I spun and ran for the kitchen, opening the doors to check each room as I went past. There were at least another dozen lit candles split between the various rooms. I erased every tiny flame, then slid into the combined kitchen and living area, found the oven, and quickly turned off all the jets. The stink of gas in this area was particularly strong, and it wouldn’t have taken all that much longer for the buildup to reach the other rooms. Amanda had obviously intended to be well away from the place before it blew. I opened the back door and as many windows as I could, then went back into the bedroom.

“Janice, wake up.” I sat on the edge of the bed and roughly shook her shoulder.

She didn’t open her eyes, just waved a hand at me somewhat airily. “Need sleep. Go away.”

“Who was the woman who just left? What is her name?”

“Felicity.” Her slow smile basically confirmed what the state of the bed suggested. “It was the oh-so-lovely Felicity.”

“And she’s your lover?”

“Yes.” Her smile grew. “So lovely.”

And she seemed to be answering my questions altogether too readily—especially given she probably had no idea who I was. There should have at least been some sort of reaction to my presence in her bedroom—something other than this happy compliancy, anyway.

“Does Felicity have a last name?”

I couldn’t smell any alcohol on her breath, so I gently opened one eyelid. Her pupils were heavily dilated, suggesting she’d been drugged. But why, when Amanda was a powerful telepath who’d made a fortune stealing secrets from the minds of her lovers during intercourse?

And while it was obvious Amanda had intended to blow the house apart—taking Janice and any evidence she might hold with it—it was also possible that whatever drug she’d given the older woman to make her talk might be lethal. I dragged out my phone, called an ambulance, and then repeated my question.

“Hocking,” Janice said, after a moment. “Felicity Hocking.”

“And how long have you and Felicity been lovers?”

“A few weeks.” She shrugged and finally opened her eyes. The faintest hint of alarm crossed her expression. “Who are you? Do I know you?”

If Amanda had been her lover for a few weeks, it meant she’d been so before the sindicati had kidnapped us both and her mind had been taken over.

“I’m Emberly Pearson—I’m one of the private investigators your boss employed to investigate the theft of research notes.”

“He’s dead.” She closed her eyes again. “Can’t be sad about that.”

Which wasn’t a surprising comment. Rosen Senior certainly hadn’t endeared himself to me in the brief time I’d known him, and I couldn’t help but think he’d have been a difficult man to work with.