“Psychic phenomena,” he said, tongue in cheek. “Discontinued after your military intel community computed how little bang they were getting for the enormous number of bucks they were shoving down a rat hole?”
Renee took another deep breath and tried again. “No, it’s ongoing. They turned it over to…another agency that had fewer constraints and better funding.” She added a smile. “I was…am one of their subjects.”
He brushed a hand over his lower face and shook his head. “You’re telling me that you’re psychic.”
“Not precisely. I’m an RV.”
“Ah. A recreational vehicle. This gets better and better. Makes me want to kick your bloody tires.”
Renee laughed. “No, a remote viewer. I…see things. Places. People.”
He waved a hand at the sketchbook lying on the floor. “John Trip.”
“That’s really him? I thought it might be. He’s at Deborah’s apartment this morning.”
“Really. You’ve been wafting through the ether. What a convenient trick that must be.”
She closed her eyes for a second. “Look, I know this must be hard for you to believe, but…”
“I want an address,” he stated. “A real address where I can find him, Leblanc. And cut the bull.”
Renee bit her lip and got up off the edge of the bed. She was getting a crick in her neck from looking up at him. Also, she didn’t want to feel as open to attack when she answered. “Look, I’m sorry, I can’t give you the address. Not yet anyway. I don’t know where she lives.”
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