Fired Up

I’d like to know.”
    A glint of humor came and went in his eyes. “Good question,” he agreed judiciously.
    “I’ll bet the real problem Arcane has with double- or multi-talents is that they haven’t had much experience with them. They’ve made assumptions based on a few anecdotal records of a handful of individuals who exhibited more than one strong talent. But those people were obviously too weak psychically to handle that much power. They self-destructed, so to speak.”
    “They’ve also got Nicholas Winters,” Jack reminded her.
    “Yeah, well, according to the legend, Old Nick tried to murder Sylvester. Stands to reason that the Joneses might have taken a somewhat less than fair and balanced view of the entire situation. Anyhow, the bottom line here is that you are not weak. You’ve obviously got all the wattage you need to control your second talent.”
    “For now,” he said grimly.
    “Mr. Positive Thinker. As far as what happened the night before last, you can stop apologizing. Heck, the sight of Madeline Gibson holding that gun was more than enough to trigger some nasty dreams. Now you know why I hate those kinds of cases.”
    He looked at her. “I love it when you do that.”
    “Do what?”
    “Play the tough PI.” His mouth kicked up a little at the corner.
    “What makes it so interesting is that you really are tough. How did you end up in a legitimate line of work?”
    She went still in the seat. “What are you implying, Mr. Winters?”
    He was even more amused by her sudden bristling. “Don’t take offense. I’m making no moral or ethical judgments here. I’m just curious. The Harper family has a long history with Arcane and a lot of that history could be considered thorny, to put it mildly.”
    “Most of my relatives have a talent for art of one sort or another,” she said stiffly. “I lacked that kind of ability, so I had to find another way to make a living.”
    “I’m not buying that, not for a minute.”
    “I assure you, I have absolutely no artistic talent. I’m good at finding things, that’s all.”
    “But that’s not why you went legit.”
    “It isn’t?”
    She infused her voice with all the icy reserve she could summon. It didn’t seem to faze him.
    “No,” he said. “You became a PI because you’re one of the good guys. You’re a natural-born fixer. You want to find answers and fix things for people.”
    “And just what makes you so sure you know so much about me?”
    He shrugged. “Part of my strat talent. I’m good at scoping out weaknesses and vulnerabilities in people. That’s why I’ve been able to make so much money.”
    “How nice for you.”
    “The talent has its uses,” he agreed neutrally.
    The flight attendant’s voice came over the PA system, instructing the passengers to prepare for the landing. Chloe straightened in her seat and checked the belt.
    “One more thing before we meet with Drake Stone,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Whatever you do, don’t try to coerce him into selling you the lamp. Take it from me, that never works.”
    “I’m a strategy- talent who has made a lot of money putting deals together.”
    “I know, but—”
    “Trust me, everyone really does have a price, Chloe. I’ll know Stone’s within five minutes of meeting him.”
    She did not like the sound of that.
    “I want your word that you will let me handle this situation,” she insisted. “Collectors are an odd bunch.”
    “I doubt that they are any more weird than some of the folks I’ve backed.”
    “Just remember, I’m in charge.”
    “You’re the expert.”
    Not quite what she had wanted to hear.

18
    “THERE ARE DAYS, MISS HARPER, WHEN I THINK THAT IF I HAVE to sing “Blue Champagne” one more time I’m going to lose it completely and go bonkers right there on stage.”
    Chloe smiled. “So this probably isn’t the time to tell you that my assistant informed me that you were her mother’s favorite singer.”
    They were sitting on a patio overlooking a sparkling turquoise pool framed by stone columns and twin rows of classical statues. The day was bright and sunny, but it was, in Chloe’s opinion, a tad cool to be sitting outdoors, even if this was the desert. It was still December, after all, and sixty-two degrees was still sixty-two degrees; not true patio weather even if you were from Seattle. They were all quite comfortable, however, because two towering propane patio heaters cast a warm glow over the scene.
    Here in Vegas, you