Talent to Burn (Hidden Talent #1)

by Laura Welling

  Jamie coughed. “This is Dorian Alexander. My boss.”

  “Hi.”

  “My dear, I must speak with James, but I would also like to speak to you separately. Please follow me to my study.” She turned and glided inside.

  Jamie scowled and waved an arm for me to follow her. I entered the doorway and found myself in a conservatory rife with ferns and other greenery. I had to rush to keep up with Dorian Alexander’s rapidly clicking heels, which led us through the indoor garden and into a set of high-ceilinged halls, lined with a plethora of artwork.

  We arrived at a row of low, chintzy chairs next to a walnut door, and Dorian Alexander extended her hand. “Catrina, you may wait here. James, if you would…”

  Jamie opened the door for her, they went through and the door swung closed behind them with a final thud. He didn’t even make eye contact.

  I lowered myself into one of the surprisingly uncomfortable chairs, and wondered how I should address Jamie’s boss. I couldn’t very well call her Dorian Alexander, but she didn’t seem the kind of person one would address by her first name without a written invitation. I would default to the school-teacher-ish “Miz Alexander”, but “Your Grace” seemed as though it might be more appropriate.

  Shifting from buttock to buttock on the cast-iron cushions, I realized I could hear muffled sounds through the door. God, I’d have given anything for a drinking glass to press to the door like they did in old movies. Did that actually work?

  I made out the sound of a female voice talking—Dorian—interspersed with masculine monosyllables. I couldn’t hear any of the words, not one, although the tone rose and rose until there was a crashing sound and an ominous silence fell. The door creaked open and Jamie stepped out.

  I tried to catch his eye but he was studiously staring at the carpet. “She wants to talk to you,” he said. “I’ll wait out here.”

  He’d clearly been here before, as when I offered him the uncomfortable chair, he shook his head and leaned against the wall, staring off into the distance in a studied fashion.

  Entering the room, I found a pleasant walnut- and lemon-themed study. Dorian Alexander sat behind a huge wooden desk, neatly manicured hands folded on her blotter.

  I couldn’t for the life of me work out what had made that crashing noise. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

  “Please sit down.” Dorian Alexander gave me a short smile. “I am delighted you’re finally here.”

  Those were the last words I’d expected.

  She rose and walked over to the floor-length windows, where she looked out over the garden, hands behind her back.

  “We have been hoping you would come to us for some time.” She paused. “Before this incident with your brother.”

  I couldn’t get my head around her words. “Why?”

  “As James will have told you, we house many Talents here. He may even have mentioned that our seers foresaw your brother’s troubles. What I am sure he didn’t tell you is that several of them have seen you walking among us, and every vision has been in a different time and place, which tells me that you will be with us for some time.”

  My breath stopped. The idea of predestination made me queasy. I controlled my fate, nobody else. “What did the visions show?”

  “Nothing clear, but you keep showing up in visions about other things. You are a piece of our puzzle, and when you appeared as the path to Eric, we knew we had finally found a way to get you here.”

  Her words seduced the part of me that wanted to belong, but I couldn’t afford to get distracted. I wanted to get back on track. “What about Eric? We didn’t manage to find him yet, and we’re running out of leads.”

  She walked back over to the desk, where she again smoothed her hands over the surface. “I believe you still have a couple of leads to follow up. James needs to lie low for a few days, however. This will give you the chance to get to know us. I also understand one of your leads is a medal, is that correct?”

  I nodded. Lie low for a few days? I didn’t think so, but I’d keep that to myself for now.

  “We can have someone look at that. In addition, James tells me that this Justine girl you tracked in Vegas was headed to DC. I’ll see what I can do to trace her. In the meantime, James can show you to your room.”

  “Thank you,” I said automatically. “But why does James—Jamie—have to lie low?”

  “I’ll allow him to explain that to you.” She gave me a tight smile. “I’m sure I would only embarrass him needlessly.”

  She stepped around the desk, every movement neat and studied, and proffered her hand again. “Catrina, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you may find peace within these walls, as many before you have done.”

  Before I knew it, she had ushered me out into the corridor. Jamie sat slumped in a chair. Guess he’d gotten bored waiting. His head sagged forward onto his chest, feet propped on a second of the awful chairs, and he let out a gentle snore. Dorian Alexander gave a sharp tug to the chair under his feet, dropping them to the floor. He grunted and sat up straight, shaking his head.

  “Don’t put your feet on my furniture, James.”

  “Sorry,” he said, giving her a sloe-eyed grin. “We’ll be going.”

  Dorian nodded, expressionless.

  I trailed Jamie deeper into the mansion. The place was huge, and we passed out of the section that contained offices, past a huge empty ballroom, and then alongside a couple of rooms that looked like classrooms. We came to an open foyer with a grand winding staircase, leading upward Gone With The Wind-style, and I followed Jamie to the top. About then I lost track of which direction I was facing as I continued to follow him through a mass of corridors until we arrived at a huge oak door.

  “Your room,” Jamie said.

  “Thanks.” I wanted to say something about how it would be strange sleeping away from him, but I couldn’t put a sentence together that didn’t sound like a come-on, so I said nothing.

  “Mine is down there,” he said, pointing. “It’s like college, or so I’m told—see these?” Next to the door was a slot for a nameplate, and oddly, mine was already present. “C. Wilson”, engraved in brass for all to see. They’d been expecting me.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “Red-eyes don’t agree with me.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Should I follow up on the medal while you nap?”

  Jamie shrugged, scowling. “There’s no hurry. I’ll see you later.” He strode down the corridor away from me. I watched him until he opened a door down a ways and slammed it shut behind him.

  No hurry. Right. I twitched with the need to do something.

  I opened my own door, and found a room less formal than I had expected. Stepping through the doorway, I entered an early twentieth century farmhouse. It was decorated with plain wooden furniture, a handmade quilt on the bed, and rustic pastoral watercolors on the walls. Even the faint smell of flowers—rose water? lavender?—made me feel as though I was visiting somebody’s grandmother.

  Kicking off my boots, I lay on the bed to rest. Nothing else to do, but peace eluded me. Standing up again, I wandered around the room a few times, touching a porcelain jug, looking through the curtains at the immaculate garden. I wondered where they hid the bathroom.

  I took off my jacket and tossed it on the bed, then went back out into the hallway, self-consciously walking in the direction that Jamie had taken. I didn’t see a bathroom before I got to his door, and paused. J. Murphy. Indeed.

  My hand raised itself and knocked on the door. I thought I might be sick. My cheeks were already burning.

  The door moved open a little under my hand, and I gave it a gentle push. Inside lay a far different room from the one I had been assigned. The curtains were drawn and only three candles in an iron candelabrum illuminated the cave-like space by the bed. Their flickering light played over the walls, painted wine red. The bed dominated the room, with a huge wooden headboard and pristine white sheets. Nobody had lain in those sheets ton
ight.

  A small click came from my right. A second door stood cracked, and the light within it shone brightly through. At that moment, it swung wide and Jamie stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I couldn’t sleep,” I said, as my eyes adjusted and I realized he wore nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips.

  He flicked off the bathroom light and suddenly he was easier to see. His face had relaxed into a more normal expression than he’d had all day, and now he looked dog tired.

  “I need to,” he said. “But you can sleep in here if you want. Or not.”

  I nodded.

  Jamie padded over to the bed and tossed the towel onto a chair, leaving him naked and gleaming in the candlelight. I had a few moments to glimpse his leanly muscular butt and thighs before he slid into the bed. He looked as good as I remembered, and my mouth dried. I licked my lips.

  “Come,” he said, moving over into the middle of the bed and gesturing with his arm. Self-conscious again, I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them off, looking nowhere but at the floor, then hurried over to the bed and ducked beneath the sheets, into the warmth under his arm.

  He leaned across me and blew out the candles, then lay back and pulled me into him. “I really do need to sleep,” he said.

  “Yes,” I murmured, sinking into the warmth of the bed and naked man and high thread count sheets, suddenly exhausted.

  His warm lips found mine briefly in the dark, without fumbling, and I wondered, as I descended into slumber, if that was one of the special perks of dating a Finder. Or sleeping with one.

  I woke with a jerk, disoriented by the hand stroking my hair, surrounded by soft, downy bedding, and the warmth of a body beside mine.

  “Good afternoon,” Jamie said quietly in my ear. “Much as I would rather spend the rest of the day here with you, we should probably get up.”

  I turned my head and murmured a wordless protest against his shoulder.

  “Cat,” he said, “I’d like nothing more than to…I can think of a few things. But one of the downsides of living in a house full of other Talents like this is a complete lack of privacy, especially in the middle of the day. I don’t want fifteen telepaths listening in when I’m with you.”

  His words brought me awake. The inside of my head felt itchy all of a sudden. I didn’t like that at all.

  He reached across me and flicked on a soft light. His eyes above mine were dark and intense.

  “I promise you though…soon, there will be the right time and place.” He lowered his face to mine, kissing me gently, like a benediction. “I want to take my time, and not be interrupted again.”

  My skin tingled with warmth, and I sensed every inch of him against me, especially the heat of his groin against my hip. Not being able to have him now made it even hotter.

  He slid one lazy hand down my bare arm and linked his fingers through mine.

  “Jamie,” I said, nestling in. “Dorian Alexander—Dorian—said you would explain why we came here.”

  His hand tensed a little, he drew back from me. Not much, a quarter of an inch, but it could have been a mile. He sighed.

  “You remember the phone call I got?”

  “Sure.” Hard to forget it, given the timing.

  “When we bumped into Detective Jackson as we were leaving Justine’s apartment, he took it upon himself to call Dorian.”

  I struggled to keep up. “How do they know each other?”

  “It’s how I ended up here. I told you they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Jackson’s known me for a long time. He had a pretty good idea of what I am, and what I can do, and he decided that instead of putting me in jail, he’d send me to a diversion program. You know, like sending bad kids to wilderness camp. You might not think it to look at him, but Jackson’s a true believer in all kinds of Talent. It runs in his family.”

  “Is that how he knows Dorian?”

  Jamie nodded. “He doesn’t have a Talent of his own, but members of his family have worked with us.”

  I paused, choosing my words. “Were you happy, being sent here?”

  Jamie stretched, putting the arm that wasn’t around me behind his head. “Then, not really. I’m happy now.”

  Unconvinced, I saw no reason to argue the point right now, so I moved on. “I still don’t understand why we had to come here.”

  “Ah.” He cleared his throat. “Jackson told Dorian he was pretty damn sure I’d been breaking the law, and although he couldn’t prove it this time, he still has a couple boxes of evidence from old cases against me. He could send me to jail if I don’t keep my nose clean.”

  Oh. Not breaking laws. I could have said a few things about that, but I had another question, so I didn’t snark. “Why are we here?”

  “She wants me where she can keep an eye on me. To put it bluntly, if I can’t behave myself I’m out, and on my way to a Vegas jail.”

  The snark escaped. “How hard can it be to do that?”

  “That’s what she said.” Jamie stared at the ceiling. “This is a good place. I need to remember that.”

  A muscle in his neck twitched. This was really hard for him. Hard for me to imagine, but he was so different from me. He was a wild dark thing, in a gilded cage of his own making.

  I put my hand on his chest. “I’ll help you,” I said.

  He laughed, a curiously unhappy sound echoing in the room. “Darlin’, trying to help you is how I got myself into trouble.”

  “That was you helping me. Now I’m going to help you.”

  He turned his face to me, and those eyes, normally alive with charm, stared out at me, dark and hollow. “Don’t try to save me. There’s enough of that going on here already.” The usual easy smile plastered itself over his features. “Let’s go get some food, and then we’ll sort out this medal. Do you have it handy?”

  We dressed and set out on our mission. In the kitchen, Jamie made me an enormous roast beef sandwich, dodging out of the way of the white-clad kitchen staff that clearly knew him well. I stood in the corner, munching on my sandwich while he made coffee like an impresario, lots of hand waving and fiddling about with a huge brass espresso machine.

  He was right, of course. The only person I had any chance of saving was myself. I hoped there was a way to find Eric and navigate the politics of Ryder and the Grey Institute such that I could walk away and get on with my life. The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit together for me yet, but if I knew one thing it was that the future I hoped for didn’t include a man like Jamie in it.

  He was the antithesis of what I wanted: a peaceful life, a white fence, an office job and a couple of cats. Maybe a man, one day, but not Jamie. A man with no tattoos and no arrest record. A safe man. A boring man.

  The deliciously unsafe man in whose arms I’d slept last night handed me a tall glass on a saucer filled with milky coffee. “Your café latte,” he said with a flourish. “Madame.”

  “Aren’t you eating?”

  He shrugged and picked up a tiny cup, full of hot dark coffee. “Not really hungry.” He tossed back the espresso and set the cup down as if it were a shot of tequila. “Ready? You can bring your coffee with you.”

  I followed him through the maze of corridors—would I ever get to know my way around this place?—into a floral sitting room, where a group of older people, their auras richly decorated with the patina of age, played a game of cards.

  “Hey, Herb,” Jamie said. “How are you doing?”

  One of the senior citizens, an old man in a flat tweed cap and white shoes, pushed back from the table, and got slowly to his feet with the aid of a cane. “Jamie, my boy. Haven’t seen you for a while.” He came over and, leaning on the cane, inspected me from head to toe. “Who’s your friend?”

  Jamie stepped to one side. “Herb, this is Catrina.”

  Herb may have been ancient, but behind the thick dark rims of his glasses his eyes were pale blue and sharp. His aura was old and rich and distilled like
a glass of port. He raised one wrinkled, saddle-brown hand to the peak of his cap.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Jamie’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Herb, when your game’s over we’d like to chat with you about something.”

  “Oh, it’s over all right. They’re all out of money.” Herb turned and waved goodbye to his friends, then turned back to us. “Why don’t we go out on the patio? I could do with some sun.”

  We followed him out. Despite the cane and the limp, he moved surprisingly fast. Outside, he settled himself on a wrought iron chair by a little table, and gestured at us. “Sit, sit.”

  “Thanks,” Jamie said. We sat in comfortable silence for a while.

  Herb closed his eyes and appeared to be enjoying the sun. After a moment, he said, “Now then. Are you going to bring out this medal you’ve brought for me to look at?”

  I laughed. Talents. He cracked one eye to look at me disapprovingly. “Dorian told me to expect you.” He closed his eye again and extended a hand.

  Jamie put his hand in his pocket and lifted his hips so he could access the medal where he’d stored it earlier, in the pocket of his tight, dark jeans. As he arced up toward me in the sun, my mouth went dry. The gold of the medal caught the light as he pulled it out and dropped it into Herb’s leathery palm.

  “Very good, thank you.” Herb closed his fingers over the medal, and took a deep breath. “It’s only nine carat gold. Made in Romania, about a year ago. Then it was sold in a religious icon store in the District to a young man. He wore it in phases, sometimes against his skin for months at a time, sometimes in a drawer. He wore it to bed with a young woman, and the chain broke in all the festivities. You didn’t find the chain? It was a cheap one anyhow.”

  Herb opened his eyes. “Does that help?”

  “Where is he?” I whispered.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can only tell you about the thing I lay hands on. If I were to lay hands on that young man, I would know him immediately, but I don’t know where he is now.”