Page 12 of It takes a Psychic

“I am devastated to discover that you hold such a low opinion of me.”

“My current opinion of your character is based on available facts.” She flashed him a very shiny smile, the one she used when she was trying to persuade obsessive collectors to donate their best pieces to the university’s collection. “If you want me to change that opinion, you’ll have to supply new information.”

“It’s true I agreed to do the Bureau a favor tonight.”

“Because you had your own agenda,” she said, satisfied with the way her intuition was connecting the data points. “The raid certainly worked nicely with your personal plan, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.” He sounded pleased.

“Hah. I thought so. Do the Feds know you stole one of the artifacts?”

“I thought I made it clear that I did not steal the damned box,” he said. “I recovered it.”

The edge of amusement was gone. He was getting irritated. Served him right.

“I forgot,” she said. “You’re a repo agent.”

“The box was stolen from a private museum. I was tasked with retrieving it. My sources indicated it would be on display tonight. And yes, my goal was aligned with the Bureau’s decision to raid the Society.”

“And you knew about the happy coincidence of the timing because?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve coordinated with the FBPI.”

“I see,” she said. She glanced at the pack slung over his shoulder. “Do you know who stole the box from this—ahem—so-called private museum?”

“No,” he said. “But I’m going to find out.”

He was beyond both amusement and irritation now, she realized. Intheir place was a cold determination that sent a chill across her senses. He was serious. Resolute. Focused on the objective. A man with a mission.

Earlier she had concluded it would not be a good idea to underestimate Oliver Rancourt. She suspected whoever had stolen Pandora’s box had made that mistake and would live to regret it.

He led her across a wide rotunda and into one of a dizzying number of branching tunnels. A few steps past the entrance he stopped and motioned toward a sled.

“Your carriage awaits,” he said.

The simple amber-fueled sleds resembled golf carts. They didn’t move fast—at top speed they could barely outpace someone who was running—but they were the only means of transport in the Underworld. More sophisticated, more powerful engines did not function in the psi-heavy environment.

For some reason, she was now the one who was amused. “You know, I arrived at the reception in a limo tonight. I had intended to leave the same way.”

“Sorry I can’t offer more impressive service, but I’ll be happy to give you a lift back to the Dark Zone.”

She froze. “You know where I live?”

“I always do my research. You were the anomaly at the reception tonight. The unknown quantity. I needed to know if you might prove to be a problem.”

The anomaly.

Not exactly the provocative, mysterious, sexy image a woman in an evening gown and heels wanted to project.

“You should have asked me,” she said. “I could have told you the answer to that question is yes.”

“Believe it or not, I figured that out right off. Do you want a ride or not?”

The alternative involved finding the nearest exit from the tunnels on her own. She would probably end up in an unfamiliar neighborhood, one in which walking down the street in high heels and a bloodstained evening gown at midnight might be a very good way to get arrested.

“I suppose that if you intended to murder me to keep me from telling the authorities that you stole a rare artifact, you would have done so by now,” she said. “Yep, I accept your offer of a ride.”

“Keep this up and you’re going to hurt my feelings.”

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