There was a moment of fraught energy in the atmosphere. Lily frowned and then tightened her grip on Chandler’s hand.

“No,” she said. “He doesn’t know.”

“We need to get in the air,” the pilot said.

North asked the only other question he could think of in that moment. “Dad, were you attacked because of the object you bought at Swan Antiques?”

Another shiver of energy. Hot and intense. This time North could have sworn his father was struggling to focus on him. But the effort cost him. Chandler closed his eyes and went limp.

“Yes,” Lily said. She looked at North, her eyes very fierce. “The answer is yes.”

“I can work with that,” North said.

He stepped back from the gurney. The medics carried their patient up the stairs and disappeared through the door.

Lily turned to North. “Do what you have to do,” she said. “But be careful. Your father and I love you.”

“I know,” North said. “I love you, too.”

Lily gave him a brief hug and then hurried up the stairs.

North waited until the Foundation plane was in the air. When it was gone he concentrated on the task at hand. He turned to Olivia LeClair.

“I need to locate a go-between named Sierra Raines,” he said.

She smiled. “Yes, Victor Arganbright said you wanted to hire her. She’s waiting for you at the Vault in Pioneer Square.”

“Sounds like a nightclub.”

“It is.”

“It’s almost noon.”

“The Vault is open twenty-four hours a day,” Olivia said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Thanks,” North said.

CHAPTER 8

Are you all right, Mr. Chastain?” Sierra asked.

North Chastain was clearly startled by the question. It immediately became obvious he was also seriously pissed off.

“I’m fine,” he said.

He was lying. She could see enough of his reflected aura in the mirror on the wall behind him to tell her that the man from the Foundation was sleep deprived. She was sure North Chastain was drawing energy from his paranormal senses not simply to stay awake but to ward off the disorienting effects that resulted from a severe lack of sleep.

It wasn’t just lack of sleep that was disturbing his senses, she concluded. There was something else going on with his aura, something more complicated. The dark reflections in the mirror were difficult to interpret. She might be able to get a better read on him if she could get a look at his eyes—she was pretty good at reading eyes—but that was impossible at the moment because North was wearing wraparound mirrored sunglasses. Indoors. In the shadows of the dimly illuminated basement of the Vault nightclub.

He did not appear to be the kind of man who adopted dramatic affectations like sunglasses in a nightclub. The glasses were part of the mystery that enveloped him.

With his hard, sharp profile, he had a predatory edge that gave him an intriguing but decidedly ominous vibe. He was not a man you would want to cross. Like her, he was wearing a lot of leather—jacket and boots but no gloves. She assumed he wore it for the same reasons she did. Cleaners kicked down a lot of dangerous doors and had to be prepared to come in contact with some hot artifacts. They chased the bad guys, after all.