"Linnea Sinclair - Rhapsody In The Key of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sinclair Linnea)

тАЬYouтАЩre sure someone's been shot?тАЭ HeтАЩd already pushed his master keycard in
the slot on the suiteтАЩs double doors as heтАЩd asked the question, so I hadnтАЩt bothered
to answer him. HadnтАЩt bother telling him, yes, I was sure there was a dead man on
the other side of the doors. A man very recently murdered. Which meant V.
Granville had a bigger problem than his squeamishness at having a Psychic
Investigator at his side.
He had a murderer on the loose in his exclusive hotel.
Now he had that same PI kneeling before the sprawled, bloodied form of the
manтАЩs body, reliving again and againтАФthrough the Emotionally Intensified
ImagesтАФthe spike of fear, the hard feel of the gun, the low ugly growl of a manтАЩs
voice, then pain. Searing, ripping, clawing pain.
But nothing else.
This wasnтАЩt supposed to happen. More than feel, more than hear, I was
supposed to be able to see what the dead man, one Pavin Truedell according to
Granville, had witnessed in his last minutes alive.
I saw nothing. Fear of a different kind gripped my gut.
Granville hovered. тАЬStand by,тАЭ he said for the second time into his comm
badge. It crackled with questions, information and demands: тАЬAll exits sealed.
Security on every floor. We need that damned description!тАЭ
Yes, they did. I couldnтАЩt give them one.
I sat back on my haunches, sucked in a long breath. Forced a word, a medical
term I never wanted to hear from my mind. Went into the EIIs again, listened instead
to two male voices that were becoming as familiar to me as my own:
тАжтАЬWhoтАЩs there?тАЭ
A rustle of fabric, a sound in the quiet of my bedroom startled me awake. I
leaned up on my elbows, the sheet sliding part way down my chest. I could feel a
slight movement of air against my skin; heard a small hush of a sound. But no
answer to my question.
How many drinks had I had? More than IтАЩd wanted to, but the music in the
bar had been so nice and the song, Blue Moon Rhapsody, my favorite. I hadnтАЩt
heard someone play the piano like that in years. Musical ability was not one of my
talents.
тАЬWhy not, youтАЩve got good hands?тАЭ Dionosio used to tease, then laugh that
grinding laugh of his. He knew why.
But he was right. I had good hands. I flexed my fingers against the soft bed
sheets. Long ago IтАЩd discovered that a good way to identify the distance of an
unknown sound is to make a known sound of your own. The bed sheets were an
armтАЩs length from my ears. I heard the scrunch of the fabric clearly.
Not so the soft, smooth noise that woke me. Not so the hush of a sound that
had disappeared into the corner of my bedroom. Perhaps I was wrong, and it was
only a dream that had awakened me. I tilted my face, listening again...
 тАЬThe lights were off in his suite when the murderer came in,тАЭ I told Granville,
then glanced at Kieran. His concern washed over me. He knew I was struggling. And
had known me long enough to know that wasnтАЩt routine.
It had been a little more than a year and a half since his first wife had been
murdered, and IтАЩd been called in, four days late, on the case. The EIIs had been
fading, but theyтАЩd been intact enough for me to see VandoraтАЩs murderer through her
own eyes.
And see other things, as well. Things IтАЩd picked up telepathically, or by using
just plain common sense. Things that had told me Lord Kieran Risardas was