"What are you talking about?" she hissed in the same reedy whisper.
"They call me the Messenger. I consider myself a go-between. I'm here to make you a very handsome offer."
"And if I refuse it?"
"Let's not go there. It will be more profitable for both of us if we start on a positive note."
Beneath the bedding she succeeded in getting one hand clenched into a fist. The gesture of rage was useless. Her only hope was to somehow find the strength to roll off the edge of the bed onto the floor. If she got out of the intruder's line of sight for even an instant, he would likely lose focus for a couple of seconds. That might give her enough time to scramble out the door into the night. At the very least she would be able to scream for help.
"I'll keep this short," the Messenger said. "I represent an individual who is extremely interested in acquiring inside information about Jones & Jones. You are uniquely placed to provide that sort of data."
"Forget it," she mumbled.
The fact that the intruder could hold her virtually paralyzed was extraordinary on its own. That he could do so without making physical contact meant that his talent was truly off the charts. Nevertheless, he had to be using a great deal of energy to control her movements. He could not go on for long generating power at such a rate.
She had to find a way to make him touch her. If he put a hand on her, she was sure she had enough power to disorient him.
"Listen to the rest of the pitch before you make your decision," the Messenger said smoothly. "First, the money will be excellent. A hundred thousand dollars has already been wired into an offshore account just to show my client's good faith. There will be more as soon as you start to forward information to a certain e-mail address."
She poured everything she had into moving one leg an inch closer to the edge of the bed. She succeeded but the effort cost her. She was drenched in sweat.
"No," she said hoarsely.
"I put a slip of paper with the number of the account and details for accessing it on the console."
"No."
"You really do want to think about the offer before you make up your mind."
"There's nothing to think about. The answer is no."
"Your decision, of course, but I have been instructed to inform you that turning down the offer would not be a wise move in terms of your future health and well-being."
THE OLD DREAM Started out in the usual manner.
He was lost. He had traveled too far out on the multidimensional grid. He had gone too deep into the dark zone. This time he would not be able to find his way back.
The endless night was illuminated here and there by small galaxies composed of points of light. Each tiny sun was important; each was connected to another but he could not quite grasp the patterns.
The clusters of stars were like swarms of fireflies in an endless garden of night. He was well and truly lost.
But someone was calling to him across the vast reaches of time and space.
Isabella.
He looked for her but he could not see her in the shadows. He had to find her. She was infinitely more important than whatever fabulous discoveries awaited him in the heart of chaos. And she was in danger. . . .
Fallon awoke on a rush of energy, all of his senses at full throttle. He had to find Isabella now.
He was out of bed and reaching for his pants before he could assess and analyze the decision. The part of him that was always engaged in probabilities and possibilities did a fast assessment of the situation. If Isabella was in danger, that danger would have arrived via the patio.
Given the hotel's desert landscaping, that meant he would be covering some rough ground. He paused long enough to pull on the low boots that he had worn on the plane. He was going to look like a lust-crazed idiot if he showed up on her patio half-naked with no good reason.
He jerked open the sliding glass door and went out into the night.
"ARE YOU THREATENING TO murder me?" Isabella asked. The new tide of energy slamming through her was enough to propel her to the very edge of the bed. Another inch and she would fall onto the floor. She was battling the invisible psychic thrall the whole time, but she was making some progress.
"No, no, no, Miss Valdez. I assure you I am not a hit man. I told you, I'm the Messenger."
"You know what happens to messengers."
There was no sound out on the patio, just a sudden shifting of the shadows. But suddenly Fallon was there, sweeping into the unlit room on a pressure wave of energy. He went straight toward the intruder like a hawk zeroing in on prey.
"Shit." The Messenger no longer sounded like a silver-tongued salesman. He sounded panicked. He leaped for the only available exit, the door that opened onto the hallway.
Isabella felt the paralysis lift instantly as the intruder lost his focus. She rolled out of bed and got to her feet in time to see Fallon grab the fleeing Messenger and spin him around. For the first time, she saw the ski mask that covered the man's face. He had relied on more than his unnerving talent to conceal his identity.
"No, wait," the Messenger gasped. He flung up his hands to ward off a blow.
Energy flashed in the atmosphere.
"Don't kill him," Isabella said quickly. "Not yet. He knows stuff. We need to talk to him first."
"Yes," Fallon said. "We'll definitely have a chat first."
He slammed the Messenger onto the floor. The man groaned. Fallon leaned down and ripped off the ski mask.
"Always knew you'd come to a bad end, Lockett," Fallon said. "Didn't know I'd be the one to take you out, though. I assumed it would be some other disgruntled client."
Lockett stiffened. He stared up at Fallon. "You know my name?"
"I never do business with people I don't know."
Lockett sat up slowly, clearly dazed by more than just the body slam. "I don't understand. No one knows my identity. I never let clients see me. How the hell did you find out?"
"I don't think that's important at the moment. What are you doing in this room?"
"He said that someone wants me to spy on J&J," Isabella said indignantly. "There was a huge bribe involved. And a threat."
Fallon looked at her. "Robe."
"What?"
"You're in your nightgown. Put on a robe."
She looked down. "Oh, right."
Her nightgown was made of soft cotton. It was ankle length and long-sleeved. All in all it was far more modest than the evening dress she had worn earlier, but she suspected that it was the principle of the thing that worried Fallon. She grabbed her robe and slipped into it.