whistled softly. “Whoa. Talk about a nonstandard talent. Ever been tested?”
“Yes. My parents suspected I was a little different. They took me to a private lab. The ability to read psi patterns is extremely rare, so I don’t advertise my talent for obvious reasons. But Davis is a strong and evidently rare para-rez himself, so I assume neither of you gets nervous around nonstandard talents.”
“How strong are you?” Davis asked.
She hesitated again. “Very.”
He raised his brows. “Are we talking off the charts?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but I’m sure that’s only because the talent is so rare in the population the testing labs don’t have a good basis for comparison.”
Davis rubbed his jaw again. Something in common, he thought. “How much can you tell about a person based on what you pick up from his or her psi energy patterns?”
She gave him a very somber look. “Often a lot more than I really want to know. There are some very strange people out there.”
“I’ve always heard that psi patterns are unique to individuals,” Trig said.
Celinda nodded. “In my experience that’s true. No two people produce precisely identical psi wave patterns, not even twins.”
“Could you recognize the driver of that car if you got close to him again?” Davis asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “But I would have to be fairly close. No more than a few feet away at most.”
“Oh, man,” Trig said. He looked eagerly at Davis. “That kind of talent would sure be useful in our business, boss.”
“Sort of like having one of those dogs they use to detect drugs in suitcases,” Celinda said dryly.
Trig turned red. “No way, ma’am. I never meant to imply that you’re a dog.” He went almost purple, clearly mortified. “Or anything like that,” he finished weakly.
Celinda gave him a wry smile. “It’s okay, I understand.”
“Your talent,” Davis said, diplomatically emphasizing the word talent , “for picking up another individual’s psi patterns would certainly be useful when it comes to identifying the driver, but it won’t help us locate him. Unfortunately, that’s going to take old-fashioned detective work.”
Trig grimaced. “Which means I’d better get moving.” He looked at Celinda. “Would you mind if I borrowed a book?”
She looked taken aback by the request. “What book?”
“That one.” Trig indicated a volume on the table beside a chair. “I started it after I finished Espindoza’s History last night. Found it on your bookshelf. Hope you don’t mind.”
She looked at the book on the table. So did Davis. From where he sat he could just make out the title. Ten Steps to a Covenant Marriage: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker.
“Oh, that one.” Celinda suddenly rezzed a dazzling smile for Trig. “Certainly. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Trig said. “I only got through chapter one.” He walked back to the table, picked up the volume, tucked it under his arm, and returned to the door. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ingram. Have a good time at the wedding.”
“Thanks,” Celinda said. Her smile faded.
Trig let himself out into the hall and went downstairs, making very little noise for such a solidly built man. Davis listened closely, but he did not hear Betty Furnell’s door open.
He got to his feet. “That book that Trig took with him.”
Celinda raised her brows. “What about it?”
“I assume you’ve read it?”
“I wrote it.”
HE WAITED UNTIL HE HEARD THE SHOWER RUNNING BE fore he went into her bedroom. He stood there for a couple of seconds, inhaling the scent of her space and thinking of how she had made a great fuss about checking to be sure the bridesmaid’s dress was safe. But she had not even glanced into the closet. She had looked under the bed.
He crouched beside the bed. There were no telltale lines indicating a hidden floor safe beneath the wall-to-wall carpet. He ran his fingertips along the baseboard. A section felt
“Yes. My parents suspected I was a little different. They took me to a private lab. The ability to read psi patterns is extremely rare, so I don’t advertise my talent for obvious reasons. But Davis is a strong and evidently rare para-rez himself, so I assume neither of you gets nervous around nonstandard talents.”
“How strong are you?” Davis asked.
She hesitated again. “Very.”
He raised his brows. “Are we talking off the charts?”
“Well, yes,” she admitted, “but I’m sure that’s only because the talent is so rare in the population the testing labs don’t have a good basis for comparison.”
Davis rubbed his jaw again. Something in common, he thought. “How much can you tell about a person based on what you pick up from his or her psi energy patterns?”
She gave him a very somber look. “Often a lot more than I really want to know. There are some very strange people out there.”
“I’ve always heard that psi patterns are unique to individuals,” Trig said.
Celinda nodded. “In my experience that’s true. No two people produce precisely identical psi wave patterns, not even twins.”
“Could you recognize the driver of that car if you got close to him again?” Davis asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “But I would have to be fairly close. No more than a few feet away at most.”
“Oh, man,” Trig said. He looked eagerly at Davis. “That kind of talent would sure be useful in our business, boss.”
“Sort of like having one of those dogs they use to detect drugs in suitcases,” Celinda said dryly.
Trig turned red. “No way, ma’am. I never meant to imply that you’re a dog.” He went almost purple, clearly mortified. “Or anything like that,” he finished weakly.
Celinda gave him a wry smile. “It’s okay, I understand.”
“Your talent,” Davis said, diplomatically emphasizing the word talent , “for picking up another individual’s psi patterns would certainly be useful when it comes to identifying the driver, but it won’t help us locate him. Unfortunately, that’s going to take old-fashioned detective work.”
Trig grimaced. “Which means I’d better get moving.” He looked at Celinda. “Would you mind if I borrowed a book?”
She looked taken aback by the request. “What book?”
“That one.” Trig indicated a volume on the table beside a chair. “I started it after I finished Espindoza’s History last night. Found it on your bookshelf. Hope you don’t mind.”
She looked at the book on the table. So did Davis. From where he sat he could just make out the title. Ten Steps to a Covenant Marriage: Secrets of a Professional Matchmaker.
“Oh, that one.” Celinda suddenly rezzed a dazzling smile for Trig. “Certainly. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Trig said. “I only got through chapter one.” He walked back to the table, picked up the volume, tucked it under his arm, and returned to the door. “Nice to meet you, Miss Ingram. Have a good time at the wedding.”
“Thanks,” Celinda said. Her smile faded.
Trig let himself out into the hall and went downstairs, making very little noise for such a solidly built man. Davis listened closely, but he did not hear Betty Furnell’s door open.
He got to his feet. “That book that Trig took with him.”
Celinda raised her brows. “What about it?”
“I assume you’ve read it?”
“I wrote it.”
HE WAITED UNTIL HE HEARD THE SHOWER RUNNING BE fore he went into her bedroom. He stood there for a couple of seconds, inhaling the scent of her space and thinking of how she had made a great fuss about checking to be sure the bridesmaid’s dress was safe. But she had not even glanced into the closet. She had looked under the bed.
He crouched beside the bed. There were no telltale lines indicating a hidden floor safe beneath the wall-to-wall carpet. He ran his fingertips along the baseboard. A section felt
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