Fired Up

she asked. “Do you believe that Nightshade actually sent a para-hypnotist here to interrogate Mr. Stone last night?”
    “Who knows?” Jack said. “This is Fallon’s conspiracy theory we’re dealing with. Given his current worldview, everything is about Nightshade.”
    They had called Fallon Jones immediately after Chloe had ended her conversation with Stone. Fallon had been almost apoplectic with urgency. “Go see him right now. Talk to him. Get every damn detail you can out of him. Take a good look at Stone’s dreamprints, Chloe. Sounds like he and the guard were given a hypnotic suggestion to encourage them to forget whoever came to see Stone. I want a full report as soon as you’re finished.”
    “Excuse me, Mr. Jones, but are you trying to hire me to do a job for you?”
    “You’re a private investigator, aren’t you? Not like I’ve got anyone else I can use on such short notice. Send me a bill later.”
    She opened her senses and studied the front steps. Psi light glowed faintly on the sun-washed tiles. A thrill of awareness swept through her.
    “There was definitely a strong talent of some kind here recently,” she said. “A woman. I can see her prints. They weren’t here a couple days ago. Must be from yesterday.”
    Jack looked at her, his eyes unreadable behind the lenses of his dark glasses. “You’re sure it was a woman?”
    “Yes.” She pushed her senses a little higher and concentrated harder. “But there’s no evidence of instability, not like there was in the energy of the prints of the guys who tried to kill us at the motel yesterday.”
    “Fallon said that the psychic instability is a side effect of the drug Nightshade is using.”
    “Well, whoever she is, I could swear that the woman who came to see Stone is not taking the formula.”
    “So much for Fallon’s conspiracy theory.”
    The door opened. A housekeeper stood in the hall. She was definitely not the same woman who had greeted them earlier. The other one had looked the part—middle-aged with work-worn hands and a polite, quietly efficient air. This woman was a lot younger and considerably more attractive. Her blond hair was in a frisky ponytail, and she was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a snug, low-cut yellow blouse that emphasized her bust.
    Chloe glanced into the hallway and studied the woman’s psi prints. She’d seen the same kind of sad, sickly energy in the alleys and doorways of Pioneer Square. She wondered if Stone knew that his housekeeper was a junkie.
    The blonde glanced at her without much interest before giving Jack a sexy, inviting smile.
    “Mr. Stone is out by the pool,” she said. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”
    She turned and walked toward the front room, hips swaying to a silent dance beat. Chloe shot Jack a suspicious look to see if he was paying attention. He was doing an excellent job of appearing oblivious to the obvious flirtation, however. When he saw Chloe eyeing him closely he raised his brows in silent, innocent inquiry. What?
    He had caught her. Now she was blushing again. This kind of behavior had to stop. Not only was it highly unprofessional, it was a good way to get her heart broken. Just because she could sleep with him and just because they’d had great sex on a few occasions, it did not follow that they were going to have a long, enduring relationship. Especially after she figured out how to tell him that last night had not gone so well. Damn, damn, damn.
    She switched her attention to the view of the sparkling Roman fountains and the pool visible through the wall of windows. She was not jealous. She had no right to feel possessive. It wasn’t like they were having an affair. They barely knew each other. Sure, there was physical attraction, but that was probably all there was between them unless you counted the ability to work the lamp together.
    She pushed the disturbing thoughts aside. They were here to do a job. She glanced at the psi prints on the marble flooring and the richly patterned carpets. There were two more sets of fresh tracks in addition to those left by the housekeeper and the woman who had come to see Stone last night. Whoever had left them had entered the residence from the back of the big house.
    The prints smoked with sick, unstable energy. She recognized the unwholesome dreamlight immediately.
    She drew a sharp breath and turned toward Jack, intending to signal the danger. But he was not looking at her. He was watching the two men