Fired Up

efficiently,” Grace said. “We talked about this. The burden of commanding the fight against Nightshade falls mostly on your shoulders. You’re the man in charge, but you have to face the fact that you can’t do it all. You need someone who can take over the day-to-day administrative tasks so that you will be able to focus on more important priorities.”
    “She’s right,” Luther said. “Might help if you got more sleep, too. No offense, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. When was the last time you got a full night’s rest?”
    For some reason he felt the need to defend himself. “I don’t need a lot of sleep,” he muttered.
    “Yes, you do,” Grace said. “Hire an assistant, Mr. Jones. And soon.”
    “And on that note, we’re out of here,” Luther said. He smiled at Grace. “Ready, honey?”
    “Yes.” She glanced at her watch as she walked toward the door. “Oh, wow, look at the time. We definitely need to be on our way north.”
    Luther nodded at Fallon. “Later, Fallon.”
    “One thing before you leave,” Fallon said. He looked at Grace. “None of my business, but are you okay?”
    She blinked, startled. Then she laughed. “Never better, Mr. Jones. I’m pregnant. I’m surprised you noticed, though. I’m just a little over two months along.”
    Fallon felt himself redden. “Congratulations. Guess it’s true what they say about the glow, huh?” He switched his attention to Luther. “But that doesn’t explain why I’m picking up the same energy around you, Malone.”
    Grace smiled. “We’re happy, Mr. Jones. You should try it sometime.”
    She went out onto the landing. Luther followed her, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later Fallon watched them drive away, and he was alone again.
    He used to like being alone. He needed to be alone. Most of the time.
    He pulled his thoughts back to the present and contemplated the cheery light of the Sunshine Café. He’d called in Grace and Luther to give Isabella Valdez their seal of approval because for some bizarre reason he did not trust his own judgment. The uncertainty was not like him. He was usually confident in his own powers of logic and observation.
    Grace and Luther might have cleared Isabella, but his own intuition was warning him that there were mysteries swirling around her.
    After a while he went back to his desk, sat down and took another look at the newspaper article displayed on the computer. He routinely scanned the online editions of nearly two dozen West Coast dailies every morning, hoping for subtle indications of Nightshade activity. The organization was sophisticated and operated under deep cover. It did not engage in the kind of overt criminal activity that would be likely to draw the attention of the authorities.
    But for some reason it was a routine crime story that had caught his attention recently. The piece had first appeared several days ago, but every morning he reread it. Something in the report sent tiny currents of awareness whispering through him. No matter how often he read it, though, he could not figure out what it was that triggered his senses.
    SUSPECT IN KILLINSS FOUND DEAD. LAST VICTIM SURVIVES ATTACK.
    Seattle: A man identified as Aaron Paul Hanney, believed to have been responsible for the rape and murder of at least two women, was found dead in an alley in the Capitol Hill neighborhood last night. A third woman, Sharon Billings, told police that she escaped Hanney thanks to the intervention of a passerby who confronted her attacker. Hanney collapsed and died at the scene. An autopsy has been ordered, but authorities said the cause of death appears to have been a heart attack.
    Miss Billings gave a statement to the police. In it she said that she was unable to identify the man who came to her rescue due to the fact that the lighting was so poor.
    Authorities are asking the man who went to the aid of Sharon Billings to contact the police immediately.
    There was something important here, Fallon thought. But he did not have time to pursue it this afternoon. He closed the heavily encrypted laptop, rose, grabbed a leather jacket off the coatrack, and left the office.
    He kept plenty of high-test coffee on hand. It was his drug of choice these days. But lately he’d gotten into the habit of going across the street to drink a couple of cups of coffee at the Sunshine while he made notes and organized his thoughts.
    Outside on Scargill’s twisty little main street the air was