Fired Up

doorway of the connecting rooms. She had her satchel in one hand, the duffel slung over her shoulder and his computer case tucked under her arm.
    “Is he—?” she whispered.
    “No. Unconscious.” He abandoned the clothing search, picked up the gun and got to his feet. “But I don’t know how long he’ll be out. Now we really need to move fast.”
    “Okay.”
    She gave him the duffel and the computer case and rushed across the room to where her carry-on stood open. She started to zip it closed.
    “Leave it,” he said. “A suitcase will slow us down.”
    “But my stuff.”
    “Throw what you can into your satchel.” He went back into the adjoining room to get his overnight kit. “We’ll buy whatever you need.”
    She came to stand in the opening, her satchel in her hand.
    “He was going to kill you,” she said.
    “Looks like that was the plan.” He picked up the duffel, opened the door and checked the hall.
    “Clear,” he said. “Ready?”
    “Yes.” She took another look at the man on the floor as she hurried toward the door. “What about him?”
    “Fallon Jones can clean up his own mess,” Jack said. He headed toward the lobby stairs. “Serves him right for using sloppy talent.”
    She rushed after him. “Aren’t we going to use the emergency exit?”
    “No. Odds are the other man will be waiting for him out back with the getaway car.”
    “What other—?” She broke off abruptly as comprehension set in. “Right. The one we saw playing the slot in the lobby was the lookout.”
    “I think they were both hunters of some kind.”
    “Sick,” she replied. “Really, really sick. I can see it in the prints.”
    “Jones must be desperate for agents if he’s using psychos.”
    “I thought you said Fallon Jones wouldn’t do anything drastic until this so-called experiment had run its course.”
    “Looks like I was wrong. He must have decided that all he cares about is getting his hands on the lamp.”
    “No offense, but you don’t sound totally convinced.”
    “I’m not,” he admitted. “The thing is, no matter how I come at it, my strat-talent is telling me that the whole scene just doesn’t look like Fallon’s work. On the other hand, I don’t know if I can trust my first talent anymore. No telling what the nightmare energy is doing to it. Or to me.”

30
    JACK HEARD THE MUFFLED GROWL OF A MOTORCYCLE JUST as he pushed open the lobby door. A big Harley with two men on board shot out from the alley behind the motel, cut across the parking lot and roared off down the street. There was no license plate visible.
    He put on his dark glasses and watched the bike disappear.
    “The guy we left behind in the room recovered fast,” he said. “Probably his hunter reflexes.”
    Chloe gazed after the speeding bikes. “Low-rent muscle, all right, but hunter muscle.”
    “You know, the more I think about this the more I think this just isn’t Fallon’s style.”
    “But who else would have sent them?” Chloe demanded.
    “Good question.”
    “Now what?” Chloe glanced around. “Something tells me there won’t be a lot of cabs cruising this neighborhood.”
    “We’ll call one from the casino,” he said.
    They started back across the street. He took out his cell phone and punched in a number that he hadn’t called in a very long time.
    Fallon Jones answered on the first ring. “My screen says this is Jack Winters, but that can’t be right. I haven’t heard from him in nearly a year.”
    “If Chloe had gone through that door first, she would probably be dead, and I would be on my way to Scargill Cove to kill you,” Jack said. “We had a deal, Jones.”
    Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chloe give a violent little start. Her head snapped around. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open. He ignored her.
    There was a great stillness on the other end.
    “What are you talking about?” Fallon asked finally.
    Jack studied the handful of vehicles in the casino parking lot, looking for anything that seemed off. “I’m still alive. What’s up with that? Getting careless or just having a hard time finding good help?”
    “I’m in no mood for twenty questions. Tell me what the hell is going on.”
    “There was a para-hunter with a silenced gun waiting for us in our room at the motel here in Vegas. Another guy downstairs acting as lookout. I’ve got one question: Why now? Why not wait until after we know for sure that the lamp won’t work for me?”
    There was a short,