Talent to Burn (Hidden Talent #1) (13 page)

All of that was irrelevant, anyway. We’d sort out this thing with Eric, and then I’d get on with my life; anything between us was strictly temporary. Even thinking about a future with Jamie was a total waste of time. That didn’t mean I couldn’t have a one-night stand with him, of course. Or two. Definitely not more than two. Three nights counted as a relationship.

Jamie didn’t open his eyes until we landed, and he didn’t say anything as we went out of the airport into the parking lot. I followed him to a low-slung sports coupe.

“Nice car,” I muttered. “What will happen to your bike?”

He shrugged. “I’ll pick it up sometime.”

Oh, to have so much that you could afford to be casual about your possessions. I lowered myself into the passenger seat, which seemed to be about eight inches off the ground, resisting the urge to cross myself and pray. Instead, I fingered the St. Jude medal in my pocket.

We fell back into silence as Jamie drove down an insanely busy highway. The car wove in and out of trucks and giant SUVs and I decided after a few minutes that I’d be better off with my eyes shut.

I opened them again a moment later when Jamie turned on the stereo. I’d half expected death metal, but it was the classical equivalent: the
1812 Overture
.

My face must have betrayed my surprise, because he gave me a sideways glance and frowned.

“Even us criminals have some taste,” he said.

I resisted the urge to snark in return, and managed to briefly feel smug for succeeding.

We exited the freeway at last into a leafy suburb of large houses. As we turned into side streets, the houses were far from the road, or behind huge gates, and I realized we’d entered mansion territory.

Finally, we pulled into a driveway flanked by two huge stone gateposts, each with a mythological stone creature on top, and a large ornamental iron gate attached. The drive curved through two lines of elm trees, over a little rise, and at last we arrived in front of a huge old gray stone house, with a hundred windows for eyes. I’m not sure if “mansion” or “palace” would have been a more appropriate description.

“Welcome to Riverslea,” Jamie said. He pulled around one side of the main building and parked the coupe at the end of a line of fancy cars.

He opened my door and I followed him around the back to a patio ornamented by whimsical topiary bears. We crossed to a set of French doors. As Jamie reached for the handle, the doors opened.

A middle-aged woman in a dark tailored suit with neat hair scraped into a bun stood in the doorway. Despite her modest appearance, her eyes held us in a steady gray gaze, and the set of her jaw told me she wasn’t happy. Her aura, like her suit, was dark silvery gray and held mostly in check, although little tendrils reached toward us periodically. She smoothed them down. To anyone un-Talented, it would have appeared she was merely smoothing her hair. I got the strongest notion she was a telepath, and she gave me a brief, secret smile.

“James,” she said, “It’s good to have you home.” Her deep voice and educated Southern vowels rolled over us.

She turned her regard to me. “Catrina. A pleasure to meet you at last.” One elegant hand extended out to me, palm down, and I reached out to shake it, not knowing what else to do. Her aura stroked over my hand, which was not nearly as unpleasant as it sounds.

Jamie coughed. “This is Dorian Alexander. My boss.”

“Hi.”

“My dear, I must speak with James, but I would also like to speak to you separately. Please follow me to my study.” She turned and glided inside.

Jamie scowled and waved an arm for me to follow her. I entered the doorway and found myself in a conservatory rife with ferns and other greenery. I had to rush to keep up with Dorian Alexander’s rapidly clicking heels, which led us through the indoor garden and into a set of high-ceilinged halls, lined with a plethora of artwork.

We arrived at a row of low, chintzy chairs next to a walnut door, and Dorian Alexander extended her hand. “Catrina, you may wait here. James, if you would…”

Jamie opened the door for her, they went through and the door swung closed behind them with a final thud. He didn’t even make eye contact.

I lowered myself into one of the surprisingly uncomfortable chairs, and wondered how I should address Jamie’s boss. I couldn’t very well call her Dorian Alexander, but she didn’t seem the kind of person one would address by her first name without a written invitation. I would default to the school-teacher-ish “Miz Alexander”, but “Your Grace” seemed as though it might be more appropriate.

Shifting from buttock to buttock on the cast-iron cushions, I realized I could hear muffled sounds through the door. God, I’d have given anything for a drinking glass to press to the door like they did in old movies. Did that actually work?

I made out the sound of a female voice talking—Dorian—interspersed with masculine monosyllables. I couldn’t hear any of the words, not one, although the tone rose and rose until there was a crashing sound and an ominous silence fell. The door creaked open and Jamie stepped out.

I tried to catch his eye but he was studiously staring at the carpet. “She wants to talk to you,” he said. “I’ll wait out here.”

He’d clearly been here before, as when I offered him the uncomfortable chair, he shook his head and leaned against the wall, staring off into the distance in a studied fashion.

Entering the room, I found a pleasant walnut- and lemon-themed study. Dorian Alexander sat behind a huge wooden desk, neatly manicured hands folded on her blotter.

I couldn’t for the life of me work out what had made that crashing noise. Nothing appeared to be out of place.

“Please sit down.” Dorian Alexander gave me a short smile. “I am delighted you’re finally here.”

Those were the last words I’d expected.

She rose and walked over to the floor-length windows, where she looked out over the garden, hands behind her back.

“We have been hoping you would come to us for some time.” She paused. “Before this incident with your brother.”

I couldn’t get my head around her words. “Why?”

“As James will have told you, we house many Talents here. He may even have mentioned that our seers foresaw your brother’s troubles. What I am sure he didn’t tell you is that several of them have seen you walking among us, and every vision has been in a different time and place, which tells me that you will be with us for some time.”

My breath stopped. The idea of predestination made me queasy. I controlled my fate, nobody else. “What did the visions show?”

“Nothing clear, but you keep showing up in visions about other things. You are a piece of our puzzle, and when you appeared as the path to Eric, we knew we had finally found a way to get you here.”

Her words seduced the part of me that wanted to belong, but I couldn’t afford to get distracted. I wanted to get back on track. “What about Eric? We didn’t manage to find him yet, and we’re running out of leads.”

She walked back over to the desk, where she again smoothed her hands over the surface. “I believe you still have a couple of leads to follow up. James needs to lie low for a few days, however. This will give you the chance to get to know us. I also understand one of your leads is a medal, is that correct?”

I nodded. Lie low for a few days? I didn’t think so, but I’d keep that to myself for now.

“We can have someone look at that. In addition, James tells me that this Justine girl you tracked in Vegas was headed to DC. I’ll see what I can do to trace her. In the meantime, James can show you to your room.”

“Thank you,” I said automatically. “But why does James—Jamie—have to lie low?”

“I’ll allow him to explain that to you.” She gave me a tight smile. “I’m sure I would only embarrass him needlessly.”

She stepped around the desk, every movement neat and studied, and proffered her hand again. “Catrina, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I hope you may find peace within these walls, as many before you have done.”

Before I knew it, she had ushered me out into the corridor. Jamie sat slumped in a chair. Guess he’d gotten bored waiting. His head sagged forward onto his chest, feet propped on a second of the awful chairs, and he let out a gentle snore. Dorian Alexander gave a sharp tug to the chair under his feet, dropping them to the floor. He grunted and sat up straight, shaking his head.

“Don’t put your feet on my furniture, James.”

“Sorry,” he said, giving her a sloe-eyed grin. “We’ll be going.”

Dorian nodded, expressionless.

I trailed Jamie deeper into the mansion. The place was huge, and we passed out of the section that contained offices, past a huge empty ballroom, and then alongside a couple of rooms that looked like classrooms. We came to an open foyer with a grand winding staircase, leading upward
Gone With The Wind
-style, and I followed Jamie to the top. About then I lost track of which direction I was facing as I continued to follow him through a mass of corridors until we arrived at a huge oak door.

“Your room,” Jamie said.

“Thanks.” I wanted to say something about how it would be strange sleeping away from him, but I couldn’t put a sentence together that didn’t sound like a come-on, so I said nothing.

“Mine is down there,” he said, pointing. “It’s like college, or so I’m told—see these?” Next to the door was a slot for a nameplate, and oddly, mine was already present. “C. Wilson”, engraved in brass for all to see. They’d been expecting me.

“I’m going to get some sleep,” he said. “Red-eyes don’t agree with me.”

“Okay,” I said. “Should I follow up on the medal while you nap?”

Jamie shrugged, scowling. “There’s no hurry. I’ll see you later.” He strode down the corridor away from me. I watched him until he opened a door down a ways and slammed it shut behind him.

No hurry. Right. I twitched with the need to do something.

I opened my own door, and found a room less formal than I had expected. Stepping through the doorway, I entered an early twentieth century farmhouse. It was decorated with plain wooden furniture, a handmade quilt on the bed, and rustic pastoral watercolors on the walls. Even the faint smell of flowers—rose water? lavender?—made me feel as though I was visiting somebody’s grandmother.

Kicking off my boots, I lay on the bed to rest. Nothing else to do, but peace eluded me. Standing up again, I wandered around the room a few times, touching a porcelain jug, looking through the curtains at the immaculate garden. I wondered where they hid the bathroom.

I took off my jacket and tossed it on the bed, then went back out into the hallway, self-consciously walking in the direction that Jamie had taken. I didn’t see a bathroom before I got to his door, and paused. J. Murphy. Indeed.

My hand raised itself and knocked on the door. I thought I might be sick. My cheeks were already burning.

The door moved open a little under my hand, and I gave it a gentle push. Inside lay a far different room from the one I had been assigned. The curtains were drawn and only three candles in an iron candelabrum illuminated the cave-like space by the bed. Their flickering light played over the walls, painted wine red. The bed dominated the room, with a huge wooden headboard and pristine white sheets. Nobody had lain in those sheets tonight.

A small click came from my right. A second door stood cracked, and the light within it shone brightly through. At that moment, it swung wide and Jamie stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Chapter Fourteen

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, as my eyes adjusted and I realized he wore nothing but a white towel slung low around his hips.

 
He flicked off the bathroom light and suddenly he was easier to see. His face had relaxed into a more normal expression than he’d had all day, and now he looked dog tired.

“I need to,” he said. “But you can sleep in here if you want. Or not.”

I nodded.

Jamie padded over to the bed and tossed the towel onto a chair, leaving him naked and gleaming in the candlelight. I had a few moments to glimpse his leanly muscular butt and thighs before he slid into the bed. He looked as good as I remembered, and my mouth dried. I licked my lips.

“Come,” he said, moving over into the middle of the bed and gesturing with his arm. Self-conscious again, I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them off, looking nowhere but at the floor, then hurried over to the bed and ducked beneath the sheets, into the warmth under his arm.

He leaned across me and blew out the candles, then lay back and pulled me into him. “I really do need to sleep,” he said.

“Yes,” I murmured, sinking into the warmth of the bed and naked man and high thread count sheets, suddenly exhausted.

His warm lips found mine briefly in the dark, without fumbling, and I wondered, as I descended into slumber, if that was one of the special perks of dating a Finder. Or sleeping with one.

I woke with a jerk, disoriented by the hand stroking my hair, surrounded by soft, downy bedding, and the warmth of a body beside mine.

“Good afternoon,” Jamie said quietly in my ear. “Much as I would rather spend the rest of the day here with you, we should probably get up.”

I turned my head and murmured a wordless protest against his shoulder.