Technomancer (Unspeakable Things: Book One)

shoe was size eleven and would have fit my left foot, should I have been inclined to try it. I turned it this way and that, but didn’t see anything on it that indicated exposure to heator stress. The laces weren’t twisted. The heel wasn’t melted. Nothing.
    Jenna kept talking, telling me about her panic, her tears, and the police. They’d thought she was crazy. A jilted bride with a wild, made-up story aimed at getting them to chase down her man who had obviously changed his mind and taken off on her. She claimed the hotel staff had been less dismissive. They’d looked worried, rather than embarrassed.
    “I could tell they knew something,” she said. “I could tell they had seen this before, or something like it. That’s when I changed.”
    “Changed?”
    “From crying and scared to angry.”
    I nodded. “So you went down to the casino and set out to screw them.”
    “Right.”
    I stared at her for a moment. The emotion in her face was obvious and I’d seen enough over the last day or two. I bought her story.
    “Well,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I believe you.”
    I then proceeded to tell her about my house, and the freaky thing that had burned it down. I mentioned McKesson along the way.
    “McKesson?” she asked.
    “Yeah, that was his name.”
    She walked over to the dresser drawers and picked up a card. She handed it to me. It was Detective Jay McKesson’s card. Las Vegas Metro.
    I stared at it. “Same guy.”
    “He knows more than he’s letting on. It can’t be a coincidence.”
    “I’m not sure what his game is,” I said, “but I do think he’s trying to figure out what is going on here, just as we are.”
    “You told me you had information on my husband. What have you got?”
    “I said it might be related. Now, I think it is. We have two strange events in different places. The same detective was investigating both, and he sent me here, to you, connecting the two.”
    “That’s not much,” she complained.
    “I know,” I said. Then I told her about Tony. I told her how he’d died in the car with me, and how I’d ended up in the hospital.
    She stared, and I realized there were tears welling up in her eyes.
    “Robert’s dead,” she said with certainty. “I know it now, with all these horrible things happening. I’d hoped he would just turn up somewhere, wandering the streets or the desert highways. I don’t think it’s going to happen that way.”
    “We really can’t know for sure,” I said. I wanted to tell her not to give up hope, but I didn’t think I should. I’d calculated the odds and figured she was probably right.
    Her head went down, her hands came up. She was racked with quiet sobs. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t really know her. I didn’t want to touch her and have her get the wrong idea. So I stood there awkwardly and muttered soothing things.
    Jenna surprised me by stepping close and putting her cheek against my chest. I waited until her hands touched my sides before I gently reached up and patted her back. I stroked her hair once, then stopped myself. The scent of her perfumed body was in my face, and I felt myself attracted to her, and I began to feel protective.
    “We’ll figure this out,” I said. “I promise.”
    And I meant it.

Jenna pulled herself together after a few minutes. She went back to the small table and chairs and sat down. I called room service and ordered cola, coffee, and beer. I wasn’t sure which one she would want, but I figured I would drink whatever she rejected.
    She was a tough young woman. Instead of falling apart, she’d taken action and tried to get back at the casino and find out what she could about her husband’s odd disappearance. I just had one question left: how had she won over and over again at cards?
    Normally, I would have just assumed it was all luck. But she’d gone down to that casino on a mission, full of rage. That indicated she
knew
she was going to win. I had a suspicion how that could be true, but I sat in the chair next to her waiting for her to compose herself. Jenna’s blonde hair circled her face, which was red with emotion.
    “What are you thinking?” she demanded suddenly. “Do I look silly to you?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Do you do this kind of thing often? Comfort grieving widows after they watch the bridal suite swallow their husbands? Does it help your blogging somehow, is that it?”
    I almost laughed, but I knew it was the wrong move. “You are the first,” I