Reason To Believe by Roxanne St. Claire

the source of those e-mails with what you sent this morning. They were from a server at Cal Tech University.”
    Bingo. The science geek. “That makes sense. Some student interviewed her and she said it got nasty. Got a name?”
    “We have a few, all from the same department. But one of them, interestingly enough, matches a name on that list of studio guests you sent me this morning. Eric Scheff.”
    “Really. He was there? I’ll talk to security again and find out what time he signed out,” Chase said. “Let’s run background, and see if he’s licensed to carry concealed. This could be easier than we thought.”
    “We have a student ID picture that I’ll send you to show to Arianna. We can match it to the tapes, if she doesn’t remember seeing him in the studio.”
    Chase stepped away from the mesmerizing view of Hollywood to the laptop he’d opened on Arianna’s kitchen counter, tapping into his Bullet Catcher e-mail box. “How many people have access to the server?”
    “A lot, but we’re getting closer to pinpointing the computer that generated the e-mails.” He heard Lucy’s keyboard clicking in the background. “California online stalker laws say you have to prove beyond a doubt who the sender is; then you can get a restraining order, or even a year in prison and a fine. There. I just sent you what I have on him so far, including a home address and his class schedule.”
    He opened the e-mail to a grainy photo of a pasty-faced, sharp-featured twenty-something. “Got it. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit and scare him off.”
    “Then your problems would be solved,” Lucy said.
    “Possibly.” There was still the matter of Arianna’s visions. “Let me ask you something, Luce. Do you truly believe Arianna is the real deal? As a psychic?”
    “Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, not a nanosecond.
    “How do you know that?”
    This time, a good many nanoseconds passed before she answered. “I just do.”
    Like every one of the Bullet Catchers, he trusted Lucy Sharpe implicitly, and he’d rarely known her to be wrong about anything. “Don’t you think she’s just a sharp guesser? A woman with strong instinct and a good sense of what makes people tick? That doesn’t make her psychic, just intuitive. I think there’s a big difference.”
    “She is intuitive, but she’s also an excellent psychic.”
    Lucy’s instincts couldn’t be ignored. And there was something about Arianna that made him want to throw away logic, reason, and common sense. “Why don’t we run those checks on all the members of the Closure production staff while you have your investigation squad working on the Cal Tech guy?” he asked.
    “Of course. We’ll do that right away.”
    The bedroom door creaked open and he signed off, flipping the phone closed as bare feet pattered along the tile floor. At the sight of Arianna, caffeine and food slipped back on the physical-needs scale. Way back.
    “Hey.” She half yawned, blinking at him and running her fingers through a wild mess of bed head, the gesture tugging a skimpy top, revealing the winged whatever under sleep pants that barely managed to hang on to her hips.
    “Hey yourself,” he said. “Another hour and I was going to send up emergency flares.”
    She smiled, a glorious, sexy grin that matched her glorious, sexy hair and her glorious, sexy…“Is that Tinkerbell?”
    She followed his gaze south and inched the loosely drawn string even lower to reveal the contour of her pelvis. “Yep.”
    “You go one millimeter farther, sweetheart, and that constitutes official flashing.”
    “You stare one second longer, darling, and that constitutes official ogling.” She brushed a single finger over the tattoo. “My mom used to call me Tinkerbell.” She snapped the drawstring back in place and squinted up at him, as if the sunlight suddenly seemed too bright. “Who were you talking to?”
    “Lucy Sharpe. I think we’ve found your cyberstalker.”
    “Wow, you guys work