But this one had. This one had been raising its hand and waiting to be called on all afternoon. She’d selfishly ignored it—she’d just needed a break—and it might have hurt Ciara, might have cost her finder her life after all. Four years of never getting a single worrisome twinge about Ciara and now every vision was of the petite finder in peril. Karma did not approve of this new handler’s influence.
When the phone call came, Karma’s double awareness shivered through her and she knew. Knew the police and feds had been too late, but that Ciara and her handler—Nate, need to know his name, they’re in love now—had saved the day themselves. And recovered the priceless necklace they’d been sent to find. With no help from Karma or anyone else.
Karma thanked the officer on the line and set the phone carefully back in the cradle, as if gentleness there could keep her own fragile parts from shattering.
Selfish. There was no other word for it. She’d been blocking her abilities, hiding from them, because she was scared of them, scared they would take her over, but in doing so, how many of her people had she hurt? Could she have unblocked Ciara years ago? Could she have saved Ronna from having to defend herself against a knife-wielding contract killer? If she had been open to her abilities, if she had actually known how to use them, how much good could she have done?
Karma hated the visions, had always hated them, from the moment they first crashed into her brain as a child, but was that hatred selfish? How could she claim to be fighting on the side of the angels if she wasn’t willing to take a little personal hardship for the greater good?
She pulled up her schedule for tomorrow. The Gray Knight at ten o’clock. Prometheus.
He’d offered to teach her. Had he been serious? She could never tell. But if he could help her, like he had today—no, not like he did today. No kissing.
She would need ground rules. If she let him teach her how to use her powers. Absolutely no touching. No kisses. No feather-light brushes along her neck. No crowding into her space with that you-know-how-good-I’ll-be temptation in his black eyes. Her knees would not go weak. They would remain on professional footing and once he’d taught her how to control her psychic impulses, rather than repress them, her people would find his heart and he would be on his merry way. He didn’t want her; he wanted what she could do for him. No risk of attachment there.
Karma nodded, decision made. She would speak to Rodriguez in the morning, confirm that the exorcist didn’t have any misgivings after dealing with Prometheus, then make a new business arrangement with the Gray Knight at ten o’clock.
And perhaps tomorrow she would get a full night’s sleep, uninterrupted by unwanted visions.
Her eyes and body aching with exhaustion, Karma made her way to her meditation corner, knelt and went through the ritual to clear her head, establish control and block the visions for as long as the barriers held. There had to be a better way. Hopefully tomorrow she would learn it.
“He apologized to Brittany and fixed my sister’s car—it’s never run so well. Not even when it was new. Adela thinks he may have replaced the fuel injection system and she loves the new color.”
“He changed the color?”
“Snapped his fingers and there was a shiny new paint job. Never seen anything like it. Then we go up to Sutherland and he put a curse on the frat boy who’d been summoning nymphs into coeds and banished a roomful of nymphs with a wave of his hand. He’s fucking powerful, Karma.”
“I know. But do you trust him?”
Rodriguez hesitated a long time, longer than she would have expected, given his history with Prometheus. “No. Probably not,” he finally admitted.
And there was the catch. Neither did she. But he was still the best option. There weren’t a lot of genuine magic users out there who were capable of training her—let alone who needed her goodwill for their own survival. As long as he needed her, she might be able to trust him. Within limits. “Thanks, Rodriguez.”
“No problema, boss.”
Karma hung up the phone. It was an older model, pulled out of storage to replace the one they’d short circuited yesterday with the pyrotechnics to save Ciara. Karma had spoken to her finder this morning. She was fine, better than fine. She sounded happier than Karma had ever heard her. Alive—and not only in the thank-God-she’s-not-dead sense, but with a vibrancy that had always been missing. Joy.
A tiny jab of jealousy spiked down into Karma’s heart. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt joy. Happiness, sure. She was happy all the time. Happy for her brother at his wedding. Happy for all her consultants who were jumping on the love train. Happy for the continued success of the business. But joy? She lined a pen up at a perfect parallel to the edge of the desk. Was joy really necessary? The extremes were dangerous. The extremes were where control was forfeit and Karma needed control. That was the entire point behind the possible sessions with Prometheus—to refine her control. Teach her better control. To improve her grip on her abilities. Not to set them free, no matter what the chaos master thought. She would be very clear about their objectives.
He’d already seen her without control yesterday—which still mortified her to recall. No one had seen her so unhinged, except perhaps her brother. Karma didn’t lose her cool. And it wouldn’t be happening again.
She ran her hands over the smooth, dark expanse of her desk. She was in control here. She was the boss.
So why these butterflies deep in her stomach? Why this breathless little hitch of anticipation?
The intercom buzzed. “Prometheus to see you, Karma.”
Karma wet her lips, one hand going automatically to her hair before she forced it down. “Send him in.”
Chapter Thirteen
Negotiations and Other Foreplay
“I need your help.”
A tactful man would nod graciously, acknowledging how difficult it was for Karma to say those words to him. A wise man would keep his mouth shut, being smart enough to quit while he was ahead. But fuck it, wisdom and tact had never been part of his playbook. Prometheus flashed his teeth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that. Give it to me one more time. Nice and slow.”
Finely drawn brows lowered sharply. “May I remind you that you still need my goodwill, Prometheus?”
“You may, but you can’t blame me for enjoying the fact that now you need something from me too.”
“Need might be putting it a little strongly. Let’s just say I would appreciate your assistance.”
He rocked back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs. “Far be it from me to interfere with your appreciation of me.”
“Can we have a serious conversation about this or are you going to be picking apart every word I say?”
“Can’t we do both?” When she glowered, he held up his hands in defense. “Fine. Have it your way. We’ll be serious. So what is it you seriously need my help with?”
Karma took a breath and a moment to collect her thoughts. She sat regally behind her desk, perfectly manicured hands laced on its surface, every hair in place. She was Ms. Poise again, a far cry from the frantic desperation of yesterday. He liked her like this. She was so much more fun to push when she had the presence of mind to push back.