Running Hot (17 page)

The hunter sank back down onto the bed, literally too weary to get to his feet.

“That really is a nifty trick,” he said. “How long can you keep it up? Must be a hell of an energy drain.”

It was true that he was using an enormous amount of energy to immobilize the hunter. He saw no reason to admit that, however. But the casual manner in which the other man had used the term “energy drain” was interesting. Few people outside the Society, even those comfortable with their psychic natures, would have phrased it quite that way.

“Are you Arcane?” the hunter asked.

“You could say it’s in the blood. You?”

“J&J.”

“Of course you are. No wonder she had a bad feeling about this job.”

“Who?”

“My scheduler. Last night she informed me that she was having doubts about the client and the whole damn situation. This morning she canceled the contract and told me to go home. But I just had to have a look at Eubanks’s room. After all these years, you’d think I’d know enough to pay attention to her intuition.”

“Who is the client?”

“Called herself Winthrup. That’s the code name for our Number Two client. Her story checked out.”

“She identified herself as female?”

“No. The real Winthrup is male. Like I said, my scheduler is a strong intuitive. She had a hunch that whoever contacted us was not the real deal.”

“Any idea why this Winthrup wanted Eubanks removed?”

“We were informed that he had murdered two wives and a young woman but that isn’t why we were given a contract. His major offense, according to Winthrup, is that he is engaged in laundering money for a group that finances terrorists.”

“You work for the government?”

“Private contractor. We’ve got a very short list of clients. A certain government agency is one of them. That’s where the real Winthrup works.”

The cell phone in Luther’s pocket vibrated urgently. He yanked it out and glanced at the code. Grace.

“Eubanks is on his way back here,” he said. “He’s got a hunter bodyguard with him.”

“The hunter will sense that there was some action in this suite.”

“I don’t think so. My associate assures me that the bodyguard is not a full hunter. Seems to lack a few of the usual skills, including the ability to pick up the spoor of violence.”

“Not much of a hunter, then. Well, this is over for me. Good thing, too. My first grandchild is due to arrive at any minute. The family is gathering to celebrate the big event. Mind letting me up?”

“One more thing,” Luther said. “Got any proof of your version of events?”

“How about if I say the magic words?”

“Which are?”

“Tell Fallon Jones that Sweetwater sends his regards.”

“You know Fallon?”

“We’ve only got two clients. Number One is J&J.”

TWENTY

“You ran into Harry Sweetwater in Eubanks’s hotel room?” Fallon sounded genuinely startled, a rare state of affairs. “Son of a gun. What are the odds?”

“You keep saying that.” Luther reached the sliding glass doors, turned and started back across the suite. The cane thudded heavily on the carpet. “Here’s the thing, Fallon. You’re supposed to know the damn odds. That’s your job, remember? Figuring the odds? Connecting dots? Running probabilities? This is a major screwup. What the hell is going on? Did you forget to mention that you’d sent a pro after Eubanks?”

He was very aware of Grace sitting on the sofa looking concerned. The aftereffects of using such a heavy volume of energy to keep Sweetwater planted on the bed were hitting him hard and she obviously knew it. The adrenaline and other biochemicals that had flooded his bloodstream had worn off, leaving him jittery and cold. He hated this part, hated looking exhausted in front of her. The damn cane was bad enough.

“I didn’t send Sweetwater after Eubanks,” Fallon said.

“Who else besides J&J would want Eubanks dead?”

Grace raised her hand. “Someone who wants his job?”

“I heard that,” Fallon said. “I like it. Makes sense, given what we know about Nightshade. It’s a tough outfit.”

Luther stopped and looked across the room at Grace. “Sweetwater said his scheduler thinks that the person calling herself Winthrup was a woman. Evidently the real Winthrup is a man.”

“Sweetwater’s scheduler is his wife,” Fallon said. “She’s probably right. High-level intuitive.”

“I don’t believe this. His
wife
schedules the hits?”

“Sweetwater is a family business,” Fallon explained. “It was founded shortly after J&J was established. There’s been a connection between the two firms ever since. Should be another generation of Sweetwaters coming along soon. Harry’s oldest son got married a while back.”

“He did say something about having to get home for the birth of a grandchild.”

“It’s a very close family.”

“The family that whacks together, stays together?”

Over on the sofa Grace raised her brows.

“Guess it makes for strong family bonds,” Fallon said.

“Just out of curiosity, how often does J&J employ the Sweetwater clan?”

“As infrequently as possible and only when there’s no other option. We always make an effort to put together a case that will hold up with regular law enforcement and the courts, you know that. You’ve helped build some of those cases. But occasionally we find ourselves dealing with a high-level sensitive gone bad who is just too damn clever or simply too powerful. Cecil Ferguson, for example.”

“Who was Ferguson?”

“A level-ten hypnotist who was also a serial killer. Murdered twelve people before he came to our attention. Took us that long to realize he was one of us, a sensitive. High-grade hypnos are so rare that I’ve often wondered if he was formula-enhanced.”

“Nightshade?”

“Maybe. But we were never able to prove it. This was back in the early days of dealing with Nightshade. We were just beginning to realize that we were facing a full-blown criminal organization, not just another renegade scientist who had decided to play alchemist. At any rate, I knew we couldn’t give Ferguson to the cops, not even with plenty of evidence. Anyone who got within a few feet of him was at risk of being put into a trance. He would simply have walked away from the arresting officers.”

“So you sent Sweetwater.”

“Who took him out from a safe distance. For the record, I use Sweetwater only as a last resort and then only with the full approval of the Council and the Master. And we sure as hell didn’t send him to Maui.”

“Whoever did send him knew how to make herself look like she was Client Number Two. Sweetwater said she used all the right codes.”

“Interesting,” Fallon said, grim and thoughtful.

“All right, getting back to our little problem here, how are you doing getting your long-term surveillance people in place? These guys might leave at any time.”

Over on the sofa Grace raised her hand again. “I could follow one of the Nightshade operatives.”

He gave her his most intimidating stare. She did not appear to notice.

“Heard that, too,” Fallon said. “Unfortunately, Grace isn’t trained for that kind of work.”

Luther smiled at Grace. “He says you’re not trained for that kind of work.”

She grimaced and flopped back against the sofa cushions.

“I’m working on the surveillance issue,” Fallon said. “I’ll have five agents there within the next twenty-four hours. You and Grace will have to keep an eye on things until then.”

“We don’t need Grace on the scene any longer. I want her out of here.”

“More Nightshade people might arrive,” Fallon said.

“I can ID them for you.”

“Yes, but you can’t profile them. Which reminds me, tell Grace I got the profiles she worked up this afternoon. They look very thorough.”

The phone went abruptly silent.

Luther looked at Grace. “He liked your profiles.”

She brightened. “I’m so glad. I take it we’re still partners?”

“Yeah.”

“Your overwhelming enthusiasm is so heartwarming.” She got to her feet, took his arm and steered him toward the bedroom. “Come with me. You need to get some rest. You’re running on fumes.”

“Used up a lot of energy on Sweetwater. I’m going to have to crash for a while. Pay attention. Keep all the doors locked. Do not leave this room and do not let anyone in, not even the guy who restocks the minibar. Got that?”

“Understood.”

He sank down onto the bed and contemplated his running shoes. A man on a cane probably didn’t need running shoes, he thought. Before he could decide whether or not he had enough strength left to remove them, Grace knelt in front of him, her head bent. The soft light gleamed on her dark hair. He watched her untie the laces.

“Do you think it should worry us that the best example of a perfect family that we’ve run into on this trip is a clan of contract killers?” he asked.

“Family is family.”

TWENTY-ONE

He awoke with an awareness that she was in the room. He did not have to open his eyes to see her. He knew in some way that he could not explain that he would always be aware of her when she was close. The sense of recognition that had hit him full force when he saw her walking toward him along the airport concourse had become a hundred times more intense when she shivered through her first release in his arms; a thousand times stronger that morning when it seemed to him that their auras had somehow fused for a timeless moment in a bond that would never be severed.

Hell, maybe she was right. Maybe he was a romantic.

“You’re awake,” Grace said. “How do you feel?”

He did open his eyes then and levered himself up on his elbows. She stood near the sliding glass doors. The curtains were drawn open a couple of feet, giving him a view of the bright morning.

He noticed that she was still dressed in the same clothes she had been wearing the night before. There was an air of unnatural alertness about her. He recognized it immediately. He’d experienced the same sensation on more than one occasion after a sleepless night.

“I’m fine.” He surveyed her. “But you look like you never went to bed.”

“You were sleeping very deeply. I thought that, under the circumstances, it might be a good idea if one of us stayed awake.”

He turned away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “In other words, you were afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do my job, that I wouldn’t be able to protect either of us if someone broke in while I was out of it.”

“We’re a team, remember?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He might be linked to her in some special way, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get pissed off at her.

“For the record,” he said evenly, “I can handle the occasional aftereffects of my job.”

“I’m sure you can. I just thought it would be best to take precautions.”

“I would have awakened if someone had tried to get into the room. Trust me.”

“Do you always wake up this grouchy?” she asked, sounding curious, rather than accusatory.

“No, only on those mornings when I discover that the client I’m supposed to be protecting thinks she has to protect me.”

“I’m not your client. I’m your partner.”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Last night you did it. For heaven’s sake, this is a stupid argument. Why don’t you go take a shower?”

He thought about that. It was probably a good idea.

“What about you?” he said. “You need some sleep.”

“I rested in the chair. Dozed a bit off and on.”

“You didn’t have to spend the entire night watching over me.”

“It isn’t the first time I’ve gone without a good night’s sleep. I’ll be fine. Now, go take a shower.”

He grabbed the cane and got to his feet. When he looked down he realized that he was still wearing his shirt and trousers. When he looked up he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes were wells of shadows and he needed a shave. Badly. Not a pretty picture.

On top of all that, he was hungry and not just for food. He looked at Grace, trying to gauge the extent of her fatigue.

“You know,” he said, testing the roughness of his morning beard with one hand. “A sensitive guy probably wouldn’t ask a woman who’d had a sleepless night if she might be interested in showering with him.”

Her brows crinkled together in a repressive glare. “You’re right, a sensitive man would certainly not suggest sharing a shower at a moment like this.”

He nodded, resigned. “Yeah, I know. I look a little ragged around the edges right now.”

“For Pete’s sake, it’s got nothing to do with how you look,” she snapped.

“What, then?” he asked, going blank.

“We just had a fight.” She waved her hands. “You were growling at me a moment ago. Now you’re talking about having sex as if nothing happened.”

“You call what we just had a fight?”

“How would you describe it?”

He thought about it. “It was a discussion. Now it’s over and I’m going to take a shower. Just wondered if you’d like to join me, that’s all.”

“It was a fight,” she said.

“You’re blowing it out of proportion. Probably because you’re tense from lack of sleep.”

“It was a fight and I am not tense from lack of sleep.”

“You know, showering together would be a good way to relieve that tension.”

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. Before he had time to say another word, Grace picked up one of the small decorative pillows and hurled it at his head.

He batted the pillow aside and started toward her, circling the bed.

“Now, a pillow fight is something I do understand,” he said.

He quickly closed the distance between them. The room was suddenly ablaze with energy.

She took a step back toward the wall. “If you think for one moment that I’m in any kind of mood for sex after our little
discussion,
think again.”

“See, that’s the thing about men and sex.” He tossed the cane onto the bed and braced his hands on the wall behind her, caging her between his arms. “Thinking doesn’t usually enter into it.”

“That explains so much.”

“Always glad to be of service.”

He kissed her, a slow, morning kiss; the kind a man gives a woman he knows he has satisfied; the kind that makes it clear he intends to satisfy her again. And be satisfied in return. A claiming kiss.