by Rebecca York
Neither one of us was complete, she whispered in his mind.
Now we are.
How did it happen?
We found each other. We forged a…bond.
It could have killed us. If…
If we had a failure of nerve.
You’re too strong for that.
So are you. Neither one of us was going to give up.
He smiled, thinking about her strength—and his. Rolling to his side, he took her with him, feeling more peaceful than he ever had in his life.
You need to sleep.
So do you.
I don’t want to lose this.
I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll always be here.
Content, they drifted off, each of them needing to recharge the energy they had expended.
Sometime later, Jake woke, and she did, too. At the same time.
He eased far enough away to switch on the bedside lamp, then blinked in the sudden glow.
Raising himself on his elbow, he smiled down at Rachel.
“Would you have believed that could happen—if anyone had told you?”
“No.”
“We’ve found something nobody else has.”
“Maybe somebody,” she answered.
“Who?”
“People like us.”
Who would that be? he asked himself.
“Maybe Evelyn Morgan came to town to give us a heads-up.”
Some of the conversation was spoken, some was in their minds. It didn’t matter which as they lay there in bed, curled together.
She nodded gravely. “And now she’s dead.”
“And we have to figure out what she wanted to tell us.”
Isn’t this enough?
You know it isn’t. That guy’s still after us. And the cops.
She winced. “I’d kind of pushed that to the back of my mind.”
“So did I. Which was good, because we needed to focus on each other.”
To keep our heads from exploding, she clarified.
A nice way to put it, but yeah.
It was your thought.
“This isn’t productive,” he finally said. We have to find out what Evelyn Morgan wanted to tell us.
He could feel her thinking—and when an idea came into her head, he didn’t have to ask what it was.
Still, she said it aloud, maybe to test it. “The tarot deck she handled is in my shop. If I do a reading with it, maybe I can get more insight into what she wanted.”
“Kind of dangerous going back there.”
She ignored the observation and went on. “But we need clues. We can’t just keep running.”
He sighed. “All right. But not until tomorrow.”
She laughed. “I think I know why. You want to find out if making love is going to give us a headache again.”
“I don’t think it will. Like what you said about a woman’s virginity. The first time has unpleasant aspects. But you’re right. We’d better find out.”
RACHEL WOKE AND FELT A moment of disorientation. Then she felt Jake lying next to her. Not just his body but his mind, so open and vulnerable to her that she could barely breathe.
I know, his voice echoed in her head as he reached for her. She came into his arms.
Like coming home.
To a life I never knew.
They basked in the wonder of it as they began to kiss and stroke each other. A couple making lazy love in the morning. Only it was so much more. They were strengthening the link between them.
Finally, the need for fuel drove them from the motel. They were both feeling wonderful. Yet she knew they were both unsettled, as well.
Jake squeezed her hand.
Be careful what you wish for.
Are you sorry?
Of course not, he answered.
But she knew it wasn’t entirely true. The lack of mental privacy was too much a part of the equation.
We’ll figure out how to deal with it.
We hope.
If that guy doesn’t get us.
He won’t.
She wanted to cling to Jake’s reassurance. But the man who kept finding them seemed to have superhuman powers, at least with regard to getting up and walking away from injuries that would have landed anyone else in the hospital.
Jake pulled his hand away, lessening the mental connection between them.
When they passed a pancake house, she wanted to stop.
Sorry. Too public.
I know.
They settled for a quick breakfast from the drive-through of a fast-food restaurant.
“Forget the pancake place,” Jake muttered. “We should be celebrating at a special breakfast. Maybe at Brennan’s.”
She smiled at him as she took in the mental picture he was projecting. The two of them at an elegantly set table, sipping mimosas as they waited for their orders of eggs Benedict.
We’ve got plenty of time for that.
But this is our only first morning after.
She laid her hand over his. There was nothing either of them could say that the other wasn’t thinking. It should have been a magical time for them. Instead, they were dodging a killer—and the cops. And they didn’t even know what the killer was after. Something to do with Evelyn Morgan. But what?
Jake stayed under the speed limit on the way back to town, and they both kept an eye out for patrol officers who might be looking for the man-and-woman murder team.
“What do you think they found at the crime scene that pointed back to us?” she asked. “I mean, it might not be evidence the guy planted at all.”
“We both touched her.”
“You mean, we left DNA? I don’t think it works that way.”
“Well, let’s go low-tech. Maybe she had both our phone numbers and addresses with her. That might do it. Maybe she wrote something down about us, and the cops have the information.”
“That guy said he got my name from her daybook. Does that mean he didn’t take it?”
“If he wanted to frame us, that would be a smart move.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “And then there was a smashed window and a gunfight in the apartment over your warehouse.” She sighed. “I guess it’s lucky we didn’t stick around to make a police report.”
He slowed when they entered the city, then took a route to the Garden District.
“Where are we going?”
“To pick up a different vehicle.”
“How many do you have?”
“Like I said, several.”
They drove into an alley running in back of a row of painted ladies—Victorian mansions that were decked out in multiple colors in the New Orleans tradition. Behind the formal garden of a mauve, green and purple house was a detached garage where Jake exchanged the Mercedes for a blue panel truck with the back and side windows blacked out.
“Do you transport drugs in this thing?” she asked as she transferred her travel bag to the back of the vehicle.
“Actually, I use it to pick up antiques from estate sales. I bought it secondhand and never bothered to put my name on the side.”
“Lucky for us.”
They turned toward the French Quarter and drove past her shop. The closed sign was still on the door, and there was no one hanging around.
“Would they have stationed an officer inside?” Rachel asked.
“Don’t know. But they’re probably not expecting us to come back.”
“We don’t have to go in from the street. We can get into my apartment, then go down the inside stairway we used the other day.”
“Good.”
“Drive around to the alley. There’s a small lot in back of a dress shop a few doors down from my place, but it went out of business.”
When they pulled in, Jake asked her to wait while he took a quick look around.
As he stepped out of view, she felt her stomach clench. She might be having trouble coping with being so open to him when they were touching, but having him out of her sight was w
orse. At least when they were in so much trouble.
When he reappeared, she breathed out a small sigh.
“Looks like the coast is clear.”
They climbed up an outside stairway to a second-story balcony, then onto the next roof and over to the back of Rachel’s shop. A fire escape led to her apartment.
They climbed again, and she stopped when she came to the window, which was locked.
“Let me have a go at it,” Jake said.
When she stepped aside, he started jiggling the frame, and it didn’t take too long before the old lock sprang open.
“Nice!” she muttered.
“Sorry. I guess you should get new ones when this is all over.”
“If it’s ever over.”
He opened the window and stepped through into her living room. She followed, seeing him look around at the antiques she’d inherited from her parents and the finds she’d picked up at flea markets. They’d been here before, but they’d been too busy for him to take in the surroundings.
“You have good taste.”
“Coming from you, that’s a big compliment.”
He reached for her, and folded her close. She leaned into him, and they swayed together on the middle of the Oriental rug that she’d found at a garage sale.
“This is hard,” she said in a strained voice.
“For a lot of reasons. First of all, things are happening so fast that we can’t really absorb them.”
She wanted to ask how everything was going to come out. Although she didn’t voice the question, she heard his answer.
The way we want it to.
Which means what?
We’ll figure it out.
It wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. But she’d just met him a couple of days ago. What was he supposed to say, that they were going to get married and settle down like a normal couple?
He probably knew what she was thinking, and she silently cursed the relationship that had them joined at the mind.
“We’d better get the cards and get out of here,” he said.
“Wait. There’s something else.” Rachel went to the closet where she kept the things from her parents’ house and retrieved the album. After setting it on the dresser, she flipped rapidly to the page with the picture where she was standing with her mother in front of the clinic.
“Have you ever seen this place?” she asked Jake.
He studied the picture. “I don’t know. Why?”
“I think it’s important.”
He didn’t bother to ask why as he continued to stare at the photo. “That’s you?”
“Yes.”
“You were a cute little kid. How old were you there?”
She took in her appearance. “I look like I’m about three.”
“I don’t remember much from that age.”
“Neither do I.” She sighed. “I’d like to read the name on the sign, but the letters are blocked by that branch.”
“Take the picture with you.”
She slipped the photo out of the mountings and slid it into her purse.
“We’d better finish our business here.”
Nodding, she led him to the stairs, but he held her back so that he went first.
When he reached the ground floor, he hesitated for a moment before waving her down the stairs.
In the shop, she looked around. The place was as she’d left it, with the overturned chair and the bloodstain still in the middle of the floor—a vivid reminder of their narrow escape.
She shivered as she looked at the blood and the other evidence of their fight with the intruder. The only comment that came to mind was, “You said someone was going to clean it up.”
“Slipped my mind. Sorry.”
“We’ve been busy.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed, then looked around. “I don’t think the cops have been here yet, but they’re going to show up sometime.”
“What about Eric Smithson?”
He shrugged.
With her heart pounding, she crossed to the corner where she kept her tarot decks. She had just picked up the one that Evelyn Morgan had handled, when the shop door opened, and she froze, remembering that she hadn’t locked it.
When a tough-looking man in a business suit stepped through the door, Jake grabbed her free hand, holding tight while he turned to face the guy.
Rachel’s pulse was pounding as she slipped the cards into her purse.
“Who are you?” Jake said as though he had every right to be there and the other guy was trespassing.
“Detective Peter Overly.”
Not the same detective Jake had met outside the Bourbon Street Arms.
As the man stared at them, his eyes widened. “What the hell?” He must have been reaching for a gun, but his hand stilled as a look of confusion swept over his face.
Rachel knew what Jake had in mind. As he pressed his shoulder to hers, she added her silent voice to his.
We’re just customers. We came in here looking for a reading. You don’t recognize us. We aren’t the people you’re looking for.
“We’re just customers looking for Rachel Gregory,” Jake said in an even voice.
Overly gave them a hard look. “No, you’re—” He stopped, looking even more muddled. “You’re…”
“Customers looking for Rachel Gregory,” Jake repeated, reinforcing the statement with a mental message. “Sorry to intrude.”
The guy wasn’t totally ready to buy it.
“How did you get in here?”
“I guess the same way you did. The door wasn’t locked.”
As he spoke, Jake edged around the detective, heading for the exit. Rachel came with him, her fingers digging into his as she prayed that they could pull this off. They’d gotten Eric Smithson to crash through a window. An act of violence.
This wasn’t violent. It should be easier. Except that there was something about this cop that helped him resist them. She didn’t know what it was, but it gave her the idea that some people were more susceptible than others.
“You consulted Gregory before?” he asked in a challenging voice.
“No,” Jake said.
“Yes,” she said. Unfortunately, they were both too focused on the detective to be in sync. He gave them a hard look.
Rachel tried to recover. “I have, but my husband hasn’t.”
“Why are you here?”
“I persuaded him to try her,” Rachel said, both of them still backing away.
“Yes, she sounds like one talented lady,” Jake added, spreading it on a little thick.
“Let’s see some identification,” the detective answered.
“Sorry, we made a mistake,” Jake said, still trying to misdirect the guy.
Was this really going to work?
The detective was watching them with narrowed eyes, and Rachel could almost picture his mind trying to sort reality from the fantasy Jake was projecting.
“Come on, honey. I think we showed up at the wrong time,” Jake murmured as he led them around the shelf that had fallen over.
They were almost to the door when the detective suddenly straightened and called out, “No! Wait. You’re not customers. You’re Gregory and Harper. The fugitives. Stop right there.”
Chapter Eight
As the detective pulled his gun, they both went rigid.
“Hands in the air.”
When they complied, he said, “I didn’t think you’d be dumb enough to come back here.”
My fault, Rachel silently said.
We’ll get out of it.
How?
Put your hand on your forehead. Act like you’re going to faint.
Not far from the truth.
Rachel made a moaning sound and swayed.
As the detective looked toward her, Jake leaped forward and gave him a shove, sending him crashing onto a bookcase full of knickknacks that Rachel had on display.
When the gun discharged, Rachel’s heart leaped into her
throat. But the bullet crashed into the ceiling as small jars, boxes and figurines rained down on the detective.
For good measure, Jake pushed at a wooden display table, sending it toppling onto the man.
Before he could extricate himself, Jake was pulling Rachel out the door.
He charged down the sidewalk, hurrying her along. They turned a corner into an alley, then to the back of the buildings, to the lot where Jake had left the truck.
“Is he following?” Rachel panted.
“I think he was still in the shop when we turned the corner.” He looked at her. “Sorry, I think I broke a bunch of your stuff.”
“Consider it the cost of doing business.”
He made a snorting sound as he started the engine and pulled out of the space, heading down the alley at a reasonable pace, not as though anyone was after them.
Rachel craned her neck around, but she didn’t see anyone following, either on foot or in a vehicle. Hopefully, the detective wouldn’t even know what they were driving.
“I think we got away,” she murmured.
“For now.”
“Oh, thanks.” She swung her head toward him. “That was clever, though, trying to convince him we were someone else.”
“It worked for a few moments.”
“Long enough for us to get away.”
He sighed. “You mean, with a power assist from a bookcase and a display table.”
“We’ll get better at it. Maybe you have a particular talent for putting ideas into people’s heads.”
“I don’t think I’ll put it on a job application.”
She winced. “I wish we could get out of town and hole up somewhere to practice mental skills.”
“We can’t hole up somewhere. We have to stay here and figure out what’s going on. And clear our names.”
“You’re right,” she said, nodding. “I guess I was just wishing that wasn’t the case.”
She laid her hand over his as they drove, the contact comforting and at the same time unsettling.
She could hear him mentally running through possible scenarios and discarding them.
Let’s try the cards, she said. We went to a lot of trouble to get them.
Yeah. We’ll check into another motel, not the one we chose last time.
Because she needed a little separation, she pulled her hand away and leaned back, closing her eyes as he drove.
“You need to dye your hair,” he suddenly said after they’d ridden in silence for a few miles.
