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

Rhapsody In The Key of Death:
From the Case Files of Dr. Jynx San’Janeiro
by Linnea Sinclair
Psychic Investigator Jynx San’Janeiro lives for the dead. But when the dead stop communicating
with her, Jynx faces heartbreak… and her greatest fear. Is it exhaustion, or something far worse,
that causes her revenant talents to fail in the midst of a murder investigation at an exclusive
resort and casino on the rim world of Lunazula?
This wasn’t supposed to happen. The EIIs—Emotionally Intensified
Images—were as fresh as the warm blood pooling beneath the dead man’s
shoulders.
And just as lifeless.
I opened my eyes. In the shadows of the opulent hotel suite, a few feet from
where I knelt beside the body, Kieran watched, waited—unofficially, of course.
He’d insisted on accompanying me. Said it was because he hated having his best
laid plans—he’s annoyingly fond of puns—interrupted. We’d been more undressed
than dressed in our suite’s bedroom, doing what lovers often did after a night in
Lunazula’s glittering casinos and an excellent bottle of champagne, when every
pleasurable sensation had been violently wrenched from my existence. Consciously
I’d known I was safe in our suite, in Kieran’s arms. Yet all I could feel was a Racker
750 pressed hard against my breastbone. Then an excruciatingly intense flare of pain
as my killer sent three discharges of illegal Z-4 ammo tumbling through my body,
clawing, raking, stripping my insides as they spun. Whoever I was, I died, slowly it
seemed. In truth it had been less than nine minutes.
I know how long it took because I’d stared at the clock when the first
sickening chill of fear and psychic pain had flashed through me. And I was staring at
the clock now.
Nine minutes. It had taken nine minutes for me to throw on the clothes Kieran
had thrust into my hands, shove my feet into my soft boots and secure my stunner
into the waistband of my pants. I’d hesitated only long enough to snatch my
Intergalactic Conclave-issue I.D. from the dresser. The one with my holo, badge and
official title: Dr. Jynx San’Janeiro, PI.
A hotel security officer exited the elevator only seconds after I’d stepped into
the corridor. Security had responded promptly to Kieran’s call to the front desk
because Kieran was Lord Kieran Risardas, after all. The wiry, amber skinned man in
the dark blue uniform evidently hadn’t expected me as well.
“M’Lord.” He’d nodded respectfully to Kieran. His dark gaze had lingered a
bit on my hastily clothed form. The oversize v-necked sweater and leggings were
hardly seduction fare but in his mind I had no other obvious purpose. This was
Lunazula and Kieran’s name was, these days, synonymous with nobility. It had felt
good to thrust my badge in the security officer’s face, watch him recoil, choke
slightly. Play-toy, he’d mentally labeled me. Rich man’s play-toy. Hot little redhead.
Only the last two adjectives—little and redhead—were correct. The first was
about as far from fact as you could get. I was anything but hot. I’d been shivering,
my skin chilled. Death—fresh, stark, invasive—does that to most Psychic
Investigators. As I’d been a mere hotel hallway-width away from the murder, it felt
as if it were doing it double time to me.
The officer’s name tag, replete with the casino’s blue crescent moon-shaped
logo, read: V. Granville, Security Chief. His tone when he’d acknowledged my
introduction had been pure skeptic. Corpse cop, he’d tagged me, amending his initial
observation. I’ve been called worse.