In Too Deep (Looking Glass Trilogy #1)(51)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Sensation and the heat of desire carried him on a relentless tide. The knowledge that Isabella was riding the same wave thrilled him beyond measure.

When she came undone in a storm of energy, he followed her over the edge into the endless night.

25

She came back to her senses a long time later, aware of a faint rustling sound. Fallon was no longer in the bed.

She opened her eyes and saw him dressing by the light of the moon. She pushed herself up on her elbows and watched him tuck the white shirt into the waistband of his trousers. She was not sure whether to be amused or annoyed or hurt.

"You’re leaving?" she asked, trying not to show any emotions at all.

"If I stay here until morning, there’s a good chance that someone will see me leaving your room."

She relaxed, smiling a little. "I told you, everyone at the conference already knows we’re sleeping together."

"I don’t have a problem with that."

He walked to the bed, bent down and braced a hand on either side of her. He kissed her, his mouth deliciously rough on hers. It was a branding kiss, she decided. He was letting her know that on this level she belonged to him. He straightened reluctantly.

"But there’s something called discretion," he said.

"Gosh. Haven’t heard that word used in a long time. You are aware that’s another old-fashioned concept?"

"Is it?"

"Yeah, but it’s very sweet." She yawned and waved a hand toward the door. "Go on back to your room. I’ll see you in the morning."

"Breakfast at six-twenty. I want to talk to Zack before we leave and then I’ve got to say good-bye to my parents. Plane leaves at eight. I haven’t told the pilot that we’re making a detour. I’ll inform him just before we take off."

"Why not let him know earlier so he can revise the flight plan?"

"Just a precaution." He went to the table and collected his cuff links. "No sense advertising our schedule in advance."

A tiny chill shivered through her. "You don’t want anyone to know that you’re investigating my grandmother’s death, do you?"

"Zack and Raine know."

"Sure, but they won’t say anything because they’ve got the same concern that you do. My point is that the three of you don’t want folks on the Council to suspect that you’re wasting valuable time and money checking out a conspiracy theory about the murder of a known crackpot."

His hand closed tightly around the cuff links. He watched her steadily. "I didn’t say that."

"But it’s what you’re thinking."

"What I’m thinking," he said evenly, "is that the fewer people who know that I’m looking into your grandmother’s death, the better. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Ha. With you there’s always something more. But never mind. I understand. Heck, I even agree with you. The fewer people who know about this, the better. See you in the morning, Fallon."

For a moment he did not move. She held her breath, wondering if he was reconsidering his decision to leave. But after a couple of seconds he went to the door, opened it and checked the hall.

"Lock the door after I leave," he ordered.

"Yeah, sure."

She waited until he moved out into the hall and shut the door before she got out of bed. She padded barefoot across the room and put on the safety lock. There was no sound out in the corridor for at least three full seconds. Then the light shifted under the door. She knew that Fallon had finally walked back to his room at the end of the hall.

She crawled into bed, pulled up the covers and pondered the ceiling for a very long time.

After a while she drifted off and tumbled into a troubled dream in which her grandmother appeared in the heart of a storm of icy fog. Grandma was speaking, trying to send a warning, but as was so often the case in dreams, the words made no sense.

SHE CAME AWAKE on a current of fear, pulse racing, heart pounding. The primal instincts of childhood took over. Do not move. Maybe the monster under the bed won’t see you.

She forced the crushing wave of panic aside, but she remained very still. Her other sight, aroused by the surge of adrenaline, was already at full throttle and sending her a confusing flood of stimulation. The psychic senses operated both independently and in conjunction with the normal senses. Engaging one’s talent without also getting feedback from the regular senses could be wildly disorienting unless a person was accustomed to dealing with only the psychic sense.

Cautiously she opened her eyes partway. She was curled on her side, facing the sliding glass doors that opened onto the little patio.

The curtains were still parted, allowing moonlight to slant into the room. But something was different. The atmosphere was much chillier than it had been earlier. She realized that she was inhaling the fresh, clean scents of the desert night, not air-conditioning. As she watched, the edge of one of the curtains fluttered.

The sliding glass door was partially open. Paranormal fog boiled through the entrance. Someone had entered the room. She remained frozen for another instant, trying to adjust to the shock.

And then she tried frantically to leap from the bed. She discovered she could not move.

"I know you’re awake." The voice came out of the shadows behind her, the voice of an irritatingly unctuous salesman. "I’ve used my talent to trap you in the twilight zone between sleep and wakefulness. Don’t bother trying to move. You can’t even twiddle your thumbs."

The hot acid of adrenaline splashed through her. She struggled desperately to get to her feet and managed to twitch, if not actually twiddle her thumbs. Her left foot jerked an inch. That was more than the intruder expected but not nearly enough to get her out of bed and through the sliding glass door to safety.

Damn it, Fallon, why didn’t you stay? This wouldn’t have happened if you’d been here with me where you belong. You see where those old-fashioned notions of discretion get you?

She stared fixedly at the open window, fighting the terrible panic so that she could concentrate on her psychic senses. They seemed to be fully functional. She had no problem perceiving the river of hot fog that seethed and roiled across the floor and past the foot of the bed.

"You can talk," the intruder said, "but if you try to scream, I’ll have to use more energy to silence you. You won’t like it, trust me."

"What do you want?" She tried to speak as loudly as possible, testing her voice. But the words emerged as a thin whisper.

"I won’t hurt you. I don’t do that kind of work. I’m staying out of your range of vision because that’s one of my policies. Clients and those who receive the message never see my face."