White Lies (The Arcane Society #2)(70)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

The faint but explosive traces of violent psychic energy crackled through him, leaving an invisible energy burn. His already heightened senses flared even higher, sharpening to a feverish intensity. The spoor of violence was not fresh, but it was not very old, either. He concentrated, trying to feel what the killer had experienced at the moment when he opened the refrigerator.

Thirsty. Heart pounding. Hot, dark excitement pumping through his blood…

Suddenly, he knew what had happened. Shipley had come in off the blistering hot golf course and found Valerie deep into a pitcher of martinis. Maybe she had taken one of her pills to calm down after the failed attempt on Clare at the spa. Shipley told her he stopped to get a bottle of water. The afternoon sun was unrelenting out on the course.

He had also been sweating, not just from the heat of the day but from the anticipation of what he was about to do. So he opened the small refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

He no doubt overpowered Valerie easily enough. He was a strong, athletic man. Valerie had been scrawny and frail from the months of heavy drinking.

He would have had to take a few minutes to go inside the house and change his clothes. Carefully he’d chosen a second pair of golf slacks and a shirt in the same colors as the pants and shirt he had been wearing when he started the round. Then he went back out onto the course.

He probably planned to finish the game and have a few drinks at the club with friends before inviting an acquaintance home for cocktails. That way he would have a witness with him when he “discovered” the body.

It must have come as a shock to be told that Valerie had been found much sooner than he had intended.

Clare had been right, Jake thought. Valerie was murdered. It also seemed logical that Shipley was the killer, but unfortunately there was no way to prove that yet.

The psychic spoor left by someone who had committed an act of violence was as distinctive as a fingerprint. But unlike a fingerprint, it was given off only when the individual was physically aroused by, and in the grip of, intense, violent emotions. The energy of such emotions was so strong that it resonated on the paranormal plane and clung to surfaces for a long time.

Jones & Jones would take his findings seriously, but psychic traces were not much good in a courtroom. “Well, Your Honor, I was walking through the dead woman’s house and I sensed the psi energy of her killer. Yeah, sure, I could identify him if he leaves any more of the same kind of energy behind. But he’s got to be in a killing mood, if you see what I mean. What’s that, Your Honor? Yes, as a matter of fact, I do think that I’m a psychic detective. Why do you ask?”

There was a reason why members of the Society who wanted to lead normal lives did not go around claiming a connection to a group of people who all believed they had psychic powers. That kind of thing came under the heading of family secrets.

Now that he knew he was looking in the right place, it was time to find some more traditional evidence to turn over to the local police.

There was a large wine vault adjacent to the kitchen. He took the black leather case out of his pocket and used one of the items inside to unlock the door. It took a few minutes to go through the rows of elegantly stored bottles. He also looked inside the white wine chiller.

He found nothing except a lot of very expensive wine.

He let himself out of the vault and went down a wide hall that led to the other wing of the big house. Archer had told him that Shipley’s study was the first door on the left. That seemed like a reasonable place to continue the search.

He paused when he caught sight of a small object sitting on an end table. A cell phone.

He crossed the living room and picked up the device. More of the vicious energy scalded his senses. Shipley had picked up the phone while still in a killing rage. Maybe Valerie, realizing she was in danger, had tried to dial 911. Or maybe Shipley had wanted to erase any record of her incoming and outgoing calls.

He put the phone down on the end table.

The study door was open. From the entrance Jake could see a heavy wooden desk, a couple file cabinets and a bookcase. A computer sat on the desk.

He powered up the computer and slapped the small storage device he had brought along into the USB port. While the files listed on the screen were being copied, he went through the desk drawers. Nothing jumped out and screamed incriminating evidence.

When the copying was complete he removed the storage device, dropped it into a pocket and powered down the computer.

He went back out into the hall and started toward the master bedroom suite.

The faint change in air pressure in the hall ruffled his senses. Someone had entered the house. Whoever he was, he was moving in a stealthy manner.

Another intruder. That was interesting. Who else had a reason to come here tonight?

Hungry, predatory excitement splashed through him. He glided into the deep shadows of a bedroom doorway and waited. The other intruder might or might not be a sensitive but either way, he would be jacked, too. Adrenaline was adrenaline, whether or not you were running hot. People got killed fairly easily, often accidentally, when the stuff was flowing.

If the guy was any good, it wouldn’t be long before the newcomer realized he was not alone in the house.

Let the hunt begin.

He realized his mistake an instant later when the psychic firestorm electrified his senses. The ferocious energy forced him to his knees. Instinctively he gripped his head in both hands, as though he could somehow dampen the blast.

Another scalding flash of energy struck him. This one was followed by a massive wave of night that swamped him in a sea of endless darkness.

Chapter Forty-three

Anxiety sparked through Clare, sharp and jagged as a burst of lightning. The panic attack rolled out of nowhere, trampling her defenses before she even had time to erect them.

She was sitting on the sofa, one leg curled under her, poring over the list of numbers she had copied off Valerie Shipley’s cell phone when the disturbing energy frazzled all her senses.

The clanging of every single one of her private alarm bells brought her to her feet, heart pounding, pulse racing. Her palms went cold. Adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream. Everything inside her was at full throttle. She was ready to flee to safety or fight for her life.

No, not her life. Someone else’s. She had never experienced a panic attack quite like this one.

Jake. Yes, she was sure of it now. This involved Jake. He was in terrible danger. But it was impossible for her to know that, she reminded herself. There was no such thing as telepathy or mind reading. The researchers in the Society had investigated the numerous anecdotal stories for decades but had never been able to reproduce the experience in the lab.