Living with the Dead
Page 39
Adele stopped. By the gods where had that cheesecake come from? How long did Robyn plan to camp out there?
Adele slumped, the book nearly sliding from her fingers.
She closed her eyes and found the vision again. Robyn was digging into the cheesecake as she folded a piece of paper. Adele bet it was a surrender speech. Someone as perfect as Robyn Peltier couldn't even turn herself in without rehearsing.
Adele released the vision and turned the book page.
The situation wasn't ideal – a busy street on a weekend afternoon, cop shop within shouting distance – but she had a plan. She'd intercept Robyn and ask to use her cell phone. It hadn't worked with Portia, but Robyn wouldn't want to raise a fuss so close to the station because if she brought a cop running, she'd lose any brownie points to be gained by turning herself in.
If anything went wrong, well... Adele patted the bulge under her jacket.
Adele glanced at her watch. How much longer was she going to stay in there? Adele touched the shirt again, focused and found Robyn. She was on her feet, finally, at the counter, shoving bills into a mug labeled Tips.
Okay, Robyn, you've done your duty. Now move your ass...
Robyn returned to the table and, still standing, sliced off a chunk of cheesecake, then lifted it to her mouth.
By the gods! Was she thinking of all those starving kids in Africa who didn't get enough cheesecake? Pack it up and send it to them!
The vision clouded, and for a moment, Adele saw one of Robyn Peltier in an alley, sprawled on the ground, blood pooling around her. She smiled. Too bad clairvoyance didn't grant the gift of prophecy, because she'd love to see that image in person – a fitting payback for the crap Robyn had put Adele through.
The café door opened. Out stepped Robyn Peltier. Good. If only she didn't decide she needed a damned pedicure on the way.
Robyn didn't seem inclined to stop for anything. She came out that door and strode, purposefully... in the opposite direction.
Robyn stopped at the light and waited for the signal, even as jaywalkers jostled past her, taking advantage of the gaps in traffic. When the light changed, she crossed, chin lifted, posture perfect, walking like she was on her way to an important business meeting, elegant and poised even in ill-fitting sweats and a baseball cap.
Adele stopped grating her teeth and pictured Robyn in prison garb instead. Cheered, she got into position behind a trio of teenage boys who looked like they weren't going anywhere for a while. Robyn drew closer, closer...
Adele stepped into her path. Robyn pulled up short, her eyes going to Adele and widening, as if shocked to see someone there.
"Can I borrow your phone, ma'am?" Adele gave a sheepish smile and waved her cell. "Mine's dead and I really need to tell my dad where to pick me up."
Robyn kept staring.
"Ma'am?"
Robyn's lips parted and she said a single word swallowed by a laugh from the teen boys. It sounded like "cell."
"Right, I need to borrow a cell phone. Can I use yours? I swear it's not a long-distance call."
Robyn stared at Adele as if she was a beggar asking for her last buck. Adele glanced down at Robyn's side. No purse to snatch. Damn, the phone must be in her pocket.
Adele stepped closer. "Please. I really need to call my dad."
She reached down and pulled her jacket open. Robyn inhaled sharply as she spotted the gun.
"Your cell phone?" Adele met her gaze.
Robyn's hand slammed into Adele's chest, knocking her into the boys. She smacked into one and he shoved her back. She stumbled, recovered and wheeled to see Robyn disappearing down the alley.
In that moment, as she tore after her, she saw Robyn's lips move again, heard that single word and knew what it had been.
Adele.
FINN
In twenty minutes, Finn would meet Robyn Peltier's elusive friend, and he wasn't looking forward to it.
At first, she'd seemed surprised by his call, but that quickly passed, as if he'd caught her off guard and once she considered it, wasn't so surprised after all. She'd agreed to come to the station right away and talk to him. And, yes, she'd bring her boyfriend – he was with her already.
So it wasn't the prospect of a hostile interview making his stomach sour. He could chalk it up to the coffee. He hadn't meant to drink all of it, but the more he sipped, the more disgusted Damon got, until the ghost finally went his way, leaving Finn alone to research his upcoming interview without his input.
It was the research that made him dread the interview. Hope Adams wasn't a celebrity-chasing tabloid reporter. He should have guessed that when he discovered she was on a transfer from True News's Philadelphia headquarters – a city not known for its glitterati.
Adams chased another kind of target, one just as entertaining and just as elusive – supernatural encounters. As a guy who could be one of her targets, the idea made him mildly uncomfortable. But only mildly... at first.
The more he dug into Adams's career, the more that feeling grew.
She'd been at her job since graduating from college. She couldn't expect to start out on the staff of the Philadelphia Inquirer, but to be in the same job now suggested there was a reason she'd been twenty-three before she graduated.
So Adams could be written off as a hack. Or, considering her background, more like that college druggie he'd interviewed – a rich kid slacking her way through life.
That had settled his worries... until he read a half-dozen of Adams's articles. Her writing was on par with big-paper journalists and, unlike most of them, she was entertaining. On the surface, her pieces were breezy and fun, the language uncomplicated and informal, yet beneath that, she'd obviously done her research.
She took her job seriously, but not earnestly. If readers didn't believe in the paranormal, they could interpret that light tone as "we both know there's no such thing as vampires, but sit back and let me tell you a good story." If they did believe, though, there was nothing condescending. She never talked down to her readers, and she treated her sources and witnesses with respect. If you knew, like Finn, that the paranormal wasn't pure fiction, then you could come away with the sense that, maybe, just maybe, she believed, too.
By the last article, Finn was as nervous as a corrupt politician about to meet a journalist specializing in exposés. He knew he was overreacting. Adams was here to be interviewed. He had nothing to worry about... unless she'd done her research on him as well, and learned of his reputation.
Adele slumped, the book nearly sliding from her fingers.
She closed her eyes and found the vision again. Robyn was digging into the cheesecake as she folded a piece of paper. Adele bet it was a surrender speech. Someone as perfect as Robyn Peltier couldn't even turn herself in without rehearsing.
Adele released the vision and turned the book page.
The situation wasn't ideal – a busy street on a weekend afternoon, cop shop within shouting distance – but she had a plan. She'd intercept Robyn and ask to use her cell phone. It hadn't worked with Portia, but Robyn wouldn't want to raise a fuss so close to the station because if she brought a cop running, she'd lose any brownie points to be gained by turning herself in.
If anything went wrong, well... Adele patted the bulge under her jacket.
Adele glanced at her watch. How much longer was she going to stay in there? Adele touched the shirt again, focused and found Robyn. She was on her feet, finally, at the counter, shoving bills into a mug labeled Tips.
Okay, Robyn, you've done your duty. Now move your ass...
Robyn returned to the table and, still standing, sliced off a chunk of cheesecake, then lifted it to her mouth.
By the gods! Was she thinking of all those starving kids in Africa who didn't get enough cheesecake? Pack it up and send it to them!
The vision clouded, and for a moment, Adele saw one of Robyn Peltier in an alley, sprawled on the ground, blood pooling around her. She smiled. Too bad clairvoyance didn't grant the gift of prophecy, because she'd love to see that image in person – a fitting payback for the crap Robyn had put Adele through.
The café door opened. Out stepped Robyn Peltier. Good. If only she didn't decide she needed a damned pedicure on the way.
Robyn didn't seem inclined to stop for anything. She came out that door and strode, purposefully... in the opposite direction.
Robyn stopped at the light and waited for the signal, even as jaywalkers jostled past her, taking advantage of the gaps in traffic. When the light changed, she crossed, chin lifted, posture perfect, walking like she was on her way to an important business meeting, elegant and poised even in ill-fitting sweats and a baseball cap.
Adele stopped grating her teeth and pictured Robyn in prison garb instead. Cheered, she got into position behind a trio of teenage boys who looked like they weren't going anywhere for a while. Robyn drew closer, closer...
Adele stepped into her path. Robyn pulled up short, her eyes going to Adele and widening, as if shocked to see someone there.
"Can I borrow your phone, ma'am?" Adele gave a sheepish smile and waved her cell. "Mine's dead and I really need to tell my dad where to pick me up."
Robyn kept staring.
"Ma'am?"
Robyn's lips parted and she said a single word swallowed by a laugh from the teen boys. It sounded like "cell."
"Right, I need to borrow a cell phone. Can I use yours? I swear it's not a long-distance call."
Robyn stared at Adele as if she was a beggar asking for her last buck. Adele glanced down at Robyn's side. No purse to snatch. Damn, the phone must be in her pocket.
Adele stepped closer. "Please. I really need to call my dad."
She reached down and pulled her jacket open. Robyn inhaled sharply as she spotted the gun.
"Your cell phone?" Adele met her gaze.
Robyn's hand slammed into Adele's chest, knocking her into the boys. She smacked into one and he shoved her back. She stumbled, recovered and wheeled to see Robyn disappearing down the alley.
In that moment, as she tore after her, she saw Robyn's lips move again, heard that single word and knew what it had been.
Adele.
FINN
In twenty minutes, Finn would meet Robyn Peltier's elusive friend, and he wasn't looking forward to it.
At first, she'd seemed surprised by his call, but that quickly passed, as if he'd caught her off guard and once she considered it, wasn't so surprised after all. She'd agreed to come to the station right away and talk to him. And, yes, she'd bring her boyfriend – he was with her already.
So it wasn't the prospect of a hostile interview making his stomach sour. He could chalk it up to the coffee. He hadn't meant to drink all of it, but the more he sipped, the more disgusted Damon got, until the ghost finally went his way, leaving Finn alone to research his upcoming interview without his input.
It was the research that made him dread the interview. Hope Adams wasn't a celebrity-chasing tabloid reporter. He should have guessed that when he discovered she was on a transfer from True News's Philadelphia headquarters – a city not known for its glitterati.
Adams chased another kind of target, one just as entertaining and just as elusive – supernatural encounters. As a guy who could be one of her targets, the idea made him mildly uncomfortable. But only mildly... at first.
The more he dug into Adams's career, the more that feeling grew.
She'd been at her job since graduating from college. She couldn't expect to start out on the staff of the Philadelphia Inquirer, but to be in the same job now suggested there was a reason she'd been twenty-three before she graduated.
So Adams could be written off as a hack. Or, considering her background, more like that college druggie he'd interviewed – a rich kid slacking her way through life.
That had settled his worries... until he read a half-dozen of Adams's articles. Her writing was on par with big-paper journalists and, unlike most of them, she was entertaining. On the surface, her pieces were breezy and fun, the language uncomplicated and informal, yet beneath that, she'd obviously done her research.
She took her job seriously, but not earnestly. If readers didn't believe in the paranormal, they could interpret that light tone as "we both know there's no such thing as vampires, but sit back and let me tell you a good story." If they did believe, though, there was nothing condescending. She never talked down to her readers, and she treated her sources and witnesses with respect. If you knew, like Finn, that the paranormal wasn't pure fiction, then you could come away with the sense that, maybe, just maybe, she believed, too.
By the last article, Finn was as nervous as a corrupt politician about to meet a journalist specializing in exposés. He knew he was overreacting. Adams was here to be interviewed. He had nothing to worry about... unless she'd done her research on him as well, and learned of his reputation.
