“We’re being hunted. We need shelter.”

“What?”

Harlan did not respond. He was clearly focused on something else—finding shelter, apparently. She was running now—in high heels. It was either that or risk being dragged down the sidewalk.

There were two possibilities, she thought. Either Harlan’s obsession with Vortex had driven him off the edge of the conspiracy cliff or else he was right—someone was hunting them. Given the strange compulsion of the music, her intuition urged her to go with the second possibility.

The music faded as they ran in the opposite direction, but it still tugged at her, promising secrets and amazing wonders even as it iced her blood. Someone was using the notes as a lure.

Halfway down the street Harlan yanked her into the deep shadows of a dimly lit alley. The power of the music abruptly ceased. She could still hear the notes but they no longer pulled at her senses. Whoever was playing the recorder was competent, but the tune no longer drew her the way it had a moment ago.

“The brick walls of the alley,” Harlan said, whispering into her ear. “The paranormal energy waves can’t travel through them.”

The music ceased altogether.

“Stay here,” Harlan ordered, once again speaking directly into her ear. “Do not move.”

Shivering a little from the adrenaline overload and the realization that the music had very nearly put her into a hypnotic trance, she watched Harlan move to the entrance of the alley. He slipped a hand inside his trench coat and under his suit jacket.

When his hand reappeared she saw that he was holding a gun. His arm was straight at his side so that the weapon pointed at the ground. So much for Mr. Nothing-to-See-Here.

She finally remembered that she, too, had a weapon. She opened her handbag, took out the camera and slung the strap around her neck.

Aura flaring, Harlan took a look around the corner of the alley wall. Evidently satisfied, he slipped the gun inside his jacket and moved quickly back to her.

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

He steered her toward the far end of the alley. She wrinkled her nose against the smell. The toe of her shoe struck a small, squishy object. She cringed and looked down. Fortunately it was too dark to see what she had stepped into. This was probably the end for the heels she had bought to tone down the cobalt blue dress.

“Where, exactly, are we going now?” she said.

“Your apartment. So much for maintaining a low profile. Arganbright told me there is a small Foundation security team on the ground here in Seattle. I’ll call him and tell him I want the agents to keep an eye on every entrance to the building until dawn.”

“What about you?”

“Forget the hotel. I’ll sleep on your couch.”