Running Hot

bundled Grace into the car.
    “Are you sure it’s necessary to drive back to L.A. tonight?” she asked, yawning.
    “As long as that Siren is still on the loose, we are not hanging around Acacia Bay.”
    It was a command decision. She was too exhausted to argue. She rested her head against the back of the seat and looked out over the night-darkened Pacific.
    “I’m so glad to know that wasn’t real blood on her Lucia outfit,” she said. “It was just a costume from the wardrobe department.”
    “Fallon Jones thinks your theory about her descent into insanity is right. She was unstable to begin with. Using her voice to kill people for little or no reason just made her crazier. And with craziness comes loss of control on both the normal and the paranormal plane.”
    “How did you find me?” she asked.
    “I’ll always be able to find you,” he said.
    She smiled. “You are such a romantic. I’m serious.”
    “So am I.”
    She turned her head to look at him. “Come on, tell me how you knew that Guthrie had taken me to Guthrie Hall.”
    “Process of elimination. She had a limited choice of venues. It’s a small town, after all. There was a big reception going on at Guthrie’s house so she couldn’t use it. Smuggling you into her hotel room would have been dicey. Where else was she going to go? You told me yourself she loves the spotlight. And Newlin Guthrie had access to the finest stage in town.”
    “That was brilliant.”
    “Yeah, I used to be a detective once.”
    She rested her hand on his injured leg. “Once a detective, always a detective.”

FORTY-NINE
    La Sirène looked down at the cauldron of crashing surf far below. A swath of cold moonlight stroked the scene; the perfect spotlight for her final performance. The cliffs were not the ramparts of the Castel Sant’Angelo that Tosca used after discovering that her lover had been shot by the firing squad, but they would do.
    It was over. The Renquist woman had proved too much for the Voice. Her power was almost gone now, and she knew it would never recover. La Sirène was doomed. Better by far to depart the stage tonight. Tomorrow the critics would make her famous once again as they rhapsodized about her Queen of the Night and simultaneously mourned the loss of her incredible talent. Her death would make headlines.
    She spread her arms wide and sang her own death song as she flung herself over the castle wall.
    Really, she had always been so much better than Callas. She was La Sirène.

FIFTY
    The three-way conference call with Fallon took place the following day in their hotel room near the L.A. airport.
    “Ryan’s body was found washed up on the rocks at a place called Hellfire Cove,” Fallon said. “Evidently it’s a major scenic attraction in Acacia Bay. Lots of rough, dangerous surf. Photographers love it. Strictly off limits for swimming or diving.”
    “Tosca flinging herself from the castle wall,” Grace said. “A fitting stage for La Sirène’s final performance.”
    “You knew she was going to jump?” Fallon asked, sharply curious.
    Across the room, Luther looked at her, too.
    “I didn’t know how she would do it,” Grace said quietly. “But yes, I was fairly certain that she would commit suicide. It was there in her aura when she ran back toward the stage.”
    “Well, it looks like we won’t need Sweetwater’s services on this case,” Fallon said. “That simplifies matters.”
    “What about Damaris Kemble?” Luther asked.
    “She’s being debriefed as we speak. She’ll get her first injection of the antidote later today.”
    “So soon?” Grace said. “I thought she still had a three-week supply of the drug.”
    “It was her decision,” Fallon explained. “She wanted to get started on the antidote as quickly as possible. Apparently she’s been experiencing some unpleasant side effects from the Nightshade drug. She gave her remaining vials to the lab techs to study. They’ve been trying to figure out how Nightshade genetically tailors the formula for each individual. The information may be useful for tweaking the antidote.”
    “How did she take the news of her sister’s death?” Grace asked.
    “One of the Society shrinks who is talking to her told me she was sad but not surprised.”
    “Poor Damaris,” Grace whispered. “She lost her father and her sister within a year of finding them. Now she’s alone again.”
    “She’s alive,” Fallon pointed out drily.
    “Thanks to Luther,” Grace