Fired Up (Dreamlight Trilogy #1)(52)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Nicholas was very explicit about the price exacted by the first two talents,” she said carefully. “I wonder if he was being more literal than you think.”

Jack watched her very steadily. “He also wrote that only the woman able to work the lamp could halt or reverse the transformation into a Cerberus.”

Her pulse picked up, and her chest tightened. “Oh, geez. Talk about pressure. Listen, Jack, you look pretty normal to me this morning. And you said you felt good.”

He smiled slightly, eyes heating. “Thanks to you.”

“Yes, well—”

The burbling of her phone interrupted her. Startled, she dove into her purse and came up with the device.

“Uncle Edward? Is something wrong?”

“I got a call from your assistant, Rose, a few minutes ago. She said Drake Stone contacted her this morning. He’s trying to get in touch with you. Said it was very important that he talk to you. Thought I’d better pass the message along.”

A sliver of alarm sliced through her senses. “I’ll call him right away. Thanks, Uncle Edward.” She crossed her fingers under the table. “Oh, and the lamp worked.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes, it is. We don’t need it anymore, so J&J is sending someone to collect it and take it to an Arcane vault.”

“Best place for it,” Edward said. “Arcane knows how to take care of that sort of thing.”

“Thanks, again, for everything yesterday.”

“No problem. Your client will receive my bill when this is all over.”

She ended the call and looked at Jack. “I have to call Drake Stone. He got in touch with Rose this morning. Something about needing to talk to me immediately.”

Jack lowered his fork. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She punched in the number Edward had given her. A woman answered on the second ring.

“Stone residence,” a woman said.

The voice was chirpy. Different housekeeper, Chloe noticed.

“This is Chloe Harper,” she said. “I’m returning a call to Mr. Stone.”

“Yes, Miss Harper. Please hold.”

Stone took the call immediately.

“Chloe, thanks for getting back to me.” Drake sounded strained and tense.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Stone?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I had a rather strange experience last night. Someone came to see me here at the house. I think it was about the lamp.”

A sense of urgency tightened her breathing. She was aware of Jack watching her with a steady look.

“You think it was about the lamp?” she said carefully.

“That’s the weird part,” Drake said. “I can’t quite remember the conversation. I admit that this was after the show and that I’d had two or three drinks to unwind before going to bed. That could explain my memory problems. But what really bothers me is that this morning I checked with the guard at the front gate.”

“And?” Chloe asked.

“According to the log and the guy who was on duty last night, I had no visitors.”

35

THE UNIFORMED GUARD WAVED THEM THROUGH THE GATE. Jack drove along the tree-lined drive and stopped the car in front of Stone’s Mediterranean villa. Chloe grabbed her satchel, popped open the door and slid out of the front seat.

The late morning sun was bright, but the temperature was still in the low sixties. The chill she felt, however, had nothing to do with the brisk air. Her senses were fluttering the way they did whenever she walked past the entrances of dark alleys or entered a parking garage late at night. Most people try to ignore their intuition. But when you have been raised by people who accept the psychic side of their natures as natural, you learn to pay attention.

She walked with Jack along the stone path to the imposing, colonnaded entrance of the big house. As usual, Jack carried the leather duffel containing the lamp and his computer case. He pressed the doorbell.

“I still can’t believe I’m actually working for J&J,” Chloe said mournfully. “How the Harper family standards have fallen.”

“Look at it this way,” Jack said. “Jones pays well.”

“Do you really think that Fallon’s theory is correct?” she asked. “Do you believe that Nightshade actually sent a para-hypnotist here to interrogate Mr. Stone last night?”

“Who knows?” Jack said. “This is Fallon’s conspiracy theory we’re dealing with. Given his current worldview, everything is about Nightshade.”

They had called Fallon Jones immediately after Chloe had ended her conversation with Stone. Fallon had been almost apoplectic with urgency. “Go see him right now. Talk to him. Get every damn detail you can out of him. Take a good look at Stone’s dreamprints, Chloe. Sounds like he and the guard were given a hypnotic suggestion to encourage them to forget whoever came to see Stone. I want a full report as soon as you’re finished.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Jones, but are you trying to hire me to do a job for you?”

“You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? Not like I’ve got anyone else I can use on such short notice. Send me a bill later.”

She opened her senses and studied the front steps. Psi light glowed faintly on the sun-washed tiles. A thrill of awareness swept through her.

“There was definitely a strong talent of some kind here recently,” she said. “A woman. I can see her prints. They weren’t here a couple days ago. Must be from yesterday.”

Jack looked at her, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses of his dark glasses. “You’re sure it was a woman?”

“Yes.” She pushed her senses a little higher and concentrated harder. “But there’s no evidence of instability, not like there was in the energy of the prints of the guys who tried to kill us at the motel yesterday.”

“Fallon said that the psychic instability is a side effect of the drug Nightshade is using.”

“Well, whoever she is, I could swear that the woman who came to see Stone is not taking the formula.”

“So much for Fallon’s conspiracy theory.”

The door opened. A housekeeper stood in the hall. She was definitely not the same woman who had greeted them earlier. The other one had looked the part—middle-aged with work-worn hands and a polite, quietly efficient air. This woman was a lot younger and considerably more attractive. Her blond hair was in a frisky ponytail, and she was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a snug, low-cut yellow blouse that emphasized her bust.