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in danger.”
    “Seems like a good excuse to me.” She folded her arms under her breasts, anchoring the sheet more firmly.
    He regarded her closely, his eyes unreadable. “Can you keep this quiet? The knowledge of what I can do?”
    She felt his anxiety inside her head, for God’s sake. “I need to think. At least allow me time for that.”
    “If you promise not to tell anyone, I can do that.”
    She frowned. “Can you stop me from telling anyone?”
    “No. That would be compulsion. We’re not allowed to make anyone do something against their will. We can persuade, but not compel. But I’ll know if you tell anyone else, and I can remove the memories from you and whoever you tell. I want to keep in touch with you this weekend. Then, if you want, I’ll leave your mind.”
    That, more than anything else, persuaded her. She watched him get out of bed, standing unself-consciously on the other side from her, as if he knew coming closer would intimidate her. Of course he knew. He’d just read her mind. “You’ve got until the end of this shoot.”
    “Okay. I should know who the anti-sensitive is by then.” He gazed at her, gentleness in his eyes. “I suppose I’ve blown it with you?”
    He deserved a lesson and she wanted to be alone, to think things through on her own. “Too right. Now fuck off, Scott.”
    He did as he was told.
     
    ***
     
    Cursing himself, cursing the CIA, cursing Gareth Fuller, who’d passed on Mr. Smith’s orders, Michael dressed for the night shoot. He’d never felt less like contacting ghosts, but he might be able to manufacture a few instances where he could sweep in and read the others. The biggest danger was Ayesha. She was sensitive, though not a psychic, but she might detect him. He’d leave her until last.
    At least he knew Lisa was in the clear. He had to do it, and the gamble of letting her see and know what he was doing had been very deliberate. He wanted her, and he wanted her for more than just a passing affair. She had to know. If she couldn’t cope with his psychic gifts, better he knew now than further down the line. He still hoped she’d come to terms with it. He needed the contact, the touch of her mind in his, his in hers, to keep her safe from the malevolence directed at her, as real as a stalker’s attention and just as threatening.
    He glanced into the mirror, deciding he’d better shave. It was going to be a long night, what with one thing and another and he was dark-haired, so the stubble showed badly on the tape. His Hungarian heritage had given him naturally pale skin, which made it worse, and there weren’t many opportunities to improve his tan in Seattle. He needed a vacation. He’d deserve one after this.
    He still hoped to take Lisa with him, but after her shocked reaction to his revelation, he didn’t think it likely.
    Twenty minutes later, dressed in a pair of black pants and a dark, wine-red silk shirt—one of several he’d brought with him to keep the continuity police happy—he left his suite. Lisa wasn’t there. He could sense her now. She must have gone ahead.
    He hit a speed-dial number on his phone and Cliff, the other soundman, answered. “We’re in the pool area. Lisa’s just finished her introduction to this segment.” Michael reviewed his mental timetable and remembered they’d agreed to start at the first class swimming pool, where various phenomena had been reported over the years.
    He took the stairs leading from the first class suites down to the spacious foyer outside the dining room, and then down more stairs to the pool. He hadn’t quite reached the outer doors when he saw her in the dim light filtering through from the pool area.
    Lisa had a few costumes, period clothes from the fifties, so he wasn’t surprised to see her in a white swimsuit with a rubber cap covering her hair. “Hi,” he ventured.
    She turned and smiled at him, as though he hadn’t scared her to death earlier. “Hi.” Perhaps she’d gotten over