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"You need to talk to him, Nik,” Jake said into the silence. “Remember, he's the old-fashioned type."
"Considering his age, you'd have to say very old fashioned.” She leaned back into the seat's luxuriousness. Time to change the subject. Talking about Michael stirred up longing in all the wrong places. “So, tell me about the case."
The amusement died from Jake's face. “Do you remember Mark Wainwright? You met him at one of Mary's dinner parties just before we took on the Kincaid case." She frowned. “He was that bald-headed man, with the white-haired wife, wasn't he?"
"Yeah. They came to San Francisco three weeks ago for business reasons and have been staying at the Grand.” He hesitated. His voice, when he continued, was low and very controlled—yet his anger seemed to burn the air. “Two days ago, his wife, Dale, disappeared. A ransom note turned up yesterday, demanding a million dollars in cash."
As ransoms went, it wasn't particularly large—not when you were as rich as Mark Wainwright supposedly was. “I gather the police have been called in?" Jake nodded. “And the Feds. But Mark has asked if we'd mind investigating as well." She raised an eyebrow. “Does he know about our spate of unsuccessful cases?"
"He does.” Jake's voice was grim. “Trouble is, he knows Dale's time is limited anyway, and he's willing to try anything."
"Why does he think her time is limited? Isn't he going to pay the ransom?"
"He is, but neither he nor the police are holding out much hope. This isn't a singular kidnapping, you see, but the third within two weeks. The body of the first victim apparently turned up yesterday. The whispers I've heard say she was pretty mutilated."
She raised her eyebrows. “Didn't her husband pay the ransom?"
"He did. And that's what has Mark worried."
"So you want me to have a go at finding her?"
Jake nodded. “It may be Dale's only chance."
If they were this woman's only chance, she could be in big trouble. “My gifts have taken some strange turns lately, Jake. I can't guarantee anything."
He shrugged. “If the unconventional doesn't work, we'll go back to the conventional. We're a pretty good team, you know, and we solved an awful lot of cases without the benefit of your abilities." And even more with them. They relied on her gifts far more often than he seemed to think. “So what does Mary think about you getting involved in this case?"
After all, Mary had dragged him to San Francisco not so much to recover from his injuries, but to get him interested in the security job here at her family's hotel—hoping, of course, that he'd give up his investigating days and settle down in a position she considered far less dangerous. And far more respectable.
He sighed. “She's angry with me. Says I have no right to get involved with a police investigation."
"Never stopped us before,” Nikki commented, smiling. “And I thought Dale was one of her friends?" He shook his head. “They barely know each other. I went to college with Mark. We studied law together."
Nikki stared at him in surprise. “You never told me you were a lawyer."
"That's because I'm not. I failed the bar.” He shrugged. “I didn't really care, because by that time I'd realized I just wasn't cut out for the courtroom scene."
In all the years she'd known him, he'd never mentioned how close he'd come to being a lawyer—though maybe it did explain his somewhat cynical opinion of them. And if Mary had known him from college, or at least had known how close he'd come to being a lawyer, maybe that was the reason for the often disappointed note in her voice whenever she spoke about him.
"So you became a private investigator instead? Why?"
"It's something I fell into, thanks to Mark. I was bumming around, looking for something to do, and he asked me if I'd track down a witness for this case he was defending. The rest, as they say, is history." Then she owed Mark a note of thanks, because if Jake had become a lawyer instead of a private investigator, she probably would never have met him. And beyond Michael, Jake was the one truly good thing that had happened in her life. “Is Mark waiting for us at the hotel?" Jake glanced at his watch. “Yes. I told him to hunt up some of Dale's things." Her stomach stirred. She hadn't used her psychometry skills for a good four months—not since she'd tried to find Matthew Kincaid and had become one with him instead, sharing his pain, his fear. Goose bumps trailed across her skin, and she rubbed her arms. What if it happened again? What if she became a part of whatever was happening to this Dale and couldn't escape?
She took a deep breath and pushed the fear away. She had to try, for Jake's sake. He never asked much of her, and this was important to him. “Has he told the police he's asked us to investigate?" Jake shook his head. “It's not just the police, now, but the Feds as well."
"And won't they be pleased to have a couple of amateurs bumbling about,” she said, voice dry. He shrugged. “Won't be the first time we've crossed swords with the police, and I doubt it will be the last."
She raised her eyebrows. “Then you have no intention of becoming the Diamond Grand's next chief of security?"
"Hell, no.” He shuddered and scrubbed a hand through his thinning blond hair. “I'd rather die in the field than die of boredom."
She couldn't hide the surge of relief, and yet in many ways, she knew she was being selfish. Jake had been badly hurt in their last two cases. The next time he just might get his wish. “Mary is making some sense, you know. It would certainly be a lot safer, health-wise at least, if you took the security job."
"Nik, if I wanted safe, I would have become a lawyer.” He leaned forward and opened the door as the limousine came to a halt. “And here we are."
She climbed out. The wind whistled around her, damp and cold. She zipped up her jacket and studied the Diamond Grand Hotel. It was smaller than she'd expected, being only nine or ten floors high. It was also a lot older. Ivy climbed randomly over the red-brown brickwork, gently framing the white wooden windows and Juliett balconies. The entrance was a huge, white stone arch, intricately carved with wreaths of flowers and ivy. Two old-fashioned gas lamps sat on the wall either side of the arch, and a canopy curved over the sidewalk, protecting guests from the worst of the weather. Christmas lights climbed around it, twinkling like stars in the fading night.
"It's pretty,” she said.
