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“The blinds are closed in every room,” Luke said, “but keep the light aimed low.”
“If the police do show up I’m sure you’ll be able to hypnotize them into thinking we’ve got every right to be here,” she said.
She expected him to deny his talent again but he surprised her with a question.
“What makes you think I’m a hypnotist?” he asked.
He sounded genuinely curious. Intrigued. And wary.
“Something you do with your voice.” Cautiously she opened her senses and moved slowly across the kitchen. “I expect it comes in handy.”
He did not respond to that.
“Is your ability to manipulate people with your voice the reason you think you might be on that list?” she asked.
He was silent for a beat.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
“Is there any practical use for your talent? Outside of doing stage shows in Vegas, I mean?”
“There was up until about three months ago,” he said evenly.
“What happened three months ago?”
“It’s complicated.”
She glanced back at him, trying to get a read. She was very aware of him now, and not just because he was standing in the same room. She could pick up the whisper of his energy field. It was distinctive, to put it mildly. Powerful.
Focus, woman.
She contemplated the battered furnishings. The only thing that looked new was a small plant on an end table. Everything else—the sagging sofa, floor lamp, and rug—looked as old as the house.
The familiar sense of knowing shivered through her.
“Here we go,” she said softly.
“What is it?” Luke asked, his voice sharpening.
“I don’t know yet, but there’s something hidden in this room.”
Luke speared the flashlight around the space. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. This is what I do, Luke Rand. I find stuff. Whether I want to or not.”
She aimed the flashlight at the little plant on the end table. It looked healthy and vibrant. Well-tended. A grocery store tag with a barcode stamped on it was attached.
“That doesn’t fit,” she said.
Luke studied the plant. “Explain.”
“Everything in this house indicates that Phoebe Hatch was using it as a temporary hideout. It was never intended to be a home. But she went to the trouble of picking up a small potted plant at a supermarket. I think she was lonely. And afraid. She didn’t dare get a dog or a cat, because she knew she might have to abandon the animal.”
“So she picked up a cheap houseplant instead?”
“Yes,” Talia said.
She sorted through the tendrils of hot energy that burned in the space. Luke watched, not speaking, as she crossed the room to the end table. She took a breath and gingerly touched the plastic pot.
