be going." Zinnia rose from her chair and picked up her shoulder bag. "Psynergy, Inc. will bill you within a week."
"Of course. I'll see you to your car." Quintana stood and stretched. "Always a pleasure to work with you, Miss Spring. So few prisms can focus properly for a matrix. And even fewer can do it for long periods of time."
"Thanks. Be sure to tell my boss."
"I most certainly will."
He escorted her out the door and walked with her to where her car was parked at the curb. It was the only vehicle left on the street. Zinnia could barely see it through the fog that had coalesced during the past few hours.
She glanced at the darkened windows and doorways and automatically took a firmer grip on her purse. This was a quiet neighborhood of small businesses and shops that was buttoned up tight after closing time.
"Allow me." Quintana gallantly opened the car door. "The fog has grown worse, hasn't it? Do drive carefully, won't you, Miss Spring?"
"I will." She slid behind the steering bar and smiled up at him. "What about you?"
"I'm going to go back inside and write my final report. Then I'll go home. Goodnight, Miss Spring."
"Goodnight, Mr. Quintana."
Zinnia waited until he closed the door and then she made certain that all the locks were set. She activated the ignition and pulled away from the curb.
She tried to remember what she had at home in the icerator. Extended periods of focus work took a considerable amount of energy. Granted, it was psychic energy, but energy was energy. She was starving.
Glumly she recalled the dinner invitation from Nick that she had summarily turned down over the phone that afternoon.
She was several blocks away from Quintana's office when a sputtering sound from the car's engine immediately took her attention off the matter of food. Startled, she surveyed the small number of simple gauges on the dashboard. She had plenty of fuel and nothing appeared to be amiss with the ignition system. Jelly-ice engines were as reliable as the sunrise.
The sputtering grew louder. She felt the car hesitate. She increased the flow of jelly-ice but nothing happened. With one last jerk and a cough, the engine shut down. She hastily turned the steering bar to guide the coasting vehicle to the side of the deserted street.
The sudden silence was more alarming than any noise could have been at that moment. The fog swirled around the car, silently menacing.
She tried to prod the engine back to life, but there was no response. A chill of dread shot through her as she surveyed her surroundings. As luck would have it she was in a section of town that had been slated for redevelopment for some time. But to date little had been done. The few windows that she could see through the mist were boarded up and several of the street lamps were out. She could not see a telephone booth.
The only sign of life was an eerie blue glow in the distance. She gazed at it for a long time. There was something vaguely familiar about that particular shade of blue light.
She considered her options and realized she only had two. She could remain in the locked vehicle until a police cruiser happened by, which could be hours from now, or she could get out and search for a phone booth. Neither choice held much appeal.
She looked at the glowing blue light in the distance again, pondering the sense of familiarity. Then she realized why she recognized it. The light was the same shade of azure blue that the Children of Earth, one of the largest of the Return cults, used to illuminate its temples.