exciting. There was something indefinably electric in the atmosphere, at least on her side of the car. At various times in her life she had found other men attractive but she had never experienced anything quite like this fluttery little rush of sensual anticipation. It stirred all her senses in unusual and interesting ways.
Power was always interesting; power that was ruled by the kind of exquisite control that Luther wielded was especially intriguing, at least to her. One glance at his aura had told her that he was no level eight— more like a level ten or higher. Obviously he’d managed to keep that little fact out of the files. She couldn’t hold it against him. She’d faked her own ranking, too. Powerful talents were slapped with the label “exotic” within the Society. The term did not convey admiration or respect. At best, other sensitives tended to view strong sensitives of any kind with a degree of caution. At worst, they avoided them. Power might be interesting but it could also be dangerous.
The photo on Luther’s new driver’s license had not lied. He was as hard-looking in person as he was in the picture. His eyes were brown, too, as advertised. But it was an almost feral shade of amber. It made her think of dark jungles and forbidden passions. Not that she’d had much experience with either.
“I love the air here,” she announced, inhaling deeply. “It’s intoxicating. Makes me want to put my head out the window like a dog.”
“Hawaii has that effect on a lot of people.” He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. “How are you doing without the gloves?”
The question annoyed her. She looked briefly at her hands, neatly folded in her lap, and then raised her chin.
“I told you, I can deal with it.”
“You’re sure? I noticed that you kept your hands under your raincoat on your lap for most of the flight.”
“I would not have taken this assignment if I thought I couldn’t handle it.”
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” She wrinkled her nose. “You’re fretting. I’m making you nervous.”
“Maybe I’m just curious?”
“You’re fretting,” she repeated evenly. “I suppose I can’t blame you for your lack of confidence but try looking at this situation from my perspective.”
“Which is?”
She raised her brows. “I’ve got a bodyguard who isn’t comfortable carrying a gun and needs a cane to get around.”
“Fallon told you about the gun thing?”
“Yes.”
He meditated on that for a long moment and then nodded once. “You know, you’re right. From your perspective, those facts would not at first glance appear to be reassuring.”
“Luckily for me,” she said coolly, “I took a second glance.”
“At my aura,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I’m an aura talent. That’s what I do.”
To her surprise, he smiled faintly. “What did you see that was reassuring?”
She sat back in the seat and concentrated on savoring the wonderful air.
“I saw a lot of sheer bullheaded determination,” she said.
“Bullheaded determination is a good quality?”
“It means you’ll do whatever you need to do to complete this mission. What’s more, you know your own power and how to control it. You feel confident about your talent so I do, too.”
She saw a lot more than that but she was not prepared to go into details. Some things you just did not talk about on a first date. The thought made her smile.
Luther was silent for a moment, processing what she had said. Then his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You can see things like determination in an aura?” he asked, half curious, half disbelieving.
She turned her head to look at him. “Didn’t Mr. Jones tell you about the little twist in my talent?”
“He said you could read a person’s psychic profile. Guess I didn’t understand exactly what that meant. I’m surprised they haven’t got you working as a parapsychologist.”
“I don’t have the academic background to work as a counselor.”
“How did you end up in Genealogy?”
“I applied for a position in the Bureau. I like psychic genealogy. It suits my talents. How did you end up as a bartender in Waikiki?”
“It suits my talents.”
She knew a conversational dead end when she ran into one.
“Right. Speaking of your talents, what’s the plan for finding our bad guy?” she asked. “Do I just stroll around the resort like a drug-sniffing dog looking at auras?”
His mouth twitched a little. “We’ll try to be a little more cool than that.”
“Even if we’re very cool, it probably won’t take long to spot Eubanks. Powerful talents of any kind are rare. What are the odds that there will be more than one level-nine strat staying at the resort?”
“That’s what Fallon Jones said.”
“If anyone knows probabilities, it’s Mr. Jones.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret about Fallon Jones,” Luther said.
“What’s that?”
“Most of the time he’s right but occasionally he screws up and when he does, it’s never in a small way.”
She thought about that. “Maybe that’s because he’s so sure of himself and his talent that he doesn’t always allow for other possibilities. Or maybe because he’s overworked. I have the impression that he’s under a tremendous amount of pressure these days.”
“You do realize that he’s a first-class conspiracy theorist who just happens to have a good track record?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “But I admit that it is a bit unsettling to think of Mr. Jones in those terms.”
“Pay is good, though,” Luther said.
She smiled. “Yes, it is.”
SEVEN
It was after four o’clock by the time they checked into the beachfront hotel in the Wailea resort community. The suite was on the fourth floor with a view of the pool, the gardens and the ocean beyond. There were deeply shaded lanais off both the master bedroom and the living room. The perfect spot for a honeymoon, Luther thought, morosely. Not that he would know. He’d gone to Vegas for both of his.
He carried his small leather travel kit into the second bath and set it on the counter next to the sink, aware of Grace unpacking in the master bedroom. For a moment he indulged in a pleasant little erotic fantasy, thinking that it would have been very nice to be the real Mr. Carstairs on a real honeymoon with his real wife.
Don’t go there. She’s not your wife, she’s the partner you never wanted; one with zero field experience. That is not a good thing.
She was also the only woman who had revved up his senses and made him seriously hard in months. No way that could be a
bad thing. It was distracting, however. He was going to have to work in order to stay focused.
His leg ached. The combination of the flight from Honolulu and the drive from the airport had taken its toll. Annoyed, he removed the bottle of anti-inflammatory tablets from his kit and shook out four. He managed to resist the almost overwhelming urge to hurl the bottle across the room. The damn leg was never going to be the same. Get over it.
He dropped the bottle back into the kit, tightened his hand on the cane and made his way out of the bathroom. Grace was waiting for him. She had changed into a pair of lightweight trousers and another long-sleeved shirt. At least she wasn’t wearing the trench coat.
It occurred to him that she did not seem overly impressed with the suite. He was. He’d spent time in the army, put in several years as a cop and now he was a bartender and part-time contractor with J&J. None of those career paths had paid the kind of money that allowed him to check into classy suites like this one. Grace, however, seemed unfazed by the luxury accommodations. Maybe he should consider a position in the Bureau of Genealogy.
“Going somewhere?” he asked.
“Thought I’d take a walk on the beach,” she said. “I’ve been in a plane or on the road for most of the day. I’d like to unwind before dinner.”