Fired Up

clinic?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Please, go. Hector thinks you should.”
    “Yeah?” Mountain Man looked down at Hector. “Okay, maybe I’ll do that.”
    “Today,” Chloe said gently. “Hector wants you to promise to go today.”
    “I will,” Mountain Man vowed to Hector. “Got my word on it, Big Guy.”
    He turned and shambled off across the intersection, heading for his day job, panhandling near the Pike Place Market. There was a clinic in the Market designed for people like Mountain Man. She could only hope that he would follow through on his promise this time.

    SHE WAS IN THE BEDROOM, throwing a few things into a small carry-on bag on the off chance that she might have to spend the night in Vegas, when Rose shouted from the landing on the second floor.
    “Chloe? Fletcher Monroe is here. He’d like to talk to you.”
    Just what she did not need. She tossed the long-sleeved silk nightgown onto the neatly folded silk travel sheet already in the suitcase and went to the open doorway. Hector, who had been napping on the floor, lumbered to his feet and followed her. Fletcher was already on the stairs that led up to her third-floor apartment. Hector glared at him, turned around and went back into the living room.
    Fletcher was dressed in jeans, a button-down shirt with a T-shirt underneath, running shoes and no tie. He had the vaguely rumpled, decidedly un-crisp look that was de rigueur in the academic world. Heaven forbid a Pacific Northwest instructor be mistaken for a denizen of the corporate establishment.
    It was annoying that Fletcher still felt he had a right to come up here and invade her private space, Chloe thought. Sure, she’d invited him in for tea and after-dinner drinks a few times and they’d done some good-natured petting on the sofa. But he was a client now.
    This was one of the problems that came up when you mixed business and pleasure. Boyfriends who metamorphosed into clients and vice versa never got the rules straight. She was forced to set boundaries, and then guys got mad.
    She was about to tell Fletcher that she would meet him downstairs when she noticed the wobbly light of his psi prints. He was giving her his easy, charming smile, acting as if all was normal. But the unsteady, shifting hues of dreamlight told her he was still badly unnerved. He’d had a close brush with death and he knew it. He would be awhile getting over the scare.
    “Hey, there, Miss Psychic Private Eye,” he said. “I hear you saved my life the other night.”
    She hated it when he called her Miss Psychic Private Eye. It was his unsubtle way of mocking what he considered her delusional talent.
    “I had some help.” She surveyed him. “How do you feel?”
    He stopped smiling and exhaled heavily. “I’ve got the mother of all hangovers, thanks to the sleeping meds that bitch put in those cookies, but obviously it could be worse.” He halted on the landing and glanced past her into the apartment. “Actually, it is worse. I don’t have any place to sleep. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you mind if I stayed here until I can rent an apartment?”
    “I’m sorry, Fletcher,” she said gently. “That’s not possible. You’ll have to go to a hotel.”
    “I lost everything in that damn fire.”
    He was starting to whine. She hated when clients whined. “You’ve still got a bank account, right?” she said. “And what about your wallet? Was that in your pants when we dragged you out the door?”
    “Well, yeah, but—”
    “So you’ve got your credit cards and access to an ATM. That should be enough to get you a hotel room for a few nights. I’m sure it won’t take long to find an apartment. I’m really sorry about the house.”
    “Why didn’t you stop her?” Fletcher demanded. The whining tone got worse. “That’s why I hired you.”
    “You hired me to get some proof that she was stalking you.”
    “She tried to burn my house down around me.”
    “I realize that. I was there.”
    “So why didn’t you stop her?”
    She sighed. “Things escalated rapidly. I didn’t realize what was happening in time to stop her. All I could do was try to save you.”
    “Evidently you didn’t even do that very well. They said your assistant and some stranger came along and helped you drag me out of the house.”
    “That’s true.”
    “They also said that Madeline Gibson had a psychotic break and collapsed. That’s probably the real reason you were able to save me.”
    “Probably,” she