“Crocker’s death made headlines. It was also big news within the Society. He was a member. Funded a lot of research projects.”
“Yes, I know.”
“What did you do at Crocker World?”
“I was on the corporate research library staff. After Mr. Crocker died, it became obvious that the firm was in trouble. Everyone knew that the company would fall apart without him at the helm. I could see the writing on the wall, so I started job hunting immediately.”
It was all said very smoothly, very casually, but there was something ever so slightly off. Luther jacked up his senses until he had a clear view of her aura. He might not be able to see details the way she apparently did, but he could make out certain strong emotions. There was tension in the energy field that blazed around her, the kind that, as a cop, he’d learned to associate with a well-crafted lie.
“How long have you been a member of the Society?” he asked.
“My mother registered me when I was born.” She paused a beat. “You?”
“My folks were both members. They registered me at birth.”
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a cab packed with people. He assessed the situation in a single glance. Joining the crowd would mean forcing Grace to run the risk of someone brushing against her. He could feel her sudden tension.
Luther smiled benignly at the cluster of faces.
“We’ll wait for the next one,” he said.
The elevator doors closed.
“Thank you,” Grace said quietly.
“No problem,” he said. “I’d suggest we take the stairs but—” He broke off, giving the cane a disgusted look. He refused to tell her that his leg was acting up and that descending four flights of stairs would make things worse. “I can make it down but it’s not the most graceful sight in the world,” he said instead.
“No problem,” Grace said gently. “It’s not as if we’re in a hurry.”
They stood together in silence and watched the illuminated numerals over the three elevators. Grace’s expression was calm and composed. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
Luther used the time to wonder why she had lied about the job at Crocker World.
EIGHT
They had a drink in the open-air bar and ate red snapper garnished with a light ginger and miso sauce in the restaurant. There were candles on the tables, moonlight on the sea and a slack-key guitar playing softly. If she closed her eyes and surrendered to the wonders of magical thinking, she could almost pretend she was on a real date, Grace thought. Of course, you had to overlook the fact that she did not dare to even hold her escort’s hand. Not that Luther had made any attempt to initiate such intimate contact, she reminded herself. Just the opposite. He seemed to be going out of his way to keep plenty of distance between them, no doubt afraid that if he even brushed against her by accident, she’d freak and destroy their cover.
She was more than a little surprised when he suggested a walk on the oceanfront path after dinner. Her first instinct was to refuse. She always felt more vulnerable after dark. The old fear that someone was creeping up on her was strongest at night, probably because that was when the Monster had visited her bedroom. But this evening she would not be facing the night alone. In spite of her own secrets, she felt curiously safe with Luther.
He was careful to keep at least a foot away from her as they made their way along the dimly lit path that linked the beachfront hotels. His cane tapped softly on the pavement. She sensed his barely suppressed irritation.
“Does your leg hurt?” she asked.
“Just a little stiff,” he muttered.
He was lying, she thought. But then, she had lied to him earlier when he tried to interrogate her. She knew that he had not been completely satisfied with her answers. The conversation in the hotel hallway after they had checked into their room had been the one that she worried about the most. She had gone over it again and again in her mind, however, and she knew she had aced it. Luther’s cop intuition might have been aroused, but if Fallon Jones hadn’t penetrated the veil of her carefully manufactured past, it was unlikely that Luther would discover the truth.
“How long have you lived in Hawaii?” she asked, watching the moonlit surf crash on the rocks below the path.
“Couple of years. Moved here after my second divorce. Quit my job with the department at the same time. Figured I needed a change of scene.”
“Sorry about the divorce,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t the biggest surprise in the world.”
“Were you deeply in love?”
“Whatever I felt for Tracey died the day I found her in bed with my partner.”
“Funny how finding out that someone you trusted has betrayed you can kill a relationship.”
“Been there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Ex-husband?”
“No. We were never married.”
Good grief, what was she doing? Even with the names changed to protect the guilty, any attempt to explain her complicated association with Martin Crocker would not only be difficult, it would be extremely dangerous. She had kept secrets most of her life. She was a pro. But something about being out here in the night with Luther was threatening to make her careless.
“Does aura talent run in your family?” she asked.
“Sporadically. My grandfather was a strong aura. He told me that my father was a high strat talent though, and my mother had a mid-range talent for color and design, of all things.”
“Raw psychic power tends to be a strong genetic trait but the form the talent takes is often hard to predict. Your grandfather told you about your parents?”
“My folks were killed in a car crash by a drunk driver when I was a baby. I never knew them. My grandfather raised me.”
“Is your grandfather still alive?” she asked.
“No. He died the year I graduated from high school and went into the army.”
She told herself she should stop right there. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. “Is there anyone else in your family?”
“Maybe some distant cousins somewhere.” He sounded disinterested. “If they’re out there, they never bothered to show up after my parents were killed.”
“In other words, there’s no one?”
“Got a couple of good friends over on Oahu. They own the restaurant where I work as a bartender. What about you?”
“My mother died when I was thirteen. Some kind of rare infection.”