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  "I know."

  Amaryllis sighed. "Be reasonable, Mr. Trent. The odds are very much against such a combination getting together to form a criminal team."

  "But it's possible."

  She threw up her hands. "Well, yes, hypothetically speaking, I suppose it's possible. But not probable."

  "I want to check it out."

  Amaryllis eyed him thoughtfully. "You're clutching at straws, aren't you?"

  "I'm approaching this in a rational, logical manner."

  "Know what I think? I think you're looking for excuses to explain why Miranda Locking sold your secrets to your competition," Amaryllis said gently. "I understand. It's easier to believe that Miss Locking fell into the clutches of an evil class-ten hypno-talent than it is to accept the fact that she betrayed her position of trust in your firm. Isn't that right, Mr. Trent?"

  She was right, but Lucas had no intention of admitting it. He reminded himself for the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes that he had known this would be un-pleasant.

  Hiring a professional prism to help him focus his psychic talent was something he had done his best to avoid. Utilizing the services of a trained professional in order to harness the paranormal energy of his own brain went against the grain. It was his mind, after all. He should be able to control it and use it without outside assistance.

  Most talents at the lower end of the power range readily accepted the fact that their paranormal gifts were useless without the assistance of a prism. It was that way with most things here on St. Helens. Complex synergistic principles governed the natural order. It was the toughest lesson the colonists had had to learn during the past two hundred years. On St. Helens the laws of nature could be summed up with the old Earth adage. It Takes Two to Tango.

  The first indications that true paranormal abilities were beginning to show up in the population had been documented less than fifty years after the colony had been stranded. It had taken another twenty years before the researchers had figured out that natural and necessary complements to the talents were also appearing.

  Ten more years had passed before the experts arrived at the obvious conclusion that prisms and talents were made for each other, at least in one very crucial sense. No talent, no matter how gifted or well trained, could focus his or her paranormal powers for more than a few seconds without the aid of a prism. Most could not focus their abilities at all without assistance.

  It was the general consensus that prisms were nature's way of ensuring that talents did not become dangerous or predatory. The link between prism and talent required absolute, willing cooperation from both parties if it was to endure long enough to accomplish anything useful.

  The authorities who studied the phenomenon scoffed at the notion that an innocent, unsuspecting prism was at risk of being "enslaved" by a powerful, villainous talent. The scientific evidence had not stopped novelists and filmmakers from producing a host of popular tales involving mythical off-the-scale psychic vampires.

  There was also a wildly successful genre of romance novels featuring implausible talent heroes who were capable of seducing beautiful, feisty female prisms and turning said prisms into love slaves.

  Lucas had noticed the newest release of popular author Orchid Adams in the window of the bookshop across the street from the offices of Psynergy, Inc. The title of the novel was Wild Talent. He had no intention of buying it or reading it. It would only have depressed him. He was already too painfully aware of the limitations of his own abilities, psychic or otherwise, when it came to dealing with women.

  In spite of all the overheated excitement generated by fictional psychic vampire talents, real-life prisms were quite safe. They had natural, built-in defense mechanisms. Prisms could simply withdraw from an unwanted focus link. If they were accidentally matched with a talent who overwhelmed their focusing capabilities, they went psychically numb.

  Burnout, as the condition was called, was a short-term, temporary problem that was, nevertheless, extremely un-pleasant for the prism. Those who had been through it described it as being as disturbing as losing one of their other senses such as touch, smell, or sight. It could take weeks for a prism to recover.

  For that reason, responsible, reputable focus agencies such as Psynergy, Inc. requested evidence of talent classification and certification from their clients.

  Lucas brought his attention back to the matter at hand. "I'm not looking for excuses. I'm looking for answers."

  "Believe me, Mr. Trent, no one could be more sympathetic. I, myself, have occasionally been accused of being a trifle too obsessive about getting answers. When questions have been raised, what else can one do? However, in this instance, I feel that there are no real questions."

  "If I'm deluding myself in order to avoid having to admit I screwed up by giving Miranda Locking the job with Lodestar, that's my problem. Do you want to take the contract or not?"

  "If you're absolutely determined to pursue this investigation," Amaryllis began very softly.

  "I am."

  "And if your only goal is to identify the person to whom Miss Locking sold the information--"

  "It is."

  "Then that's a perfectly legal security investigation," Amaryllis concluded. "I'll work with you under the terms of the standard contract."

  Lucas smiled thinly. "I thought you'd accept the arrangement. I'm a class-nine talent. That means Psynergy, Inc. can charge me a fortune for your services."

  "You're free to take your business to another agency."

  "We both know it won't be any cheaper elsewhere." Lucas walked back to his chair and sat down. "Let's get on with this. I haven't got all day."

  "Very well." Amaryllis picked up her pen. "Now, then. You say you're a class nine?"

  "Yes."

  "Tested and certified, of course?"

  "Of course." Lucas leaned down to unsnap the clasp of the briefcase he had set beside the chair. "I've got the usual papers to prove it." He removed the official talent classification certificate that he had been given several years earlier when he had finally, reluctantly, submitted to testing. He tossed the folder that contained the test results onto Amaryllis's desk. "All signed and sealed. If you're qualified to work with a class ten, you're safe enough with me. I only tested a nine."

  "No need to be modest, Mr. Trent." Amaryllis examined the certificate with great interest, "Nines are extremely rare."

  "So are full-spectrum prisms who can focus them."

  "True. And that's why my firm charges so much for my services. Supply and demand, Mr. Trent. As the owner of Lodestar Exploration, I'm sure you are intimately acquainted with those basic laws of economics."

  Lucas ignored that. "Well? Everything in order?"

  She frowned as she flipped through the papers he had given her. "According to this, you weren't tested until the age of twenty-two. That's rather late. Most people are tested in their mid teens."

  "I grew up in the Western Islands," Lucas replied easily." We don't have any fancy test facilities. There was no opportunity to get myself certified until I came to New Seattle to get my degree in Synergistic Crystal Mineralogy at the university."

  "I see."

  Lucas covertly studied Amaryllis's expression as she finished examining the documents. He relaxed slightly when he saw her nod to herself, evidently satisfied.

  He had been forced to account for the delay in getting himself certified several times in the past. After all these years, he had his answer down to a glib spiel he could rattle off with little effort. The excuse of growing up in the Western Islands neatly sidestepped the truth, which was that he had deliberately avoided the test until he was certain that he could conceal his off-the-chart abilities.

  He had aimed for a class-eight certification but his control had not been as good in those days as it was now. He had wound up with a nine.

  He had opted not to go for a top-of-the-scale class ten because people tended to be wary around class tens. Most folks respected such talent, even admired it or were in awe of it, but a ten was rare enough to make them uneasy. Class-tens often got treated with the same sort of cautious reserve as people who possessed great beauty or extremely high intelligence. That kind of attitude was not particularly good for business.

  Amaryllis closed the folder and tapped the tip of her pen against it. '"You're a detector-talent. You have the ability to sense other talents when they focus their psychic energies. That's unusual."

  "And damn useless for the most part." Only a lie of omission this time, Lucas thought. He loosened his tie. "There aren't a lot of applications for that sort of psychic power."

  "I realize that," she murmured sympathetically. "Most of the available job openings are in casino security."

  "Yeah, I know. Personally, I've never been attracted to that line of work." Lucas was well aware that detector-talents were often employed to ensure that talents who had a gift for analyzing the laws of chance did not cheat at cards or dice. "My interest in gambling is limited to business decisions."

  "I suppose you plan to utilize your ability to detect a working talent to determine whether or not Miss Locking has been hypnotized?"

  "Right." Lucas leaned forward, braced his elbows on his thighs, and clasped his hands loosely between his knees. "When I realized that someone was selling Lodestar information, I conducted a preliminary internal investigation. I kept Miranda under surveillance for a few weeks. Fed her false data to see where it went."

  "What did you learn?"

  "That she makes regular contact with a man named Merrick Beech. I think he's the broker. I want to confirm it, and I also want to find out if he's been working with a prism to hypnotize Miranda."

  "In order to do that, you'd need to catch Beech in the act of actually focusing with an intent to hypnotize. Do you have any idea of how difficult that would be?"

  Lucas narrowed his eyes. "I think I'll have a chance to do just that on Thursday evening."

  "Thursday?"

  "Miranda and Beech are both scheduled to attend the reception that will follow the dedication ceremony at the New Seattle Museum."

  Amaryllis's eyes lit with sudden enthusiasm. "They're opening the new wing of the museum on Thursday night, aren't they? The gallery where the Western Island relics will be on display."

  "Yeah." Lucas frowned. "Even a strong hypno-talent would be forced to regularly renew whatever hypnotic suggestion he's giving his victim, right?"

  "Yes. Especially if it's a suggestion intended to make her act against her basic inclinations."

  "And he'll have to use a prism to focus that suggestion."

  "Yes, but as I've already told you, it's almost impossible--"

  "My guess is that Beech will use the opportunity Thursday night to work on Miranda. I want to catch him in the act."

  Amaryllis bit her lip. "You want to employ me to help you focus your detector-talent the night of the reception?"

  "That's it." Lucas smiled grimly. "Simple, straightforward, and perfectly legal. Not to mention entirely ethical."

  Amaryllis drummed her short, neat nails on the desk. "The reception will be an exclusive affair. I'm sure that only VIPs and major contributors will get invitations. I'm afraid I don't move in those circles."

  "I think I can pretty much guarantee that getting an invitation for you will not be a problem," Lucas said dryly.

  Amaryllis blushed again. "Yes, of course. You're the person who found the relics, aren't you? I expect that the Museum Guild authorities would give you anything you wanted."

  "Let's just say, they're grateful."

  "I'm sure that's putting it mildly," Amaryllis murmured.

  Lucas shrugged. Everyone knew that the museum considered the Western Islands relics to be the most significant contribution ever made to its collections. The artifacts were expected to draw huge crowds, not to mention extremely healthy donations.

  Amaryllis regarded Lucas with somber consideration. "I have to tell you that in my professional opinion, I believe you will be wasting your time on this investigation, Mr. Trent. It's almost inconceivable that someone has actually been able to use hypnotic suggestion on Miss Locking unless--"

  "Unless what?"

  Amaryllis sighed. "Unless she was a willing subject. In which case she's simply a dishonest, mercenary, untrustworthy employee. Not a victim of a criminally inclined hypno-talent."

  "I thought she was more than just another employee," Lucas said quietly.

  "The two of you have a personal relationship?"

  "Not in the way you probably mean. But, yes, we have a relationship. Three years ago Miranda was engaged to marry my partner, Jackson Rye. I gave her the VP job in public relations after Rye was killed in the Western Islands Action. I knew she needed the work. And I felt the company owed her something."

  Amaryllis was silent for a long time. "Very well, Mr. Trent. I'll sign a contract with you." She picked up her pen and started to write her name at the bottom of an official looking form.

  "Thanks."

  "By the way, have you thought of a cover story to explain my presence at the reception? I'll need to be quite close to you at all times, you know. Perhaps I could masquerade as a member of the catering staff. Of course, that would mean you'd have to clear it with the company that is handling the food service for the museum."

  "Your cover won't be a problem." Lucas studied the tiny, round earrings she wore. "I'm going to take you along as my marriage agency date for the evening."

  Amaryllis's pen jolted to an abrupt halt midway through her signature.

  "I beg your pardon?" She stared at him with widening eyes.

  "It's no secret that I'm in the process of registering with a matchmaking agency. Everyone, including Miranda, knows I'm in the market for a wife. I'll just tell anyone who asks that you're a candidate for the job."

  Chapter 2

  Lucas Trent, the "Iceman" himself. He had been right here in her office.

  Amaryllis managed to wait until the door had closed firmly behind her new client before she succumbed to the amazed wonder that she had barely been able to conceal during their conversation.

  Lucas Trent. He had been sitting there on the other side of her desk. She had signed a contract to focus for him.

  Amaryllis sagged weakly in her chair. She still could not believe it.

  The man they called the Iceman had been haunting her for months. It had been a gentle haunting, to be sure, nevertheless she had been intimately aware of his existence in a way she could not explain.

  A year ago a single news photo of him had transfixed her attention. She had picked up the paper one morning and found herself riveted. It wasn't his business success, or the tales of his exploits during the Western Islands Action that had captured her interest. It was not even the discovery of the artifacts that had intrigued her so much.

  She thought it was something about his eyes.

  It was not as if she had been obsessive about it, she assured herself. In the months since he had appeared on television and in the papers, her awareness of him had quietly receded to the back of her mind. She'd had more important things to do than dwell on Lucas Trent and she had done them.

  She led a busy life, and the past few months had been especially full. What with ending her relationship with Gifford, quitting her job at the university, joining Psynergy, Inc., and preparing to register with a marriage agency, she'd had very little time to think about the Iceman.

  His name had actually been familiar long before his discovery of the relics. Everyone had become aware of Lucas Trent three years ago when pirates had attempted a takeover of the Western Islands.

  The pirates, a motley coalition of outlaws, career criminals, and assorted riffraff from the three city-states had united under a leader to try to take control of the rich resources of the Western Islands.

  Amaryllis had been busy with her research and teaching at the university during the Western Islands Action, but she had heard some of the details. She knew, for instance, that Lucas's wife and his partner had been killed during the initial pirate raid.

  In the chaotic days that followed the raid, Lucas had put together a hastily deputized police force from among the miners, technicians, traders, cooks, sailors, and shopkeepers who had found themselves stranded in the islands when the fighting broke out.

  It was during the Western Islands Action that Nelson Buriton had dubbed Lucas the Iceman. Buriton and the other correspondents who had covered the story had marveled at the effectiveness of Lucas's strategy and tactics. The pirates had been driven from the islands in completed is array in less than two weeks.

  But it wasn't Lucas's success as a commander three years ago that had caught Amaryllis's attention. In truth, she had been too occupied with final exams to notice him. It was his discovery of the relics that had made her so intensely aware of him.

  She would never forget the photo of him that had been snapped soon after he had emerged from the jungle with the artifacts in his hands. The harsh landscape of his face had been indelibly imprinted on her mind.

  Today she had been shaken to realize that, if anything, the news photos and film clips had understated the reality of Lucas's features. His face was not exactly a thing of beauty. It was a graphic rendering of masculine strength and determination. His bold cheekbones, aggressive nose, and strong jaw were as exotic, compelling, and mysterious to Amaryllis as the alien artifacts themselves.

  She knew now that the news photos had failed utterly to capture the bleak, icy gray of his eyes. Nothing could have prepared her for her first in-person glimpse into those veiled depths. The chill of a fierce self-control swirled there. Amaryllis decided that Lucas's nickname suited him far better than Nelson Buriton could possibly have guessed.

  The bad news, so far as she was concerned, was that whatever it was about Lucas that had tugged at her senses through the medium of film and photograph was a thousand times stronger in real life. His laconic, Western Islands drawl ruffled the tiny, sensitive hairs on the nape of her neck. The sight of his big, competent, jungle-roughened hands had done strange things to the pit of her stomach.