Running Hot

weren’t a romantic.”
    “I’m not.” She turned another page. “Doesn’t mean that I don’t like to read about romance.”
    “What about the murders?”
    “They get solved by clever sleuthing on the part of the hero and heroine. It’s very satisfying.”
    “You know, in real life the motivation for murder is usually a lot more straightforward than it is in fiction,” he said. “Somebody gets pissed off, picks up the nearest gun and shoots the guy who pissed him off.”
    “Really?” She did not seem particularly interested.
    “What’s more, the majority of cases get solved because someone talks, not because of forensics or clever sleuthing.”
    “If I want real police work, I’ll read the newspapers, not a book,” she said.
    “Probably a good idea. Let me know how that one ends.”
    She turned another page. “I already know how it ends.”
    “You read the ending first?”
    “I always read the ending before I commit to the whole book.”
    He looked at her, baffled. “If you know how it ends, why read the book?”
    “I don’t read for the ending. I read for the story.” She looked toward the entrance, watching a cab that had pulled up in front. “Life is too short to waste time on books that end badly.”
    “By badly you mean unhappily, right?”
    “As far as I’m concerned, the two are synonymous.”
    “Okay, so how does that book end? Wait.” He held up a hand. “Let me guess. The butler did it.”
    She flinched visibly, her lips parting as though in shock. He could have sworn that the book shook a little in her hand. He raised the volume of his senses.
    The normal hues and colors of the world faded. The myriad shades of the paranormal spectrum shimmered into view. He was startled to see unmistakable spikes of fear in Grace’s aura. Before he could ask her what was wrong, he realized she was watching the lobby entrance.
    He followed her gaze and saw a man climb out from behind the wheel of one of the newly arrived vehicles. He had the heavy, overmuscled build of a weight lifter on steroids. His head was shaved and he wore a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
    But it was his aura that grabbed Luther’s attention. It was not only strong, there was something wrong with it. Sparks of dark energy flickered and flashed in the field. Wherever they rippled through the pattern, they created disturbing pulses.
    “What the hell?” he said softly.
    “Hunter,” Grace said quietly. “Sort of.”
    “Damn. So much for Fallon’s probability theory.”
    “It’s not just the odds that are bad here.” There was a shiver in her voice. She appeared transfixed. “The profile isn’t that of a normal hunter.”
    “How is it different?”
    “For one thing, it’s unevenly developed. It doesn’t reflect the full range of abilities that generally go with that type of talent. There are whole sections missing or blunted along the spectrum.”
    “Such as?”
    “Well, for starters, I’d say he doesn’t possess the ability to detect the psychic spoor of violence, which is a common aspect of an above-average hunter talent. He’s got the night vision and the strength and speed, though.”
    “Anything else missing?” he asked. He did not take his attention off the man.
    “Yes. There’s usually a strong correlation between intelligence and a high level of any kind of psychic ability. A level-eight or -nine hunter like him should possess above-average intelligence.”
    “He doesn’t?”
    “No. He’s not stupid but he’s not an independent thinker, that’s for sure. You’re looking at a guy who can be easily manipulated by someone who knows how to handle him; a man who would never question orders.”
    “Not the brightest bulb on the tree, huh?”
    “No.”
    “Any chance that’s Eubanks?”
    She shook her head. “Not unless the profile I was given was very badly flawed, which I doubt.”
    Luther watched the driver open the rear door of the car. Another man climbed out. He looked to be in his late thirties, tall and square-jawed with a too-perfect tan that could only have come out of a spray can.
    Grace drew a sharp breath and tensed again.
    “That’s Eubanks,” she whispered. “High-level strat talent. Everything else fits, too.”
    “You’re sure?”
    “Positive.”
    “What’s with the rogue waves?” he asked.
    She turned her head very quickly, stunned. “You can see them?”
    “No offense, but I think they’d be hard to miss. I’ve seen some crazy people in my time. A lot