Jayne Castle - After Dark

"You sound like you're quoting from a textbook or an emergency room pamphlet. Do you know what it really feels like?"

"Yes." Her eyes were cool. "I know what it really feels like. It feels like all of your psychic senses have been rezzed to the breaking point. Everything is too bright, too hot, too cold, too dark, too loud. Sensation overwhelms you and you pass out. Unless, of course, you're a very strong ghost-hunter, in which case I understand you have some limited immunity."

He drew a deep breath. "Okay, so you do know what it feels like."

"Let's get something straight here. I spent most of the past four years of my working life in the Dead City. No para-archaeologist, regardless of how effective the team's hunters are, can spend that much time in the field without brushing up against a few small ghosts."

He was not going to get far with logic and reason, he realized. Might as well cut to the chase. "You don't seem to get the picture here, Miss Smith. I'm firing you."

"You're the one who doesn't get it, Mr. London. You can't fire me. We've got a contract."

"Don't worry. I'll compensate you for your time."

"There's more than money involved now. If what you say is true, it's possible that poor Chester was killed because of your cabinet—" She broke off abruptly.

He realized she was looking at someone who was approaching the table.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, Lydia. Saw you from across the room and had to say hello."

The voice was easy, refined, masculine. The kind of voice that projected well, Emmett thought. The voice of a man accustomed to the lecture hall. An educated voice.

"Hello, Ryan." Lydia forced a chilly smile. "It's been a while, hasn't it? This is Emmett London. Emmett, this is Professor Ryan Kelso. He's head of the Department of Para-archaeology at the university." She paused delicately. "A former colleague."

And formerly something more than a colleague, Emmett thought. He didn't consider himself the intuitive type, but even he couldn't miss the undercurrents swirling around the small table. A disturbing tendril of possessiveness uncoiled deep inside him. Probably not a good thing. He could have done without the added complications.

He took his time getting to his feet, absorbing the salient points of Ryan Kelso in a single glance. Tall, athletically fit, dark hair, gray eyes. Chiseled features.

Ryan looked every inch the fashionable academic in a brown turtleneck, a tweed jacket, and a pair of trousers that rode low on his hips. He wore amber in a chunky wristband on his left arm.

Emmett shook hands briefly. "Kelso."

"A pleasure, London."

Ryan gave Emmett a quick, assessing survey and then switched his attention back to Lydia. "What's this about finding a murder victim in that peculiar little place where you work? Saw something about it in the papers."

"His name was Chester Brady," Lydia said stiffly. "I doubt if you knew him."

"Can't say that I did." Ryan's mouth curved with amused disdain. "The papers implied that he was a ruin rat who had probably been killed by one of his criminal associates. What was he doing at Shrimpton's? Trying to steal one of your acquisitions?"

"Chester was a friend of mine. A very strong trap tangler," Lydia said in a steely voice. "One of the most powerful I've ever met. Who knows? If he'd had access to a decent education, he would have been a first-rate para-archaeologist. Probably could have been chairman of the department at the university by now."

Ryan dismissed that with a chuckle. Then his eyes softened with concern. "It must have been very traumatic for you, finding the body and all. I mean, the shock of that coming on top of what happened six months ago—"

"Not everyone thinks I'm fragile," Lydia said with conviction. "Believe it or not, the detective in charge of the case put me on her list of suspects. Apparently she believes I'm fully capable of handling the stress of murdering an old pal and stuffing his body into a sarcophagus."

"Uh—" Ryan floundered briefly, clearly unable to figure out where to go with that.

"I have to tell you, it was almost flattering in a way," Lydia continued.

She was on a roll. Emmett was amused. Nevertheless, it was time to intervene.

"Cops always question the people who find the victim," London said easily. "Naturally they talked to Lydia. They also talked to me. I was with her when she discovered the body. But the detective in charge made it clear that she's not seriously interested in either of us. We both have alibis."

"Some of us have better alibis than others," Lydia murmured.

Emmett ignored that. He kept his attention on Ryan. "Apparently Brady had a lot of disgruntled friends, clients, and associates. The police think one of them did him in."

"Makes sense." Ryan seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Anyway, it's great to see you looking so well, Lydia."

"Amazing, isn't it? I managed not to go stark-staring bonkers after all. At least, not yet. But never fear, there's always hope. I might still go over the edge one of these days."

Ryan had the grace to turn red. "You can't blame your friends for worrying about you."

"If my so—called friends had been genuinely worried about me, they would have seen to it that I got my old job back after the doctors turned me loose," she said much too sweetly.

She was not going to let up, Emmett realized. He wondered how Ryan had ever come to the conclusion that she was too delicate to continue in her archaeological work.

Kelso managed an expression of polite confusion. "I'm not sure what you're implying, Lydia. The decision to, uh, release you from your university contract—"

"You mean fire me."

"The decision was made by the administration," Ryan said quickly. "You know that. It wasn't a departmental decision."

"Give me a break." She made a small but unmistakably disgusted sound. "We both know the administration takes the recommendation of the department heads. Why don't you just be honest about the whole thing? You figured I was a candidate for the funny farm, and that's what you told the academic council."

"Lydia, we were all devastated by what happened to you."

"But not devastated enough to let me come back to the department."

"As chairman of the department, I have a grave responsibility. I couldn't take the risk of sending you out with the team after what happened. I had to keep your best interests in mind."

"If you were really that nervous about my para-psych profile, you wouldn't have had to send me back out into the Dead City right away. You could have let me work in the labs for a while until everyone was convinced that I wasn't going to freak under stress."

Ryan's frown of earnest concern darkened into annoyance. He glanced hastily around the restaurant, clearly uncomfortable, searching for an excuse to get himself out of what had become an awkward situation.

"Policy is policy," he said stiffly. "What you've got to remember, Lydia, is that your para-psychological health is the most important element in the equation. You went through a brutal experience. Got to allow yourself plenty of time to recover."

"I'm fully recovered, Ryan."

"Tell you what," he said a little too heartily. "Give yourself another six months and then reapply to the department. I'll make sure your application gets special consideration."

"Gee, thanks, Ryan. But six months from now I won't need my old job. I expect to have my own full-time consulting business up and running."

He looked slightly disconcerted. "You're going private?"

"That's right. I'm already working at it part-time."

"I hadn't realized—"

"Two months ago I registered as a private consultant in para-archaeology with the Society." Her eyes gleamed. "Mr. London here is my first client. Isn't that right, Emmett?"