'You know what they say about prisms. Picky, picky, picky.'
A long while later Amaryllis roused herself again from the languid aftermath of passion.
'Lucas?'
'Yeah?' He was sprawled beneath her on the couch this time. He looked and sounded as though he was on the edge of sleep.
'Do you really think that Merrick Beech hired those thugs to kill you?'
He yawned. 'I'd say it's a safe bet.'
'What are we going to do if the police can't find Beech?'
'They'll find him. He doesn't have the brains to hide for long.'
'You're sure?'
'I'm sure.' He reached for her.
The enticing aroma of hot coff-tea woke Lucas the next morning. He stretched slowly, savoring the fact that he was in Amaryllis's bed. He could hear her moving about in the kitchen, but the fragrance of her body still clung lightly to the rumpled sheets. He inhaled deeply.
He could live on that scent, he decided. He wouldn't need air or food, just the sweet, incredibly alluring fragrance of Amaryllis and the knowledge that she responded to him.
The memories of the night poured through him like raw psychic energy through a prism. Lucas was aware of his body's instant response. He groaned when he realized that he was as hard now as he had been last night.
He shoved aside the covers and sat up resolutely on the edge of the bed. He contemplated the day that stretched before him. He had some appointments at the office, and Amaryllis undoubtedly had to go to work. But the promise of the evening that lay beyond shimmered tantalizingly in his mind.
He surveyed Amaryllis's neat bedroom with great interest as he made his way to the adjoining bath. Everything was black and white in here, just as it was throughout the rest of the little house. Very clean and orderly looking. Functional.
He opened a closet and concluded that there would be room for him to keep a change of clothes in it. He peeked into a dresser drawer and grinned when he saw two neat piles of carefully folded underwear. All in white.
Whistling softly, he went on into the black-and-white tiled bath.
The sight of his beard-shadowed face in the mirror brought him to a halt. He winced as he rubbed the dark stubble. He'd have to remember to pack a razor the next time he went out with Amaryllis. No problem. He would make it a point to put one in the glove compartment of the leer today.
He planted his hands on the edge of the wash basin and leaned closer to the mirror. He knew he'd never been handsome, but he hadn't realized until this morning just how grim his face had begun to look lately. Talk about psychic vampires. He squinted thoughtfully at the bright lights alongside the mirror. The glare made his eyes appear to be sunk in deep shadows.
And where the hell had that gray in his hair come from? He knew he was no more than six or seven years older than Amaryllis. He'd heard that some women actually preferred older men.
And some preferred their lovers to be younger.
For some inexplicable reason, he found himself wondering what age Amaryllis had selected on her agency questionnaire as the preferred age in a spouse. Not that it mattered, he told himself swiftly. Marriage had nothing to do with this relationship.
His gaze went to the sight of the thick scar tissue that stretched across his ribs. The line marked the passage of a pirate's bullet. He scratched the old wound absently and then paused when he noticed how well the bathroom lights illuminated the ugly fan-shaped mark on his shoulder. It was a souvenir of an encounter with a large bat- snake.
There was no getting around the fact that he did not present an inspiring sight in strong light. All in all, be looked like a man who had spent too much time in the jungle, Lucas thought. Not a pretty picture. He eyed his unprepossessing reflection in the mirror with misgivings. It might be a good idea to make it a point to make love to Amaryllis only in the dark.
On the other hand, if the knowledge that he was an off- the-chart talent had not frightened her, maybe she wouldn't freak out because of a few scars.
In any event, he was feeling far too ebullient to allow his own image to depress him for long. He stepped into the white tiled shower and immediately devoted himself to formulating plans for the evening ahead. Dinner at a really good fish house. Founders Grill, maybe. A good bottle of wine. A rich, robust blue vintage, not the weak green stuff. He would insist on a table in a secluded comer where he and Amaryllis could discuss their future.
Bad idea.
Lucas winced as he soaped his chest. Talents and prisms didn't have long-term futures together. They had short-term affairs, if they had anything at all.
Besides, other than psychic power, he and Amaryllis didn't have a lot in common, anyway.
Okay, so they would sit in the secluded corner and discuss their affair.
And then they would go home. His place this time. He would make love to her all night long. Just to be on the safe side, he would turn out the lights.
Fifteen minutes later Lucas sauntered out into the kitchen. Amaryllis was puttering around behind the counter. She was dressed for work in a conservative business suit. Her hair was pinned into a neat knot on top of her head. Small, tasteful drops of gold gleamed in her earlobes.
Lucas smiled. In spite of her sober, serious attire, she looked fresh and bright in the morning sunlight that streamed through the windows. A fresh shock of wonder hit him with enough force to make him nearly double over. She was his, at least for a little while.
Amaryllis turned her head and saw him. A delicate blush stained her cheeks, but her eyes were brilliant and deep.
'Good morning.' She turned away quickly to busy her- self at the counter. 'Coff-tea?'
'Yes.' Lucas forced himself to move forward. 'Please.'
'I've got some fresh pear-berries.'
'Sounds good.' Lucas eased himself down onto the nearest stool, spun around once just for the hell of it, and then gripped the edge of the tiled counter. He thought of the plans he had made in the shower.
'About tonight,' he began.
'Strange you should mention that.' Amaryllis poured the coff-tea into a mug. 'I was just about to bring up the subject.'
'You were?'
'Yes. I had an inspiration this morning, Lucas.'
He was suddenly, inexplicably cautious. 'What sort of inspiration?'
Amaryllis put down the pot and turned to regard him with brimming enthusiasm. 'About how to find out more about what Professor Landreth did on the day he died.'
Lucas chilled. 'I thought we had agreed to let the matter drop.'
'Oh, no.' Her eyes widened innocently. 'Whatever gave you that idea?'
'Forget it. Just a false hope.'
'The thing is, this morning I suddenly recalled the boxes stacked in Professor Landreth's old office.'
'Boxes?'
'His things,' Amaryllis explained. 'All his books and records and files. His secretary, Irene Dunley, said she packed them up shortly after the professor died. His person- al effects from the office are all sitting there in boxes waiting to be picked up by his next of kin.'
'So what?'
'Lucas, think about it. Professor Landreth's appointment calendar is probably buried in one of those boxes.'
'I know I'm going to hate myself for asking this,' Lucas said slowly, 'but what do you plan to do with Landreth's calendar?'
Amaryllis gave him a triumphant smile. 'I plan to use it to learn who he saw and where he went on the last day of his life.'
'I thought he went up into the mountains. He had a weekend cabin, you said.'
