Running Hot

that you’re a green-eyed aura talent descended from a green-eyed strat wouldn’t have given you much to go on.”
    “No,” she said. “It didn’t. Strat talents are very common within the Society. There are literally thousands registered. Narrowing the field by age and gender and eye color didn’t help. I eventually gave up.”
    A couple strolled toward them, hand in hand, lost in each other, taking up a good portion of the path. Luther thumped the cane loudly a few times. In response, the pair moved hurriedly to the far side of the pavement.
    With the force of long habit, Grace shook off the old melancholy that always came over her when she thought about her own unknown history.
    “You’re good with that thing,” she said.
    “It has its advantages. People tend to get out of my way. No one wants to be responsible for making a guy on a cane go down. Lawsuit city.”
    “How did you end up on it in the first place? Fallon said something about an accident.”
    “I got careless.”
    And that, she knew, was the end of that conversational topic. At least for now. She was trying to think of a clever way to dig deeper when ghostly fingers touched the nape of her neck. She tensed instinctively and folded her arms beneath her breasts, shielding her hands.
    There were a number of people on the path but the man coming toward them out of the shadows was moving a little differently from the rest. He was still several yards away. It was too dark to make out his features but there was something about his stride that disturbed her senses. He didn’t stroll or jog or walk in a normal fashion. He exhibited the easy, predatory glide of a big cat on the hunt.
    Part of her was aware that a subtle shift of awareness had come over Luther. She knew that he, too, had noticed the figure coming toward them.
    She jacked her parasenses to the max. One look at the powerful aura that enveloped the approaching man and she knew him instantly for what he was. Para-hunter.
    Every instinct screamed at her to turn and run even though the logical side of her brain knew it would be useless. If the pacing man was hunting her, he could easily run her down. Those endowed with his brand of talent were not supermen by any means, but their natural human hunting abilities were psychically enhanced. They could see very well in the dark. Their reflexes were on a par with those of any other wild predator. They could detect the psychic spoor of their quarry, and their favorite prey was human.
    A lot of hunters wound up in the military or in security work. But she knew all too well that, given their natural aptitude, it was inevitable that some became dangerous predators.
    Luther’s aura was running hot, too, but he gave no outward indication of his tension. His halting stride did not alter but somehow he was a little closer to her now, making certain that the hunter would pass on the opposite side, as far from her as possible.
    Take it easy, she thought. Whoever that guy is, he isn’t after you. If they had found you, they would have sent someone to Eclipse Bay to get you. They wouldn’t have waited until you took a Hawaiian vacation.
    Then again . . .
    The hunter was less than two yards away, closing the distance fast. Somehow she managed to keep moving alongside Luther, matching his slow, careful stride. There was no change in the tap-tap-tap of the cane.
    She was calmer now. Logic and common sense were kicking in, overriding the more primitive side of her brain.
    No, not logic and common sense, something else was neutralizing her fear. By rights she should still be scared out of her wits. What’s wrong with this picture? That thought was almost as frightening as the approaching hunter.
    Instinctively she tried to beat back the calming influence. She should be scared. It was the appropriate response under the circumstances. Damn it, she would be scared.
    The unnatural calm wavered and dissolved. The terror of the hunted rushed back but so did a sense of rightness. This was the way she ought to feel.
    Before she could adjust to the transition back to a state of fear, she became aware of Luther’s aura. It was pulsing at unusual points along the spectrum. Power resonated in the night.
    The two men were close now, within touching distance. Suddenly, as if a psychic switch had been turned off, the pacing man’s aura dimmed, becoming markedly less intense. It was still the aura of a para-hunter but not one who is on the prowl. Instead, his energy