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the cops could scare the kidnapper into doing something desperate. Something that might make Fenwick’s situation worse than it already is.”
    “Oh, my God.” Alarm flashed across Zinnia’s vibrant face. “I hadn’t thought of that. What are we going to do?”
    Now, finally it was we. Much better, Nick thought. At least she was not going to run straight to the cops tonight. “Give me a chance to make a few inquiries.”
    “Inquiries?”
    “In my business I get to know a lot of people,” he said, deliberately vague. “All kinds of people. I may be able to turn up some rumors on the street.”
    She hesitated. “You think some of your, uh, associates might know something about poor Morris?”
    He didn’t care for the emphasis she placed on the word associates. She obviously assumed he consorted with a less-than-socially-acceptable crowd. The assumption wasn’t that far off the mark. He was planning to change all that, but he figured this was not the time or place to explain his grand scheme to become respectable.
    “Kidnapping is not a simple crime,” he explained in what he hoped was a calm, reasonable tone. “It requires planning and coordination. There’s usually more than one person involved and that means that, sooner or later, there will be rumors and leaks.”
    “But it could be days before one of the kidnappers lets some vital piece of information slip. Who knows what they’ll do to poor Morris in the meantime? If he does tell them where the journal is, they may kill him once they’ve got their hands on it.”
    “Assuming he’s been kidnapped in the first place.”
    “The more I think about this, the more I’m convinced that’s exactly what’s happened.”
    Nick almost smiled. “Careful, Miss Spring. Common wisdom has it that matrix-talents are the ones who have a tendency to succumb to conspiracy theories. But you’re doing a damned good job of it.”
    Bright color bloomed in her cheeks. She glowered at him as she reached for the doorknob. “Speaking of matrix-talents. You may be interested to know that a very big matrix, possibly a class-ten in my professional opinion, is working one of your gin-poker tables.”
    For an instant everything in Nick’s world, including the blood in his veins stilled. He stared at Zinnia.
    “How do you know that?” he asked so quietly that he was almost surprised she heard him. “Tell me.”
    She was suddenly very busy opening the door. “I accidentally brushed up against him on the metaphysical plane. He was questing for a prism. I sensed him and started to respond. It was an instinctive thing. I stopped as soon as I realized what had happened.”
    “How long ago was this?”
    “I ran into him, so to speak, just before I came up here.” She looked briefly amused. “Calm down, Mr. Chastain. I’m sure your security people will catch him before he cleans out the casino bank.”
    He flattened his palms on the desk. “Are you certain?”
    “About the matrix downstairs? Oh, yes. I know they’re rare, but no prism could mistake a matrix. By the way, you might want to tell your security personnel to be careful. I’ve never encountered a really strong matrix-talent before but I have a hunch that this one could be dangerous if cornered or provoked.”
    She went out the door and closed it hastily behind her.
    Nick sank slowly down onto his chair.
    She was the one.
    Zinnia was the powerful prism he had collided with and briefly captured when he tried to use his talent to assess Hobart Batt. She had picked him up even though she had been one whole floor below him at the time.
    His finely tuned brain failed to function properly for at least thirty seconds. He felt as if the matrix of his world had just been thoroughly scrambled.
    With an heroic effort of will, he pulled himself together and punched the intercom button on the gilded phone.
    Feather answered immediately. “I’m here, boss.”
    “Follow Miss Spring. Discreetly. Make sure she gets home safely.