Running Hot

smile. “You think I need a lecture on the art of the deal from you?”
    “For twelve years I’ve been your personal profiler. I’m the one who tells you when a business associate is in trouble, either financially or in his personal life. I warn you when someone is trying to con you. I identify the strengths and weaknesses of your opponents and your partners. I tell you exactly what you need to offer to someone in order to close the deal, and I’m the one who tells you when your best option is to walk away from the table.”
    “You had your uses, I’ll grant you that. But I don’t need you anymore. Before we finish this, though, I’d really like to know how you tumbled on to my little arms-dealing sideline.”
    “As far as your guests and business associates are concerned, I’m just a trusted member of the staff. No one looks twice at me. No one notices me. But I take a good look at them. That’s what you pay me to do, after all. Sometimes I see things and sometimes I hear things. And I am very, very good when it comes to research, remember?”
    “How much do you know?”
    “About the people you’re involved with?” She raised one shoulder slightly. “Not a lot. Just that it’s some sort of cartel run by very powerful sensitives and that they’ve seduced you into doing their dirty work.”
    Martin’s aura flared higher. “No one has seduced me.”
    “Until recently I would never have believed that anyone could buy you,” she said. “I mean, what could a bunch of gangsters offer one of the most successful men on the planet that would make it worth his while to risk his freedom, his reputation and his life?”
    Martin’s rage showed in his eyes now. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The organization isn’t some mob.”
    “Yes, it is, Martin. The first time you brought those two men to the Miami residence, I told you they were very, very dangerous.”
    “So am I,” Martin hissed. He reached up and slowly removed his mirrored glasses. “More dangerous than you can imagine, thanks to my new business associates. And thanks to them, I no longer need you.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “The organization those two men represent is about much more than money. It’s all about power, real power; the kind that world leaders and warlords and billionaires can only dream about.”
    Suddenly she understood. She had not thought that she could be any more appalled than she already was but she had been wrong.
    “I guess this explains the changes in your aura in the past couple of months,” she said.
    Martin looked startled.
    “What changes?” he demanded.
    “I thought perhaps you had become the victim of some kind of mental illness that affected your parasenses.”
    “I am not sick, damn you.”
    “Yes, you are, but not because of some natural disease process. You did this to yourself. With a little help from your new friends, of course.”
    Martin took a step closer. He didn’t look horrified. He looked eager. Excited. “You can see the effects of the drug in my aura?”
    “A drug,” she repeated. “Yes, that’s the only logical explanation. Those two men supplied you with some sort of drug that affects your parasenses.”
    “There’s an excellent likelihood that it will also increase my natural life span, maybe by as much as a couple of decades. What’s more, they’ll be good decades. I won’t be weak and frail. I’ll maintain my powers.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Martin, you’re a brilliant business-man. Don’t you know when you’ve been sold a bill of goods? The promise of longevity is the oldest scam in the world.”
    “The reason the researchers aren’t certain about the extended life span is because the new drug hasn’t been around long enough to test the theory. Those at the top have been using the stuff for only a few years. But the lab data look very promising.”
    “You’re a fool, Martin.”
    “It’s true,” he insisted. “Even if they’re wrong about the drug’s ability to lengthen my life, that doesn’t alter the fact that the formula works. It can kick a level-seven strategy talent like me all the way up to a nine or a ten.”
    “You’re not a nine or a ten. I’d know. Something has changed in your aura, though. Whatever it is, it isn’t—” She broke off, groping for the right word. “It isn’t wholesome.”
    “Wholesome?” He laughed. “Now there’s a silly, old-fashioned word. Do you think I