Page 31 of It takes a Psychic

Leona retreated into her logical, academic place. “The rules do not apply to this situation. I am not contemplating an affair with Oliver Rancourt. In case you weren’t paying attention, I’m pursuing a viable lead on the yellow crystals.”

Molly’s smile got a little more superior, a little more knowing. “Right. That certainly clarifies things. But promise me that when you find out for sure whether or not failure to consummate the marriage was the grounds for the annulment, you’ll let me know.”

Leona glared at her and then decided to rise above the taunt. “I think it’s far more likely that the grounds were his para-psych profile. Whatever he is, he’s strong.” She made a show of checking her watch and got to her feet. “I should leave. I’m supposed to meet Rancourt early this afternoon. Before I go, is there anything new on the fallout from the FBPI raid?”

Eugenie glanced at her phone and shook her head. “Nope. Still no mention of the expert from Hollister University who was supposed to authenticate the membership submissions.”

“What about the dead woman?”

“They have a name,” Eugenie said. “Astrid Todd. She was new in town. Living at a low-rent motel in the Shadow Zone.”

“What about the Vance cult pendant she was wearing?”

Eugenie shook her head. “No mention of it.”

“The Bureau is probably keeping that piece of evidence out of the media,” Charlotte said, “because it’s something only the killer would know. That’s common practice in a murder investigation.”

“One more thing,” Eugenie said. “I think I can guess what sort of talent Rancourt is.”

She gave them her theory. There was a moment of silence.

Charlotte picked up a pen and tapped it lightly against the desktop. “That probably explains the annulment.”

Chapter Thirteen

Oliver watched Leona cross thestreet and stride briskly toward the sidewalk café where he was waiting. This afternoon she was crisp and professional in a tailored suit with sharp shoulders, a nipped-in waist, and a knee-length skirt, which she paired with low heels. Her hair was once again in a severe bun. There was a messenger bag slung across her trim frame, a nod to her academic status. He had one like it, except larger.

The only thing that ruined the effect of woman-on-a-mission was the dust bunny tucked under her arm—a dust bunny wearing an outrageously frilly little blue hat.

He smiled, enjoying the daytime metamorphosis, and mentally cataloged the stages he had witnessed in the short time he had known Leona. Last night she had first appeared mysterious and aloof in the evening gown, her hair in an elegant knot. When he had found her hovering over a dead woman, her hands and dress stained red with blood, she had looked so fierce and determined that he had actually wondered for a beat if shewas the murderer. But in the next second he realized that she had been trying to help the victim.

She had been badly rattled by the blood and gore but during the escape she had stripped to her underwear, grabbed a flamer, and slipped into the role of gutsy comrade in arms. Later, on the walk back to her apartment, she had looked incredibly sexy wearing his evening jacket and high heels, her hair tumbling free of the pins.

So many fascinating aspects to the woman. No question about it, she was definitely dangerous.

His senses stirred when he realized she had spotted him and was heading directly toward him. He was using a little talent, just enough to make sure he blended in with the crowd seated at the umbrella-shaded tables, but her eyes met his immediately.

He probably ought to be worried, not thrilled. He wasn’t used to people seeing him—not the way Leona did. But she was different. Fascinating.

When she arrived at the table, he saw the steely expression in her eyes and knew something had shifted in their relationship—probably her agenda. He was pretty sure she was no longer willing to hand over the pyramid crystal in exchange for his promise to allow her to study it at a later time. She looked ready to put up a fight. He wondered what had happened to make her decide to dig in her heels.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, taking the chair across from him. “It’s been a difficult day. Say hello to Roxy.”

“Hello, Roxy,” he said. “Nice to see you again.” Roxy wriggled out of the crook of Leona’s arm, bounced up onto the table, and chortled a greeting. He started to pat her on the head but stopped when he realized the silly hat was in the way.

“What’s with the fancy headgear?” he asked.

“It’s a fascinator,” Leona said, sounding somewhat defensive. “You know, the kind of hat women often wear to weddings and summer garden parties.”

“I see.” He rezzed a little energy, just enough to get the waiter’s attention. “Can I ask how Roxy ended up with a fascinator?”

“It’s a souvenir,” Leona said. Very cool and very firm now. “I told you, I had an appointment with my sister and my moms at a wedding salon. There were a lot of accessories lying around the dressing room and—”

“And Roxy stole a hat.”

Leona narrowed her eyes. “She did not steal it. The moms had it added to the bill. It belongs to Roxy now. We figured out how to attach it to a stretchy headband so it would stay on, and my sister tuned the blue crystal butterfly in case it gets lost. Now, about the pyramid crystal.”

“We can talk about it later.”

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