"By all means." He made a face as he glanced down at his lower body. "This conversation is making me very uncomfortable. But I thought it necessary to clear the air before we moved forward. You're too sensitive not to have become aware of what I was feeling."

Clear the air? The air between them was so charged with electricity that she could scarcely breathe. "For God's sake, can we stop talking about how horny you are and get down to why I'm here? I believe that's a little more important."

He stared at her in surprise and then threw back his head and laughed. "Sorry." His eyes were twinkling. "The state of our horniness is of utmost importance to men. It tends to dominate our world." He turned onto the highway. "I'll try not to bore you with the subject from now on. There's a restaurant up ahead. Suppose we stop and get dinner? Harley was very concerned about your lack of food intake. I'm sure he'll ask me about it when he reports in."

He had changed, turned down that sexuality as if it was a lamp that had burned too bright. It was still there, but she could ignore it now. "I could eat something. I was a little edgy flying to Stockholm."

"I know." He pulled off the road and parked in front of Le Petit Chat, a long, low-timbered building with diamond-shaped, beveled glass windows. "That's why I sent you with Harley instead of forcing you to cope with me."

"I guessed that was your reasoning." She suddenly turned to him. "It was reasoning, wasn't it? Just how much is normal and how much isn't?"

"Can I read your mind? No. Am I extraordinarily sensitive to what you're feeling? Absolutely. You've instinctively learned to block me from controlling you, but that sensitivity remains." He got out of the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. "But even if the link wasn't there, I would have known that you needed an escape from me. It's just good sense."

"You're telling me the truth?"

"I'm telling you the truth. I might omit telling you something, but it would be stupid of me to lie to you." He smiled. "Because you're extraordinarily sensitive to me too. It works both ways."

"Because of the link? I don't need you any longer to block the voices. Can't you just break the link?"

"I don't know. I don't know how it works. I've never linked with anyone before. That's why I didn't want to do it that night in the cave. I didn't have any choice." He helped her out of the car. "So we may be stuck with each other."

"I won't accept that."

"Why not? You weren't even aware of me for the past twelve years."

But she was acutely aware of him now. She couldn't separate the mental and physical, past and present, but there was definitely a disturbing bond. "I don't like Peeping Toms. Even if you can't read my mind, I don't appreciate having anyone able to tell what I'm feeling. My emotions are just as private as my thoughts, dammit."

"I'll try to keep that in mind." He opened the door of the restaurant. "In the meantime, you can practice your French by reading a menu and listening to the waiter extol the catch of the day."

THE CATCH OF THE DAY WAS SALMON and it was prepared with typical Gallic excellence.

"Dessert?" Grady asked as she finished the last bite and leaned back in her chair. "I'm sure Harley would endorse it." He grinned. "Though you probably don't need it. You ate like a truck driver."

"It was good. And I was hungry." She shook her head. "But no dessert. Coffee, maybe."

He motioned for the waiter. "Cafe,'s'il vous plait."

"And I did manage to understand the waiter," Megan said as the server hurried away. "But why should I have to understand French? You're very fluent. You rattled off our dinner order as if you were Gallic-born and-bred."

"Because I don't know exactly how being a Listener works."

"What?" Her brows lifted. "There's something you don't know about all this psychic business?"

"Don't be sarcastic. Listeners are very rare. Even Michael Travis's group doesn't know much about them." He added, "And there's a hell of a lot I don't know about a hell of a lot of things."

"For instance?"

"If the voices are issuing from a French or German or Italian, will the echoes the Listener hears be in that language? Or are the echoes an emotional transmittal that are translated in the language and understanding of the Listener?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She frowned. "Am I to understand I'm supposed to not only listen to these damn voices but have to translate them?"

"We'll only know that when you try to access them." He was silent while the waiter poured their coffee and then discreetly vanished. "Regardless, you'll have to try."

"I don't have to do anything. It's my choice." She lifted her cup to her lips. "We made a deal. If this will help me get Molino, I'll try to do it."

"It will help you get Molino."

"Who am I supposed to hear?"

"Edmund Gillem."

She moistened her lips. "Is he... dead?"

"Yes, he was supposed to have killed himself six weeks ago."

"Supposed?"

"He's dead. He probably did commit suicide. But I need to know the circumstances."

"Why?"

"I'm searching for a Ledger. I believe he knew where it was."

"And you think I'll be able to find out?"

"There's a strong possibility." He paused. "Or I wouldn't make you go through this. It's going to be ugly."

"You're warning me."

"Yes. Just because I want you to do this is no sign I want you to go in blind. Be prepared, Megan." She gazed down into the coffee in her cup. "That Ledger must be very important to you."

"It's important to quite a few people. Do you want me to tell you about it?"

She thought about it. Then she shook her head emphatically. "I don't want to know anything about it. I don't want to be involved in what you're doing. I want to find out what you want me to find out and then go after Molino."

"Ah, I see. You want to stand apart until you can go in for the kill?" She flinched. "If that's the way you want to put it."

"It's the way it is." He shrugged. "And I can't blame you. You're still teetering on the bank of the quicksand and trying not to fall. It's perfectly natural to try to protect yourself as much as possible." He gestured to the waiter. "Are you ready to leave? The inn is about twenty miles from here and it seems pretty comfortable. At any rate, we'll only be there for one night. Providing Harley does his job and we get you in safely."

"Why shouldn't it be safe?"

"I just like to be certain. There's a possibility Molino might have staked the place out or hired someone to watch or report."

"I can't believe he's expecting a Listener. That's too weird."

"No, he was expecting me. But I managed to slip in and out in Rome without him knowing I was on the grounds."

"What grounds? Where are we going?"

He threw down cash on the waiter's tray and rose to his feet, "The circus."

CHAPTER EIGHT

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, CIRCUS?" Megan asked as soon as she got into the car.

"Exactly what I said. Edmund Gillem died in his trailer at the Carmegue Circus. He was outside Rome at the time. The circus travels all over Europe and Chantilly is the second stop since Rome."