“Yes.”
“Ex-husband?”
“No. We were never married.”
Good grief, what was she doing? Even with the names changed to protect the guilty, any attempt to explain her complicated association with Martin Crocker would not only be difficult, it would be extremely dangerous. She had kept secrets most of her life. She was a pro. But something about being out here in the night with Luther was threatening to make her careless.
“Does aura talent run in your family?” she asked.
“Sporadically. My grandfather was a strong aura. He told me that my father was a high strat talent though, and my mother had a mid-range talent for color and design, of all things.”
“Raw psychic power tends to be a strong genetic trait but the form the talent takes is often hard to predict. Your grandfather told you about your parents?”
“My folks were killed in a car crash by a drunk driver when I was a baby. I never knew them. My grandfather raised me.”
“Is your grandfather still alive?” she asked.
“No. He died the year I graduated from high school and went into the army.”
She told herself she should stop right there. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Is there anyone else in your family?”
“Maybe some distant cousins somewhere.” He sounded disinterested. “If they’re out there, they never bothered to show up after my parents were killed.”
“In other words, there’s no one?”
“Got a couple of good friends over on Oahu. They own the restaurant where I work as a bartender. What about you?”
“My mother died when I was thirteen. Some kind of rare infection.”
“Tough,” he said.
“Yes, it was.”
“Your dad?”
“I never knew him.” She kept her voice perfectly neutral. “When my mother decided to have a child, she went to a sperm bank clinic.”
“Oh, shit,” he said softly.
She almost smiled. In that single, pithy statement he had told her in the most eloquent terms that he understood.
“Yes,” she said. “Oh, shit, indeed.”
“Talk about having a psychic hole in your life.” He turned his head to look at her. “You’re a genealogist. Ever try to find your father?”
“Of course. A lot of sperm bank kids go looking for their fathers. I eventually found the name of the facility that my mother used, the Burnside Clinic. It was established by a member of the Society. Dr. Burnside catered to clients who were members of the Arcane community. He guaranteed that all of his donors were high-level sensitives of one kind or another. He also promised absolute confidentiality to both donors and clients.”
“Were you able to find your father’s file?” he asked.
“No. The clinic burned to the ground a few years ago. All the records were destroyed. Arson was strongly suspected but no one was ever arrested.”
“Probably one of the donors who didn’t want to be found.”
“Do you think so? I did wonder about that possibility.”
“There are others,” he said, sounding thoughtful now. “Maybe one of the mothers who didn’t want a donor to find his offspring. Or maybe one of the kids who couldn’t find his father and got really pissed off. It also could have been someone who didn’t approve of the services the clinic offered.”
“In other words, the list of suspects would be a very long one.”
“Sounds like it.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I was never able to identify my father, but after I went to work in the Bureau of Genealogy I found some information about him that my mother had entered into the genealogical records when she registered me with the Society. Mostly a health and talent history.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “What can I tell you? My father was descended of sound genetic stock and he was a strong talent. But then, Dr. Burnside would have insisted on those qualities in all of his donors.”
“Sure.”
“I got my eyes from him,” she whispered after a while. “But that’s about it. He wasn’t even an aura talent. My mother listed him as a strat.”
“Knowing that you’re a green-eyed aura talent descended from a green-eyed strat wouldn’t have given you much to go on.”
“No,” she said. “It didn’t. Strat talents are very common within the Society. There are literally thousands registered. Narrowing the field by age and gender and eye color didn’t help. I eventually gave up.”
A couple strolled toward them, hand in hand, lost in each other, taking up a good portion of the path. Luther thumped the cane loudly a few times. In response, the pair moved hurriedly to the far side of the pavement.
With the force of long habit, Grace shook off the old melancholy that always came over her when she thought about her own unknown history.
“You’re good with that thing,” she said.
“It has its advantages. People tend to get out of my way. No one wants to be responsible for making a guy on a cane go down. Lawsuit city.”
“How did you end up on it in the first place? Fallon said something about an accident.”
“I got careless.”
And that, she knew, was the end of that conversational topic. At least for now. She was trying to think of a clever way to dig deeper when ghostly fingers touched the nape of her neck. She tensed instinctively and folded her arms beneath her breasts, shielding her hands.
There were a number of people on the path but the man coming toward them out of the shadows was moving a little differently from the rest. He was still several yards away. It was too dark to make out his features but there was something about his stride that disturbed her senses. He didn’t stroll or jog or walk in a normal fashion. He exhibited the easy, predatory glide of a big cat on the hunt.
Part of her was aware that a subtle shift of awareness had come over Luther. She knew that he, too, had noticed the figure coming toward them.
She jacked her parasenses to the max. One look at the powerful aura that enveloped the approaching man and she knew him instantly for what he was. Para-hunter.
Every instinct screamed at her to turn and run even though the logical side of her brain knew it would be useless. If the pacing man was hunting her, he could easily run her down. Those endowed with his brand of talent were not supermen by any means, but their natural human hunting abilities were psychically enhanced. They could see very well in the dark. Their reflexes were on a par with those of any other wild predator. They could detect the psychic spoor of their quarry, and their favorite prey was human.
A lot of hunters wound up in the military or in security work. But she knew all too well that, given their natural aptitude, it was inevitable that some became dangerous predators.
Luther’s aura was running hot, too, but he gave no outward indication of his tension. His halting stride did not alter but somehow he was a little closer to her now, making certain that the hunter would pass on the opposite side, as far from her as possible.
Take it easy, she thought. Whoever that guy is, he isn’t after you. If they had found you, they would have sent someone to Eclipse Bay to get you. They wouldn’t have waited until you took a Hawaiian vacation.
Then again . . .
The hunter was less than two yards away, closing the distance fast. Somehow she managed to keep moving alongside Luther, matching his slow, careful stride. There was no change in the tap-tap-tap of the cane.
She was calmer now. Logic and common sense were kicking in, overriding the more primitive side of her brain.
No, not logic and common sense, something else was neutralizing her fear. By rights she should still be scared out of her wits. What’s wrong with this picture? That thought was almost as frightening as the approaching hunter.
Instinctively she tried to beat back the calming influence. She should be scared. It was the appropriate response under the circumstances. Damn it, she would be scared.
The unnatural calm wavere
d and dissolved. The terror of the hunted rushed back but so did a sense of rightness. This was the way she ought to feel.
Before she could adjust to the transition back to a state of fear, she became aware of Luther’s aura. It was pulsing at unusual points along the spectrum. Power resonated in the night.
The two men were close now, within touching distance. Suddenly, as if a psychic switch had been turned off, the pacing man’s aura dimmed, becoming markedly less intense. It was still the aura of a para-hunter but not one who is on the prowl. Instead, his energy field took on the colors and wavelengths of a person who is calm to the point of being sleepy. Whoever he was, the hunter was not interested in her or in Luther.
He went past, showing no signs of curiosity about the couple to his left. She had to fight the urge to look over her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Luther said quietly. “He’s gone.”
“Hunter,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She glanced at him, half afraid of what she might see. But his aura was normal again. Maybe she’d been mistaken a moment ago. Perhaps the proximity of the hunter’s fierce aura had confused her senses.
“You could tell he was a hunter?” she asked.
“I don’t have your brand of aura-reading talent but it isn’t hard to identify that kind of energy, especially when the guy’s running hot. Didn’t you notice how everyone else on the path unconsciously got out of his way? Even nonsensitives can detect a high-level predator in the vicinity. What did you pick up?”
“I have to admit I wasn’t taking notes. He was powerful, though, and, as you said, he was running wide open.”
“Hunting?”
She thought about it. “No. I didn’t get that from his aura. He wasn’t focused. I don’t think he was after anyone in particular. Maybe he was just out for an evening stroll and felt like running jacked. You know how it is. Sometimes you use your parasenses just because you can.”
“He could have been checking out the terrain,” Luther said. “Doing a little recon work.”
“That’s certainly a possibility. But for what purpose?”
“Good question. Anything else I should know?”
“One thing,” she said. “Whoever he was, he’s comfortable with violence.”
“A killer?”
She hesitated. “I think he has killed, yes, but he’s not a rogue or a freak. He wasn’t crazy or out of control. He wasn’t a sociopath, either. Those are easy to spot. What I saw indicated a cold, almost businesslike approach to violence.”
“Think he might have been military or maybe a cop?”
“Possible. Or maybe he’s a professional gangster. Whoever he is, he knows how to compartmentalize.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
She wrinkled her nose. “It means that regardless of what he does in his day job, he’s quite capable of having a loving wife and family.”
“About that conversation we had earlier,” Luther said evenly. “The one in which we discussed Fallon Jones’s probability theory as it relates to this job.”
She swallowed hard. “That would be the theory which, roughly paraphrased, was ‘What are the odds that there will be more than one high-grade talent at that resort?’ ”
“Yeah, that theory,” Luther said. “I think it may be flawed.”
“I agree. But I suppose it’s theoretically possible that guy we just passed was an innocent tourist who happens to be staying at one of the nearby resorts. There are a lot of hotels on this beach.”
“Still.”
“Right. Still. Hunters that powerful aren’t exactly common on the ground.”
“No, they aren’t. Neither are high-level aura talents like us.” Luther came to a halt. “So the question becomes, what are the odds that three very strong sensitives would show up on this stretch of beach on the same night?”
“You’re wondering if this little coincidence is connected to our mission, aren’t you?”
“Looks like I’m going to have to call Fallon. Talk about a fast way to ruin the evening.”
She knew the exact instant when he reached for his cell phone because he had to release his tight grip on her arm to do it.
NINE
He couldn’t see her expression clearly in the moonlight but he didn’t need to in order to know that she was stunned. So was he, but not because he had just touched her.
They both looked down at where, until a moment ago, his fingers had been firmly wrapped around her upper arm.
“Damn,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Just wanted to steer you as far out of his path as possible. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said. Wonderingly, she touched his bare arm with her fingertips. “There’s no pain. None. I’m all right. It’s been so long, more than a year. You can’t imagine what a relief it is to know that I’m more or less normal again.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“Yes.” She sounded elated, almost euphoric. “Yes, I’m fine.” She paused, staring down at her hands. “At least with you.”
He liked that, he realized; liked the idea that he was someone special, at least as far as she was concerned. She could not even begin to guess how she had just rocked his already slightly weird world. No one had ever detected his subtle aura manipulation, let alone actively resisted it.
The hunter had passed blithely by, never even noticing that his jacked-up senses had been temporarily suppressed. Yet Grace had pushed back at the quick, light attempt to calm her panic as easily as she would have closed a door that had been blown open by a breeze. Now, why was that so damn intriguing?
“Blame it on the magic of Hawaii,” he said. “Come on, let’s get somewhere private where I can call Fallon.”
They left the path, heading away from the beach, and moved deep into the heavily landscaped gardens of the nearest hotel. He stopped beneath the low-hanging branches of a large tree. Grace halted nearby. He fired up his senses again, this time to make sure there were no auras in the vicinity. No human lightbulbs appeared in the shrubbery. Satisfied that they were alone, he punched Fallon’s code into the phone.
He watched the dark silhouette that was Grace while he waited for Fallon to answer. She stood quietly beside him, arms folded beneath her breasts again. He wondered what she was thinking.
It was probably a very good thing that she did not seem to know what he had tried to do to her back there on the path. He got the feeling that she hadn’t been consciously aware of what she had done, either. Her attention had been riveted on the hunter.
Fallon answered on the second ring. That was unusual for him.
“What’s up, Malone?” he growled.
“I was starting to think you weren’t home. You usually jump on the phone halfway through the first ring.”
“I was making another pot of coffee. Been a long night. Why are you calling?”
Luther provided a brief run-through of the encounter and waited patiently while Fallon brooded on the new factor in the equation.
“I agree that it’s unlikely that you and Ms. Renquist would run across a high-grade hunter within a short distance of your hotel,” Fallon said finally. “It’s a red flag but not a huge one. Sensitives go on vacation in Hawaii like anyone else. Hell, it could have been a Jones.”
“I know there are a lot of hunters hanging around your family tree, Fallon, but what are the odds that one of them is here at the same time that Grace and I are supposed to be conducting surveillance on a high-grade killer?”
“Probably somewhere in the neighborhood of twelve percent. Lot of Joneses live on the West Coast and a lot of ’em like to vacation in Hawaii. Been there myself.”
“You took a vacation?”
“It was a long time ago. Before I got this job. You’re sure the guy was a hunter? Any chance he might have been some other kind of talent? Maybe Eubanks got in early?”
“You said Eubanks is a level-nine strategist. This guy was definitely a hunte
r. Grace and I both made him.”
“Okay, I’m a little tired at the moment,” Fallon said. “Not at my best. Let me think about this some more. Meanwhile, stick to the original plan. If Eubanks shows up on schedule tomorrow, we can probably assume that the hunter’s presence in the area is just a coincidence.”
The weariness in Fallon’s voice was extremely unusual. In the two years Luther had been working for him, he had never heard the head of J&J sound so exhausted.
“Thought you didn’t believe in coincidences, Fallon.”
“No,” Fallon said. “I don’t. Keep an eye out for the hunter. If he shows up again, I want an ID on him, too.”
“Figured you’d say that. I’ll look for him after I put Grace on a plane back to Oregon.”
In the shadows, Grace stiffened. Her chin came up at a stubborn angle.
“You’re going to need her to spot him again,” Fallon said.
“No, I won’t. I just told you, I had no trouble identifying him as a hunter tonight.”
“Only because he was jacked up. If he had been cranked back, just sitting around a pool, would you have been able to spot him?”
They both knew the answer to that question.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But I don’t want Grace getting near him.”
“She’s a J&J agent, just like you. She has the right to make her own decisions in situations like this.”
“She’s a specialist, not a trained field agent.”
“Damn it, Malone—”
“I’ll get back to you.”
The phone went dead in his ear. He closed it and clipped it to his belt.
“Well?” Grace said. “What now?”
“We stay with the plan. Wait for our target to arrive and ID him.”
“And then we try to find out the identity of the hunter,” she said briskly.
“Fallon would like to know who he is, if possible, but I can find him on my own.”
“It would be easier if I stick around to help you.”
“Grace—”
“I can handle it. I’ll be prepared next time. I won’t freak out on you, I promise.”
“Forget it.”
“I overheard that conversation with Fallon,” she said, going mutinous. “He told you it’s my choice to make, didn’t he?”
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