Sizzle and Burn (The Arcane Society #3)(44)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“You mean Quinn ran out on his bar bill?”

“That’s the way the bartender interpreted events. Quinn didn’t pay for the beers. Didn’t leave a tip. Just went to the restroom and never came back.”

She realized that Zack was studying the opening that led to the restrooms.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that, according to Fallon, the trail Quinn left stops very abruptly in Oriana. Maybe it came to an end right here in the Alley Door.”

“You think Quinn might have been kidnapped out of this club?”

“All we know for sure at this point is that he was here on the evening of the twentieth. After that, he vanishes.”

She could feel the energy shimmering around Zack. It was the same kind of dangerous aura she had sensed emanating from him the night before, when he showed up at her door fresh from combat.

The weird part was that his heightened psychic energy was stirring all her senses, too. Anticipation and an excitement raced through her.

She leaned closer. “What are you going to do now?”

“What Quinn did after he had three beers. I’m going to the restroom.”

She put her hand on his arm, needing to touch him. “Please be careful. I’ve seen a lot of movies that feature scenes in the men’s room. Things always go badly.”

“Don’t worry.” He patted her hand reassuringly. “I’ve seen some of those movies, too.”

Thirty-two

He chose a path to the restroom that looked like it would have been the logical route for a man who had been seated at the bar. He was running hot now, all his senses, normal and paranormal, aroused and humming with anticipation. The cold thrill of the hunt was upon him.

He knew Raine had sensed the energy burning through him, knew that it had triggered a response from her own parasenses. The bond between them was growing stronger, whether she realized it or not.

He went down the dimly lit hall and pushed open the door marked MEN. There were three people inside—two at the urinals, one in a stall. He walked across the small, tiled room, trying not to look like some kind of pervert while he searched for traces of old violence.

The problem wasn’t the lack of residual psychic energy. It was a typical restroom and it had seen its share of dramatic human moments. Jacked up like this, the visions were disorienting but, for the most part, faint and unfocused. He detected the dull miasma left by years of hastily staged sexual encounters, illicit drug use, violent, stomach-churning illness and rage.

The last caught his attention. The violent anger was startlingly new, maybe from tonight. It emanated from one of the sinks. He washed his hands while he concentrated on it for a few seconds. The visions were those of a man who had just learned that his wife was sleeping with another man. He hoped the poor bastard had gotten himself back under control before he returned to the table.

As he had expected, the door handle gave off so many layers of static that it was impossible to sort them out. Door handles collected psychic energy like sponges.

By the time he had concluded his brief survey the two men at the urinals were giving him uneasy looks. He let himself back out into the hall.

Well, it had been a long shot, he reminded himself.

He continued along the hall to the emergency exit door. It was an obvious way out of the building for someone bent on evading a bar tab.

The door was not alarmed. He tested it cautiously with one hand and picked up only the usual door handle mush.

He went out into the alley. The door closed heavily behind him. He stood for a moment, absorbing impressions across the spectrum. The crisp night air carried the scent of garbage from a large, commercial-sized steel container. There was a second bin marked GLASS ONLY. It reeked of stale wine and beer. A couple of rats studied him from beneath the shelter of the garbage container and then scurried away into the night.

He hadn’t picked up any traces inside the restroom or hallway so searching the alley was probably a waste of time. Nevertheless, he started walking slowly toward the far end.

Thirty-three

Raine checked her watch for the fourth or fifth time. The weak glow of the table candle revealed that only another minute had passed. Not that much time, in the grand scheme of things. How long could it take to search a restroom?

Almost immediately after Zack had disappeared in the direction of the men’s room her own edgy excitement had given way to an ominous sensation. What she was feeling now was disconcertingly similar to what she had experienced the night before at about the time Zack encountered the killer in the motel breezeway. She didn’t like it but she was not sure what she could do about it except go down the hall and knock on the door to the men’s room.

Not a bad idea, come to think of it.

If they both disappeared from the table, the waiter would probably assume they had left for good. Zack had paid for the drinks when they arrived, so the bill was taken care of but he hadn’t tipped because they had intended to buy another round.

She opened her small purse to search for some tip money. The hair on the nape of her neck lifted a little as though stirred by an invisible, ice-cold draft. Goose bumps crawled up her arms.

She was aware of two things simultaneously. The first was that someone very dangerous had just walked past the booth where she sat alone. She could feel not only the presence of the man directly behind her, but his malevolent intent, as well.

The second thing she knew with unshakable certainty was that the man’s malevolence was directed at Zack.

Zack was in trouble. She knew it as surely as she knew she heard voices.

She forced herself to remove some money from her wallet in what she hoped was a calm, unhurried manner. Her instincts were screaming now. It was all she could do to appear calm.

She put the cash on the table. Only then did she allow herself to turn slightly in the seat, as though searching for the waiter.

She was just in time to see a figure go into the shadowy hall that led to the restrooms. Something about the purposeful way he moved told her he was the one who had set her inner alarm bells clanging.

The man vanished into the restroom hallway.

She snapped her purse closed, slid out of the booth and hurried toward the restroom. She reached the hall just in time to see the dark figure pause briefly beneath the emergency exit sign that marked a rear door.

In the eerie glow of the sign she saw him jerk a ski mask out of his pocket and pull it down over his face. Then he reached for the door handle with one hand. With his other hand, he drew a knife out of a concealed sheath.

Thirty-four