night. My God. As soon as the thought struck me, I blurted it out. “Is it George? George Funderburk—you’re not saying he’s dead?”
He shrugged. “I’m not saying anything yet, Ms. Vaughn. I think we’d better wait for Mr. Kane before we proceed,” he said. He checked his watch. “Would you like to call and see what’s delaying him?” He unclipped a cell phone from his belt and slid it toward me.
I stared at the phone, not really seeing it while my mind whirred at two hundred miles a minute. It couldn’t be true. George had been fine when I left. But Concord, homicide—it had to be. Oh, God. What if Tina had caused more damage to his dreamscape than I’d realized? But that was ridiculous—no one ever died from a damaged dreamscape. Or did they? Just because I’d never heard of it didn’t mean it was impossible.
But then maybe it wasn’t George. I’d left the guy snoozing happily just a few hours ago. Everything had been normal, routine. Everything except—A chill swept over me as I remembered. Everything except that weird feeling, that sense of evil, that had passed through the room. God, I wished Kane was here—maybe he could help me make sense of this. Fingers trembling, I reached for Costello’s phone.
At that moment, the door opened and Kane strode in. “Vicky,” he said, breathless, “I got here as soon as I could.”
Seeing him, his silver hair gleaming, his expression both worried and determined, was like seeing the sun break through the clouds. In his immaculate gray suit and steel-blue tie, he looked like the ultimate power broker. Definitely not someone to mess with. And he was on my side. I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around his neck, but I merely nodded.
Introductions were made. Kane’s nostrils flared as he shook hands with Costello, his werewolf senses working overtime to sniff out an opinion of the guy. They seemed to have a couple of acquaintances in common—not unusual for a police detective and a lawyer. Hagopian still didn’t say anything. Kane glanced at her, and I could see him decide that Costello was the one to deal with. He leaned on the table with both hands and gave Costello a smile that straddled the line between camaraderie and aggression: be a pal or get your throat torn out—your call.
“I may need a private conference with my client before she can answer any questions, Detective. But it would be helpful to have some idea of what this is all about.” He stood and spread his hands, reprising that chummy, sharp-toothed smile.
“Certainly. As Ms. Vaughn already suspects, we’re investigating the death of one of her clients. George Funderburk.”
I slumped in my chair, chilled all the way through by fear and guilt. I shouldn’t have left him alone. I should have cleared out that horrible presence, whatever the hell it was. But the truth was I’d been afraid, even then. I’d been in a hurry to go. “He was fine when I left,” I said, my voice barely a whimper.
“Are you bringing charges against her?” Kane asked.
Costello shook his head, but he was looking at me, not at Kane. His blue eyes regarded me with something I could’ve sworn was concern.
“We’re not questioning you as a suspect, Ms. Vaughn,” Costello said. “We’re consulting you as an expert.”
“Then why the hell did you have her dragged in here like some kind of criminal?”
“I’m sorry about that.” Costello never shifted his gaze from me. He looked like he meant it about being sorry, a shadow deepening the blue of his eyes. “I haven’t had a lot of experience with . . . with Paranormal Americans. I was following standard procedure.” I started to look away, but something in those eyes held me, that and a note of urgency in his voice. “I’ll know better next time.”
Kane stepped between us. “Let’s make sure there won’t be any next time, Detective.” He crouched beside my chair, his hand brushing my thigh. “Are you willing to talk to them,
He shrugged. “I’m not saying anything yet, Ms. Vaughn. I think we’d better wait for Mr. Kane before we proceed,” he said. He checked his watch. “Would you like to call and see what’s delaying him?” He unclipped a cell phone from his belt and slid it toward me.
I stared at the phone, not really seeing it while my mind whirred at two hundred miles a minute. It couldn’t be true. George had been fine when I left. But Concord, homicide—it had to be. Oh, God. What if Tina had caused more damage to his dreamscape than I’d realized? But that was ridiculous—no one ever died from a damaged dreamscape. Or did they? Just because I’d never heard of it didn’t mean it was impossible.
But then maybe it wasn’t George. I’d left the guy snoozing happily just a few hours ago. Everything had been normal, routine. Everything except—A chill swept over me as I remembered. Everything except that weird feeling, that sense of evil, that had passed through the room. God, I wished Kane was here—maybe he could help me make sense of this. Fingers trembling, I reached for Costello’s phone.
At that moment, the door opened and Kane strode in. “Vicky,” he said, breathless, “I got here as soon as I could.”
Seeing him, his silver hair gleaming, his expression both worried and determined, was like seeing the sun break through the clouds. In his immaculate gray suit and steel-blue tie, he looked like the ultimate power broker. Definitely not someone to mess with. And he was on my side. I wanted to jump up and throw my arms around his neck, but I merely nodded.
Introductions were made. Kane’s nostrils flared as he shook hands with Costello, his werewolf senses working overtime to sniff out an opinion of the guy. They seemed to have a couple of acquaintances in common—not unusual for a police detective and a lawyer. Hagopian still didn’t say anything. Kane glanced at her, and I could see him decide that Costello was the one to deal with. He leaned on the table with both hands and gave Costello a smile that straddled the line between camaraderie and aggression: be a pal or get your throat torn out—your call.
“I may need a private conference with my client before she can answer any questions, Detective. But it would be helpful to have some idea of what this is all about.” He stood and spread his hands, reprising that chummy, sharp-toothed smile.
“Certainly. As Ms. Vaughn already suspects, we’re investigating the death of one of her clients. George Funderburk.”
I slumped in my chair, chilled all the way through by fear and guilt. I shouldn’t have left him alone. I should have cleared out that horrible presence, whatever the hell it was. But the truth was I’d been afraid, even then. I’d been in a hurry to go. “He was fine when I left,” I said, my voice barely a whimper.
“Are you bringing charges against her?” Kane asked.
Costello shook his head, but he was looking at me, not at Kane. His blue eyes regarded me with something I could’ve sworn was concern.
“We’re not questioning you as a suspect, Ms. Vaughn,” Costello said. “We’re consulting you as an expert.”
“Then why the hell did you have her dragged in here like some kind of criminal?”
“I’m sorry about that.” Costello never shifted his gaze from me. He looked like he meant it about being sorry, a shadow deepening the blue of his eyes. “I haven’t had a lot of experience with . . . with Paranormal Americans. I was following standard procedure.” I started to look away, but something in those eyes held me, that and a note of urgency in his voice. “I’ll know better next time.”
Kane stepped between us. “Let’s make sure there won’t be any next time, Detective.” He crouched beside my chair, his hand brushing my thigh. “Are you willing to talk to them,
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