“I’m not buying any of this,” Langdon said wearily, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call that detective with the Oriana PD and ask him to stop by Miss Tallentyre’s place tomorrow and check out the broken cup.”
That was as good as it was going to get. At least Bradley Mitchell would be predisposed to believe Raine.
“Thanks,” he made himself say, employing an unbelievable amount of willpower to remain civil.
“No offense, Jones, but your client is a strange woman. Got a feeling the polite term is unbalanced.”
“Good night, Chief.”
He ended the call without waiting for a response and looked at Raine. “He’s going to have Mitchell come by and take a look at your cup.”
“Well, at least Bradley will probably believe me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking, too.” He punched in another number.
“Who are you calling now?” she asked.
“Fallon Jones.”
“Why?”
“Because about twenty minutes ago some SOB of a para-hunter tried to gut me like a fish with a really big knife. Never did like knives.”
She stared at him, horrified. “The man who attacked you was one of those hunters you told me about? The kind that can see in the dark?”
“Yeah. Looks like Fallon got it right.”
She went from appalled to incensed in about half a second.
“How does any of this make Fallon Jones right?” she demanded.
He looked at her while he waited for Fallon to pick up. “He hoped that sending me here would draw some of the bottom feeders to the surface. Looks like his plan may be working.”
Fallon answered the phone on the first ring, sounding gruff and ill-tempered as usual.
“Give me some good news, Zack.”
“This will put the cherry on your ice cream sundae. A hunter with a twist tried to take me out tonight in a motel parking lot.”
There was a short silence on the other end.
“You’re all right, I assume, or you wouldn’t be making this call,” Fallon said eventually.
“You’re a real people person, Fallon. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“What about the other guy?”
“He got away.”
“Damn.”
“I agree. But I did learn a few things that you’ll want to factor into that computer you like to call a brain.”
“Such as?”
He knew he had Fallon’s full attention.
“The guy was a hunter, but he has this really cool trick where he morphs into a sweet little old lady right before your very eyes while he’s coming at you with a knife. Ever try to beat up on someone who looks like your great-grandmother?”
“Describe morph,” Fallon ordered in a voice that was as sharp as the knife in the attacker’s fist.
“The guy started out as a homeless man sleeping in a breezeway. I think that was just a standard-issue disguise. The tip-off was his fancy running shoes. The next thing I know there’s this little old lady coming at me with an umbrella, a really fast old lady. But it was hard to focus on her. Then, in mid-stride, the old lady transforms herself into a guy in black tights and a ski mask. Ever hear of a para-talent who could pull off that kind of illusion?”
Fallon was silent for a time. You could almost hear the synapses firing.
“Maybe,” Fallon said eventually. “I think there are a few old legends in the historical records. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you. Anything else?”
“Hell, no. Haven’t even gotten to the exciting part yet. Been a busy evening here in Oriana. Looks like the Bonfire Killer followed Raine back here from Shelbyville.”
“Listen up, Zack, I don’t want you getting distracted by a secondary investigation. Is that understood?”
“Sorry about that, but finding out that Raine is now the focus of a sadistic killer is going to be a little hard to ignore. We don’t all have your ability to compartmentalize, Fallon.”
“So? You stick close to her. That’s what you’re being paid to do, anyway. Given your talents, she’s safer with you than she would be with an armed cop standing at her side. You can guard her while the two of you concentrate on finding out what happened to Lawrence Quinn.”
“You’re a very focused man, Fallon.”
Fallon pretended he hadn’t heard that. “If you’re finished, I have something for you. It’s not much but I’ve got a feeling about it.”
“I’m listening,” Zack said. Actually, he was listening very carefully. Whenever Fallon said he had a feeling, his agents took notice.
“My analyst just came up with one small but interesting insight into Lawrence Quinn. Turns out he’s a serious fan of the blues. I did some checking. There’s a nightclub there in Oriana that features a lot of jazz and blues. Place called the Alley Door.”
Twenty-five
Houdini. He hated the code name they’d given him. His name was Sean Tanner and not so long ago that name had been in lights. It was true that when the Nightshade operative had approached him he was a small-time Vegas magician, but he was moving up fast. He was destined to become a headliner at a major casino on the Strip. No one else could do what he did. His magic was the real deal.
Nightshade, however, had promised him more, a lot more. And they’d delivered.
He was way beyond being a low-rent stage act now. The drug had not only given him the additional talents of a para-hunter, it had enhanced his already existing powers of illusion. They told him that he was something new and different in the world of paranormal talents: a level-ten hunter-illusionist. He deserved some respect but he wasn’t getting it from January.
“Failure is not tolerated within Nightshade,” January said.
Rage, infused with the frustration that resulted from the missed kill, twisted through him. It was all he could do not to break January’s neck. It would be so easy.
Unfortunately, January was the source of the drug. Until he figured out how to obtain the formula from someone else within Nightshade—the mysterious person January reported to, for example—he was stuck having to take orders.
“I didn’t fail,” he said. He stared hard through the SUV’s windshield at the night-darkened street. “You saw what happened. A car pulled into the lot. I was caught square in the headlights. I had no choice but to leave the scene. You said yourself we can’t afford to attract the attention of the cops.”