She wondered if that was as close to a declaration of love as he could get. "What happens if your marriage agency counselor does turn up a match for you?"
"I won't want her." There was absolute certainty in the words.
She sighed. "That sounds a little overly simplistic on your part."
"Why should it be complicated?" He did turn then. The flames on the hearth were nothing compared to the heat in his eyes.
"Rafe—"
"I know I'm not normal. I'm an exotic. The syn-psych experts don't even know how exotic I really am. But I know some things about myself. You don't have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you. I could never hurt you."
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I know that."
"Think about it. That's all I ask."
There was nothing to think about. She was in love with him. But he had said nothing about loving her. She had to make certain that he knew his own heart as well as she knew hers. She could not marry a man who did not love her, regardless of how committed or protective he felt toward her.
But she could think about it. She could even dream about it. At least for a while.
"All right, Rafe. I'll think about it."
Triumph gleamed in his gaze. He got to his feet, crossed to where she lay, and settled down beside her. He reached for her.
"That's all I ask," he said against her throat.
When he started to push her back onto the rug, she flattened a palm against his chest. "Hold it right there."
He stilled. "Why?"
"This time you get to be on the bottom."
His laughter was a dark, sensual force in the firelit chamber.
Rafe was still grinning to himself at odd moments for no particular reason the next morning. He first became aware of the strange, new mannerism when he looked into his shaving mirror. He quickly discovered that it was not easy to wield a razor while smiling like an idiot. After the second nick, he forced himself to pay attention to the job at hand.
It was not a done deal, he reminded himself. Things could still go wrong. But he had the edge now. Orchid wanted him. Of that he was certain. He could work with that.
He was still feeling remarkably cheerful when he walked into the breakfast room a few minutes later. Orchid was already there. She was hunched intently over the morning paper, a cup of coff-tea in her hand. She did not look up from the article she was reading.
He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her sitting here in his house in the morning light. Her denim-clad legs were tucked under her chair. The black T-shirt she wore emphasized the elegant curve of her throat. Her freshly washed hair was held back behind her ears with a headband. She looked fresh and vibrant and sexy as hell.
She looked right.
"Good morning." He started toward her.
She kept her attention fixed on the newspaper article "You aren't going to believe this, Rafe."
"Don't bet on it." When she did not lift her face, he contented himself with kissing the top of her head. He did not need para-sharpened senses to enjoy the fragrant mix of her herbal shampoo mingled with her own enticing scent. "This morning I could believe in anything."
"Try this." She pointed at the article she had beer perusing.
Rafe glanced at the newspaper. The headline was on page three of the front section of the New Seattle Times. An important story but not a major one.
Syn-psych Therapist Dead-Possible Suicide
"What the hell?" Rafe snatched the paper up off the table and read the article through very quickly.
The body of Dr. Quentin Austen, a syn-psych therapist with a practice in New Seattle was pulled from the bay at approximately two o'clock this morning.
Dr. Austen was last seen on board the ferry Old Seattle, which departed the downtown dock on its last run of the night at one-thirty this morning. He is believed to have jumped overboard somewhere en route. An autopsy will be conducted later today.
Rumors that Austen had a history of periodic bouts of depression and that he had experienced recent financial setbacks and was facing an impending lawsuit from a former patient led authorities to speculate that he committed suicide. "We get a few jumpers every year," said a source who asked not to be named. "A man can't last more than twenty or thirty minutes at the most in the cold waters of the bay."
Rafe tossed aside the paper and reached for the phone.
"What do you think?" Orchid asked.
"I don't know yet. I've got to call my friend in homicide."
Fifteen minutes later he hung up the phone, picked up the coff-tea Orchid had poured for him, and propped his elbows on the table.
"Tallentyre says there won't be any formal announcement until the autopsy results are in, but the people who handled the case are definitely calling it suicide."
"Mr. Amazing was killed around eleven o'clock last night. Austen would have had plenty of time to commit the murder and make it down to the ferry docks to catch the last run of the night." Orchid frowned. "But why would he kill himself at that point?"
"I don't know. Who can say what a man with a history of syn-psych problems will do in a situation like that? Maybe the act of murdering Mr. Amazing put him over the edge. I know he was definitely panicking last night when he tried to shoot Crowder and missed."
"How do you know that?"
"I just know it."
"But how did you know it?" she insisted, curious.
He shrugged. "I sensed it during the focus link. By the way, Tallentyre says they did not find the relic when they searched Austen's house."
"So we still have a case?"
"Yes." Rafe put down his cup and got to his feet. "I'm going to go down to the station. I want to talk to Tallentyre in person. Maybe I can get some more information."
Orchid watched him pace out into the hall. The long, eager length of his stride told her more clearly than words that he was wholly intent on the hunt.
So much for a cozy discussion of their future.
Morgan Lambert looked toward the door when Orchid walked into his room shortly after nine. He managed a weary smile.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi, yourself." She leaned on the metal rails that framed the hospital bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I'll live. Barely." He rubbed a hand across his face. "They gave me something to blunt the withdrawal effects, but it can't mask all of them. I'm still twitching a bit. And I feel as if I'm going to throw up, but other than that I'm just dandy."
"You gave us quite a scare."
"Your friend, Stonebraker, was in early this morning. He said that he was on his way downtown to talk to the police. He told me what had happened. I guess I owe you my life."
"Do you remember anything?"
Morgan's face twisted in frustration. "Just bits and pieces. The doctor said a few hours of partial amnesia is a common side effect of dirty-ice. I seem to recall leaving a message on your answering machine. Something about a letter from Theo, wasn't it?"
"You said you'd received a message from him."
"Oh, yeah. I think I remember part of it. Some wild tale about being hypnotized by his syn-psych therapist."
"I've seen a copy of the letter. Theo claimed that a shrink named Dr. Quentin Austen forced him to steal an alien relic. He also said that Austen needed an ice-prism to control the thing. He wanted to warn you and me because we were the only other strong ice-prisms he knew."
Morgan sighed. "Poor, crazy Theo."
"It looks as though his therapist was even crazier. Dr. Austen must have believed that the relic really did have some power or he would never have sent those two men to your houseboat to find Theo's letter."
"Power?"
Orchid gave Morgan a quick rundown of events. When she was finished, he stared at her in amazement.
"So Austen killed Theo and another guy and then jumped off a ferry?"
"So they say. Rafe is checking into the details now, but apparently Austen had a history of mental problems."