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nearly two dozen West Coast dailies every morning, hoping for subtle indications of Nightshade activity. The organization was sophisticated and operated under deep cover. It did not engage in the kind of overt criminal activity that would be likely to draw the attention of the authorities.
    But for some reason it was a routine crime story that had caught his attention recently. The piece had first appeared several days ago, but every morning he reread it. Something in the report sent tiny currents of awareness whispering through him. No matter how often he read it, though, he could not figure out what it was that triggered his senses.
    SUSPECT IN KILLINSS FOUND DEAD. LAST VICTIM SURVIVES ATTACK.
    Seattle: A man identified as Aaron Paul Hanney, believed to have been responsible for the rape and murder of at least two women, was found dead in an alley in the Capitol Hill neighborhood last night. A third woman, Sharon Billings, told police that she escaped Hanney thanks to the intervention of a passerby who confronted her attacker. Hanney collapsed and died at the scene. An autopsy has been ordered, but authorities said the cause of death appears to have been a heart attack.
    Miss Billings gave a statement to the police. In it she said that she was unable to identify the man who came to her rescue due to the fact that the lighting was so poor.
    Authorities are asking the man who went to the aid of Sharon Billings to contact the police immediately.
    There was something important here, Fallon thought. But he did not have time to pursue it this afternoon. He closed the heavily encrypted laptop, rose, grabbed a leather jacket off the coatrack, and left the office.
    He kept plenty of high-test coffee on hand. It was his drug of choice these days. But lately he’d gotten into the habit of going across the street to drink a couple of cups of coffee at the Sunshine while he made notes and organized his thoughts.
    Outside on Scargill’s twisty little main street the air was chill and damp. He went toward the Sunshine, drawn by the aura of warmth and light.
    Like a stupid moth to a flame, he thought.

4
    THIS WAS NOT GOING WELL, JACK MUSED. CHLOE HARPER HAD concluded that he was delusional. He could see it in her eyes. He’d been called a variety of names, including ruthless, demanding and driven—Shannon had come up with all three descriptors just before she filed for divorce—but he was pretty sure that until now no one had considered him full-on crazy. Of course, until today he hadn’t told anyone that he was becoming a psychic monster, either.
    Shouldn’t have tried to explain that I was Old Nick’s descendant. Why had he done that? He hadn’t intended to mention his ancestral connection to the lamp. That had been uncharacteristically stupid.
    Shouldn’t have told her to name her price, either. That had been a serious mistake. She might well be the shady operator that the J&J files indicated but simple, straightforward greed was not her chief weakness. Her vulnerable spot lay in another direction altogether. He knew that for certain, because his talent had picked up the vibes two minutes after walking into her office.
    Chloe Harper was a natural-born rescuer. She probably took on all sorts of deadbeat clients who never paid their bills. She was the type who fell for a good sob story. The tattooed receptionist had the old-beyond-her-years eyes of a young woman who had spent a lot of time living on the streets. The rangy mongrel sprawled in the corner had probably come from a shelter or the nearest alley.
    The rescuer thing wasn’t what he had expected, but he could work with it. He felt a small twinge of guilt because he was preparing to manipulate her, but he knew he’d get over it. Besides, it wasn’t like he was here under false pretenses. He really did need rescuing. All he had to do was convince her of the truth, and he would regain control of the situation. He’d have her in the palm of his hand.
    “I’ve got