Page 97 of The Diamond in the Rough

Raj, too, looked over, but he didn’t move, staying beside me, hand still on my back. I was absurdly grateful. I took another sip of Dr. Pepper, a bigger one this time.

“Not sure, but it seems important,” the agent replied. His eyes—pale blue—were wide and there was sweat curlingthe blond hair at the nape of his neck. His mask—standard FBI issue—puffed with the speed of his rapid breaths. He held up a travel coffee mug, a dark blue matte finish with brass rings around it, the lip of the lid matching in brass.

The other three agents—Cass, Hart, Raj—started at him as though he’d lost his mind.

I actually got it first.

I handed my Dr. Pepper to Raj, who took it almost absently from my hand when I held it out. Then I took off my glove and reached up for the mug.

Hal handed it to me, even as Raj sucked in a breath that I was pretty sure meant he was going to protest.

He’d been lookingthrough this godforsaken place for hours. Three, four maybe. Trying to find the files that would explain how they’d stripped magic from the unworthy patients here. How they’d managed to put together a machine that could distill magic from the corrupt and insane and store it for use by those who possessed the wisdom, purity, and aptitude.

It stank of mildew, dust, decay, and the sickly smell of piss, vomit, and fear.

And degenerates.

But he had a job to do—to find the magics that would enable him to drain magic from the unworthy. Those who had contracted the illness that made them inhuman, marking them as lesser, animalistic.

He would create the object.

Then, he would pass it off to Jennings, who would do the deed itself.

I droppedout of the vision with a gasp, my whole body shuddering and a film of clammy sweat on my back and forehead.

“Deep breaths, nice and easy,” Raj murmured. Then he took the mug from my hand and returned it to Hal. “Put that into evidence, log that it’s been touched by the contact psychic,” he said to the other agent.

“You got it, boss,” Hal replied, and I heard feet receding.

Raj held out my glove, letting me slip my trembling hand back into it, and then helped me take another sip of the Dr. Pepper, his hand steadying mine when I shook too badly to hold the bottle to my lips.

And then he just sat with me, occasionally helping me sip, his other hand still rubbing slow, gentle circles on my back.

I took another swallow of the Dr. Pepper, then looked over at him.

Dark eyebrows rose in question over gold-brown eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

I licked my lips. “Jennings,” I said softly.

His whole body tensed. “Jennings?” he repeated.

I nodded. “The killer’s name is Jennings.”

19

God,she hated spring allergies.

She’d just sneezed so damn hard she’d walked into the stupid doorway like she was drunk or something.

If only.

Ward would kill her if she came to work drunk—not that she actually wanted to. But allergy season in Richmond was absolute murder, and anything to take the edge off the snarfing, sniffling, sneezing, itchy eyes…

Benadryl just wasn’t cutting it.

I grimaceddown at the fingers that had accidentally brushed the door frame to the kitchen, and then made a point to wash both hands thoroughly. My allergies weren’t nearly as bad as Beck’s or Ward’s—which were genuinely awful—but even I had been a bit sneezier than usual the last few weeks.

That didn’t mean I wanted Beck’s snot on my hands.