ROBYN

Robyn checked the bedside clock and wondered whether she’d been napping long enough. She felt like she was back in kindergarten, past the age of needing a nap, forced to “rest” before she could zoom back into playtime.

Karl had stepped out to scout the area, leaving Robyn to sleep. Now, though, she was rested and raring to go, and Karl hadn’t returned. She suspected he wasn’t thinking of her at all, just circling the building, waiting for Hope.

She peeked out from behind the curtain, trying several angles, but seeing only slivers of the parking lot. Karl had told her to stay away from the windows and keep the door chained until he announced himself. But they’d been careful to avoid any landmarks on the way here, and as long as Robyn kept her wits sharp, there was no reason she couldn’t peek out, tell Karl she was up and they could go meet Hope.

She did, keeping the chain engaged. But she couldn’t see any more than the same slice of parking lot she had from the windows. So she undid the chain, eased open the door and leaned out.

No sign of Karl.

Maybe she should take a walk—

Maybe you should do what you were told, Bobby. Maybe the guy had a reason for telling you to do it.

Right, of course. Even if it was safe, she didn’t relish getting caught by Karl.

She retreated into the room, pulling the door shut—

It stopped.

She looked up to see fingers holding it open. Men’s fingers, long and smooth, nails perfectly trimmed. She relaxed her grip.

“Sorry, I was just—”

The door swung open. And for the second time in as many days, it wasn’t Karl. This time it was the man from the bookstore, the one who’d been crouching by the boy’s body.

Bracing the door with his foot, he lifted his hands as if to say “see, I’m not armed.” At one time, that might have reassured her. After what she’d seen and heard in the last twenty-four hours, it didn’t. In this new world, “armed” had little to do with “dangerous.”

She tried to slam the door, quite willing to crush his foot if necessary, but he grabbed the edge again, holding it fast.

“Your bodyguard is at the corner, meeting your friend, who just pulled up in a cab,” the man said. “They’ll be along in a moment. If you want to scream, I can’t stop you, but it won’t get them here any faster, and it’ll only call attention to us. So why don’t we step inside and wait for them?”

Robyn backed up, walked stiffly to a chair and sat, straight-backed, hands in her lap. She felt like a stick figure, barely able to flex even at her elbows and knees.

The man surveyed the room, then took the other chair, positioning it out of sight of the window and out of the line of fire should anyone swing through the door.

When he took off his ball cap, Robyn got her first good look at him. His hair was dark red and his freckles were faint, but the resemblance was clear.

“He was your son,” she said.

His reaction told her she was right. Like the resemblance, it was nothing overt. Just a burst of grief dispersed by a blink. Seeing it made her chest hurt, thoughts of Damon crowding her head.

“It seems we have a collision of interests.” The man’s words were light, but his voice gruff. “I understand why the council got involved. They’re trying to help you out of a jam, and they didn’t realize it involved a clairvoyant, but now that they do, I’m here to ask you to let me handle this. Clairvoyant concerns are not council concerns.”

Whatever this “council” was, it had to be supernatural, and this guy thought she was part of it—or at least a supernatural herself.

She could set him straight. But she didn’t see the point . . . and did see a few good reasons why it might not be wise to admit she was human.

“That’s right,” she said. “We didn’t realize a clairvoyant was involved. But I am involved. Still involved. Meaning I’m not about to step away.”

His chin dipped in a slow, bobbing nod, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Earlier, when they’d talked about him, Hope had called him “the gym teacher.” Robyn could see it now. He looked like a beloved coach. The one teen girls would ogle in his gym shorts, whispering that he was “kind of cute . . . for his age.” Pleasant and unassuming. An impression she couldn’t shake even knowing he wasn’t a gym teacher, wasn’t unassuming, probably wasn’t all that pleasant.

Robyn glanced at the door. Were Hope and Karl really coming? “You said this isn’t council business because it involves clairvoyants. I presume that’s what you are?”

“Hmmm.”

His gaze stayed fixed on a spot by her feet, as if too wrapped up in thought to answer her question. Thought? No. He was lost in a vision, watching Karl and Hope. She shivered.

No time to get freaked out, Bobby. It’s a brave new world. Adjust.

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you speak for the clairvoyants, then? Is that what this ‘collision of interest’ is about? The council is trespassing on your jurisdiction?”

“The concerns of the clairvoyants are very specialized. We don’t expect the council to understand.”

“You represent them, though? The clairvoyants?”

He straightened, eyes finally focusing. “Your friend is an Expisco, isn’t she? I heard that, but I thought it was a mistake. Hoped it was. I guess not. Which is going to make this—”

He vaulted from his chair. Robyn didn’t have time to do more than shriek before realizing he wasn’t jumping at her, but toward the bed, executing the kind of perfect leap only seen in movies. He twisted, hands raised, as Karl barreled from the bathroom, surprising Robyn. She gave yet another shriek followed by a mental promise that next time she was leaping up to defend herself like a proper twenty-first-century heroine.

The front door whammed open. Hope flew through, gun swinging toward the intruder. Robyn did manage not to scream. Not that anyone noticed. As always seemed to happen in such situations, the hostage was quickly forgotten, kidnapper and rescuers facing off, focused only on one another.

“I’m not armed,” the man said.

He held his hands up like stop signs, one toward each attacker, his gaze flipping between them, as if trying to figure out which posed the greater threat: the big pissed-off werewolf or the tiny gun-toting half-demon.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said. “I let him in and we were talking, waiting for you.”

“You’re okay?” Hope asked.

“Fine. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“We should get you someplace else,” Hope said. “You don’t need to—”

“I’m good.”

And she was. That strange sense of clarity had settled over her now, and she realized it wasn’t shock but balance. She could handle this. Werewolves, demons, clairvoyants . . . A brave new world, Bobby. Take it in stride.

When Karl checked out the drapes, the man said, “I came alone.”

“I didn’t see anyone else,” Robyn added. “But I didn’t get a chance to look either. Like I said, he hasn’t been here long. We didn’t even get to introductions.” She turned to the man. “I’m Robyn.”

He paused, as if he’d rather stay anonymous, then said, “Rhys.”

“He’s a clairvoyant,” Robyn told Hope and Karl. “He was the boy’s father.”

Rhys cut in. “What I want has nothing to do with—” His voice caught. “—with Colm. You’re Hope Adams, with the council, am I right?”

Now it was Hope’s turn to hesitate.

Rhys didn’t wait for confirmation. “I understand you’re trying to help your friend here, but as I told her, the council has no place in clairvoyant affairs.”

“And as I was telling him,” Robyn said, “since this involves me, suspected of a murder committed by a clairvoyant, I’d say I have a vested interest in not handing it over.”

“We aren’t handing anything to anyone,” Hope said. “If you’re suggesting the council has no business investigating a clairvoyant—”

Rhys lifted a hand. “I didn’t say they had no business—”

“You’re getting us tangled in semantics,” Robyn said. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

She thought a smile touched Hope’s eyes.

Rhys said, “The ‘chase’ is that you’re involved in a situation you know little about and the deeper you get into it, the worse it will become.”

“So you want us to back out?” Hope said. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m suggesting we reach an agreement that allows me to pursue this investigation properly.”

“And alone,” Robyn said. “Without us.”

His lips tightened. He didn’t like being forced into a straight answer. Too bad. Robyn had engineered enough snow jobs to recognize one.

“Not entirely alone,” he said finally. “With my people.”

“Who are?” Hope prompted. “The clairvoyants have no governing body. You say the council doesn’t have the right—”

“I didn’t say right.”

“You say they have no place investigating clairvoyants, but they’ve done so in the past. Because clairvoyants, lacking that governing body, don’t have anyplace else to go.”

“In this case, they do.”

Hope nodded. “You. And you are . . . ?”

He said nothing.

“You represent . . . ?”

Still nothing.

“Fine. If you can’t present credentials that I can take to the council, then I’m going to keep investigating this—”

“And get another child killed?”

Hope stiffened, gun jerking up, as if she’d been smacked. “I was trying to save him. He jumped—”

“Because you didn’t understand the situation.”

Karl swung on Rhys, fast enough to make the other man pull back, chair legs squeaking.

“You can leave now.” Karl walked toward Rhys. “In case Grant Gilchrist didn’t tell you how this works, let me explain. You have the rest of the day to pack and leave the city. If you don’t? Come sundown, I hunt you and I kill you.”

Rhys held fast as Karl approached, but Robyn was sure he blanched.

“That was your boy you set on us last night. Gilchrist?”

“I—”

“He didn’t come home last night, did he? I warned him that afternoon. Told him he had until sundown. He didn’t listen. Perhaps you’d like to take that as a lesson.”

“What happened with Grant was a mistake. My mistake. I underestimated how much it would mean to him, to his reputation, to take you down. I thought I had him on a tighter leash than I did.”

The flash in Karl’s eyes said he didn’t appreciate the doggie reference. Robin could’t blame him.

“What happened to your son—” she began.

“—was not intentional.” He looked at Hope. “You had no way to foresee what he’d do, and I’m sure you did try to help him, but my point is that what’s happening here goes beyond the simple help the council has given clairvoyants in the past. If you’ll back off, I can stop this young woman—”

“Adele Morrissey.”

He straightened, a sudden shift to cover his reaction—the one that said he’d hoped they hand’t gotten as far as a name.

“Yes, that’s what they call her,” Rhys said. “I can handle Adele. She won’t bother you again.” Robin noticed he did’t mention getting her off L.A.’s Most Wanted list. “What I need is for you to—”

“Back off and let you handle it,” Hope said. “A clairvoyant. The father of Adele’s partner in crime—”

“Colm was not Adele’s—” He took off his ball cap again, holding it on his lap, finger tracing the bill. “I haven’t been a part of my son’s life for thirteen years. So, no, I don’t know what he was doing, and I should’t defend him. But I’m going to ask you to give me twenty-four hours to handle the situation.”

“To get Adele and anyone else involved out of town, and out of reach of the council.”

“I’m not—”

A crack from the bathroom. Robyn leapt up, brain screaming “gun!” But it only took a second to realize that was’t it at all. A metallic clang, not a bang. Then another.

“Down!” Karl shouted.

A hiss from the bathroom, like a broken pipe. Karl dove for Hope, knocking her to the floor as Rhys plunged from his chair.

“It’s okay!” Robyn yelled. “It’s not a—”

Karl kicked her feet from under her as the room filled with smoke.