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some very odd items in the course of her career with them. She didn’t question Karma’s morality for a second, but the legality was a bit iffier.
    Which left option number three. Atlantic City. Leaving her house, her comfort zone, and going to America’s Playground with a man who thought she was either a nutcase, a criminal or both. A spark of excitement kindled in her heart.
    If the situation weren’t quite so ridiculous, it might actually be an adventure.

Chapter Four—Nudists & Man Love: America’s Playground Under Siege
    Ciara wandered with Nate down the Atlantic City Boardwalk, dodging tourists. Over the last few days as they searched for the necklace, an easy rapport had slowly built between them. She could almost think they were a normal couple on vacation—if not for the fact that she was more or less his hostage.
    She hadn’t been able to get in touch with Karma and her boss couldn’t contact her since the only phone she had was the landline back at her house. If Nate had been replaced on her detail, he certainly wasn’t letting on. She was stuck with him, at least until they found the necklace and he allowed her access to a phone again.
    On the plus side, being in Atlantic City wasn’t as torturous as she’d imagined it would be. The psychic noise wasn’t nearly as deafening as she’d expected. She kept a light shawl wrapped around her arms and shoulders at all times to protect against casual contact, and so far she’d managed to avoid brushing up against any strangers, with only a couple acrobatic maneuvers required. As a first attempt at the real world, it was a remarkably successful one. She could handle the psychic dissonance so much better than she’d been able to when her abilities had first developed. It was almost fun, getting out of the house, seeing the sights.
    Now if only she had the first clue where the damn necklace was.
    Nate had secured them a crappy little motel room, miles off the Boardwalk, courtesy of the FBI, while they were searching AC for the necklace. Unfortunately, their luxurious accommodations didn’t even have a bathtub for Ciara to float in. She’d tried a couple traces in the shower, but the tile burning through the soles of her feet had been too distracting and she hadn’t been able to get a clear image. She kept getting useless, static-filled flashes of a casino floor—which didn’t really narrow it down much in Atlantic City.
    She was getting to the point where running naked into the Atlantic Ocean was starting to seem like a pretty good idea. At least then she would have something to tell Agent Control-Freak every time he asked her if she was ready to confess yet. The man redefined stubborn.
    If he weren’t also gorgeous, funny and considerate at the oddest moments, it would have been easy to hate him. Unfortunately, she kept forgetting she didn’t like him.
    Ciara looked up at the impressive façade of the Trump Taj Mahal, not watching where she was walking and automatically measuring her stride to match Nate’s limp. “I think Donald Trump did it.”
    “Watch out for the Griswolds.” Nate caught her arm, careful as ever to touch her only through the fabric of her shawl, and steered her out of the way of a family of overenthusiastic tourists. “Donald Trump did what?”
    “Stole the Heart of Monaco.”
    Nate snorted. “I see. And what is this hypothesis based on?”
    “Well, he’s loaded,” she said reasonably, “but who’s to say his gains aren’t ill-gotten? Maybe he started out life as a cat burglar but had to give it up because he was shedding all over the crime scenes and leaving bits of that manly Trump-fro behind to implicate him.”
    “Not all rich people are thieves.”
    Ciara shrugged. “I saw the elephant statue outside the Trump Taj Mahal in my vision. His elephant, ergo his shameful life of crime.”
    “I’m supposed to get a subpoena with ‘it’s his elephant’?”
    “Come on, it’ll be fun. Arrest the Donald.”
    “I