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She used a towel to mop the perspiration off her forehead and took a moment to savor the sights, smells, and sounds of her personal wonderland. There were times when she could not believe her good luck. She was here, standing on the brink of discoveries that could lead to a Nobel Prize, because an unknown individual at the Wynford Institute for the Study of Medicinal Botany—a nonprofit she had never heard of—had found her name on a list of people who had taken a certain psych test back in college. If not for that test shewould still be stuck in a commercial lab running tests on plants destined to end up in face creams and lipsticks.
But now, thanks to the Institute, she was destined to change the world. In the future her name would be known and revered by every researcher, every professor, and every student of botany. Her work would be credited in scientific papers and textbooks for centuries to come.
In exchange for the amazing opportunity all she had to do was ensure that the Institute fulfilled its government contract. Apparently some alphabet soup agency in the intelligence sector needed a couple of psychically enhanced individuals who possessed the ability to terminate bad guys without leaving any evidence. No big deal. Every government employed assassins. She was simply doing her patriotic duty. Besides, the project had proven surprisingly interesting, because it aligned with her own research objectives.
The rustling and the whispering and the thrashing were definitely growing louder. The bioluminescence of the rainforest appeared brighter, too. The storm on the surface was apparently gaining strength.
She started to turn and go back to the lab bench but stopped when she saw the tendrils of green snaking around the edge of the doorframe. It was as if the vines sensed food inside the lab. She smiled. Really, the plants were like mischievous little children at times, always trying to sneak a cookie. Until yesterday she had been able to assign the task of keeping the greenery out of the lab to the assistant gardener. But now that Keever had dropped dead she would have to take care of the job herself.
“Oh, no you don’t,” she said. “Naughty, naughty.”
She aimed the sprayer at the invading tendrils and pulled thetrigger. There was a hissing sound as the vines withered beneath the onslaught of the powerful chemicals.
The attempts to invade the lab were new and somewhat worrisome. Six months ago, the blue radiance infused into the walls, ceiling, and floor had acted as a strong barrier, just as the light of the crystal stepping stones did outside. But lately the vegetation, especially the fungi, seemed to be developing some resistance to the energy.
Luckily, the herbicide still worked well. She had found the formula in the old notebook she had been given at the start of the project. Her quarters were inside the lab. She did not want to wake up one day and find herself imprisoned in a cage of protein-hungry vines or discover mushrooms growing in the bedding.
She started to lower the canister but changed her mind when she noticed that the aboveground roots of the walking palm growing on the left side of the lab entrance were closer to the threshold than they had been yesterday. She took a moment to give the entire doorframe an extra dose of the herbicide. No sense taking chances.
When she was finished she returned to the workbench. She was about to pick up the Bunsen burner when something made her glance at the door of the locked room on the far side of the lab. She saw the face peering out at her through the narrow opening that had once held a pane of glass.
The new test subject was awake again. She appeared to have some resistance to the sedative, probably because of her parapsych profile. Time for another dose.
Really, it was one thing after another on this project, but it would all be worth it when she flew to Sweden to accept the Nobel Prize.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
What do youthink?” Luke asked.
“You’re right,” Talia said. “He hid something in here, and we know it wasn’t the key to the conservatory, because he was wearing it on his tool belt when he died.”
They were standing inside Eddy Keever’s cabin. The door was closed, but the dull gray light of the storm seeped through the tattered shades.
Talia tightened her grip on one of the botany journals that contained a paper written by Keever and took a moment to focus, picking up the unique currents that had been deposited by the dead man. She shivered as another frisson sparked across the back of her neck. Working with the psychic echoes of the dead always put her nerves on edge. At least she wasn’t trying to find a body.
“Got it,” she said quietly. She put the journal down on the table and turned to examine the room. Pale pools of energy were splashed around the small space. “He was scared, Luke.”
“And maybe planning to run? That could explain why he was murdered.”
“There’s some static because of the heavy paranormal currents here on the island.” Talia concentrated, trying to sort out the currents crisscrossing the room. “Makes it hard to sort out the ones I’m searching for.”
Luke touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I’m dealing with the residual energy of a man I know is dead. Feels a bit like conducting an autopsy. But don’t worry, I’m not going to faint. I’ve done this before, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean it gets easier.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She was very conscious of the reassuring warmth of his hand. Having a companion to share the experience with, one who understood how paranormal energy could rattle the senses, made the situation more tolerable. But something else was going on, too, a connection of some kind.
“Hmm,” she said.
“What?”
Experimentally, she focused on the heat and weight of his hand and discovered that she could suppress some of the static that was clouding the reading.
Luke started to lift his hand.
