Bruce growled again.
“Bruce, no,” Luke said quietly. “Not here. Not now.”
Bruce looked disappointed but he did not go for Vincent’s throat.
“This isn’t over,” Vincent snarled.
He turned and disappeared into the crowd. Sophy took some deep breaths in an effort to quiet her pulse.
“It’s okay,” she said, trying for cool and professional. “Bruce and I had the situation under control.”
“Good to know,” Luke said. “Because for a minute there I had the impression that maybe things were not under control and that our low-profile strategy was about to be blown to hell.”
She glared. “You can’t blame that little scene on me. I didn’t go looking for Vincent. He just showed up.”
“We don’t have time to argue, but we do need to talk about Grant.”
“He really has changed, Luke. I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s not the man I met a few months ago.”
“I believe you. I’m pretty sure I know what’s happening to him. Let’s head back to the inn. I’ll tell you what I found in Grant’s casita.”
Thirty-Seven
“Vincent isdeteriorating?” Sophy stoppedpacing the suite and looked at Luke, who was sprawled in one of the chairs, legs outstretched. “What does that even mean?”
“I think his psychic senses have been destabilized,” he said. “Pretty sure the process can’t be reversed, not at this stage.”
“That’s a breathtaking diagnosis, given how little we know about him or his paranormal senses.”
“It’s all there in his sketchbooks, Sophy.” Luke rested a hand on Bruce’s head. “His drawings look normal—competent, maybe even good, I think, although I’m no judge—up until three months ago. After that, they rapidly become less refined. Bizarre. Amateurish. There was a dark side to his choice of subject matter from the start, but the violent element is much stronger in the recent drawings.”
“He first contacted me about three months ago.” She went to the window and looked out into the night. “Are all the violent images variations on the succubus theme?”
“Most of them look like sketches for that sculpture we saw inthe gallery. But there are others. At least three were of dead bodies.”
“What?” She spun around. “Are you talking about autopsy drawings?”
“No,” Luke said. “The drawings in his sketchbook look like they were done at the scenes of the crimes. The victims appear to have been living on the streets. There is something personal about the images. I don’t know how to explain it. I think Grant is the one who killed them.”
“Oh, shit.”
“If I’m right, he’s become a serial killer. The drawings are his souvenirs.”
She folded her arms tightly around her midsection, trying to absorb the horrifying information. “I can’t believe I dated a serial killer. Surely I would have picked up some kind of warning vibe.”
“You said you haven’t seen him since that date in the San Francisco alley.”
“That’s right.” She sighed. “I assumed he was just another failed experiment.”
“The sudden deterioration seems to have set in around that time.”
A sickening thought struck her. She stared at Luke, horrified. “Maybe it was seeing me coming out of the trance that caused him to go insane. Maybe my energy field shattered his senses. Maybe he developed some form of PTSD because of me? What if I really am a dangerous talent?”
“Don’t go there, Sophy.”
It was a command. She ignored it.
“Do you think I might have damaged any of my other experiments?”
