“Is she walkin’ sort of funny?” Ring Guy said to his companion.
“Probably the shit. Told you it was good.”
She made it back to the booth where Pandora was waiting.
“There you are.” Pandora shouted over the roar of the pounding music. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt your foot?”
“Fell coming out of the restroom.” She slid into the booth, relieved to get off her feet. “Broke a heel. Twisted my ankle.”
“Bad?”
She wiggled her foot cautiously. “No. I’ll put some ice on it when I get home.”
She realized that the reason the decibel level had climbed to the point of pain was because she had lost her earplugs. She was reaching into her purse to find another set when she sensed the wave of paranormal energy. It stirred everything within her. Zack. She realized that she would know his invisible psychic aura anywhere. She could also tell that he was running very hot. Something was wrong.
She turned to search for him. He wasn’t hard to spot. For an instant he was silhouetted against a flash of strobe light. She caught a glimpse of his hard face and the black leather jacket he wore over his black T-shirt. He looked a thousand times more dangerous than anyone else in the vicinity.
He cut purposefully through the crowd with the ease of a wolf carving a path through a flock of sheep, clearly intent on reaching the booth where she sat with Pandora. The club’s patrons got out of his way without seeming to be aware of why they were moving. She realized they were acting on instinct, responding on a primitive level to the strong vibes that formed an invisible aura of power around Zack. The Arcane Society experts were right, she decided. Most people did have some degree of psychic talent. They just preferred to call it intuition or, maybe, plain old common sense.
Zack reached the table and stopped, looking down at her. In the next flash of a strobe she saw that his face was a grim, intimidating mask.
“Are you all right?” he demanded.
“Yes,” she said automatically, startled by the savage intensity of the question.
“She twisted her ankle,” Pandora explained.
“Bad?” he asked.
“No, really, I don’t think so,” Raine said hastily. His edgy mood was making her very uneasy. Her feminine instinct was to calm him down, the way one would soothe a guard dog poised to attack.
He relaxed a little and nodded at Pandora. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her.”
“Sure,” Pandora said. “Anytime. How’d the investigating go?”
“It was interesting,” Zack said. “Raine and I are leaving now. Can we give you a ride home?”
“No thanks.” Pandora waved him off. “Music’s great tonight. I’ve got plenty of friends here. I’ll go home with one of them. Don’t worry about me.”
Raine grabbed her purse and worked her way out of the booth. Without a word, Zack took her arm and started to steer her through the crowd.
Pain shot through her ankle. She gasped and staggered a little, clutching at Zack for support.
“You are hurt,” he said. “Damn it, I knew something had happened.”
“Broke a heel, that’s all.”
“Damn high heels.”
“You know you love ’em.”
“I’d love you in flat, sensible shoes just as well.”
She wondered if he realized what he’d just said.
“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she managed airily. “Men are fools for high heels.”
“There is that,” he agreed.
Okay, neither one of them was going to refer back to the I’d love you remark. Just a slip of the tongue, no doubt.
Before she realized what he intended, he scooped her up in his arms. The sea of tattooed-and-pierced club patrons parted as if by magic, creating a path to the lobby entrance.
“So, you come here often?” Zack asked, amused.
“Just on the really bad nights after a case. The nights when my herbal tisane and solitaire aren’t enough.”
“I can see how this place would work for you. A little hard on the hearing, though.”
“You’re showing your age.”
They paused long enough to collect her raincoat, then Zack carried her out into the cold night.
“Remind me to take you with me the next time I hit the January sales at the mall,” she said. “You’re really nice to have in a crowd.”
“You know what they say, everyone’s got a talent.”
He carried her to the car, setting her carefully on her feet before opening the door. She scooted into the passenger seat and waited until he went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.
She realized that, although she was still very much aware of him with all her senses, she was no longer picking up the hot, flaring energy that had raised the hair on the nape of her neck a few minutes before.
“What did you mean back there in the club when you said you knew something had happened to me?” she asked, deeply curious.
“Just a feeling.” He put the car in gear, rested one arm on the back of the seat and turned his head to check the rearview.
“Like the feeling I had the other night when you were attacked?”
“Maybe.” He reversed out of the parking slot with smooth competence and aimed the car toward the exit. “I should probably tell you that the experts claim there’s no such thing as telepathy, though.”
“These experts of yours. Do they know everything?”
“Hell, no.” He drove out onto the street. “In fact, they’re the first to tell you that scientific investigation of the paranormal is still in its infancy. The Society has made a lot of progress in the past few decades but there are some major barriers.”
“Such as?”
“Technology, for one.” He slowed for a light. “It’s hard enough coming up with reasonable theories to explain psychic phenomena. Figuring out how to detect and measure it is even more difficult because modern technology isn’t designed to explore the paranormal.”
“Hmm. Hadn’t thought about that problem.”
“How’s the ankle?”
“Hurts a little,” she admitted.
He did not say anything, just concentrated on driving.
“You discovered something at St. Damian’s, didn’t you?” she asked.
“Vella Tallentyre was murdered.”
She swallowed hard. As often as she had let her imagination play with that disturbing possibility, it was, nevertheless, very hard to take in the reality of it.