Running Hot

daughter, Grace.” Fallon’s voice was disconcertingly gentle. “Think about it. I’m sure you checked out your father’s profile. Your mother put it into the genealogical records when she registered you. It’s very different from Craigmore’s. For starters, his eyes were brown. And he was a crystal generator, not a strat.”
    She felt like the Titanic shortly after it encountered the iceberg.
    “You know that I came from the Burnside Clinic?” she managed.
    “I’m trying to run an investigation agency here. I make it a point to know as much as possible about my agents. The future of the Society and maybe the whole damn world depends on me getting at least some of that kind of stuff right.”
    “But how did you discover that I was a Burnside Clinic baby?”
    “Easy. Once I knew who you were before you became Grace Renquist, there was no problem finding out about the clinic. It was in the file under your first identity.”
    “Oh.” She couldn’t seem to process that. Slowly it dawned on her that if he knew about Burnside, he knew everything.
    “Yeah, I know about you and Martin Crocker,” Fallon said, as if he had read her mind, which was supposed to be impossible. “The SOB was running guns or drugs, wasn’t he? Which was it?”
    “Guns,” she said weakly. “But—”
    “You found out about the guns so he tried to kill you and you beat him to the punch. Thought that was how it went down. Good job, by the way.”
    She was vaguely horrified by his casual acceptance of what had happened that day in the Caribbean.
    “I wasn’t on a mission,” she said. “I was just trying to save my own life.”
    “Works for me. But I really don’t have time to reminisce. We’ve got a situation here.” Fallon paused. “I can’t believe I said that. I need to get more sleep. The point is we’ve got the connection between Craigmore and La Sirène.”
    “Craigmore’s other daughter,” Grace said quickly. “Damaris Kemble. What happened to her?”
    “Trust me, we’re looking for her real hard right now.”
    “Good.” Another shiver flashed through Grace. She pushed aside all thoughts about Craigmore and the Burnside Clinic. Luther was in danger. She was sure of it. “I’ve got to go, Mr. Jones. I need to call Luther right now.”
    “Wait, you don’t want to do that. He’s on a job.”
    “I need to warn him to get out of Ryan’s hotel suite immediately.”
    “Why?”
    “I have no idea.”
    She ended the connection and punched in Luther’s code.
    There was no answer.

FORTY-THREE
    “This is a little inconvenient,” the woman said. She held the laser steady on Luther’s chest. “I had a slightly different plan in mind but since you’ve gone out of your way to come here tonight, I’m sure we can work something out. I hope you enjoyed my sister’s performance. She’s brilliant, isn’t she? Crazy but brilliant.”
    “You’re Ryan’s sister?” Luther was weak and shaky but thus far he had been able to resist the worst of the laser’s effects on his aura. The woman was evidently not as powerful as Craigmore had been.
    “Damaris Kemble,” she said. “Vivien and I are half sisters, sperm donor kids. William Craigmore was our father.”
    Damaris looked relatively composed on the outside but her aura was an unstable inferno. A variety of fierce emotions—rage, despair and fear—pulsed along the entire spectrum interspersed with the dark energy of the drug.
    The laser device she held appeared to be identical to the one Craigmore had used on him in the garage. Thus far Damaris didn’t seem to realize that he was employing his own talent to ward off the worst effects of the beam.
    She had insisted that he drop the cane so he was propped against the corner of the desk. His hands were in the air, which also affected his already lousy balance. But aside from those precautions, Damaris did not seem unduly concerned. No one took aura talents seriously. Given how easily she had surprised him, maybe there was some justification for that lack of respect.
    Damaris had not appeared overly astonished to find him in her sister’s hotel suite. His reaction, on the other hand, aside from the obligatory Oh, shit, was a flash of adrenaline and anticipation. The missing pieces of the puzzle were falling into place at last. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to get the whole picture.
    “You’re some sort of Crystal talent, not a singer,” he said.
    “A generator, like my father,”