Running Hot by Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

and psychic sensitivity. In the end it wasn’t a decline in talent that had forced them into retirement. They had both been dragged into it, kicking and screaming, by their wives.
    “How’s Theresa doing?” he asked.
    “She’s fine, just a little impatient. She’s more concerned about Nick. He’s turning into a basket case. It’s been a long nine months for him.”
    He smiled. His eldest son was a stone-cold hunter when he was working but when it came to his beloved wife and his soon-to-be firstborn kid, there was nothing icy about him. Nick had scheduled his jobs so that he could attend prenatal classes with Theresa. He had devoured every book on the subject of birth and parenting that he could find on the Internet. He had even insisted on hiring a decorator to design the baby’s room in order to create what one of the texts had called a “nurturing environment.” Now he was determined to assist at the birth.
    “He’ll survive,” Harry said. “I did.”
    “Hah. Every time you came into the delivery room with me, I was afraid you would faint.”
    “Okay, maybe I got a little pale around the edges but I didn’t keel over.”
    They chatted for a few more minutes and then signed off with their customary ritual.
    “Good night, Gorgeous.”
    “Good night, Handsome.”
    The phone went silent in his hand. He dropped it into his pocket and stood looking out at the black mirror of the ocean. Something had definitely happened back there on the path. He tried to remember exactly when his other senses had shut down. He had passed an elderly couple who had been holding hands. Next he’d noticed a man using a cane and a woman. They had been walking side by side, not touching. Something about the man had drawn his attention. His jacked-up hunter instincts had recognized another potential predator. But an instant later he had lost interest.
    The next thing he knew he was several yards down the path, cranked back to normal. Relaxed on a job when he had no business being relaxed.

ELEVEN
    The dream was familiar, one of a handful of repeat nightmares connected to the day she killed Martin Crocker. But there was something different about it this time. For one thing, she was aware that she was dreaming. The most striking aspect, however, was that she was not afraid.
    . . . Martin was coming toward her, only a couple of yards away. The bags of groceries had fallen from his arms. A loaf of bread, a package of coffee beans and a plastic bag filled with lettuce lay scattered on the dock. She wanted to run but she could not. Soon the pain would slash across her senses. Martin would reach down to take hold of her.
    But something was wrong. She was not stricken with fear. Instead she felt calm. That wasn’t right. She should be mortally afraid, not only of Martin but of what she was about to do. . . .
    “No.”
    She pushed through the veil of unnatural serenity, searching for the right emotion.
    She came awake suddenly but her heart was not pounding the way it usually did after the dock scene dream. She wasn’t even breathless, and her nightgown was not stuck to her skin with icy sweat.
    She opened her eyes and looked out through the sliding glass doors. The outline of the lanai railing and part of a lounge chair were etched against the pale gray light of dawn. You’re not in Eclipse Bay anymore.
    Right. She was in Maui; here on a mission for J&J and, oh, by the way, trying to learn to live in the moment.
    “Are you okay?” Luther said from the doorway.
    Startled, she sat up and turned to look at him. He had put on his pants but that left a lot of him uncovered. She was intensely aware of his bare feet and the broad expanse of his strong shoulders and well-muscled chest. Clearly, the fact that he used a cane did not keep him from working out.
    Vivid memories of how those shoulders and that chest had felt beneath her fingers the night before cascaded through her.
    Sex. She’d had sex with this man. The most intimate kind of