Stroke of Death

by Dale Mayer

  He kissed her again. “You have no idea how I felt when Frankie called and said you had disappeared.”

  She placed a finger across his lips. “Stop,” she said. “We got through it, and we’ll get through the rest too.”

  “Just some questions. There won’t be a trial. The suspect is dead.”

  She winced at that, and Richard immediately kissed her, as if that would heal the wound. She had to admit it went a long way toward making it easier. She slid her leg up his calf, up his buttocks, and noted he had no boxers on. She stopped and stared at him. “Did you sleep in the buff?”

  He chuckled. “I sure did,” he said, “but then so did you.”

  She shrugged. “I did, but I’m not sure that it was deliberate. I was so exhausted.”

  “Well, in my case, it was deliberate,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping this way the last couple nights in your bed next to you.”

  She stared at him in shock.

  He chuckled. “And I’m kind of disappointed you didn’t notice.”

  Her laughter rang out. “You know what? I can understand that.” The surety that she was right where she needed to be overwhelmed her. The knowledge that he was hers and that she was his. She couldn’t even begin to plan for all eternity, but she was damn happy to take it one day at a time, just as they had been. She tugged him to her and said, “Now, please. I want you inside me now.”

  He settled back ever-so-slightly and whispered, “I don’t think you’re quite ready.” And he lowered his head to kiss her across her cheek and on her earlobe and down her neck, across to her collarbone. Meanwhile his hand slid across her hip, between her thighs, and just his thumb played with the little nub between the soft folds.

  Her hips arched up, and she cried out. “No. That’s not true,” she said, her head twisting from side to side. “I was ready days ago.”

  “I know,” he said. “I just want to make sure this is all about you.”

  Her eyes opened, and she stared at him. “This isn’t about me or you,” she said. “This is about us. This is about us being the best that we can be together.”

  He aligned his body with hers, sliding in between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him, high up on his hips, and he stared at her in surprise. “I’ve never even thought of it in that way before,” he said, “about being an us in bed.”

  She slid her arms around his neck, pulled him to her, and said, “Good, that’s just between us then.”

  He lowered his head, kissed her, his tongue plunging deep, even as his hips surged until he was seated right in the heart of her.

  She stilled. He lifted his head, looked down at her in worry. She took several slow deep breaths. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just been a while.”

  He shuffled ever-so-slightly, and she lifted her hips and wiggled. He closed his eyes, reaching for control.

  And then she whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m good.”

  He kissed her hard and said, “Are you sure?”

  “I said it’s been a while,” she said. “And that was a little more than I bargained for, if you know what I mean.”

  He chuckled and said, “As long as you’re okay.” And he lifted his hips and gently started to ride. Moments later, she hung on, giving as good as she got, and soon wasn’t capable of anything but responding blindly to the power, the presence of the moment, and the heat that surged through the two of them.

  When she came apart in his arms, she cried out for joy. As she collapsed, he roared above her, and she could feel his own orgasm ripping through her, and her body exploded again. She lay shuddering in shock.

  When he finally collapsed beside her, he said, “Good thing we’ve got a lifetime ahead of us because that went way too quickly.”

  She placed a finger on his lips. “Shh. It was perfect,” she said. “And, as you said, we have a lifetime for more.”

  “But, a lifetime aside, we can do it again in a minute, right?” And he waggled his eyebrows.

  She laughed in delight.

  Her phone rang, and she eyed it distrustfully.

  “If it’ll bother you,” he said, “why don’t you turn it off?”

  She lifted the phone and saw it was a message from Frankie. And as she scrolled down, a photo loaded. Then another and another. Close-ups of his paintings. She gasped in shock at the scenery, the soft pastel rivers, almost European settings. She stared at them in delight.

  “What are they?” he asked.

  She twisted her cell slightly so he could see, and he nodded. “Those are amazing.”

  She quickly texted him back. Absolutely wonderful. These are fantastic. She included a heart emoji to go along with it.

  “And that was for what?”

  She looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Validation. We all need it.”

  He nodded in comprehension. “And going back to that question I asked you earlier.”

  “About my painting?”

  “What makes them glow?” he asked. “What is that luminescence that makes them come alive?”

  She smiled and said, “It won’t make a whole lot of sense to you, unless you understand the energy of things and the colors of energy.”

  “I’m slowly learning,” he said, “particularly after Stefan gave me a few lessons.” On that note, he looked down and checked out her ankles, realizing they were completely free of the black bonds. He reached down, pulled her right knee up so that he could stroke the ankle. “The chains, the black energy, was wrapped around both of your ankles.”

  “Which is interesting,” she said, “because both my ankles were broken by my ex-fiancé,” she said. “So I guess it makes sense. He liked to tie his victims by the ankle.” Her tone turned sad as she remembered it.

  He leaned over and whispered, “We’ll leave that sadness behind now. But you still haven’t answered the question.”

  She laughed in delight, threw her arms around him, and said, “It’s the simplest answer in the world. I use energy, but I use good energy. I use what would heal the entire world, if people would stop and accept some into their heart.”

  He stared at her, and she could see the confusion in his gaze.

  “I infuse all my paintings with love.”

  Epilogue

  Thirty-year-old Gabby Mulder called out to her friends, “Go.”

  They all dove down the ski slope, racing to the bottom of the hill, on the last run of the day. The sun was high; the snow shone brightly on a wonderful Aspen day. Gabby was tired after a long but wonderful day of snowboarding, looking forward to hitting the hot tub. The others had wanted to do one more run, and she’d been willing to go along, knowing she could take it easy. Snowboarding was such a great way to combat stress.

  Something she had in spades.

  Especially after yesterday.

  She worked as a clerk at a local Aspen bookstore. A job she’d quickly fallen in love with, even though she’d only been at the resort town for the winter and planned to leave when the ski season was over. She and her best friend Wendy had been planning a winter here since forever. Now the end of March was near, and she couldn’t bear to think about leaving. She loved it here, … the town, the atmosphere, her job. Even her boss, although morose and cranky most of the time, was great.

  He had been looking for a gimmick to bring in more customers. As a lark, she had picked up a pack of tarot cards she’d found under the counter, and Gabby had offered free readings. That had been all fun and games, until several people had come back, confirming that her readings had been right on. Then somebody had returned, saying how horrible the message was that she’d been given because it all happened just as described, and now she was widowed and felt Gabby could have done something to save her husband’s life.

  That was followed by a visit from one of Aspen’s finest. Detective Damon Monroe had definitely not understood nor had he been impressed. In fact, it’s almost as if he thought she might have had something to do with the man’s death to make her prophecy come tru
e. She wasn’t sure whether he thought she was a scam artist or a murderer.

  His parting words, “Don’t leave town,” had been a sobering reality check.

  Her boss was furious with her, saying, “Gabby, these readings are supposed to be fun and positive. Nothing else. You don’t believe that stuff, do you?”

  She just looked at him mutely.

  “Stop them now,” he ordered. “Our business depends on the goodwill of the community. A bad reputation and ugly rumors will finish us. Your job is on the line over this.”

  She immediately nodded because she needed the job. The cost of living in Aspen was brutal. She shared an apartment with four other girls, none of whom could afford to move.

  Her friends knew about her tarot readings. She’d done several for them in the last few weeks. Had even done readings for them during breakfast this morning and hadn’t thought anything of it. When they’d asked her to pull a card for herself, that had been fine too. Until she pulled the one card that made them all gasp. The Death card.

  She laughed and said, “Whatever,” then tucked it into the box, as they’d all looked at her in worry. She smiled and said, “The Death card doesn’t mean a literal death, as in I die. It could just mean the death of a relationship or a job even.” Although she hoped it wasn’t the latter.

  Unconvinced, they all headed to the slopes. And now here she was, at the end of the day, happy that the dire card hadn’t proven to be a bad omen.

  With a pleased smile at the beautiful sunny view of whitecapped mountains around her, Gabby rode the mountain, bent into the next corner, loving the power and the sense of control she had as her board bit into the icy surface.

  Just then a hard push sent her careening forward. She cried out as her body instinctively bent and twisted to keep upright, even as she tried to see who’d pushed her. She struggled to brake. She was a good snowboarder, not racer material, but she’d have said better than average at least. Until now. Nothing she did brought her board back under her control. Or her speed. She dug the edge of the board in, her body almost scraping along the snow, but it wasn’t working. … An out-of-bounds marker flashed in warning up ahead.

  Panic hit her, as the wind slashed her cheeks and as icy-cold tears stung her eyes. Still her out-of-control board propelled her forward, as if guided by unseen hands.

  She hurtled toward the cliff’s edge, screaming at the top of her lungs in terror. Her friends hollered and waved at her, telling her to get back over.

  In desperation she threw herself to the ground to try to stop. Snow and ice burned into her skin and eyes, as she hurtled downward into a snowball of board and limbs that never seemed to stop spinning.

  Splat.

  She slammed into a small jut of the cliff, sending a cloud of snow falling on top of her. Gasping for air, terrified to move, she couldn’t even see for the instant whiteout. When she finally realized that her world had stopped moving, she peeked through her lashes. The snow was no longer falling, and she could see the ski hill stretch high above her to the right as she laid on her back. That emboldened her to test out her limbs. She moved her fingers and toes, but no pain ripped through her. She sighed softly in relief, rolling her head to the left to see how close to the edge she was.

  It. Was. Right. There.

  The cliff dropped away at her cheek. Her bent left knee suspended over the edge into nothingness.

  Oh, hell no. Too terrified to move, in case her small perch gave away, her heart slamming against her ribs, she froze on her tiny perch. It wasn’t much more than a tiny jut of rock keeping her from falling to her death below. Her mind couldn’t wrap around it. What the hell just happened?

  Then she remembered the tarot card. Death.

  No way was this about the Death card. Couldn’t be.

  A voice whispered in her ear, Death comes to us all. Sometimes earlier than we want and sometimes by another hand. You live this time.

  Shocked, she cried out, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The same voice chuckled, a sound of triumph and joy. You can call me Death. And what do I want? That’s easy. I want you.

  And, with that, the voice disappeared.

  Terrified, still in shock at how close she came to flying off a cliff, she lay pinned against the mountainside, afraid to move.

  Calls behind her had her raising her hand to let those racing toward her know she was okay. But was she really? She didn’t dare check, too paralyzed with fear and cold.

  Minutes later Wendy finally reached her, her face red and puffy from exertion. She stood a safe distance back and above her, calling out, “Oh, my God. Are you okay? What happened to you? Ski patrol is on their way. Don’t move.”

  Gabby had no plans to move ever. In fact, the longer she lay here, the more rigid and panicked she became at the thought.

  “What happened, and did I hear you yelling at someone earlier?” her friend asked hesitantly.

  Gabby rolled her head to look at her best friend in confusion. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought somebody just spoke to me.” She couldn’t very well tell Wendy about the message. She wouldn’t believe Gabby. No one would.

  “It’s all right,” Wendy said. “Take it easy. You probably just hit your head.”

  In truth, Gabby felt fine, which she shouldn’t have because that was a hell of a tumble. She could have—should have, in fact—broken several bones. Even her board was still attached to her bindings, her feet still locked into place.

  Just then the ski patrol arrived. Thank God. The first man unclipped his skis and made his way down to her.

  At her side, he stopped and stared. “You.”

  She bolstered her courage to smile at the detective, who only yesterday had told her not to leave town while they investigated her and the tarot card mess. “Uhm, hi. I’m sorry about all this.”

  He snorted. “What the hell was that all about? I saw you start down the mountain. Then you went nuts. That was incredibly irresponsible. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  She shuddered, shrank as small as she could, and said, “I don’t know what happened.” She could almost see a sneer forming on his face. “It wasn’t me,” she rushed to add. “I was pushed.”

  His gaze sharpened. He studied her as she lay here, not daring to even breathe deeply, in case that shifted the balance somehow. “Who pushed you?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  She looked up at him and whispered, “A ghost?”

  This concludes Book 17 of Psychic Visions: Stroke of Death.

  Read about Ice Maiden: Psychic Visions, Book 18

  Ice Maiden: Psychic Visions (Book #18)

  Gabby was loving her winter in Aspen, Colorado, until a dangerous event with a ghost nearly killed her. Not that she was a believer but, given the circumstances, she had to be open to such a possibility. When one of her roommates is brutally murdered in their shared apartment, rumors circulate of a serial killer returning, which just adds to Gabby’s pain. Confused and grieving, Gabby is forced to move to a new residence, while the police investigate the death, the crime scene at the apartment, and her.

  Detective Damon Fletcher considered Gabby a flighty troublemaker after an incident at the bookstore where she worked and then later on the slopes. But when one of her roommates is murdered, his interest in her grows to a whole new level.

  When another of Gabby’s roommates is killed, Gabby is caught in the middle, as suspicious gazes turn her way. What had she gotten mixed up in? Even worse how are these deaths connected to several cold cases? The danger escalates as events, ghostly and otherwise, strike closer to both Gabby and all those who she holds dear.

  Find Book 18 here!

  To find out more visit Dale Mayer’s website.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading Stroke of Death: Psychic Visions, Book 17! If you enjoyed the book, please take a moment and leave a short review here.

  Dear reader,

  I love
to hear from readers, and you can contact me at my website: www.dalemayer.com or at my Facebook author page. To be informed of new releases and special offers, sign up for my newsletter or follow me on BookBub. And if you are interested in joining Dale Mayer’s Reader Group, here is the Facebook sign up page.

  Cheers,

  Dale Mayer

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  About the Author

  Dale Mayer is a USA Today bestselling author best known for her Psychic Visions and Family Blood Ties series. Her contemporary romances are raw and full of passion and emotion (Second Chances, SKIN), her thrillers will keep you guessing (By Death series), and her romantic comedies will keep you giggling (It’s a Dog’s Life and Charmin Marvin Romantic Comedy series).

  She honors the stories that come to her – and some of them are crazy and break all the rules and cross multiple genres!

  To go with her fiction, she also writes nonfiction in many different fields with books available on resume writing, companion gardening and the US mortgage system. She has recently published her Career Essentials Series. All her books are available in print and ebook format.