Edge of Danger (50 page)

Authors: Cherry Adair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Suspense, #Occult Fiction, #Telepathy, #Women Scientists

She’d filled out some. The last photograph they’d had of her—some high-society thing in Hong Kong a year ago—had shown her looking almost skeletal. Now she had more meat on her bones.

Not that Caleb could see much of her, dressed as she was in jeans and a purple sweater. But her face looked softer, more appealing now. His heart, which had started up a peculiar erratic beat when he’d first set eyes on her, picked up more speed as he took in the creamy curve of her cheek, the silky sweep of her hair, the stubborn jut of her chin.

His reaction to her was…weird.

The accelerated pounding was the staccato beat of fear. Of excitement? Of premonition? Hell, he didn’t know what. Nor did he want to find out. Lark was the one with precognitive powers, not him. But every instinct in him flashed a big neon warning to keep the hell away from Heather Shaw. And in his line of work, Caleb trusted his instincts. They hadn’t failed him yet.

“Earth to Middle Edge? Humor me,” Lark said smoothly in his ear, snapping him out of his reverie. “Tell me what she looks like.”

Touchable. Dangerous. Trouble.
“She’s not blond any more.” All the pictures of Shaw’s daughter showed her as a golden California blonde with about fifteen pounds of curls. Now the woman’s thick, stick-straight, honey brown hair hung to her shoulders in a shiny curtain. A nice improvement.

“Pretty?”

“Not particularly.” No, not pretty, Caleb thought,
stunning.
Appealing as hell. Her even features and lack of makeup made her appear younger, more…vulnerable, than her pub shots had. He didn’t believe in tarring the offspring with their parent’s brush, but the delectable Miss Shaw had run in her father’s very fast, very public social circles. Stood to reason that there’d be nothing innocent or vulnerable about her.

“Who cares,” he muttered, distracted by the way the lamp over the table brought out caramel highlights in Heather’s hair. She was making some sort of necklace, he decided. Something with swirls of silver and purple stones. Pretty and delicate. As pretty and delicate as the slender hands holding it up to the light.

Her hair spilled over her shoulder as she tilted her head to inspect her work. “We have her. Send someone in for the interrogation. My work here is done.” He was annoyed that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Shaw’s no-longer-missing only child. Surveilling her was one thing,
ogling,
for God’s sake, quite another. Yet, for some weird and completely mysterious reason, he was drawn to this woman in ways he hadn’t experienced in years. Years? Hell.
Ever.

“Not so fast, Hopalong. This is now your op.”

He frowned again. While he’d love an op right now—save him from more hydro-treatments, ultrasound tissue massages, and all the other crap—this wasn’t it. Too low-key. Too mundane. “Questioning Shaw’s daughter doesn’t necessitate a psi operative. I found her, now I’m ready to hand her off. Who are they sending? I’ll hang around until they get here.”

They
being T-FLAC proper. His particular talents weren’t needed. He’d just happened to be in San Francisco when Heather’s fingerprints had popped up on the T-FLAC fingerprint database.

Gotcha.

“I’m assigning Shaw’s daughter to you. Use your rakish charm to get that intel ASAP.” For an extremely Goth-looking young woman, Lark Orela’s no-nonsense tone always came as a surprise. This afternoon it brooked no argument.

It made no sense, but Caleb figured since he was there, he might as well save someone the trip. Fifteen minutes and he’d be done. He’d report in, results in hand, then pursue Lark in person for a mission. A
real
one.

“Yeah. Sure,” he told her easily. “I’ll give you a shout when I get the father’s location.”

“Good luck.” Lark sounded…odd?

Caleb’s frown deepened at the strange inflection in her usually well-modulated voice. “What am I missing?”

“Life, love, and the pursuit of happiness?” On that cryptic note the phone went dead.

Caleb stared at it as he snapped it closed. Trust Lark to be enigmatic. She was a cross between a wizard, a mother figure, and a pain in the collective asses of her operatives. But as a control she had no match. Lark could juggle from one to twenty-one operatives simultaneously. Caleb would stake his life on the fact that Lark
could
see the future. She never spoke of it. Ever. But the ability had saved many an operative’s ass, no doubt. Her advice and direction were always sound and spot-on. No one argued.

When Lark Orela said jump, intelligent people asked how high.

Caleb didn’t bother glancing around the commandeered apartment to make certain he hadn’t left anything behind. He hadn’t. He’d shimmered in. He’d leave the same way. Sight unseen.