The First Prophet by Kay Hooper

effect on
     this particular customer.
    Save it, sweetheart. He’s made of ice.
    When she’d gone away, he leaned back, making ashow of sipping his coffee and looking around casually, a satisfied diner relaxing
     after his meal. He spoke in a low voice without turning. “It’s no good. Mackenzie’s
     suspicious. He won’t buy another accident, especially if Gallagher disappears.”
    “You’re sure?” The answering voice was also low.
    “Absolutely. And she’s looking to him for help, that’s clear, so he’s going to be
     with her. I don’t know what he’ll do next, but if I were in his place…I’d get her
     out of Richmond. Fast.”
    “And go where?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “We need better information.”
    “I’m aware of that.” He heard his voice stiffen and strove to make it once more calm
     and casual. There were some men it just didn’t pay to get angry at, and this man headed
     the list. “Mackenzie’s been all over the country in the last ten years, researching
     and promoting his novels. Believes in immersing himself in a subject if he needs it
     for one of his books—and some of those subjects have been fairly esoteric.”
    “For example?”
    “Explosives—the kind you can put together from ingredients in most kitchens. Computer
     hacking. Survival training. Weapons. Defensive driving. He’s taken courses through
     the FBI on topics ranging from antiterrorism to psychological profiling. He has a
     degree in electronics, and a measured IQ of over one-eighty, which puts him solidly
     in the genius range. And he was a fucking Boy Scout. Probably thinks he’s MacGyver.
     Oh, andone last thing. From what I’ve been able to gather, he’s always been interested in
     the paranormal. You should see all the books on his shelves.”
    The ice man’s voice was grim. “In other words, the perfect person to keep Sarah Gallagher
     safe.”
    “I’d feel safe in his keeping, and I don’t like the bastard.”
    “Why wasn’t I told of this before?”
    “I didn’t know before.” He forced the irritation from his voice. “Even with my resources
     and all the social networking out there, it takes a good twenty-four hours to search
     deep background on somebody unless that person is a criminal. Mackenzie isn’t. And
     despite being famous in his field, he has a surprisingly small online presence, and
     that’s almost entirely about his books.” He fell silent as the waitress returned and
     served the chicken dish to the ice man. Once again she tried flirting, and once again
     her customer was indifferent.
    Wave your boobs in
my
face, sweetheart, and we’ll talk. Hell, we’ll do a lot more than talk.
But she wouldn’t, of course. They never did.
    When she’d flounced away, he spoke again. “If Mackenzie didn’t have a certain amount
     of celebrity, I wouldn’t have been able to find out as much as I did this quickly.”
    But you won’t thank me, will you, you icy son of a bitch. Oh no.
    “What else do you know?”
    Oh no, no trouble at all. Don’t mention it, really.
    “Tax records, voting record, credit report, school records—”
    “What do you know about him that will help us?”
    He was silent for a minute or two, pushing aside his dangerous anger as he considered
     all the varied information about Tucker Mackenzie that had been dumped into his retentive
     brain. When he spoke, it was slowly. “He’s a puzzle solver. Creative, of course. Intuitive.
     Stubborn. Highly loyal to friends. Athletic; hiking, climbing, and swimming are some
     of the ways he keeps in shape. He knows how to get information. He knows how to work
     alone. He knows how to think ahead. Plays a mean game of chess. Grand master.”
    “What are his weaknesses?”
    “He might not take Gallagher’s predictions as seriously as she does.”
    “Why not?” Interest quickened in that low voice.
    “It’s just a hunch, but I don’t think he believes. He’s debunked a few psychics in
     the past, and I hear