Free Running Hot by Jayne Ann Krentz Page B

found the name of the facility that my mother used, the Burnside Clinic. It was established by a member of the Society. Dr. Burnside catered to clients who were members of the Arcane community. He guaranteed that all of his donors were high-level sensitives of one kind or another. He also promised absolute confidentiality to both donors and clients.”
    “Were you able to find your father’s file?” he asked.
    “No. The clinic burned to the ground a few years ago. All the records were destroyed. Arson was strongly suspected but no one was ever arrested.”
    “Probably one of the donors who didn’t want to be found.”
    “Do you think so? I did wonder about that possibility.”
    “There are others,” he said, sounding thoughtful now. “Maybe one of the mothers who didn’t want a donor to find his offspring. Or maybe one of the kids who couldn’t find his father and got really pissed off. It also could have been someone who didn’t approve of the services the clinic offered.”
    “In other words, the list of suspects would be a very long one.”
    “Sounds like it.”
    She was quiet for a moment. “I was never able to identify my father, but after I went to work in the Bureau of Genealogy I found some information about him that my mother had entered into the genealogical records when she registered me with the Society. Mostly a health and talent history.”
    “And?”
    She shrugged. “What can I tell you? My father was descended of sound genetic stock and he was a strong talent. But then, Dr. Burnside would have insisted on those qualities in all of his donors.”
    “Sure.”
    “I got my eyes from him,” she whispered after a while. “But that’s about it. He wasn’t even an aura talent. My mother listed him as a strat.”
    “Knowing that you’re a green-eyed aura talent descended from a green-eyed strat wouldn’t have given you much to go on.”
    “No,” she said. “It didn’t. Strat talents are very common within the Society. There are literally thousands registered. Narrowing the field by age and gender and eye color didn’t help. I eventually gave up.”
    A couple strolled toward them, hand in hand, lost in each other, taking up a good portion of the path. Luther thumped the cane loudly a few times. In response, the pair moved hurriedly to the far side of the pavement.
    With the force of long habit, Grace shook off the old melancholy that always came over her when she thought about her own unknown history.
    “You’re good with that thing,” she said.
    “It has its advantages. People tend to get out of my way. No one wants to be responsible for making a guy on a cane go down. Lawsuit city.”
    “How did you end up on it in the first place? Fallon said something about an accident.”
    “I got careless.”
    And that, she knew, was the end of that conversational topic. At least for now. She was trying to think of a clever way to dig deeper when ghostly fingers touched the nape of her neck. She tensed instinctively and folded her arms beneath her breasts, shielding her hands.
    There were a number of people on the path but the man coming toward them out of the shadows was moving a little differently from the rest. He was still several yards away. It was too dark to make out his features but there was something about his stride that disturbed her senses. He didn’t stroll or jog or walk in a normal fashion. He exhibited the easy, predatory glide of a big cat on the hunt.
    Part of her was aware that a subtle shift of awareness had come over Luther. She knew that he, too, had noticed the figure coming toward them.
    She jacked her parasenses to the max. One look at the powerful aura that enveloped the approaching man and she knew him instantly for what he was. Para-hunter.
    Every instinct screamed at her to turn and run even though the logical side of her brain knew it would be useless. If the pacing man was hunting her, he could easily run her down. Those endowed with his brand of talent were not