Running Hot

TWENTY-THREE

She was huddled on the sofa, the computer open on the coffee table in front of her, when Luther arrived. He stalked into the suite looking like the Lord of the Underworld—a very pissed-off Lord. He started toward her, using his cane to emphasize each word.

“What”

thud “the”

thud “hell”

thud “did”

thud “you”

thud “think”

thud “you”

thud “were”

thud “doing?”

Thud.

“Don’t touch me,” she yelped. She leaped off the sofa and backed hurriedly toward the open door to the lanai, shielding her hands under her crossed arms. “I mean it. Please don’t touch me.”

He halted, thunderstruck. “You think I’d hit you?” he asked, disbelief and pain etched on his face.

“No,” she said, chagrined. “Of course not. I just meant don’t touch me. Not yet, at any rate. I’ve been sensitized again.”

“Damn.” He didn’t look any less angry but his pained expression evaporated. “All right, tell me what happened.”

She gave him what she hoped was a thoroughly professional report. When it was over she expected him to take out his phone and call Fallon Jones. Instead he just stood there, regarding her with an unnerving consideration, as if he had never seen anything quite like her before.

“That trick you used on the housekeeper,” he said eventually. “You said you’ve done it before?”

“A few times.” She unfolded her arms and looked at her palms. “After my mother died, I went into the foster care system. I left it after about six months. I was on the streets for a while. There are some badly warped people out there.”

“No shit,” he growled.

She chose to ignore that. “Some of them are sensitives who have learned to use their talents to manipulate others. There was one pimp, some kind of weird charisma talent, I think. He was able to seduce young girls, make them fall in love with him. They’d do anything for him.”

“So he sent them out onto the streets to turn tricks for him,” Luther said, a savage edge on the words.

“I see you’ve encountered that particular species of sewer rat,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” He did not elaborate.

“I used to hang out with some of his girls at night. I’d use my talent to tell them which johns were safe and which ones to avoid. One day the pimp discovered that the girls were turning down some of the dangerous tricks. He was furious. He decided to beat one or two as examples to the others. I figured out what he was planning. I even knew which girl he intended to beat first, the newest and youngest one. I was there when he came to get her that night. She was terrified. There was so much violence surrounding him you could have cut it with a knife. When he reached for her, I took hold of her arm and jacked up to full strength, overwhelming her aura with my own and forming a kind of barrier to his. The instant he touched her he got fried.”

“Define ‘fried,’ ” Luther said. “Are we talking dead?”

“No,” she said quickly, appalled. “No, I didn’t kill him, I swear it.”

“I wouldn’t give a damn if you did terminate him.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t. But something happened when he came in contact with my aura. It was as if his own energy field short-circuited for a few seconds. I can’t explain it. All I know is that he went unconscious for a while. So did the girl. But when she woke up she was okay, just a little shaken.”

“What about the pimp?”

“He was not okay. It was as if he’d had some kind of mental breakdown. He just sort of fell apart. I think something permanent happened to his talent. Whatever it was affected not just his psychic senses but everything else, as well. He became a basket case and just drifted away from the neighborhood. After a while we heard that he’d been killed in a drug deal gone bad.”

“You said there were other incidents like that one?”

“A few,” she admitted. “The technique works against nonsensitives, too. After all, everyone has an aura. But every time I do it, I get sensitized again.”

“Huh.”

She waited but he didn’t offer anything further, just stood there, looking lost in thought.

“What?” she prompted.

“Just wondering. Do you think you shorted out the singer’s aura today?”

“No. She was much too powerful. Fortunately when she lost her cool a lot of her control went with it. And then the elevator started to open and she panicked and ran.”

He watched her very steadily. “What would have happened if the singer hadn’t fled the scene?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose the outcome would have depended on which one of us was the stronger. We didn’t get a chance to finish the contest. Guess you could say it was a draw.”

“The last thing I want is to see a rematch. Got that?”

She shuddered. “Trust me, I’m not eager for one, either. Okay, you can start yelling again now.”

There was another long silence.

“You’re not yelling,” she pointed out.

“Don’t get me wrong, I feel like yelling.”

“But?”

“But you saved the housekeeper’s life. That’s pretty much what a J&J agent is supposed to do in a situation like that.”

She suddenly felt much better. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure I can’t touch you?” Luther asked.

She tensed. “It was a bad burn. It will probably take days, maybe weeks to heal.” Her brief moment of professional pride went out like a light. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. “It’s so maddening because I just got over the last burn.”

“Can I talk you into running an experiment? You said yourself the fact that we’re both auras might have some protective effect.”

She hesitated. “Okay.”

“You do the touching. That way you’re in complete control.”

For a few seconds she did not move.

You’re a J&J agent. Take a risk.

She walked slowly toward him and stopped when she was a couple of feet away. He held out one hand, palm up. Gingerly she touched it with her fingertips. There was no shock, no jolt of pain. Relief crashed through her. Deliberately she flattened her hand on his, palm to palm.

“This is amazing,” she said, awed. “I’ve never been able to touch anyone so soon after an incident like the one today. Guess I was dating the wrong kind of men all these years.”

He groaned, grabbed her hand, pulled her close and kissed her hard. When he released her she was a little breathless.

“Don’t tease me like that,” he warned darkly. “I’m still getting over the shock I got when I read that text message you sent. Thought my heart would stop.”

“They’re called Sirens, Mr. Jones,” Grace said into the phone. “The talent is extremely rare. That’s why you haven’t ever heard of them. They crop up so infrequently in the Society’s records that many of us in Genealogy have assumed that they’re more myth than reality.”

She was perched on the sofa again, so exhausted she was amazed that she could make any sense at all out of the data on the computer screen in front of her, let alone deliver a coherent report to her boss. The after-shocks of adrenaline were still shivering through her. It would be a while before her nerves calmed down to the point where she might be able to sleep.

But

she could still touch Luther. The wonder of that buoyed her spirits as nothing else could have done.

He was at the window, watching the hot afternoon sun spark and flash on the ocean while listening to her conversation with Fallon. He was back in what she was starting to think of as his professional mode—cold, hard and very focused.

“What’s a Siren?” Fallon demanded. “Some kind of hypno talent?”

“It’s related to hypnosis in that the psychic energy is transmitted via the voice but it requires extremely high, pure notes, the kind that very few people can sing. Also, although there have probably been a fair number of Siren talents in the population, very few of them would have had the power to actually project a killing wave of energy.”

“So what happens with the others? Why haven’t we heard of non-lethal Sirens?”

She smiled faintly. “You have, sir, you just didn’t know it. They’re called opera singers.”

“Opera singers?” Fallon sounded thoroughly nonplussed.

“Not all of them are Sirens, of course. I suspect just some of the major coloratura sopranos. And those who are Sirens probably aren’t even aware of their psychic natures. Wait, I take that back. Opera singers are known for their egos. Some of them probably do consider their talents to be paranormal.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“How many times have you heard an opera singer described as ‘mesmerizing’? Historically various singers have been said to be able to transfix or enrapture their audiences.”

“Huh.”

She concentrated on the computer screen, reading quickly. “The high level of talent required to disrupt the human neurological system appears almost exclusively in females because it requires a true coloratura soprano to reach the high, killing notes. In addition to being linked to their voices, the talent is also connected to their sexuality, hence the Siren label.”

“Opera singers are sexy?” Fallon asked, dumbfounded.

“Sir, I hate to break this to you but opera singers as a group, male and female, are legendary for their sexual prowess. Wealthy, powerful men seem to find sopranos, in particular, absolutely riveting. Think Maria Callas and Aristotle Onassis.”

Luther turned around at that, brows lifting slightly. She pretended not to notice.

“You said the singer was crazy?” Fallon asked.

“Well, that depends on your definition of ‘crazy,’ I guess. She emanated some very unstable aspects, but she was obviously capable of making and carrying out an elaborate plan. I’m almost positive that she went into suite 604 intending to do violence to someone, presumably Eubanks.”

“You think she planned to wait for him there in his room?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“What about the bodyguard?”

“Maybe she wasn’t aware that Eubanks has one. Or maybe she assumed she could deal with both of them. Whatever the case, the hotel housekeeper interfered with the scheme. The Siren was furious with her for that.” She shivered, remembering the scene. “I swear, the singer acted like a genuine diva who has been interrupted in the middle of a performance.”

“Trying to kill the housekeeper seems a little extreme under the circumstances,” Fallon said. “You’d think the Siren could have talked her way out of the situation by telling the real maid that she was a new hire or something.”

“She’s an opera singer and she’s mentally unstable. Going over the top is probably second nature for her.”

“You really think she’s a trained singer?”

“No doubt about it. I’m betting she once sang professionally. Maybe she still does.”

“You say she accused you and the housekeeper of interrupting her

performance?”

“I know, it’s an odd choice of words. The Siren may be unhinged but she sees herself as a star. Trust me, it was all there in her profile.”

“What about the housekeeper?” Fallon demanded. “Does she remember anything about what happened?”

Luther was still watching her. Grace focused on the computer screen. Lying was always such a tricky business and in her present exhausted state she had to be extra careful. As usual, she left in as much of the truth as possible.

“Not much,” she said.

Truth. “As I told you, she fainted when the Siren started singing to her.”

Not quite true. I’m the one who made her faint, not the singer. “When she woke up she was fine. I checked her aura. It looked healthy.”

Truth. “She remembered going down the hall to see why another housekeeper was cleaning 604 but she didn’t recall anything after that.”

“What did you tell her?” Fallon asked.

“Just that I had seen her faint and that I went to investigate.”

“All true. Good. I like that in a lie. You’ve got a talent for the business, Grace.”

In spite of her weariness, a flash of pride straightened her shoulders and boosted her spirits.

“Thank you, sir.”

“So the bottom line here is that no one called hotel security?” Fallon asked.

“Right. The housekeeper and her manager assumed there was some sort of mix-up in the housekeeping schedule, that’s all.”

“Then Eubanks isn’t going to hear about any of this,” Fallon said with growing satisfaction.

“No, sir,” Grace agreed. “Luther checked on him a short while ago. Eubanks returned from the golf course with the rest of his group and went directly to his room. He doesn’t appear to have any concerns because he’s now in the spa getting a massage.”

“Which means his bodyguard didn’t pick up on the spoor of violence that must have been all over the place.”

“As I told you, the hunter profiles of all the bodyguards are incomplete.”

“Because of the drug, no doubt,” Fallon concluded. “Damn, I can’t wait to see where the hell this thing is going.”

Something in his voice reminded Grace that Fallon Jones came from a long line of hunters himself. It was true that his talent had taken a few unusual twists but the adrenaline rush of the chase came easily to the surface.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Can you give me a description of the singer?”

“No, sir, I’m very sorry about that. When she came running out of 604 I realized that in addition to wearing a wig and the big glasses, she also had on a lot of heavy makeup. I think she’s probably in her mid-thirties, and I can tell you that she was tall and slender and she seemed to have a lot of upper-body strength but that’s about it.”

“Slender? I thought opera singers were supposed to be built like SUVs.”

“That’s a generalization, sir. It’s true that there are some very large singers. Many of the women who sing Wagner probably shop in the plus-size department. But there are actually lots of body shapes on the stage. Some of the most famous sopranos are downright tiny.”

“You’re sure this one was a soprano?”

She thought about the shattered glassware. “Definitely. The kind referred to as a coloratura soprano. Those are the ones who can sing the highest ranges. I’m no expert but even I could tell that she had exquisite control on some incredibly high notes. At least she did until her rage got the better of her.”

“You saw her aura. I want a full profile.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get one to you as soon as possible. But if you don’t mind, I’d like some time to think about it. I also want to do some more research in the genealogy files. We’re talking about a very rare talent.”

“We don’t have any time to waste here.” Impatience crackled in Fallon’s voice.

“I understand, sir. But I want to be accurate. I’m not at my best at the moment.”

“All right. Get some sleep and then get back to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell Malone that the last of our surveillance people just arrived on the island. They’ll take over the job of watching the five Nightshade operatives. The two of you might as well pack.”

Grace felt a rush of disappointment. Her grand adventure as a J&J agent was ending.

“What happens now, sir?” she asked.

“In addition to shadowing the Nightshade people, I’m going to contact Harry Sweetwater.”

“Why?”

“The Siren you encountered must be a pro.”

“A professional opera singer? Yes, I think so.”

“No, a professional hit woman,” Fallon corrected impatiently. “Someone hired her to take out a Nightshade operative. That means she must be a private contractor available for hire. Sweetwater knows his competition. With luck he’ll be able to give me a line on her. Can’t be that many Siren talent contractors running around. Hell, you’d think I would have heard of her myself, by now.”

“I’m not so sure, sir. I think of professional hit people as being, well, cold-blooded, at least when they’re working.” She could hardly say that in her former job she had actually met a few killers thanks to Martin’s venture into the arms trade. “The Siren was a true diva. I told you, she went ballistic when her performance was interrupted. I wouldn’t have thought that a volatile temperament and a lack of emotional control would be an asset in a contract killer.”

“Guess you get all kinds in any profession,” Fallon said. “Let me talk to Malone.”

Obediently she held the phone out to Luther. He snapped it out of her fingers, looking like a man preparing to go into battle.

“What?” he said brusquely. He listened for a minute. “No, she is not going back to Eclipse Bay. Not yet, at any rate. I’m taking her home with me.”

Grace felt her spirits start to rise.

“Why?” Luther said. “Because that damn Siren is a nutcase. She became enraged with Grace today. Who’s to say she might not develop some sort of obsession? No, I’m not saying I think she’ll come after Grace, but I’m not going to take any chances, either. Grace stays with me until you find the singer and neutralize her.”

Grace’s soaring spirits immediately stalled out. Luther was going to keep her with him but only because he was worried about her safety. Still, she was not about to get picky here. She would take any excuse to prolong their association.

“Call me as soon as you know anything,” Luther said. He ended the connection and looked at Grace.

“I know you need sleep,” he said. “But you’ll have to hang on for a while. I want to get you off this island.”

“Okay, I’ll go pack.” She pushed herself up off the sofa. “I could use some coffee, though.”

“I’ll order some to go from room service. You can drink it in the car on the way to the airport.”

“All right.”

“And while you’re drinking your coffee, you can tell me what happened a year ago,” he added, his voice dangerously soft.

She froze in the doorway to the bedroom. “I beg your pardon?”

“You were sensitized for an entire year. I’m betting that the incident that triggered it was a little more dramatic than what happened today. You seemed to think that it would only take a few weeks to recover from that event. So, doing some quick math, I have to assume that whatever happened last year was worse than what happened today.”

She took a shaky breath. “You’re acting like a cop.”

“Yeah, I do that sometimes. Look, I’ve got no problem with you lying to Fallon. But I need the truth. Your life may be in danger. You’re going to have to trust me.”