Sizzle and Burn

want to hurt me.”
    He looked at her, saying nothing.
    “Damn it, Zack, you can’t possibly suspect either of them. There’s just no way.”
    “I doubt if Gordon or Andrew is involved in this,” he agreed neutrally.
    “But you aren’t writing them off as possible Nightshade agents, are you?”
    “The fact that both of them are supposedly at a conference in San Diego is definitely a vote in favor of their innocence.”
    “Supposedly?”
    “It will be easy enough to check to be certain they’re both in their hotel tonight.”
    “This is ridiculous.” She started to pet Batman, somewhat forcefully. The cat twitched his tail. “I can’t believe you actually think they might be Nightshade operatives.”
    He said nothing, waiting. He had known this was going to be bad.
    “Who else are you going to check out?” she asked grimly.
    “Bradley Mitchell and Pandora.”
    She sighed. “You’re going to be busy.”
    “Which is why I ordered up the bodyguard for you,” he said.
    “Do you think Fallon will send one?”
    “He knows that if I say I need a bodyguard, I have a good reason.”
    He looked at the box on the coffee table.
    She followed his gaze. “Guess it’s time to open it.”
    He stomped hard on the guilt that was unfurling inside him. He did not want to put her through this but it had to be done.
    “I think so,” he said.

Forty-five
    S he unsealed the box and looked at the meager contents. There were three volumes of poetry, paints, brushes, a framed photograph, toiletries and a few other small, personal items.
    “So much for a secret message,” Raine said. “There’s no envelope. No piece of paper. Not even the hospital room notepad.”
    She lifted the photograph out of the box and looked at it for a moment, tears burning her eyes. The picture showed the four of them—Gordon, Andrew, Vella and herself. They were gathered in Vella’s room at St. Damian’s. There was a brightly illuminated birthday cake in the background.
    “We tried to get her to leave St. Damian’s for the day.” She set the photograph on the table. “But she refused. She felt safe there.”
    Zack unlaced his hands from behind his head and sat forward to study the photograph. “She looks peaceful in that picture.”
    “Thanks to Dr. Ogilvey and the fact that the voices had finally stopped.”
    He removed the photograph from the frame, working carefully. When he had it out, he turned the picture over to examine the back. She looked at it, too. It was blank.
    “If Aunt Vella wanted me to find a message,” she said, “I doubt she would have hidden it someplace I might never look.”
    “It was just a thought.” He tucked the picture back into the frame.
    She picked up one of the volumes of poetry and flipped through the pages. No notes fell out.
    “This isn’t going to get us anywhere,” she said. “If there was a message, it must have been tossed out as trash.”
    She put the book down on the table and reached back into the box for one of the other volumes.
    The instant her fingers touched the second book psychic electricity crackled across her senses. Instinctively she sucked in her breath and released the small volume, letting it drop back into the box. But she wasn’t fast enough. The voice in her head was a spectral echo of Vella’s, low and throaty and desperate.
    …Keep you safe. You’re the innocent one…
    She clamped down on the eerie echoes from beyond the grave and twisted her hands together in her lap. She stared at the book as though it were a cobra. Tiny claws sank through the fabric of her pants, into her thighs. Robin and Batman were restless, reacting to the tension that gripped her.
    “You okay?” Zack asked.
    “Yes.” She could not take her eyes off the volume of poetry. “The book. She was frantic when she touched it. Terrified.”
    “For herself?”
    “No. For me.”
    Batman butted his head against her arm, demanding her attention. She hesitated, then, relaxing slightly, she started to pet him again. Satisfied, he settled back down in her lap.
    Zack picked up the book, glancing at the title. Winter Journey .
    “It was her favorite book of poetry. Personally, I find the poems extremely depressing but they seemed to comfort her.”
    The corners of his mouth and eyes tightened. She knew he was registering the same energy she had picked up.
    “She was frightened, all right,” he said. “For you.”
    He opened the book. Vella had made no attempt to conceal her message. It