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

тАЬNot really.тАЭ I dragged the sleeve of TruedellтАЩs shirt across my eyes.
тАЬIтАЩve never seen you like this.тАЭ
тАЬInteresting choice of verb.тАЭ I jerked my face away from his fingers, from his
sympathetic tone that said everything would be all right. Everything would not be all
right. I was failing, losing what I was. The only thing I knew how to be.
тАЬYouтАЩre not making sense.тАЭ
тАЬActually, I am. Seen. Past tense of the verb, to see. ThatтАЩs what I canтАЩt do,
Kier. I canтАЩt see anymore.тАЭ
His hands cupped my face, brought it up to his. Worry, compassion tumbled
through me along with a long list of doctors who would jump at the chance to be a
RisardasтАЩ personal physician, now. Doctors who could cure everything but the
common cold and RRS.
I shook my head. тАЬNot like that. ItтАЩs the revenant images I canтАЩt see. Not you,
or this room.тАЭ I crumpled TruedellтАЩs shirt in my hand then tossed it angrily towards
the bed. тАЬHe was in the casinos earlier. But I canтАЩt even tell you which one.тАЭ
тАЬThe images have faded already?тАЭ
тАЬNo. TheyтАЩre incomplete.тАЭ In the past few months, Kieran had watched me
work cases, listened as I talked about EIIs. But IтАЩd never explained Revenant
Regression Syndrome. I never thought IтАЩd have to.
I did now, briefly, trying to keep the emotion, the fear from my voice as I
outlined the difference between revenant talents and telepathy. The latter still
functioned, fine, because it represented a live mind link I had. It was the former, the
ability to read images from the dead, which was disintegrating. RRS was the only
explanation.
He immediately disagreed. тАЬItтАЩs stress. You shouldnтАЩt be involved in this
case. Contact the Division, have them send out another PI.тАЭ
тАЬNot until I know for sure if itтАЩs me, or...тАЭ I let my voice trail off. There was
nothing else it could be but my own failure. The decaying of my talents, and my
mind.
тАЬCome back to the suite. Get some sleep.тАЭ
тАЬNot yet.тАЭ There would only be nightmares. Better to work.
тАЬYou want some tea, then?тАЭ
тАЬIce water.тАЭ
He went back to TruedellтАЩs large living room. I heard the clanking of
glassware and the soft thump of the bar тАШfridge door.
Most of TruedellтАЩs clothes were still in his suitcase, neatly folded. Shirts on
the left, pants on the right. All nice material, but a limited choice of hues. Black,
white or gray. I donтАЩt know why I even noticed that. KieranтАЩs closet was full of
black, white, gray or dark blue.
Only a gray robe hung in the bedroom closet. Granville had said heтАЩd booked
the suite for four days, had already been there for two. Why hadnтАЩt he unpacked?
Had he suspected someone stalked him, and staged his room for a hasty exit?
His discarded clothing was as neatly arranged on a nearby chair. I sipped the
ice water Kieran brought, ran my hands over the soft shirts, dark pants. EIIs called
to me with snatches of sound, a scent of flowers, the tart taste of a glass of
expensive red wine. But no faces for the voices in TruedellтАЩs memories.
No description of his killer with the Racker 750.
Kieran was dozing on the sofa, his fingers curled around his wrist comm,
when I came into the living room to put the empty glass in the sink. Still waiting for
those messages, no doubt. I kissed him lightly on the forehead. He stirred but didnтАЩt