Zinnia

"About what?"

"That's quite an operation Nick has there at Chas-tain's Palace. Very impressive, when you consider it. A lot of money goes through that place. Too bad for Chastain, Inc. that Nick didn't inherit the family business."

"What do you mean?"

"Uncle Stanley mentioned the other day that there are rumors that Chastain, Inc. is going through a rough patch. The firm apparently needs a major infusion of cash but can't seem to interest any big investors."

"What's Nick got to do with it?"

"Nothing, really." Leo poured the juice into a glass. "It's just that I doubt that Chastain, Inc. would be in trouble if Nick were running the firm. The man has a talent for making money."

"The money is only a means to an end for him." Zinnia tossed the tabloid into the trash. "He's applied himself to making a lot of it because he thinks it will help him achieve his real goal."

Leo finished the last of the juice in a single gulp. "What's that?"

"Respectability."

Leo grimaced. "Tell him respectability is not all its cracked up to be."

"I tried." She reached for the coff-tea pot. "But he wants it for his future offspring. He knows what it's like to live without it and he's determined that his children won't have to go through what he went through as a bastard."

Leo whistled softly. "Hard to argue that one."

She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, he's a matrix. Once they make up their minds, it's almost impossible to change them. They can be incredibly stubborn."

Leo grinned.

"What so funny?"

"I told him pretty much the same thing about you yesterday."

"Thanks a lot."

Leo laughed. "You know, the two of you make quite a pair."

Zinnia stilled. Then she concentrated very hard on her coif-tea.

"Zinnia?" Leo's laughter faded. A speculative look dawned in his eyes. "There's no chance that the two of you might get together on a permanent basis, is there?"

She slammed her coff-tea cup down on the counter. "He's arrogant, inflexible, overcontrolling, secretive, and obsessive about his goals, of which he currently has only two. He wants to get his hands on his father's journal and he wants respectability. What do you think?"

"I just wondered," Leo said dryly.

"And besides, I was officially declared unmatch-able, if you will recall."

"You've been hiding behind that long enough. But it's not doing you any good. If anything, it just makes it easier for Aunt Willy and the others to pressure you into an unmatched marriage."

"I know, I know."

"Things change." Leo's expression grew oddly intent. "New people register every day at the agencies. Who knows who's out there now? Mr. Right might be filling out his agency questionnaire even as we speak."

"Not bloody likely."

"Tell your boss that Nick Chastain wants to talk to him. Now." Nick cradled the phone against his shoulder and turned the page of the lengthy Synergistic Connections questionnaire. "If he doesn't want to talk to me, I can make arrangements to see him in person."

The receptionist on the other end of the line swallowed audibly. "Yes, sir. One moment, please."

Nick glanced at the next row of questions while he waited for the editor of Synsation to come on the line.

Please list your hobbies.

That was an easy one. He had no hobbies. If something was not sufficiently important to warrant his full attention, he ignored it. He filled in the blank with the word none.

"Nick Chastain? Bill Ramsey here." Ramsey's voice was unrelentingly cheerful. "I'm the front-page editor of Synsation. What can I do for you?"

"You can fire Cedric Dexter. I want him gone by the end of the day."

"Sorry, no can do." Ramsey chuckled. "Dexter's only been working for me for a month, but he's already proven himself to be the best photographer on the staff."

Nick put down his pen. "Listen to me, Ramsey, I've had it with Dexter's cute tricks. Last night he went top far. He stalked Miss Spring through the fog to get his shot. It was a terrifying experience for her. I want him gone or your trashy little newspaper will be out of business by the end of the month."

"Take it easy, Chastain. We're both businessmen. I don't tell you how to run your casino. You don't tell me how to run my newspaper."

"You're wrong," Nick said very softly. "I am telling you how to run your newspaper. One more photo of Miss Spring in your rag and Synsation is yesterday's news. I can do it, Ramsey. Believe me."

"Look, what say we talk about this man to man? We can make a deal. Give me a solid story. Confirm the rumors about your plans for marriage and the sale of Chastain's Palace and I'll call off my photographer."

"I do not discuss my personal affairs with the tabloids. If you want to stay in business, Ramsey, you will get rid of Dexter sometime in the next ten minutes."

"Be reasonable. I've got a paper to get out here."

Nick hung up the phone before Ramsey finished whining. He went back to the questionnaire and was relieved to see that he was almost through. Who could have guessed that there would be so many idiotic questions? And this was only the first step in the matchmaking process.

How much of your time is devoted to the above listed hobbies?

Nick picked up his pen again and dutifully wrote none.

A single knock sounded on the door of the reception chamber.

"What is it, Feather?"

Feather opened the door. "Mr. Batt to see you, boss."

"He's early. I told him I'd have this damned questionnaire filled out by noon."

Before Feather could respond, Hobart Batt, looking particularly stylish in an off-white suit and matching bow tie, bounced through the doorway. He bristled with outrage as he waved the day's edition of Synsation.

"This is simply too much, Mr. Chastain. I am a professional. I cannot be expected to work under these conditions."

"Calm down, I've taken care of the situation."

"Taken care of it?" Hobart's voice rose. "You can't take care of something like this. It's too late to take care of it. This issue of Synsation is all over town. Mr. Chastain, you are making my job a thousand times more impossible than it was at the beginning of our association. And that was bad enough."

"There won't be any more photos in Synsation."

"Don't you understand?" Hobart almost hopped up and down in his agitation. "You and Miss Spring have been featured in this rag three times in recent days. Every photo of the two of you together makes you less desirable as a prospective spouse."

"I'm sure you'll be able to overcome these slight setbacks."

"These aren't slight setbacks." Hobart slapped the paper down on Nick's desk. "These are disasters."

Nick glanced at the photo of Zinnia and himself on the temple steps. Dexter had done a nice job of framing the shot. He had captured the imposing doorway and the glowing blue dome. There was no doubt about the location.

"Don't worry about it, Batt."

Hobart simmered with righteous indignation. "Mr. Chastain, you were very specific in your requirements for a wife. To be quite crass about it, you wish to marry up in the world. You stated that you wanted a spouse from one of New Seattle's most elite families."

"Listen, Batt-"

"You also told me that you wished to be properly matched. It is going to be difficult enough as it is, given your professional, psychic, and personal attributes. None of which, I might add, do you any credit."

"I never said it would be easy. That's why I have you, Batt."

"I'm doing my best under exceptionally difficult circumstances." Hobart stabbed a finger at the photo. "But how do you expect me to find you a respectable wife if you keep showing up on the front page of Synsation in these compromising photos with Miss Spring?"

"There was nothing compromising about that photograph."

"Not compromising?" Hobart gave him an incredulous look. "The two of you on the very steps of one of the most disreputable Return cults in town? Don't be ridiculous. You have no notion of the damage you have done. Bad enough that most people think that you are only one step above the level of a gangster. Now they'll think that you've either got financial dealings with a cult or that you've joined one. And Miss Spring's presence doesn't add what one could call a positive note."

"Leave Miss Spring out of it." Nick planted his hands flat on the desk and shoved himself to his feet. "She has nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary." Hobart drew himself up. "I must tell you that these recent photos in Synsation have very likely revived old gossip concerning a scandal in which she was deeply involved a year and a half ago."

"I don't give a damn about that scandal."

"Well, you certainly should. It was linked to the Eatons, a very distinguished family. It is precisely their social circle that you wish to marry into, Mr. Chastain. Everyone in that very exclusive crowd knows about Miss Spring's shameful affair with Rexford Eaton. Mr. Eaton is a married man, you know."

"Miss Spring did not have an affair with Rexford Eaton," Nick said evenly. "I can personally testify to that fact. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar."

Hobart was unfazed. "The facts do not matter, sir. Only the perception. And as far as everyone in that particular social strata is concerned, she did have an affair with Eaton."

"Say one more word about Miss Spring and I will personally separate your head from your shoulders."

"Am I interrupting anything?" Zinnia asked politely from the doorway.

Nick swung around and saw her. The sense of awareness he always experienced in her presence swept through him. She was wearing a rakish little wrap dress with a long sweep of a skirt. The color was lipstick red. Her eyes gleamed with comprehension and something else, something he could not name. But he knew that she had overheard far more than he would have liked.

"Miss Spring." He dampened the outward evidence of his anger with the ease of long practice. "I didn't hear the door open. This is Hobart Batt of Synergistic Connections."

"How do you do, Mr. Batt?" She smiled coolly at Hobart.

Hobart flushed. "Miss Spring." He adjusted the crisp knot of his off-white tie. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you." Zinnia walked forward. "Is Mrs. Lane still with Synergistic Connections? She was the syn-psych counselor who declared me unmatchable when I registered four years ago."

The color deepened in Hobart's face. It did not go well with his suit. "Yes, Mrs. Lane is still with the agency. You cannot imagine how difficult your case was for her. She has never forgotten the experience."

Zinnia propped herself on the corner of Nick's desk. "Neither have I."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you haven't." Hobart looked deeply embarrassed. "Synergistic Connections prides itself on its extremely high success rate with difficult clients. Your case has become something of a legend in the agency."

"Fancy that." Zinnia swung her neatly shod foot.

"Mrs. Lane has often given staff lectures on the peculiarities of your situation." Hobart was starting to warm to the topic. "As I recall your MPPI profile did not go at all well."

Nick looked from one to the other. "MPPI?"

"The Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory test," Zinnia explained. "I flunked it."

"Now, now, Miss Spring," Hobart said earnestly. "There are no right or wrong answers in such a test, therefore, one cannot say one failed it. The problem was that your psychic profile was so unique that Synergistic Connections was unable to find a suitable match in our files. Mrs. Lane even went into the multiple listing services of all three city-states, but no luck."

Zinnia slanted a wry smile at Nick. "I bombed in New Portland and New Vancouver, too."

"Perhaps you should let us try again," Hobart said with the ever-hopeful tone of the dedicated professional matchmaker. "Who knows? The list of registrants changes constantly. We might have more luck this time."

"Thank you, Mr. Batt." Zinnia gave him an heroically tragic smile. "But I've come to terms with my status as an unmatchable woman. I really don't think I could go through the trauma a second time."

Her air of stoic martyrdom irritated Nick. "I think you've done more than come to terms with it. I get the impression you're starting to enjoy it."

Zinnia ignored him.

"Nonsense," Hobart said briskly. "There is no substitute for a good match. Everyone knows that. Our far-sighted Founders understood that only the institution of marriage could provide the synergistic stability needed for a successful society. History has proven them correct. Marriage is the very cornerstone of our civilization, Miss Spring."

"Spoken like a pro," she murmured.

Hobart brightened. "Your records from four years ago are still in our files. We could always reactivate them at your request."

"And a hefty fee." Zinnia smiled. "Don't bother. And by the way, don't let Mr. Chastain intimidate you. His bark is worse than his bite."

Hobart blinked. He stared at her as if she'd just announced that the Curtain had reopened. Then he coughed a little. "Yes, well, I must be off. I have a full day of appointments." He glowered at Nick. "I don't suppose you've finished filling out your questionnaire?"

"Close enough." Nick scooped up the thick booklet. "Here, take the damn thing." He tossed the questionnaire across the desk.

Hobart caught it awkwardly. "I'll call you when we're ready for the next phase of the registration process." Clutching the questionnaire, he turned and marched out of the room.

Zinnia waited until the door closed. Then she looked at Nick with a speculative expression. "You told me that you've never had your psychic talent tested and rated."

"That's right."

"Mind explaining how you obtained the services of a top-notch agency like Synergistic Connections without an official psychic classification? I know for a fact that agency insists on a rating. They refuse to match untested talents or prisms."

"Batt and I have a private arrangement. I've told him to consider me a class-ten matrix."

"But you're much more than that." Her eyes widened. "Wait a minute. I get it. You're not officially registered with SC, are you? You're trying to find a match outside the system."

Nick decided that comment did not require an answer. He came around from behind the desk. "I see you got my message."

"Yes." She looked as if she wanted to question him further on the subject of his agency registration, but she apparently changed her mind. "Feather phoned an hour ago to tell me that you located Polly Fenwick and her friend Omar Booker in New Vancouver."

"I'll tell you all about it over lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Why not? It's lunch time."

Polly and Omar had been located early this morning but Nick had told Feather to delay the call to Zinnia so that it would coincide with the noon hour. He saw no need to go into detail about the timing, however. Zinnia would probably get mad all over again.

He took her arm. "We're eating out by the pool."

"It's raining."

"It never rains on my pool."