Eye of the Beholder (8 page)

She certainly had until recently, she reflected. It occurred to her that before she had concocted the scheme to revive her dead-on-arrival career, she'd never had any real incentive to break rules. Contrary to her former therapist's opinion, it wasn't fear that had kept her from taking risks, she thought. It was the fact that, until now, there had been nothing she had wanted badly enough to warrant a walk on the wild side.

“Unlike some people, I assume rules exist for a purpose,” she said.

“Sure. To be broken.”

“Fortunately not everyone holds the same opinion,” Alexa said through her teeth. “Like it or not, rules are the glue that holds a civilization together.”

“I'm not in favor of breaking all the rules,” Trask said. “Just the ones that get in my way.”

She gave him a steely smile. “Tell me, do you find that there are a lot of rules that get in your way, Trask?”

He shrugged. “I admit that, on the highway of life, I tend to ignore the occasional guard rail warning sign.”

Foster glanced from Alexa to Trask and back again. He looked politely baffled. “Guess I'm missing the joke here. What's this about guard rails and signs?”

“Ms.
Chambers happened to notice my Jeep at Avalon Point the day I arrived,” Trask said. “She saw me standing on the wrong side of the guard rail. Made her nervous.”

“I see.”

“Then I offered to give her a ride home.” Trask watched Alexa's face. “But she said that she didn't think it was safe to accept lifts from strangers.”

Foster smiled expansively. “I think I get the picture. Obviously a little misunderstanding. So you stopped at the Point to admire the scenery? It's pretty incredible, isn't it?”

“I wasn't admiring the scenery,” Trask said.

Alexa raised her brows. “I imagine our landscape must come as something of a shock after Seattle.”

“It's different.”

Foster changed the subject with a diplomatic aplomb that Alexa could only admire.

“Congratulations on the new hotel,” he said. “It's going to be a major asset to Avalon.”

Trask nodded. “Thanks. We're pleased with it.”

“You certainly chose the ideal time to open,” Foster enthused. “The Spring Festival is the big event of the year. The town will be filled with visitors.”

“I think it will be a good launch,” Trask said. “The hotel officially opens to guests two days after the reception. We're booked solid, not only for the festival, but for the next several months.”

Foster nodded. “I'm not surprised. Avalon is becoming a major destination point in the Southwest. The positive energy of the vortices in this region make this a very special place.”

“Generally speaking, I'm not into metaphysics.”
Trask glanced at Alexa. “But I do believe in the old saying that what goes around, comes around.”

“Interestingly enough,” Foster said, slipping into his pedantic mode, “that adage is based on ancient karmic doctrine which holds that all actions have consequences, not only in the material world but in the personal and metaphysical realms as well.”

Trask did not take his gaze off Alexa. “Translated, that probably means that no good deed goes unpunished.”

“I'll keep that in mind the next time I see you standing on the wrong side of the guard rail,” Alexa said. “How long do you plan to be in town, Trask?”

“As long as it takes.”

Alexa could have sworn that she felt a chill wind blow across the café terrace. But the scalloped edge of the green awning did not so much as flutter.

He was playing games, she thought. Why? Were the rumors right after all? Had he returned to Avalon on a mission of vengeance?

Trask sampled his coffee. The hard line of his mouth curved in rueful dismay. “The quest goes on.”

Alexa tensed. “What quest?”

“I've been looking for a decent cup of coffee ever since I arrived in town. So far no luck.”

Foster laughed. “I've heard that people from Seattle have an obsession with coffee.”

Alexa raised her brows. “If you want coffee, Trask, you came to the wrong place. Café Solstice is known for its tea. The owner blends it himself.”

“Looks like I've got a problem,” Trask said.

“Could be.” Alexa had had enough. She scooped up the festival binder and rose to her feet. “You just said you don't
put much stock in metaphysics, Trask, but maybe the fact that both our scenery and our tea leaves you cold is a sign that you won't be staying too long in Avalon.”

“Depends.”

“On what?” she snapped.

“On whether I find something else besides the scenery and the tea here. Something that won't leave me cold.”

7
 

The Guardian drank the last of the herbal tea and watched the rays of the setting sun paint the canyons and spires of Avalon in shades of rust and blood.

Night descended. After a while, the outlines of reality shifted, altered, and took on new dimensions.

Here in this realm of enhanced consciousness the power and direction of the energy vortices were clear and easy to analyze if one was gifted, as the Guardian was, with the ability to see the deeper truths.

The vortices were in flux, as expected. Trask's arrival, after all, had been anticipated for months. The harmonic balance of powers in the region had shifted violently. The negative energy fields were surging to the surface.

It was a dangerous state of affairs, this imbalance in the vortices. But the Guardian reveled in it, drew power from it.

The Guardian went deeper into the trance, found
the place where the most volatile energy pulsed and seethed.

After a while, when the time was right, the Guardian surrendered to the swirling forces with a shuddering cry of raw, sexual release that reverberated endlessly against the cavern walls.

The climax was a real mind-blower. But then, it had been twelve years since the last really good one.

8
 

She kept her promise to Edward. She wore black to the opening night gala at the resort, and as soon as she was inside the lobby, she made every effort to fade into the woodwork.

Alexa drifted, ghostlike, along the fringes of the crowd and listened to the scraps of conversation around her. She was careful to keep a watchful eye on Trask, making certain that they were separated by a sea of people or a jungle of potted palms.

There were several familiar faces in the throng. She exchanged nods with some friends of Vivien's and Lloyd's and smiled at a couple of Elegant Relic customers. Although all the local VIPs were present, including the mayor and her husband, many of those in attendance were from out of town. In addition to the architect, design, and construction teams that had worked on the resort project, there were representatives of various sectors of the tour industry.

Travel writers from the Tucson and Phoenix papers were among the invitees, and the reporter from
Twentieth-Century Artifact
had arrived.

The sheer numbers present made it easy to remain unobtrusive. Alexa told herself that all she had to worry about was staying out of Trask's path.

It was not difficult to know where he was in the room at any given moment. Some sixth sense warned her whenever the natural ebb and flow of the crowd brought him too close.

The odds of accidentally stumbling into him were minimal, she thought. Even if she had been trying to get close, she would have had to work at it. As the host for the occasion, he was constantly surrounded.

A tall, statuesque, middle-aged woman wearing a pair of red-framed reading glasses and a no-nonsense haircut hovered constantly at Trask's elbow. Alexa concluded that she was Glenda Blaine, the Avalon Resorts, Inc., PR person Edward had mentioned.

Center of attention though he was, Trask was not the only major attraction in the room tonight. Many of those who could not get close to him formed a tight cluster around the charismatic figure of Webster Bell, the head of the Dimensions Institute.

Alexa halted near a pillar and watched Bell for a moment. She had spoken with him on occasion when he had visited his half-sister, Joanna, at her shop in Avalon Plaza. He had always been gallant and charming.

Webster would have been hard to miss in any gathering. He had what, in the theatrical world, was called
presence
. Tall and dynamic, he was endowed with a rugged, handsomely weathered face that would have done credit to one of the legendary gunslingers of old Arizona.

Bell was somewhere in his early sixties. He wore his silver hair in a ponytail secured with a black thong. His rakish black shirt and black trousers were set off with a wide silver and turquoise-studded belt. There was another loop of turquoise and silver around his throat. It matched the bracelet that circled his wrist.

Many in the crowd wore similar bracelets. They were fashionable among the locals and sold well to souvenir-seeking visitors. Alexa thought about the one that Foster had given her. It was an expensive version, made with real silver and quality turquoise, unlike the cheap imitations the tourists bought in large quantities. Presently, it was sitting in the bottom drawer of her jewelry case.

“There you are, Alexa.” Edward, resplendent in an all-white tux, materialized at her elbow. “Personally, I can't usually abide the guru type, but I have to admit that Bell seems decent enough. He certainly cuts an impressive figure.”

Alexa grinned. “I suspect there's a bit of the showman inside every successful guru.”

“True.” Edward popped a canapé into his mouth and munched. “I'm a little surprised to see that he was invited to Trask's opening.”

“Professional courtesy,” Alexa said. “When you stop and think about it, he and Trask are both in the hotel business.”

“You have a point. From what I hear, the Dimensions Institute gets almost as many paying guests each year as a major resort.”

“Bell and Trask have something else in common,” Alexa said. “They're both catering to the high end of the market. Being trendy has its price. It costs
as much to stay at Dimensions for a week as it does to stay at an Avalon Resort.”

“Given the choice, I'll take a week at an Avalon resort over two weeks at Dimensions, any day.” Edward shuddered. “At least at an Avalon hotel the client isn't forced to eat tofu and meditate with crystals.”

“There is that.” Alexa turned around to face him. “Level with me, Edward. What is the art crowd saying about my collection tonight?”

“They're going wild over it.” Edward chuckled. “You should hear the reporter from
TCA
. He's raving about the depth and scope of the collection. No one knows it yet, but you, my dear, are a brilliant success. In the meantime, I, of course, am accepting all the credit.”

An exuberant anticipation bubbled up inside Alexa. “I can live with that for now.”

“I'm going to take a little group through the east wing to look at the Deskey textiles and the Steuben glass.” Edward cocked a brow. “Want to trail along behind us and listen in?”

“No, thanks. I think I'll take my own private tour.”

“Just be sure you stay out of Trask's path.”

“Don't worry,” Alexa said. “He's too busy with his guests to notice me tonight.”

“You're probably right. Still, we wouldn't want to take any chances.”

“Don't worry, I have it on good authority that I'm the risk-averse type.”

“Who told you that?”

“My therapist.”

Edward gave her an amused, skeptical look. “If you're so risk-averse,
why are you here tonight?”

She tightened her hand around the strap of her small evening bag. “Because tonight is very, very important to me.”

Edward gave her a knowing look. “Some risks are worth taking, aren't they?”

“Yes.”

“Don't worry, Alexa. It's all going to work out. You'll see. In a few months, you'll be back in business.”

“For myself, this time,” she vowed. “If there's one thing I've learned since McClelland left me to the wolves, it's that I much prefer to be my own boss.”