Running Hot (The Arcane Society #5)(47)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Shocked, he took a quick step back. Then he realized there was something familiar about the dark trousers and the running shoe. Fear sparked through him.

“Clayton?” he said.

The figure did not move.

He crouched to make sure. There was just enough light from the footpath lamp to reveal Clayton’s face. The bodyguard’s eyes were closed. He was not moving but he was breathing. Blood that looked black in the poor light partially bathed his face.

Part of Eubanks continued to focus on the lilting music while another part tried to concentrate on the fact that someone had lured his bodyguard into the gardens and knocked him unconscious with a seriously blunt object. There wasn’t much that could catch a high-level hunter off guard, even one who was only partially enhanced.

Run. Get the hell out of here.

He leaped to his feet, turning quickly to scan his surroundings. It was impossible to make out anything in the shadows. He started back the way he had come.

But the music came to him out of the night, stronger and more powerful now. The singer was close. He could not resist, even though his mind was screaming at him to get to safety.

Against his will, he reversed course and went deeper into the gardens. Slowly, fighting each step, he crossed a small footbridge over an ink-colored koi pond. Something splashed in the dark waters. Now he could see the graceful silhouette of the moonlit wedding chapel. The singing came from within.

He went up the steps and through the open door. The structure was not illuminated but there was enough silvery light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows to allow him to see the figure standing at the front of the room. The singer was dressed in a long white spa robe, her features shadowed by the hood drawn up over her head. She looked like some ethereal being from another dimension.

Fascinated, he moved down the aisle, unable to resist the compulsion of the music. The singer opened her arms to him. Her voice rose higher, becoming a splashing crystal fountain of perfect and somehow terrifying notes.

The pain began then, alternately searing and then freezing his senses. It spread swiftly. The sudden headache was excruciating.

He finally understood that the singer was killing him. Someone had arranged his murder.

This could not be happening, not to him. He was destined for power and greatness. He had killed three women to get this far.

He fell, drowning in darkness. A horrifying thought came to him. Was the woman who was killing him with her music the ghost of one of the three he had murdered?

The crystalline notes followed him into the depths.

And then there was nothing.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Luther opened his eyes to sunlight streaming through palm fronds, the incredibly satisfying sensation of Grace curled around him, and the annoying trill of his phone. The sunshine and the phone were standard issue when it came to mornings. The feeling of Grace cuddled next to him was anything but. Only one night of having her here in his bed and he was already addicted.

Reluctantly he eased away from Grace’s soft warmth, sat up on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. He got a little jolt of adrenaline when he saw the familiar code.

“What have you got, Fallon?”

“Eubanks is dead,” Fallon said. The anticipation of the hunter rumbled through his bearlike voice. “His body was discovered in the wedding chapel by a member of the hotel janitorial staff a few hours ago. Looks like he died around midnight last night. The authorities are calling it a stroke. No signs of violence.”

“The Siren made her kill.”

“That she did. Now we get to sit back and watch. Can’t wait to see who takes Eubanks’s place. When we find out, we may know who commissioned the murder.”

“What about the Siren?”

“She fulfilled her contract. If she’s a real pro, as I suspect, she’ll probably just disappear.”

“But you’re looking for her, right?”

“Sure.” Fallon paused. “Well, Sweetwater’s looking for her, which is even better.”

“This isn’t Sweetwater’s responsibility. She’s a sensitive. That makes her a J&J job, your job.”

“Malone, I gotta tell you that at the moment she is not high on my to-do list.” Fallon’s voice was shaded with an uncharacteristic anger. He frequently got impatient and was often annoyed but he rarely succumbed to strong emotion like this. “I’ve got too many other things going on. As long as she sticks to killing Nightshade people, I’ve got no beef with her.”

“She tried to murder Grace and an innocent bystander.”

“From the way Grace described things, the incident sounds like it may have been an accident.”

“How the hell can you call attempted murder an accident?”

“Okay, okay, not exactly an accident,” Fallon muttered. “More along the lines of a wrong-place, wrong-time thing. What I’m trying to say is that there’s no sign that she was after Grace or the housekeeper. They interrupted her.”

“So now it’s Grace’s and the housekeeper’s fault that they almost got killed?”

“Damn it, stop putting words in my mouth,” Fallon growled. “Grace said the Siren was in heavy disguise. That means that, as far as the singer knows, there’s no way Grace can identify her. Ergo, she has no reason to go after her. Get the picture?”

“You and I both know that Grace can identify her aura.”

“Only if the two of them come face-to-face again,” Fallon shot back. “And what are the odds of that?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Look, the Siren has no way of knowing Grace’s identity, let alone her whereabouts or that she’s an aura reader. Take it from me, Grace is not in danger. As for the Siren, Sweetwater can do a better job of finding her than I can. She operates in his world. He’s got the connections it’s going to take to track her down.”

“How high is she on Sweetwater’s to-do list?”

“Right at the top,” Fallon said, flat and brusque. “Seems Harry’s a tad irritated to find out that he’s got some upscale sensitive competition that he didn’t even know existed.”

“What if Grace is right about the Siren being an obsessive type? What if she becomes obsessed with Grace because of what happened on Maui?”

“Then we would have a problem,” Fallon agreed in the tone of voice one used to placate a kid who won’t stop asking questions. “But like I said, we’re talking about a pro. Trust me on this, she’s in the wind, long gone.”