her and grinned. “That’s an intriguing habit you have, talking in your sleep while still awake.”
“I’m not sleepy now. That woke me right up.”
“Don’t get too lucid. I’ll have you home in minutes. And you need rest.”
“I think we better close the deal first.”
Declan smiled. “What’s your offer?”
“Okay.” Sailor switched gears—reluctantly. “What you need, you and Kimberly Krabill, is me. You want access to my symptoms, my blood samples—how, by the way, does that find us the killer?”
“It’s just one angle, but it’s a good one. He has a signature, and it’s distinctive. It’s the Scarlet Pathogen. Figuring out his motive could also lead me to him. Figuring out how he got access to his victims, that’s another angle to work. And I plan to. But the strange way he’s killing women, that to me is the obvious place to start. Also, it fell into my lap, and I pay attention to synchronicity. Understanding the pathogen could tell us how he got hold of it.”
Okay, Sailor thought. Declan’s interest in me is primarily scientific. Good thing to know. “But if I’m lounging around on some exam table being studied, I don’t get to be out there doing my job.”
“Yes,” he said, looking at her, “but being studied may lead to the development of the antidote. Don’t you care about being cured?”
“Yes. Although so far I’m not finding the symptoms all that—” she yawned “—debilitating. I just don’t feel sick. A sudden rise in temperature, the world going Technicolor for a minute or two, people looking attractive—I can live with it. My eyes are probably scary, but as long as I don’t have any auditions...”
“Sailor,” he said, “have you asked yourself the obvious? Do you have any enemies?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. And no. I mean, Kristoff, my manager at work, he doesn’t like me much, but he’s hardly going to assault me for putting too much foam on the cappuccinos.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Let me ask you the obvious,” she said. “Why are you so intent on finding this killer? The Elven are mine to worry about, not yours. And it’s not as if you’re a cop.”
He didn’t answer for a long time, so long that she thought he hadn’t heard the question. “I made a vow to someone,” he said finally. “It was a long time ago, but I’m still bound by it. I don’t break promises.”
“Okay.” It wasn’t okay, really. She wanted to know much more but didn’t want to risk a rebuff. The energy between them had changed. Declan had turned serious, and she had no idea how to connect with him again. “So, then,” she said. “Partners?”
He glanced at her. “I’ve got a few conditions.”
“Go ahead.”
“You have to tell me the truth. I’ve got nothing against lying, it’s a good tactical device. Just don’t do it with me.”
“Have I lied to you?”
“You said you’ve told no one but Highsmith about your attack. That was a lie. You told your cousins.”
“Well, of course. Family. That hardly counts. Any other conditions?” she asked.
“No drugs. If you’re an addict—”
“One síúlacht pill hardly constitutes—”
“—don’t be high around me.”
“Declan, I’m not an addict. Life is trippy enough. I don’t even smoke pot.” Not since college, anyhow.
“All right.”
What was his issue with drugs? Sailor wondered. And where was the guy who’d been kissing her five minutes earlier? She wanted him back again. “And these conditions, I assume they’re reciprocal,” she said.
“Reciprocal?”
“Because I don’t care about your recreational habits. But, Declan, don’t lie to me, either.”
He looked at her for so long that she was afraid they would crash into the mountainside, and just as she was reaching the point of panic, he looked back at the road and shifted gears, roaring up the canyon.
“Done,” he said.
* * *
Sailor was practically dozing when Declan reached the House of the Rising Sun, even though it was mere minutes later. But by the time he parked and reached her side of the car, she was popping open the distinctive scissor door as if she’d been born in a Lamborghini.
“Partners,” she said, refusing his offer of a hand out, “open their own car doors.”
He smiled. “Okay, tough girl.” But he caught up to her just as she tripped on the flagstone path leading to the heavy door of the castle she called home. And he held on to her arm in spite of her “I’m okay.” Her bare skin was cool to the touch, not inflamed with the feverish heat of a pathogen episode.
He’d loved kissing her.