P OSTORGASM , Dawn left the office, then methodically shed the wig, cleaned up, and got dressed into regular garb: comfortable jeans, another of Frank’s T-shirts, and her worked-in motorcycle boots.
Of course, while slipping out of the guest room she’d been using as a changing area, she came face-to-face with another portrait. There was no way to avoid them.
This one featured a woman with Chinese features, her head bowed, her body barely covered in a blue silk robe. She looked like she’d just done some questionable canoodling, too.
Who were these ghosts? And how had they gotten into the paintings? More important, why did they stay if they had the freedom to move in and out of them?
Dawn waited a second, just in case anyone—including a freakin’ portrait person—wanted to answer. But there was nothing. Only the sounds of an old house settling into a night of creaks and moans.
“So much for female bonding,” she muttered, leaving the picture to itself.
It was time to get back to work. Sure, The Voice had let her punch out a little steam, probably knowing full well that the interaction made her more limber in both body and mind. And she did feel exercised plus…well, kind of exorcised, too. Even if today’s session had been a little weirder—but hardly more mentally exhausting—than usual.
Beating back all the lingering questions from her time with the boss, she went into the computer room, a bland space lined with dark wood and a stand of work stations. No portraits in here. No distractions while she checked some items off her mental to-do list and forgot about everything else.
Even though she knew she should remember.
Flipping her shower-wet ponytail over her shoulder, Dawn sat and turned on a machine. As it warmed up, she took out her cell phone and accessed the number for Kiko’s therapist.
Before she’d left Jonah, she’d done one of those awkward by-the-way asides that hadn’t erased any of the tension between them. Avoiding any more mention of their sex, she’d told him about her worries regarding Kiko’s pills, but the boss had already been aware of all that. In fact, he’d already called Kiko’s doctor with his concerns, and he agreed that having Dawn get in touch with the therapist, too, could only help.
Then he’d disappeared into the TV, the walls, or whatever. She’d shut the door behind her, moving into the lighted hall, relieved and miffed at the same time.
The call to Kiko’s therapist didn’t rock the earth: Dawn let the woman know about how his medication was affecting his mind and, after asking general questions about his behavior, the other woman promised to conference with Kik’s doctor and look further into it. Afterward, hardly comforted, Dawn clicked onto the Internet, promising herself she’d follow up.
Knowing that’s all she could do for now, she got down to other business, doing a search on Lee Tomlinson, concentrating on the lover angle.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything available that the team hadn’t uncovered before. Premurder, Lee’s PR exposure was low. The highest profile he’d enjoyed was on MySpace.com, where he’d trumpeted his one big commercial. Dawn would bet his legal team—or maybe those Underground connections—had tampered with anything and everything that was currently in the public eye.
Frustrated, she navigated away from all the murder-related hits his name brought up, typing in the name of Lee’s brother, Lane, just to see what that would conjure.
Links were just flashing on the screen when Breisi stuck her head in the room.
“Busy?” she asked.
“Spinning in circles with Lee Tomlinson and…”
A memory of The Voice skimming over her, through her, shot a tingle under her skin.
Yeah, not going there with Breisi.
Dawn veered around in her chair to face her coworker. “Can I ask you something?”
Breisi stepped inside, having dressed back into street clothes, too: a black Buzz Lightyear shirt and cargo pants. Her expression remained neutral, telling Dawn that she could ask, but she shouldn’t expect any answers. Huge shock there.
She went for it anyway. “It’s about the Friends.”
“Yes?”
Argh, the calm acceptance of this woman. “Who’s Kalin?”
At the name, Breisi straightened her spine. “Where did you hear that?”
Ah-ha-ha. She was on to something. Breisi wouldn’t be quietly having a cow if the name didn’t matter. “I heard The Voice say it. I thought he was addressing one of the Friends, and I just wondered if you knew who she was.”
“I don’t know any of the spirits personally.”
She looked stunned that Dawn had even heard the name, as if the rest of the team were adults who took great pains to spell out things like “h-e-l-l” and “i-c-e c-r-e-a-m” in front of a two-year-old who would end up decoding their efforts anyway.