Beneath the jacket North wore a gray crew-neck pullover and black cargo trousers festooned with a lot of pockets. He had dropped a pack onto the floor when he sat down in the booth.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” North said. He sounded cool and professional now, having evidently managed to control his short rush of irritation.

She gave him her most polished smile. “Anything for the Foundation.”

North winced. “In other words you figured that if you didn’t agree to see me, you might be looking at trouble from Las Vegas.”

“Exactly. Also, I need the money and Mr. Jones assures me the Foundation always pays its tab. Okay, I’m here. You’re here. Tell me about the case.”

North drank some coffee and lowered the big mug. She was drinking coffee, too, a frothy cappuccino. North had ordered a triple-shot grande.

“Are you aware of Swan Antiques in Pioneer Square?” North asked.

“Of course,” Sierra said. “Gwendolyn Swan is a player in the hot artifacts market. I’ve done a few jobs for her. Why?”

“Yesterday afternoon Chandler Chastain bought an artifact from her.”

“I’m assuming the Chastain name is not a coincidence?”

“No,” North said. “Chandler is my father. At some point after he purchased the artifact, he was attacked. He’s awake but he’s almost entirely unresponsive, although he does seem to be able to communicate a little through Mom when they have physical contact.”

Shocked, Sierra set her cup down. “I’m so sorry. Was he shot?”

“No. There is no evidence of physical trauma, which makes me think he was attacked with something that affected his paranormal senses. He may have been drugged. That’s the theory the doctors are going on at the moment. But there is another possibility.”

Sierra eyed him warily. “What?”

North hesitated. “The attacker might have used a hot artifact, one infused with a lot of dangerous, unknown radiation that destabilized Dad’s aura.”

Sierra went still. “Are you talking about a paranormal weapon? That’s the unholy grail of the underground collectors’ market. If such a thing existed the Foundation would be breathing fire down the neck of any dealer or go-between or collector who tried to buy or sell it.”

Too late she realized she should have kept her mouth shut.

“Have you picked up any rumors about a para-weapon coming onto the market?” North asked.

She cleared her throat and reminded herself to proceed with caution. “There are always rumors in the underground market.”

“New rumors? Maybe a device from one of the lost labs?”

She folded her gloved hands on the table. “I assure you, I have no personal knowledge of any artifacts that might be weapons from the Bluestone Project.”

“Talk to me, Sierra. I’m on the clock.”

She spread her hands. “All I can tell you is that recently I’ve been approached by a couple of clients who made it clear that if anything that could be considered a functioning paranormal weapon came onto the market, they wanted to be in on the auction. Price was no object.”