Love & Omens

by Carrie Pulkinen

  She brushed her hair out of her face, and as she caught his gaze, his heart stilled in his chest. She didn’t smile, but she moved toward him in hurried strides until a blonde woman stopped her with a hand on her arm. They argued briefly, the woman gesturing to Sydney’s face before Sydney huffed and tied her mask around her head.

  Her gaze darted about the room as she moved toward him, her long strides quickening into a jog. Stopping in front of him, she clutched his biceps. “Where’s Claire?”

  He blinked, his mind scrambling for a response to the question that seemed to come from nowhere. “She’s at the bar. What happened? When you texted me, I thought—”

  “I didn’t text you. We need to leave. Now.”

  “Hold on.” He clutched her hand. “What do you mean, you didn’t text me? You told me you didn’t want to be with me anymore. You said not to call you, and then you turned off your phone.”

  She shook her head, still searching the room. “That wasn’t me, Blake. It was Claire.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Claire was standing right beside me when I got the texts.”

  “Someone did it for her, then. She took my SIM card. Listen to me.” She tugged him deeper into the crowd, her voice taking on a hushed urgency. “I had another vision. I saw…” Her eyes widened.

  “Sydney? What are you doing here?” Surprise lilted Claire’s voice.

  Sydney clutched his arm, digging her nails into the fabric of his jacket. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Blake and I need to talk privately.”

  Claire pursed her lips, her gaze cutting from Sydney to Blake. “No problem. Here, Blake.” She handed him a glass with Drink Me written on the side in a whimsical script. “Drink up. I’ll go get you something, Sydney. I hear they have a fantastic rosé, not that I would know, since I’m not drinking tonight.”

  Blake lifted the glass to his lips.

  “No!” Sydney snatched it from his grasp, sloshing the contents onto Claire. The liquid soaked her dress, splashing across her hand as she tried to shield herself.

  “She’s planning to kill you,” Sydney whispered through clenched teeth. “Look at her nails; the drink must be drugged.”

  Claire laughed, unbelieving. “Is that what you think of me, Sydney? Clearly your premonitions are making you crazy.” She wiggled her fingers. “No drugs.”

  Sydney frowned. “I saw you die, Blake. She has a gun in her purse.”

  None of this made sense. Claire was family. A nineteen-year-old girl. She wasn’t capable of murder. But the feral look in Sydney’s eyes told him this was no mistake. She had seen something in her vision.

  “I don’t have a gun. Look.” Claire opened her purse and pulled out her phone.

  “Oh, God. It’s someone else then.” Sydney’s gaze darted about the room while the people around them stopped to stare.

  “Hold on.” He raised his hands. “Claire, did you somehow fake those texts from Sydney?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She glanced at her phone. “She flaked on you like she’s done before. Like she always will. Let’s move this conversation to the lobby. People are staring.”

  “Syd, tell me what you saw.” He wrapped an arm around her and guided her out of the ballroom.

  “I saw you get shot.” Her voice held an edge of panic as her gaze darted about their surroundings.

  “Did you see Claire do it?”

  “No, I couldn’t. It was in the darkness like the rabbit was, only now it was you…dressed like a rabbit.” Her body trembled.

  “She’s obviously gone nuts, Blake.” Claire crossed her arms, scanning the area as if looking for someone, but with the party inside in full swing, the lobby sat empty. “Why else would she text you to take me to the ball and then show up accusing me of murder?”

  “Wait.” Blake turned to Claire, a sinking sensation forming in his abdomen. “I never told you what her texts said.”

  “I… I just assumed…” Claire’s mouth dropped open, her gaze flicking around the room. “Okay, look.” She laughed nervously. “I admit it. I got Sam to send the texts. It’s no big deal.”

  “Why?”

  Sydney clutched his arm, trying to pull him away.

  Claire lifted her hands and dropped them at her sides. “I wanted to break you up, but I’m not a murderer. I…” Her bottom lip trembled. “Carmen should be here any minute. I knew Sydney would find a way to get here, and I thought if you were mad at her, and then she and your ex-boss got into it, fighting over you, then you’d see.”

  “What would I see?” He shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  Her voice took on an edge of hysteria. “True devotion has been standing right in front of you all this time, but you’ve looked right through me. All you can see is her. I love you, Blake.”

  “Claire…” She couldn’t be serious. She’d hatched this elaborate scheme to try and steal him from Sydney? “You said Sydney was your friend.”

  “She is, but I’m in love with you.”

  “We need to leave, Blake.” Sydney tugged on his sleeve.

  “Blake Beaumont,” a male voice growled from behind him. “My wife isn’t enough for you?”

  Claire’s eyes widened. “That’s the guy who tried to run you over.”

  Blake tensed, swallowing the bile from his throat as he faced the man. “William.” He straightened to his full height. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  William stood three inches taller than Blake and wore dark jeans, sneakers, and a wrinkled, untucked button-up under a navy blazer. One arm hung by his side, his thick fingers curled into a fist, while the other rested in his jacket pocket. “Carmen left me.” His bloodshot eyes gleamed in the lobby lights.

  Blake held his hands out at his sides, positioning himself between William and the women. “I’m sorry to hear that, man.”

  William scowled, adjusting his hand in his pocket, what could only be the barrel of a gun protruding through the fabric. “What is it about you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Blake scanned his surroundings, searching for a weapon or a place for the women to hide, but all he found was an ice sculpture carved in the shape of the Cheshire Cat.

  “I’ve been watching you. Women flock to you like flies to garbage, you wife-stealing piece of shit.” He drew the gun from his pocket, pointing it at Blake’s chest. “Which one are you in love with?” He pointed it at Sydney then Claire.

  Blake tried not to react, but William narrowed his eyes and aimed at Sydney’s heart. “I’ll take her from you like you took Carmen from me.”

  “It’s me.” Claire stepped in front of her. “He’s in love with me. Kill me, not her.”

  Blake raised his hands, moving in front of them both, inching toward the crazed man while keeping his voice calm. “I didn’t steal your wife. We’ve talked about this.”

  “No?” He pulled back the hammer on the revolver, training the barrel on Blake’s head. “You haven’t been emailing her all week? You didn’t ask her to meet you here tonight?”

  His jaw tightened as he edged toward the ice sculpture, away from the others. “No, I didn’t.” But he knew exactly who did.

  “Liar.” William’s voice grew louder. “I wrote those emails, not Carmen. You’ve been talking to me.”

  “What?” Claire gasped.

  William jerked his head toward her, and Blake used the distraction to his advantage, ramming his shoulder into the ice sculpture and knocking it into William. As it crashed to the ground, the cat’s body shattered, and the head rolled across the wooden floor.

  William stumbled, and time slowed to a crawl as Blake tackled him, dragging his stocky frame to the ground. They wrestled, William landing a punch on Blake’s right eye, making the room spin. Blake swung back, hitting the man in the jaw, knocking the gun from his grip.

  Sydney lunged for the weapon, but Claire snatched it from her grasp as William wrapped an arm around Blake’s neck, putting him in a chokehold and dragging him to his feet.
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  Trails of mascara streaked Claire’s face as she lifted the gun to her head. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Blake.”

  He tried to call out to her, to stop her, but William tightened his arm, blocking Blake’s airflow. His vision tunneled, and stars danced in his gaze.

  “Claire, no!” Sydney grabbed her arm, trying to wrangle the gun from her grip.

  William punched Blake in the gut, knocking the breath from his lungs. His vision eclipsed, and the explosive pop of gunfire sounded simultaneously as his shoulder collided with another ice sculpture.

  The statue toppled with both men, sending ice crashing to the ground, shattering with the impact, and panic flushed through Blake’s veins. Sydney.

  “Drop the weapon.” A deep voice boomed over the chaos.

  Blake looked up to find three police officers, guns drawn, closing in on them. Claire gingerly placed the revolver on the floor and raised her hands, fresh tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

  An officer grabbed her by the arm, while another hauled Blake up, cuffing him.

  The third officer cuffed William and dragged him to his feet, and Blake’s gaze finally found Sydney. “No.”

  The crowd that had filed out from the ballroom dispersed as the paramedics arrived with a stretcher, and Blake’s heart wrenched from his chest. Sydney lay on her back, a pool of thick, red blood soaking the carpet beneath her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Blake sat with his elbows on his knees in the squeaky vinyl chair, watching the little blue line on the monitor blip up and down with each beat of Sydney’s heart. Her pulse was steady, which was surprising considering the bullet missed her heart by a mere three inches.

  His own heart was a mangled, shredded mess.

  He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back in the chair, sucking in a shaky breath. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with the sickly-sweet hospital smell, and his stomach churned. That should have been him lying wounded in the bed, not Sydney.

  How could he have missed the signs? The strange happenings and near-misses had begun shortly after Carmen’s message about leaving her husband—or rather, William’s message pretending to be Carmen—but Blake never made the connection. And Claire… Thinking back on it now, it seemed so obvious: her behavior, her clinginess, Eric’s comments about how messed up her emotions were. She was obsessed, and Blake was a blind idiot.

  He blew out a hard breath. That was the understatement of the century. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his lids as he replayed the night in his mind.

  After the paramedics stabilized Sydney and loaded her onto the stretcher, enough witnesses testified on Blake’s behalf that they let him go free. He’d made it to the hospital while Sydney was in surgery and gave his statement to multiple officers and a detective while he waited for her to come out.

  She’d woken briefly, several hours ago. Long enough for her to give him a small smile and squeeze his hand before the painkillers pulled her back under. As the apology had spilled from his lips, she’d shaken her head and muttered, “Not your fault,” before drifting back to sleep.

  Blake hadn’t slept at all. He made phone calls and watched the monitors for any signs of distress, though the doctors assured him she’d pull through with no problems; shoulder injuries weren’t normally life-threatening. Still, the nauseating concoction of worry and guilt churned in his gut, refusing to allow him even a moment’s respite.

  This was his fault. Every bit of it.

  Contacting Sydney’s mom had been difficult, but he’d managed to keep his voice from quivering as he promised her that her daughter would be fine. Calling his cousin had been gut-wrenching.

  When he explained what happened, a string of curses flowed through the receiver. “I knew that kid was messed up. I told Diane she needed more than time away. She needed psychological help.”

  “Well, you were right, man. I’m sorry I couldn’t help her.”

  “No. I’m sorry we put this burden on you. Her mom hoped…we both hoped it was just a bout of depression that she’d pull through, but I’ve always thought something was off about Claire.” He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “How do you tell a mother you think her daughter is a psychopath?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Exactly.”

  Both Claire’s parents and Sydney’s mom intended to hop on the first flight to New Orleans they could get, and Blake sat in the quiet room, drowning in guilt as he watched the only woman he’d ever loved lying injured in bed.

  Sydney stirred, inhaling a deep breath and blinking her eyes open. She squinted against the overhead light and turned her head toward him. “Hey.”

  He shot to his feet and was by her side in two long strides. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he took her hand in his and brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. His throat thickened, and pressure built in the back of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I think I already told you it wasn’t your fault. Or did I dream that?” She lifted her head from the pillow and winced.

  Tears collected on his lower lids. “You said it.”

  “But you didn’t believe me.” She covered his hand with her free one.

  “Because it is my fault. I moved back to New Orleans. I brought the danger with me. I brought Claire. I…” A warm tear slid down his cheek, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never did.” She cleared her throat.

  “Here. You must be parched.” He grabbed the water from the bedside table and held the straw to her lips. She took a sip, and he set it down. “How are you feeling? Do you need me to call the nurse? Do you need more pain meds?”

  “I’m okay.”

  He nodded. “Sean and Emily are on their way. The others left a little while ago, and your mom is taking the first flight home she can get.”

  A small smile curved her lips. “She’s still in Monaco?”

  “Yeah, but I think there’s a flight tonight. I…” He choked on a sob. She was okay. She was awake and talking to him. They’d thwarted her premonitions, and they were together.

  His chest tightened as gratitude and relief joined the heady mix of emotions swirling through his core. “I thought I’d lost you.” A lump wedged in his throat as more tears slid down his cheeks.

  “You didn’t.” She ran a hand up and down his arm. “I’m here. We’re both here.”

  “When I saw you lying on the floor, I…” He shook his head to chase the horrid image from his mind. “I swear my heart stopped beating. The entire world fell away; my whole life came crashing down around me, and I didn’t… I don’t even remember what happened other than they wouldn’t let me go to you. I didn’t know if you were alive until they put you on the stretcher, and all I could do was pray to every god I could think of for them not to cover your head. I knew if they left your head uncovered it meant you were alive.”

  She hit the button on the side of the bed, inclining it toward him, and she cringed as her body adjusted to the new position.

  “Should you be sitting up? Should I call the nurse?” He wiped his eyes and helped her get situated.

  “It’s just a shoulder wound, right?”

  “That’s what they tell me.” He scooted closer and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It could have been so much worse.” He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers.

  “It would have been if you hadn’t tackled him.”

  “If I hadn’t tackled him, Claire wouldn’t have shot you.”

  “And you’d be dead.” She placed a hand on his leg. “What happened after you realized I was alive?”

  He inhaled deeply, letting her scent seep into his senses before pulling away. “I guess I woke up after that. They arrested William and Claire and drove me to the hospital to be with you. A detective said she’d stop by later after they questioned them.”

&nbs
p; He looked into her dark brown eyes and saw his entire world inside them. “I can’t ever lose you again, Sydney. You are everything to me, and my heart…it’s not in your hands. It’s beating inside you. If you go, you’ll be taking it with you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Blake.”

  “I love you too.” He leaned in and took her mouth in a gentle kiss.

  “Are we interrupting?” Sean’s voice drifted in through the doorway, and Blake straightened.

  “Hey, Sean. Emily.” Sydney smiled weakly as they entered the room. “Where’s Sable?”

  “She’s with my mom.” Sean set a bouquet of yellow roses near the window.

  “How are you feeling?” Emily touched Sydney’s good shoulder and smiled before shifting her gaze to the monitors. “Your pulse is strong. Good oxygen levels too.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be sore once the pain meds wear off,” Sydney said.

  Blake rose from the bed and lowered his voice. “Can you look at her file? The doctors said she’ll be fine, but can you be sure?” Emily was a nurse practitioner. Surely, she could let him know if anything could go wrong.

  “You know I can hear you, right?” Sydney laughed and then winced.

  Emily gave him a sympathetic smile. “I don’t work here, so, no, I can’t access her file. But everything looks good.”

  His shoulders slumped. “Would they lie though? I’m not her family, so maybe they didn’t tell me everything.”

  “I’ll tell you what… One of the nurses on duty is a friend of mine. I’ll go talk to her if it will make you feel better.” Emily winked at Sydney.

  “Please do,” Sydney said. “He’s not going to relax until you tell him I’m okay.”

  “Be right back.” Emily slipped out the door.

  Sean sank into the squeaky chair. “So, your visions? The funerals? Is that all cleared up now?”

  “I think so.” Sydney reached for Blake, taking his hand and tugging him onto the bed next to her. “I had another vision in the ambulance. Blake and I were babysitting a two-year-old Sable, so I think it’s safe to say we won’t be dying anytime soon.”