“And then, later, you’d have to teach them to lie to everyone. Finding a wife or a husband must be tough if you’re a Sweetwater.”
“Running that kind of family business would tend to limit your life-style,” he said. “Hard to talk business with your golfing buddies, that’s for sure.”
“Nevertheless, I think it’s different for people like you and me. Knowing that we can kill and in such a very personal way, with our auras, makes us feel . . .” She broke off, unable to find the right word.
“Uncivilized,” Luther said.
“Yes, uncivilized,” she agreed. “We don’t like to think of ourselves that way. It violates our sense of who we are. But one of the things that defines us is that we are survivors. When push comes to shove, that’s what we do. We survive or we go down fighting. I think we need to accept that part of ourselves, too.”
He did not look away from the night but he put his hand over hers on his thigh. She threaded her fingers through his, stood and led him down the hall to the bedroom.
They made love first; hard, fast, a little violent, affirming what Grace had said earlier. They were both survivors.
His phone rang, bringing him awake with an unpleasant jolt of adrenaline. His eyes opened to the sunlight outside the window. Going on ten o’clock, he decided. He grabbed the phone.
“Package got picked up a few minutes ago,” Petra said. “We watched the plane take off for the mainland. Tell Grace the walk-in’s clean. No need to worry about the health inspector.”
“Thanks,” Luther said.
“No problem. Like old times. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
“You did what you had to do. Get over it and have breakfast with Grace.”
Luther closed the phone and looked at Grace.
“Petra says I should get over it and have breakfast with you.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Grace scooped the tiny black seeds out of the papaya half and set the fruit on a plate.
Luther watched her while he made coffee, his expression bleak. He was still recovering from the trauma of what had happened in the garage, she thought. He needed time.
“This isn’t the kind of place you’re used to, is it?” he said.
Startled, she paused in the act of carrying the plates to the small kitchen table. “What?”
“This apartment.” He angled his head to indicate the cramped kitchen-living area and the small bedroom beyond. “It’s not exactly your style. I could tell that first day when we checked into the hotel suite on Maui. You didn’t even blink.”
She set the plates down very carefully, unsure of where the conversation was going.
“Should I have blinked?” she asked, wary.
“No, because you’re accustomed to that kind of first-class travel.”
“Ah,” she said. She smiled.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I now know where you’re going with this conversation. Yes, I did spend more than a decade traveling first-class. Martin Crocker knew how to make money and he paid me well. But before I met Martin I was living in an apartment that was about this size and buying my clothes in thrift shops. My cottage in Eclipse Bay is not much bigger than this place.”
He gave her a head-to-toe glance, silently underlining the fact that her shirt and trousers had not come from a thrift shop.
“J&J pays me a very good salary,” she said drily. “I’m sure the agency pays you well, too.”
He turned back to the coffeemaker. “I’ve had a lot of expenses in the past few years.”
“I’m told that divorce is never cheap. Guess that’s what you get for being such a romantic. Is that coffee ready?”
He glared at the coffeemaker. “Yes.”
She finally lost her patience. “Let’s get something straight. I’ve lived high and I’ve lived on the streets. Living high is definitely more comfortable but neither place felt like home. My cottage in Eclipse Bay hasn’t ever felt like home, either. This apartment and the Dark Rainbow, they feel like home. Now why don’t you follow Petra’s advice? Get over it and pour us both a cup of coffee?”
He didn’t move for a few seconds. He just stood there, looking at her. Then he smiled slightly. His eyes warmed. He picked up the pot.
“I can do that,” he said.
She watched him fill two mugs. “And while you’re doing it, why don’t you tell me about your accident?”
He handed her one of the mugs. “I got shot on my last J&J case.”
“Shot?” Horrified, she stared at him. “I thought you said it was an accident.”
“It was.” He picked up his own mug, grabbed his cane, hiked around the counter and sat down at the table. “Someone pulled the trigger of a gun. I happened to be standing in front of said gun. Wrong place, wrong time. Pretty much the working definition of an accident.”
“Good grief.”
“I got what you might call a split-second warning,” he said around a mouthful of papaya. “Time enough to dodge, at any rate. The shooter was aiming for my back. Hit my thigh instead.”
“What happened?” she demanded.
“It was a routine referral from J&J. One of the low-rent private jobs. The client told me she wanted me to protect her from her ex-husband. Claimed he was stalking her.”
“Claimed?”
“She thought she could sucker me into killing him for her.”
“What made her think she could convince you to do that?”
“She was a level-seven strat talent. You know strats. They think they can manipulate and outmaneuver anyone. They always figure they’re the smartest person in the room.”
“Well, they do tend to make good chess players,” Grace said. “Didn’t she know that aura talents are darn hard to manipulate because we can usually see it coming?”
“Like a lot of sensitives, she didn’t think much of our kind of talent. Thought the only thing we could do was perceive a little radiation. She assumed that when we look at folks, all we see are human lightbulbs.”
Grace made a face. “Typical.”
“When she contacted J&J, she specified that she did not want to pay for a high-grade talent. In fact, she specifically asked for an aura.”
“She didn’t want to take any chances, is that it?”
“Right. She would have preferred to use a nonsensitive, a P.I. with no psychic ability at all, but she didn’t have much choice. She had told everyone, including her family, that she was deathly afraid of her ex. They were all registered members of the Society and they all insisted she get a bodyguard from J&J. She had to make it look good.”
“Bet she wasn’t expecting a powerful aura talent.”
“She didn’t know how strong I was,” Luther said. “But she wouldn’t have cared. So long as I was an aura, she felt safe. Fallon was a tad suspicious.”
“Fallon is always suspicious.”
“True. I shared his suspicions but neither of us could figure out what to be suspicious about, and I needed the money.”
“So you took the job.”
“The client assumed that I was just so much dumb muscle on the hoof.”
“Bless her heart.”
“I regret to report that she was not too far off in her assumption,” Luther said. “She damn near got me killed.”
“How?”
“The ex wasn’t stalking her. He didn’t want anything to do with her. When it finally dawned on me that she wanted me to get rid of him, I informed her I wasn’t in that line of work. Like I said, she was a strat. She realized immediately that I wasn’t just walking away from the job. She knew I’d probably warn her ex.”
“What happened?”
“She lost it.” Luther took a bite of his scrambled eggs and swallowed. “Flew into a rage and started screaming that I had ruined everything. Told me the whole story. That’s when I found out why she wanted her ex dead.”
“Can I assume you tweaked her aura a tad to prod her into losing her temper and spilling her guts?”
He shrugged. “Figured by that time I had a right to know what she was up to. Turned out the reason that she wanted her ex dead was because she stood to inherit his share of the business they had founded together.”