Fired Up (Dreamlight Trilogy #1)(8)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

She blinked, startled. Then she laughed. “Never better, Mr. Jones. I’m pregnant. I’m surprised you noticed, though. I’m just a little over two months along.”

Fallon felt himself redden. “Congratulations. Guess it’s true what they say about the glow, huh?” He switched his attention to Luther. “But that doesn’t explain why I’m picking up the same energy around you, Malone.”

Grace smiled. “We’re happy, Mr. Jones. You should try it sometime.”

She went out onto the landing. Luther followed her, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later Fallon watched them drive away, and he was alone again.

He used to like being alone. He needed to be alone. Most of the time.

He pulled his thoughts back to the present and contemplated the cheery light of the Sunshine Café. He’d called in Grace and Luther to give Isabella Valdez their seal of approval because for some bizarre reason he did not trust his own judgment. The uncertainty was not like him. He was usually confident in his own powers of logic and observation.

Grace and Luther might have cleared Isabella, but his own intuition was warning him that there were mysteries swirling around her.

After a while he went back to his desk, sat down and took another look at the newspaper article displayed on the computer. He routinely scanned the online editions of nearly two dozen West Coast dailies every morning, hoping for subtle indications of Nightshade activity. The organization was sophisticated and operated under deep cover. It did not engage in the kind of overt criminal activity that would be likely to draw the attention of the authorities.

But for some reason it was a routine crime story that had caught his attention recently. The piece had first appeared several days ago, but every morning he reread it. Something in the report sent tiny currents of awareness whispering through him. No matter how often he read it, though, he could not figure out what it was that triggered his senses.

SUSPECT IN KILLINSS FOUND DEAD. LAST VICTIM SURVIVES ATTACK.

Seattle: A man identified as Aaron Paul Hanney, believed to have been responsible for the rape and murder of at least two women, was found dead in an alley in the Capitol Hill neighborhood last night. A third woman, Sharon Billings, told police that she escaped Hanney thanks to the intervention of a passerby who confronted her attacker. Hanney collapsed and died at the scene. An autopsy has been ordered, but authorities said the cause of death appears to have been a heart attack.

Miss Billings gave a statement to the police. In it she said that she was unable to identify the man who came to her rescue due to the fact that the lighting was so poor.

Authorities are asking the man who went to the aid of Sharon Billings to contact the police immediately.

There was something important here, Fallon thought. But he did not have time to pursue it this afternoon. He closed the heavily encrypted laptop, rose, grabbed a leather jacket off the coatrack, and left the office.

He kept plenty of high-test coffee on hand. It was his drug of choice these days. But lately he’d gotten into the habit of going across the street to drink a couple of cups of coffee at the Sunshine while he made notes and organized his thoughts.

Outside on Scargill’s twisty little main street the air was chill and damp. He went toward the Sunshine, drawn by the aura of warmth and light.

Like a stupid moth to a flame, he thought.

4

THIS WAS NOT GOING WELL, JACK MUSED. CHLOE HARPER HAD concluded that he was delusional. He could see it in her eyes. He’d been called a variety of names, including ruthless, demanding and driven—Shannon had come up with all three descriptors just before she filed for divorce—but he was pretty sure that until now no one had considered him full-on crazy. Of course, until today he hadn’t told anyone that he was becoming a psychic monster, either.

Shouldn’t have tried to explain that I was Old Nick’s descendant. Why had he done that? He hadn’t intended to mention his ancestral connection to the lamp. That had been uncharacteristically stupid.

Shouldn’t have told her to name her price, either. That had been a serious mistake. She might well be the shady operator that the J&J files indicated but simple, straightforward greed was not her chief weakness. Her vulnerable spot lay in another direction altogether. He knew that for certain, because his talent had picked up the vibes two minutes after walking into her office.

Chloe Harper was a natural-born rescuer. She probably took on all sorts of deadbeat clients who never paid their bills. She was the type who fell for a good sob story. The tattooed receptionist had the old-beyond-her-years eyes of a young woman who had spent a lot of time living on the streets. The rangy mongrel sprawled in the corner had probably come from a shelter or the nearest alley.

The rescuer thing wasn’t what he had expected, but he could work with it. He felt a small twinge of guilt because he was preparing to manipulate her, but he knew he’d get over it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was here under false pretenses. He really did need rescuing. All he had to do was convince her of the truth, and he would regain control of the situation. He’d have her in the palm of his hand.

“I’ve got nowhere else to turn,” he said quietly. “You’re my only hope.”

“Really?”

Looking spectacularly unconvinced, she got up and walked around to the front of her desk. A trickle of unease sparked across his senses. Her change of position in the room had been very casual, maybe a little too smooth. He wondered if she was getting ready to sic the dog on him while she made a run for the door. Maybe he was scaring her. Not that she looked frightened, he thought. If anything, she appeared interested, maybe curious. Intrigued.

Interested, curious and intrigued didn’t begin to describe his reaction to her. Until he had walked into her office all he had known about her was what he’d lifted from the J&J files. Her entire family had an extensive and wide-ranging history with Arcane, very little of it reputable. He’d figured that was a plus for him. According to the files, she was ideal for his purposes, a strong dreamlight reader who had connections in the gray world of the underground collectors’ market. And she lived in Seattle. Talk about convenient. The other dreamlight talents he’d located on the West Coast were down in California.

Chloe was perfect.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the heat lightning of sexual awareness that had crackled through him when he saw her sitting there, prim and composed, behind her desk. It was as if some elemental force deep inside him was stirring. That was not good. What with the blackouts, the nightmares, the hallucinations and the very real possibility that he might have to go on the run for the rest of his weird life, he had enough to deal with. He definitely should not be thinking about sleeping with the private investigator he was trying to hire.