Running Hot (The Arcane Society #5)(70)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

Grace turned very suddenly, gripping the back of the seat with one hand, her eyes huge in the shadows.

“No,” she whispered.

“Do it,” Fallon said. He ended the connection.

Luther gave Grace a reassuring smile.

“Relax,” he said. “What could possibly go wrong?”

FORTY-TWO

Grace stalked back across the hotel room, arms twisted around her middle. She could not seem to stop shivering. Luther had dropped her off nearly twenty minutes earlier. Surely he was inside Vivien Ryan’s suite by now. He was an ex-cop, she reminded herself. He knew what he was doing. Besides, the second act of The Magic Flute hadn’t even concluded yet. Right now the Queen was probably onstage singing her shattering aria about making her own daughter kill her father.

There was plenty of time, Grace thought. Ryan would not leave the theater until she had received her awed fans in her dressing room. She was a diva in the truest sense of the word; she needed adulation the same way she needed oxygen. It was all there in her aura.

Grace reached the far wall, turned and started back across the room. Why couldn’t she get rid of this terrible, creeping unease? All her senses were raw. Only deep breathing and the near-constant pacing were keeping the incipient panic attack at bay. It dawned on her that what she was experiencing was something quite new. She was used to looking out for herself. But now, for the first time since her mother had died, she was terrified because someone else was in danger.

As close as she had been to Martin Crocker, she had never known this kind of anxiety, not even when she realized he was sliding deeper under the spell of the drug. She and Martin had been friends and business associates. There had been affection between them but never love. In the end all she had felt for Martin was a sense of sadness and regret and betrayal. And then her razor-sharp survival reflexes had taken over, as they always did.

But with Luther, everything was different. His safety mattered more to her than her own.

I’m in love.

The realization brought her to an abrupt halt in front of the desk. She gazed down into the glowing screen.

I’m in love.

A strange sensation of release flashed through her. So this was what it was like to fall in love. It wasn’t the passion she had experienced in Luther’s arms. It wasn’t the fact that they understood and accepted each other’s talents and each other’s pasts. What she felt for Luther encompassed all those things but there was something else, a bond that was truly, unmistakably psychic in nature; a connection that hovered just beyond the reach of mere words. Love was as close as she could come to a description but even it wasn’t enough. She knew then that whatever fate might bring, she would carry Luther in her heart for the rest of her life.

No wonder they wrote operas based on over-the-top emotions like this, she thought, dazed. At the same time, there was an unnerving downside. She was now vulnerable in ways she had never known before.

It’s not just about me anymore, she thought, and smiled a little.

“Okay, so I’m in love,” she said to the illuminated screen. “That still doesn’t explain why I’m standing here talking to a computer and having a panic attack.”

Her phone rang, jarring her so badly she gasped aloud and jumped at least half a foot. Feeling like an absolute idiot, she hurried to her purse and fished out the device. Fallon Jones’s code was displayed on the small screen.

“Mr. Jones,” she said. “This is Grace.”

“You okay? You sound breathless.”

“It’s nothing. I’m waiting for Luther to get back from searching Vivien Ryan’s hotel suite. I’m a little anxious.”

“Calm down. Luther knows what he’s doing. I’m calling because the agent I sent to check out William Craigmore’s house found a wall safe. One of our cryptos was able to open it. They found some interesting records inside. Craigmore was La Sirène’s father.”

Shocked, Grace sank down onto the bed. “Are you serious, sir?”

“Grace, you should know by now that I am always serious. There’s more. Vivien Ryan has a half sister. Her name is Damaris Kemble.”

“Is she a singer, too?”

“No. Evidently Damaris got a version of Craigmore’s talent. She’s a Crystal generator.”

“Do you think she’s involved in any of this?”

“We’re looking into that angle now.”

Grace shoved her fingers through her hair, trying to think. “There was no record of Vivien Ryan having a half sister in the genealogy files. I thought you told Luther that Craigmore couldn’t father children.”

“Turns out that when he was in his early twenties, before he went to work for that no-name government agency, he deposited his sperm at a clinic that was run exclusively for members of the Society.”

Grace froze the way she had when La Sirène sang the high F.

“The Burnside Clinic?” she whispered.

“Right. Place burned to the ground years ago. All the records were destroyed. But I’ve got a hunch that Craigmore may have been responsible for that bit of arson because he had the files on his own offspring tucked away in his safe. Looks like he went in, grabbed the records he wanted and then burned down the clinic.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I told you, the man spent decades working for a clandestine government agency. The business teaches you to be paranoid. He probably wanted to make sure there was no way one of his offspring could blow his cover.”

“How . . . how many daughters did he have?” Grace whispered. She realized she was holding her breath.

“Two, Vivien and Damaris.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, not knowing whether to be relieved or dismayed. “You’re sure there were only two?”

“He was very clear about it in his notes. He was determined to track down all of his progeny and was disappointed to find only the two girls.”

“I see.”

“You’re not his daughter, Grace.” Fallon’s voice was disconcertingly gentle. “Think about it. I’m sure you checked out your father’s profile. Your mother put it into the genealogical records when she registered you. It’s very different from Craigmore’s. For starters, his eyes were brown. And he was a crystal generator, not a strat.”

She felt like the Titanic shortly after it encountered the iceberg.

“You know that I came from the Burnside Clinic?” she managed.