Free Dreamveil by Lynn Viehl Page B

measures. I think I taught my staff a little too well,” he said, referring to his old job working as chief of the technical department. “Any word from Rowan?”
    “She has not called us. You?”
    “No, but I’m looking at her right now. She’s screwing around somewhere in New York City.” He frowned as the signal fluttered, and then winked out. “Shit.” He attacked the keyboard, trying to boost the signal. No light. “She just disappeared off the radar.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means the locator isn’t putting out a signal anymore. Maybe she found it and tossed it in the river. I’d better give her a call. Hold on.” Drew picked up his disposable mobile phone, dialed Rowan’s number, and put it on speaker.
    “This is not me,” Rowan’s voice said. “This is computerized bullshit pretending to be me. Leave a name and number at the tone, or this is all you’ll ever listen to.”
    “Ro, it’s David. Give me a call back right away.” He switched off the mobile and spoke into the cordless. “Her phone is going straight to voice mail.”
    “She may be angry about finding the locator.”
    “Yeah.” Drew frowned at the screen map. “That’s probably it. I’ll wait for her to call.”

    Rowan never slept well the first night in a new place, but for once her periodic insomnia didn’t keep her watching infomercials until dawn. She didn’t even bother to turn on the small television in the apartment Dansant was letting her use, but went into the bedroom, unfolded the long black futon, and flopped down on it to judge the fit. Most day-beds and singles were too short for her long frame, but this one was an oversized full with a decent mattress. The last thing she remembered doing was looking up at the beaded honey pine ceiling, and thinking it was a lot newer than the oak and cherry checkerwork parquet floor.
    Then nothing. Just sweet, endless, dreamless sleep.
    She opened her eyes to the same ceiling, and lay there for a time, letting the sunlight from the three old casement windows play over her. From the strength and position of the sun she judged it to be early afternoon, which meant she’d slept six or seven hours straight. She had plenty of time before her first shift started at six.
    Rowan knew how lucky she was. I could be in a hospital right now, scaring the shit out of some doctors.
    Her knees throbbed a little, but from the slight pulling and stiffness she felt when she bent them she knew they were already heavily scabbed over. Tomorrow the scabs would fall off and the lacerations would be gone. Another bonus from the mad scientists who had fucked with her genes when she was a kid; she never got sick and she healed almost as fast as she got hurt.
    She rolled over, hugging her pillow as she lazily replayed bits and pieces of her conversation last night with Dansant.
    You’re really going to let me stay here? She’d come out of the large bedroom into the spacious front room, which combined a large sitting room with a breakfast/dining area that opened out onto a private terrace. The furnishings were basic—a futon, side table and lamp in the bedroom, and a loveseat, armchair and kitchen set in the front, but everything was clean and in good condition. There was also a closet stocked with fresh, neatly folded linens and towels. You could get three, four thousand a month for this place, easy.
    Not everyone wishes to live above a restaurant, Rowan. You must also share the bath with the other tenant.
    She’d already taken a peek at the big full bath situated between the two apartments. Someone had recently updated the plumbing with European-style fixtures, and paved every inch of it but the ceiling in quarried stone tiles the color of old honey spilled on polished slate. Rowan could easily imagine spending several hours soaking in the big beautiful claw-footed tub. The lock on the door works, right?
    Oui.
    After that Dansant had handed her the keys, smiled, and left her to it. Total