Windfall by Rachel Caine Page A

number.”
    â€œActually . . .” Sarah said. I looked in the rearview mirror. She was dangling what looked like a crisp, white business card.
    â€œOh, kill me now,” Cherise sighed, and slumped down in the passenger seat. “I schlepped around the mall all day carrying another woman’s packages and what do I get? Dissed by a Brit. Man, I may just have to go seduce Kurt to restore my self-image.”
    â€œSet yourself a challenge, at least,” I said. “Go for Marvin.”
    â€œEwwwww. Please. I need to have a self-image at the end of it. That’s just gross. You go for Marvin. He’s hot for you, you know.”
    Sarah was reading over the business card. I distracted myself with that, to drive away the image of Marvin in his skivvies, leering at me. “So what does he do, your knight in shining tweed?”
    â€œAnd don’t tell us he’s got some kind of title and a castle, or I really will commit suicide by Marvin,” Cherise said.
    â€œHe’s a venture capitalist. He’s got his own company. Drake, Willoughby and Smythe.” Sarah ran her newly manicured finger over the card type. “Raised printing. He didn’t just run it off on a laser printer or anything.” She frowned. “Although I guess he could be broke. Did he seem broke to you, Jo?”
    â€œHey, he could have lifted the card off of some guy he murdered at the airport,” Cherise said. “And then he stashed his body in a steamer trunk and checked it through to Istanbul. He’s probably a serial killer.”
    We gave a moment of silent homage to the fact that Cherise’s mind actually worked that way. At least she’d steered away from any explanation involving aliens and body-switching.
    I felt duty-bound to try a defense, even though I barely knew the guy. “First, Cherise? Way too many scary movies; second, Sarah, it might be a little early in the relationship to run a full Dun and Bradstreet on the poor man,” I said. “So? Are you going to call him?”
    â€œMaybe.” That secret little smile again. “Probably.”
    I couldn’t be too unhappy with that. If Sarah was dating, she wouldn’t be looking to hang with me quite so much, and her stay in my guest room would be very limited. Nothing like potential romance to get a woman motivated to be independent.
    â€œHey, Jo? That van’s still following you,” Sarah said. She was looking out the back window again, frowning. “I thought you said it was no big deal.”
    â€œIt’s not.”
    Cherise piped up, “Then why’s he following you? Don’t tell me you have a stalker. You already have a boyfriend; it’s not fair you have a stalker, too. You’re not that cute.”
    I eyed the van in the rearview. It was weaving in and out of traffic fluidly, not drawing attention but staying glued to my tail. Detective Rodriguez wasn’t worried about anonymity; he wanted me to know he was watching. A little psychological warfare.
    He’d have to step up some to equal the stress of squiring around both Cherise and my sister.
    â€œHe’s not a stalker,” I said grimly. “He’s a cop.”
    There was a short silence, and then Cherise said, “Cool. You’re two-timing the cute boy with a cop? Man, Jo, that beats Cute English Serial Killer Guy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
    The clouds cut loose with a vengeance, torrential curtains of silver rain shimmering like silk and pounding like hail against the windshield. I flipped the wipers into grumpy motion and slowed down; Mona didn’t like the rain, and I didn’t like the idea of controlling a skid in these conditions. Or repairs to a Viper, perish the thought. Paying off Sarah’s binge would take the rest of my working life as it was.
    Behind me, the white van ghosted out of the rain and kept pace. I felt a snap of energy up in the aetheric, and a