She was so stunned by his admission that it took her a few heartbeats to find her voice.

“Is that your idea of a joke?” she asked finally.

“No joke.” He watched her with his striking, enigmatic eyes. “The ability kicked in full force when I was in my late teens. Everyone expected me to be another para-hunter like most of the other males in my family.”

“What’s a para-hunter?”

“It’s a kind of psychic talent that jacks up an individual’s natural ability to hunt. Hunters have preternaturally fast reflexes and the ability to detect the psychic spore left by violence. In addition, they can also see well in the dark.”

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What do they like to hunt? Elephants? Moose? Snipe?”

He smiled. “Maybe, in ancient times, when the ability to hunt big game animals had a strong survival value. These days they tend to prefer to hunt their own kind. More of a challenge, I guess.”

Shock reverberated through her. “They hunt people?”

“Calm down. Most of the hunters I know work in law enforcement.” He paused a beat. “Although I have to admit that some go bad. None that I am aware of in the Jones family, however.”

“I see.” She glanced at the door, wondering if she should make a run for it.

“Take it easy,” he said. “I just told you, I’m not a para-hunter.”

She hesitated, annoyed. “Do you read minds, too?”

“No. The experts say that’s impossible.”

“What, exactly, are you?”

“Technically, I’m what’s known within the Society as a level-ten mirror talent.”

“What in the world is that?” she demanded.

“The best the experts can determine is that it’s a rare type of psychometry.”

“The ability to sense things by touch.”

“Right. Your clairaudience is another form.”

“Why do they call you a mirror talent?”

He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. He had the air of an academic settling into a fireside lecture. “Ever heard of mirror intuition?”

She reflected briefly. “It’s what provides people with social cues, isn’t it? If we see someone frown or smile we understand intuitively what’s going on. We don’t have to stop and analyze the expression.”

“Right. And if we see someone pick up a knife we can tell pretty fast whether the person intends to cut his steak with it or try to slit someone’s throat.”

“I read an article about the phenomenon,” she said. “The theory is that it has something to do with special neurons in the brain. They allow us to mentally mirror the actions of others and make instant judgments. It’s a bone-deep survival mechanism.”

He tapped his fingers together once. “No one knows for sure how our mirror intuition systems work but one thing is certain, almost everyone has the ability to some degree. In fact, we take it for granted until we meet up with someone who doesn’t exhibit the talent, a person with autism or a mental illness like schizophrenia, for example.”

“You’re telling me that you have a paranormal version of that ability?”

He looked at her over the tips of his fingers. “With my form of the talent I can touch a knife or a gun or a rock that was used to kill or maim someone and intuitively mirror the reactions and responses of the person who used the weapon. I can sense what that person intended to do or what the victim anticipated. I’m also pretty good in a bar fight.”

She stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled. “My ability makes it possible to second-guess an opponent. But I try to avoid that kind of exercise.”

“I should hope so.” She frowned. “Am I a mirror talent, too?”

“No. Clairaudient psychometry works differently. It’s not a visual talent. You are most likely a level ten like me, however.”

“How do you know I’m a level ten, whatever that means?”

“Members of the Society are ranked on what’s called the Jones Scale. It runs from one to ten, according to the level of psychic energy a person generates. The analysts came up with an estimate for you because your aunt never brought you in for testing when your psychic abilities developed in your teens.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. She could hardly believe that she was sitting there, discussing psychic talents with a man who acted as if such talents were the most normal thing in the world, like having brown hair or brown eyes. She had never had anything close to such a conversation with a stranger.

With the exception of Bradley, she had never even discussed the psychic side of her nature with anyone except Aunt Vella and her small, closely knit circle of friends. Vella had discouraged such conversations, reminding her always to keep her secret. Trying to explain herself to Bradley had been a serious mistake.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Zack gave her a sympathetic smile. “Damn, you’ve missed a hell of a lot by growing up outside the Society. How many other people with genuine psychic abilities have you met over the years, aside from your aunt and your father?”

“I tracked down people who claimed to be psychic,” she admitted. “Some worked as consultants to police departments. A couple made their living as fortune-tellers. One wrote a book on how to get in touch with your psychic side through your dreams.”

His teeth flashed in a brief grin. “I read that one. It was pure crap.”

“Yes, it was.” She smiled suddenly. “Good to know someone else came to the same conclusion.” She hesitated. “The book was on the best-seller lists for several weeks.”

“There are a lot of gullible people out there and lots of frauds who are only too happy to take advantage of them.” He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “I’m getting the feeling that, with the exception of your aunt, every so-called psychic you’ve met as an adult has been either a fake or a flake.”

“My aunt was a major exception.”

“I know. And I’ll bet every time you looked into her eyes you wondered if you were seeing your own future.”

The intimate knowledge in his expression was a little unnerving. She wasn’t accustomed to being around anyone who understood her this thoroughly. She couldn’t think of a response.

“I’m going to tell you something that is not in that file,” he said, glancing at the envelope. “One of our analysts constructed a psychological profile on you. The conclusion was that it was a miracle that you weren’t confined to an institution or heavily medicated when you first came into your parasenses.”

Ice formed inside her but she managed to keep her face politely expressionless. “Does that mean your analysts think I’m going to end up in an institution, like my aunt?”

“Hell, no.” There was easy, absolute certainty in the words.

She held her breath, afraid to trust. “Why are they so sure of that?”

“Statistically speaking, psychological problems associated with parasenses kick in early, usually around the time the talents start to appear. Mid to late teens. If you were going to end up in a psychiatric ward or on heavy-duty meds because of your clairaudient abilities, you’d know it by now.”

“But Aunt Vella didn’t start having serious problems until she was thirty-two. The same age I am now.”

“I won’t kid you, no one knows why your aunt ended up in an institution. But it is extremely unlikely that it had anything to do with her talents. She managed those just fine into her early thirties.”

“But you said your analysts were amazed that I haven’t been confined to a psychiatric hospital?”

“Clairaudient psychometry, especially when it reaches the level-ten category of power, is one of the most difficult of all talents to handle because the sensation is so intensely disturbing. Without someone to guide you through the learning curve, it’s easy to believe you’re going crazy. Other people around you usually come to that conclusion immediately and send you off to a series of doctors. You end up on a lot of drugs or in an institution. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

She gripped the arms of the chair so tightly her nails dug into the upholstery. “It’s as if some stranger has invaded my mind. It’s so horribly intimate and it’s so evil. It makes me feel as if I’ve been…violated.”

“Trust me, catching a glimpse or two of what that stranger experienced when he shoved a dagger into someone’s chest is just as bad. It’s as if I did the deed myself. For a while afterward, I feel—” He broke off abruptly.

She sensed that he hadn’t expected to confide that much to her and wasn’t sure he wanted to add to it.

Then, very deliberately, he tapped his fingertips together again. Once. Twice.

“I feel contaminated,” he said quietly. “As if some of the darkness inside the killer has seeped into me.”

She searched his face. “That’s how it is for me, too.”

His mouth curved in an odd, bemused smile. “I’ve never told anyone that before. The stuff about feeling the killer’s darkness invading me, I mean.”

“Neither have I.” She took a deep breath. “I always assumed it would be stupid to go around telling folks that I’m afraid I might be absorbing some of the dark energy produced by a bunch of murderers and freaks. I didn’t want to alarm the people close to me, and it certainly doesn’t make for scintillating cocktail party conversation.”

“Those are the same reasons I’ve kept quiet about it, too.”

Shared secrets, she thought. The exquisite intimacy of the situation was indescribable. How could she be having a conversation like this with a man she had only just met? Where would it lead? Perhaps more to the point, where did she want it to go?

“It’s bad enough hearing the voices,” she said. “I can’t even imagine experiencing the visions.”

“What are the voices like?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Whispers,” she said slowly, searching for the words. “But not real whispers, not real voices. My mind understands the difference even though I can’t explain it.”

He nodded. Deep understanding shadowed his eyes.

“It’s as if I’m standing in one dimension and there’s a very thin veil between me and another dimension,” she said. “Someone is on the other side of the veil, talking. If I pay attention I can make out occasional words. But I don’t hear the voices, at least, not exactly. I feel them.”

“When you pay attention, as you term it, what you’re really doing is opening yourself up to the stimuli your psychic senses are receiving, allowing your intuition to interpret the energy.”

“It’s like having a ghost walk through my mind.”

“Sometimes you hear the victims’ whispers, too, don’t you?”

She shivered. “Those are the worst. I hate the freaks’ whispers but when I hear the victims’ voices, it’s a million times more awful because I know it’s probably going to be too late to rescue them.”

“There are exceptions. That girl in your aunt’s basement today, for example, and that kidnapping victim you helped Mitchell find a few months ago.”

“True. But the happy endings are few and far apart. And with the cold cases there is never a good outcome.”

“Except justice,” he said quietly.

“Yes.”

“This probably won’t be much consolation but Arcane Society research indicates that it’s not the actual voices of either the freaks or the victims that you hear. What you’re sensing is the psychic residue of the emotions still clinging to the scene.”

“I understand, but why do I only sense the dark, terrible stuff? I never feel the happiness or cheerfulness that people leave behind.”

“The researchers believe there’s an evolutionary explanation. The brain’s primary job is to ensure your survival. Generally speaking, emotions like happiness or cheerfulness don’t represent a threat so, with the notable exception of sex, the psychic side of your brain has evolved to ignore the good feelings and concentrate on the bad.”

She felt heat rise in her face. “Sex?”

He looked amused. “Sex is directly connected to survival. Trust me, our psychic senses are very tuned into the vibes associated with reproduction.”

“Oh.” Probably best to let that subject drop.

“But powerful emotions such as fear and rage and twisted lust are all linked to danger so our parasenses have adapted to be more keenly aware of them,” he continued. “Our normal senses have, too, for that matter.”

She absorbed that. “I see.”

There was another silence. The sensation of intimacy in the small, fire-lit space grew stronger. She could sit here talking to this man for the rest of her life, she thought. The temptation was incredibly appealing and probably dangerous. Time to shatter the spell before it became unbreakable.

She straightened a little in her chair. “What do you want, Zack Jones? And please don’t try to tell me that the Arcane Society suddenly gives a damn about me. If anyone cared they would have been in touch a long time ago.”

His eyes narrowed faintly. She knew she had scored a point.

“I’m an agent for Jones & Jones,” he said. “Ever heard of it?”

Shock lanced through her. So much for the aura of intense intimacy. She called on every ounce of self-control she possessed and gave him her very best screw you smile.

“Oh, yes,” she said very softly. “I’ve heard of J&J.”

He nodded as if he had suspected as much. “So you do remember. I thought so.”

“I remember very well that it was a J&J agent named Wilder Jones who destroyed my father’s life’s work and burned his lab to the ground. I also think there is a very high probability that Aunt Vella was right in her theory that the man from J&J arranged for my father to die in that car accident. If you’re with Jones & Jones, you’ve wasted your time tracking me down. I can’t imagine any reason in the world why I would lift a finger to help you.”