He sure as hell shouldn’t be wasting time trying to figure out what it was that attracted him to her, either. On the surface she looked like a stern, uptight school mistress. Not his type at all. Sharp, insightful intelligence animated vivid blue-green eyes and a face that otherwise would not have stood out in a crowd. Her sunset red hair was pulled back into a tight twist at the nape of her neck.
She was dressed in a businesslike black pantsuit with a white silk shell and a pair of black, high-heeled boots. Her jewelry was limited to a couple of small gold studs in her ears and a gold wristwatch with a black leather band. He estimated her to be in her early thirties, but there was no sign of a wedding band.
What had kicked him in the gut when he came through the door was the aura of energy about her. It translated directly into power, and power was always compelling, especially when it came in an unexpected package like Chloe Harper. He realized then that if he had simply passed her on the street, not knowing who she was, he would have looked twice. Make that three times. Turned around maybe. Followed her? Tried to introduce himself?
Oh, shit. This was not good. He did not need this kind of distraction. Not now. He should be concentrating on staying alive. There were priorities here.
Chloe lounged against the front edge of her desk, crossed one booted foot over the other and reached back very casually to brace her hands on the desktop behind her.
“About the old Winters legend,” she began.
She stiffened abruptly, gasped and snatched her hands off the desktop. Eyes widening a little, she turned to look at the place on the desk where one of his palms had been resting a moment ago.
Acting like she had just touched a red-hot stove, he thought. What was going on?
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, fine.” She sounded a little breathless. She slanted him a long, impossible-to-read look. “Very well, Mr. Winters,” she said briskly. “Tell me your story. But without the drama if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.” He glanced at the desktop. “But would you mind telling me what gave you that shock just now?”
She frowned. “I’m a dreamlight reader.”
“I know. It’s in the J&J files. Your talent is one of the reasons I want to hire you. According to the old legends, it takes a woman who can read dreamlight to find the lamp and work it. Something about your kind of talent having an affinity for dream psi.”
“And just what do the agency’s files say about me and my talent?”
He shrugged. “According to what I dug up, the analysts estimate you to be a Level Seven or Eight.”
Her mouth twisted in a derisive little smile. “If I were you, Mr. Winters, I would not rely too heavily on the information in Arcane’s files. Not when it comes to me and my family.”
A chill went through him. “Are you a dreamlight reader?”
“Yes. But the talent is rare and not well understood, especially at the higher end of the scale. Arcane hasn’t had an opportunity to do much research on people like me. For obvious reasons I’ve never volunteered to be tested.”
“The Society has a few other dreamlight readers registered. I counted at least four on staff at various Arcane museums.”
“Yes, I know.” She gave him a cool, politely smug look. “But none of those four can see more than a limited portion of the ultralight spectrum from which dream psi emanates. I’m sure they do well enough when it comes to detecting fake artifacts and such. But I doubt if any of them can read the kind of details in dreamlight prints that I can read. It’s that ability that makes me a successful investigator, Mr. Winters.”
He smiled, amused by her air of confidence. “You’re good, is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m very good. Not only can I see a wide range of dreamprints, but I also can tell you a great deal about the individual who left the prints. To quote an old saying, Ye shall know them by their dreams.”
“Who said that?”
“My aunt Phyllis.”
“Is that right? So tell me, how does the ability to read dreamlight make you a good investigator?”
She raised one shoulder in a dainty shrug. “Dreams create an energy field that is part of a person’s aura, but the wavelengths can only be seen by someone with my kind of talent. My intuition is linked to my ability. It interprets dreamlight in a very precise way. Intuition is what makes a good investigator.”
“How strong are you?” he asked.
“Everyone in my family thinks I’m probably off the charts.”
“How does this talent of yours work?”
She glanced down at the desk and drew a fingertip across the spot where his hand had been. This time she caught her breath a little, but she did not flinch.
“You know as well as I do that every living thing emits some psi,” she said. “People, even those at the bottom of the Jones Scale, the ones who think they have no talent at all, give off a considerable amount of energy even when they are in a calm state of mind.”
“Auras,” he said, a little impatient with the lecture.
“Yes. Strong aura-talents can read the energy emitted during the waking state. But humans also emit a lot of energy in the dreamstate. Even if we aren’t aware that we are dreaming and even if we forget our dreams the energy is nevertheless produced. We leave traces of it wherever we go and on whatever we touch.”
“And you can perceive that energy?”
“I see it in the form of psi prints, sort of like fingerprints and handprints. They give off various hues of ultralight.”
He looked at the place on the desk where he had flattened his hand earlier. “Learn anything interesting about me?”
“Yes, Mr. Winters, I did.” She took her fingertip off the desk and regarded him with bright curiosity. “Who or what did you kill recently?”
5
IF SHE HAD NOT BEEN WATCHING HIM CLOSELY, SHE WOULD never have noticed the small indications that told her just how much she had managed to stun him. The physical signs were minimal: a faint hardening of his jaw and some tightening around the mouth. For a second or two she could have sworn that his eyes heated up a little, and not with sexual interest this time. It seemed to her they actually became a darker, hotter shade of green, as if he was running a fever. She could have sworn she felt a soul-chilling whisper of energy at that moment. It raised the hair on the nape of her neck.
Hector whined softly. That made it official, she thought. They were both a little unnerved. Not frightened, not yet, at any rate, just tense and aware. Cautious, the way any sensible person and dog ought to be when they found themselves in the same room with a large beast of prey. Together she and Hector watched Jack.