Ghost Talker by Robin D. Owens

Author:Robin D. Owens
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-01-29T10:57:52+00:00

Chapter 18

Rickman led the way to the main corridor and went left, wended through another couple of hallways. Finally he stopped at a nondescript door and blocked Zach’s view of the numeric keypad he used to open the door. The action irritated Zach a little. He was the ex-cop here. He could be trusted. He’d bet his substantial disability pension that Rickman and his special-ops guys had broken into more than one vault.

So he stopped just within arm’s reach of the man and offered him the bag by its handles, smiling. “Go ahead and stow it. I’ll let you know when we need it back.”

Obviously Rickman didn’t like the idea that he’d have to retrieve the thing. They stood a solid minute staring at each other. “You’re new to my company and still in your probationary period.”

“Yep.”

“Christ.” Running a hand through his hair, Rickman took the bag and slid silently into the vault. The hallway immediately felt better to Zach. Still had a faint smell of machines and a trace of gym, but felt fine.

When Rickman came back, Zach noted the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. Interesting that the portrait had physically affected Rickman. Before the door slid shut, Zach began walking to the gym.

Rickman caught up with him easily, of course.

They were back at the elevator bay before Zach said, “Psychometry, the ability to learn facts about an object, or the people who owned the item, by sensing vibrations or whatever from the object. You could be useful.”

“That’s what the government thought, though my commanding officers never referred to any little skill I might have.” Teeth clenched and jaw angled up, Rickman stared straight ahead and not at Zach. He took a couple of paces toward the door to the parking garage.

A while back Zach had realized his old tribe of police officers only welcomed him as one who’d lost the good fight, but that he could make a new place for himself in Rickman’s small tribe of operatives. An honored place, since he had more investigative skills and training than all of the others put together. He hesitated, but if he wanted that tribe, he had to act, and now.

So much for a workout; talking with Rickman was more important. So Zach went to the glass doors of the garage where the man stood. “I don’t think I’ve told you about the crows,” he said.

Rickman stopped, pivoted to face him.

Zach continued. “I don’t think your wife, Desiree, knows about the crows either. I don’t believe Clare would have told her.”

Rickman jerked his head at the camera mounted near the ceiling, one that might also be recording the conversation—Zach didn’t know. And he didn’t know if it was Rickman’s camera or the building’s. “Let’s talk about this outside,” Zach’s boss said.

“Sure.” Zach tried his best to amble casually, but all walking, strides, and foot movement had to be relearned or shown more in the attitude of his body than locomotion.

Stopping beside the passenger side of Zach’s truck, Rickman waited for him.

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