Running Hot
Page 16
“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?”
“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.”
TWENTY-FOUR
By the time they were in the car and headed toward the airport, she had recovered enough from the initial shock to succumb to a sense of resignation. Maybe she was just too exhausted to resist. No, she decided, the truth was that she simply didn’t want to lie to Luther any longer. She wasn’t sure what was going on between them. She was afraid to use the word “love” to describe the bond. It was too soon and she’d had too little experience with that particular feeling to be able to recognize it on sight. But whatever it was, she wanted desperately to trust him.
She peeled the lid off the coffee cup. “Do you think Mr. Jones knows that I didn’t tell him the full truth about what I did with my aura today?”
“Who knows?” Luther did not take his attention off the road. “He’s damn good at connecting dots, though, so you’d better assume he suspects more than he let on.”
“Why didn’t he say anything?”
“Probably because it didn’t suit him to say anything. Fallon is not what you would call the communicative type.”
She slumped lower into the seat. “Damn.”
“The real question is why didn’t you tell him what you can do with your talent? After all, you want to be a real J&J agent. Why not try to impress the boss?”
She gazed glumly out at the sugarcane fields. “Keeping my secret is an old habit. You know how it is. You don’t go around advertising what you can do, either.”
“What happened a year ago? Whatever it was must have been pretty dramatic. Were you assaulted?”
“He tried to kill me with some sort of flash of energy,” she said quietly.
Luther’s profile hardened. “The guy who attacked you was a sensitive, too?”
“Yes. I fought back with my talent. When he realized he couldn’t murder me with his psychic-blast trick, he became enraged and tried to throttle me. I was running hot at the time, jacked to the max trying to defend myself. Something happened when he touched me. It was as if the energy that he was projecting at me rebounded back on him. The next thing I knew he was dead.”
Luther was silent for a moment. She waited for what she knew would come next.
“You said he hit you with some kind of psychic energy?”
“Yes. He could focus it somehow. It was incredibly painful. I could feel it killing me.”
“Fallon told me that one of his agents encountered a Nightshade operative who could make a person unconscious with a blast of energy. It happened a while back on a case in Stone Canyon, Arizona. The talent was drug-induced. The operative was injecting the formula at the time.”
“The man who tried to murder me was also on the drug,” she said, letting the rest of the truth spill out. “He told me it gave him the power to kill without a trace.”
Luther whistled softly. “Well, I’ll be damned. You killed Martin Crocker, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me take a wild guess here. You were not the company librarian.”
“I was his butler.”
“You’re kidding.”
“That was my official title,” she explained. “No one pays any attention to the hired help, you see. Afterward, the newspapers barely even mentioned the fact that I had died in the same boating accident. It was as if I had never existed, which was fine by me.”
“I seem to recall that the search-and-rescue team found Crocker’s boat drifting aimlessly in the water. How did you escape?”
She shuddered, remembering the horror and the grim determ
ination to survive that had ridden her hard that night.
“What the searchers didn’t know, what no one except Martin and I knew, was that Martin kept a small inflatable boat on the island to use in case of an emergency. I waited until after dark. Then I got Martin’s body into the cruiser and took it partway back to the main island. I released the body into the water and left the cruiser to drift. Then I got into the inflatable.”
Luther said nothing but he reached over and gripped her hand very tightly for a few seconds, letting her know that he understood both the horror and the will to live.
She took strength from his touch. “The inflatable was unmarked. There was nothing to link it to Martin or to me. I dumped it offshore. The next day I took a commercial flight back to Miami using a fake ID.”
“You already had the new ID in place?”
“Along with a small suitcase full of bare necessities. I’d carried both with me everywhere for days.” She swallowed hard. “I knew Martin better than he knew himself. It was a matter of when, not if, I’d need the ID and a change of clothes.”
“You weren’t just Crocker’s butler, were you? What else did you do for him?”
“I was his personal profiler,” she said. “I read the people with whom he did business, his mistresses and everyone else who came in contact with him.”
“The ultimate bodyguard.”
“I identified his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses. I told him who he could trust and warned him when someone was plotting against him.”
“How long were the two of you a team?”
“Twelve years.”
“Were you lovers?” Luther asked tonelessly.
“No. Neither of us was attracted to the other in that way. I wasn’t his type. In the end he told me he had always found my talent a little scary. For my part, I knew from the start that Martin wasn’t capable of anything remotely close to real love or commitment. But we were partners and friends of a sort. I trusted him because I knew he needed me and I knew he understood that.”
“What happened?”
“Everything changed after he started taking the drug.”