Jake gripped the lighting surround with both hands and hoisted himself up into the shallow recessed area. She saw his face tighten into a stark, grim mask. A dark crimson stain appeared on his left shirtsleeve.
“Jake, your arm.”
“Some of the stitches ripped. I’m okay.”
The recessed lighting shelf was not very wide. Jake had to remain on his side to wedge himself into it.
He probed the painted ceiling directly over his head. She had a hard time seeing exactly what he was doing with his hands because the clouds of steam had grown so thick. But a moment later she heard him give a small sound of satisfaction.
“Got it,” he said.
A section of the ceiling swung downward on hinges. He scrambled up out of sight through the shadowy opening. A rising current of steam followed him, billowing upward into the darkness.
He reappeared, leaning partway over the edge of the panel. His belt dangled from a loop he had made around the wrist of his right arm.
“Grab the end with both hands, wrap it around one of your wrists and hang on tight,” he ordered.
She climbed up onto the highest bench as he had done, reached up and grabbed the end of the belt.
He hauled her up swiftly. The leather strap burned into her wrist but somehow the pain didn’t seem like a big deal at the moment. She set her teeth and tightened her grip.
When she reached the level of the lighting fixtures, she managed to find purchase with one foot on the surround. That took some of the pressure off her wrist. From that vantage point Jake helped her slither awkwardly into the recessed opening.
She became aware of the hum and whine of the building’s air-conditioning system reverberating through the darkness.
“You’re good,” she whispered. “You’re really good.”
“I had some strong motivation.”
He leaned out of the opening again, caught hold of the panel and pulled it closed. An intense darkness enveloped her. A tingle of panic, the non-psychic kind, flickered through her.
“With luck Shipley won’t check to see if we’re fork-tender for a while,” Jake whispered.
She shuddered. “You can skip the visuals. But I think you’re right. By now he must know that you’re a hunter and that you’re bound to be really pissed off. It would be dangerous to open the door until we’re, uh, done.”
“That should buy us a little time.”
“Wonder why he didn’t tie us up,” Clare said.
“He wouldn’t want the authorities to find any restraint marks on the bodies.”
She winced. “Got it. Doesn’t fit with the death-by-accidental-steaming scenario.”
“Right. Follow me.”
“Glad to, but I don’t think that’s going to work,” she said. “I can’t see anything except the crack of light around the access panel.”
“I can.” His fingers closed around her wrist. “Stick close. There are air-conditioning ducts and pipes running everywhere up here. And whatever you do, try not to make any noise. Take off your shoes. We don’t want any squeaking in the ceiling if we can avoid it.”
“Hang on. What, exactly, are you going to do if you find Owen?”
“Ripping out his throat comes to mind as an option.” Jake sounded inordinately cheerful.
“Get a grip here,” she whispered. “What about his psychic freeze trick?”
“I’ll take him down before he even knows I’m in the vicinity.”
His confidence worried her. She suspected that it was rooted, in part, in the fact that he was running hot.
“No offense,” she said, “but I think we should have a Plan B.”
“Got one?”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “When Owen did his mind blast thing to you were your senses wide open?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Mine were on edge but I wasn’t running hot, at least not at the moment when he got out of the car. I was expecting you. Then Owen spoke to me, told me a lie. That was when my senses kicked in. And that was when I felt the full blast of whatever it was he used to knock me out.”
“You think his trick only works on our psi senses?”
“Maybe. There’s no way to know for sure without doing some tests. But it seems logical that since his power is generated on the paranormal plane, it would be most effective against that side of our natures, doesn’t it?”
“All right,” Jake said. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I still prefer Plan A, the one where I rip his throat out before he even knows I’m around.”
“You don’t like taking directions, do you?”
“No, but on occasion I’ve been known to be reasonable.”
“That’s very reassuring.” She slipped out of her loafers and held them in her left hand. “Okay, I’m ready.”
She followed him through the inky darkness, aware of the objects in their path only when he altered course to avoid them. When they detoured around a large, vibrating heat pump she saw another rectangular crack of light indicating another access panel. The room below was illuminated.
Jake’s fingers tightened around her wrist. The hunter had scented his prey.
They crept closer. She could hear the low, muffled sound of voices now. Owen and a woman were speaking. The female voice sounded vaguely familiar.
Jake put his mouth very close to her ear. “Got a hunch we just located Kimberley Todd.”
“I know that voice,” Clare whispered. “I’ve heard it somewhere. Good grief, it’s Karen Trent.”
“Who?”
“The assistant manager here at the spa. The one who didn’t believe me when I told her that someone tried to brain me with the dumbbell.”
“Like I said, I think we just found Kimberley Todd.” Satisfaction reverberated through Jake’s low voice.
“Damn. She was here at the spa all the time.”
“All right,” Jake said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. First, I want you out of this place. I’ll open one of the other panels and lower you into an empty room. Get clear of the building, find a phone and call the cops. Understood?”
“I don’t think I should leave you here alone with those two.”
“I can handle this,” he said. “But I can do it even better if I know you’re safe.”
This was the kind of thing he was born to do, she reminded herself. It was time to let Jake hunt.
Chapter Forty-five