by Rebecca York
“I guess so.”
“And I should shave my head.”
“No! That will look awful.”
He laughed. “You care?”
“You’re my handsome devil of a wheeler-dealer.”
“Okay. I’ll stick with the hat. And change the look of my clothing. You, too.”
She nodded. When he came to a discount department store, he slowed and pulled into the parking lot.
“We’ll go in separately. And take as little time as possible. I’ll get some plaid shirts and jeans.”
“Not your look.”
“Like I said…” He gave her a considering look. “Stay down while I’m gone.”
She slouched into her seat, thinking that being on the run wasn’t great for her back.
Jake returned in less than fifteen minutes. In his new clothes he looked nothing like the successful businessman he was and more like a good ol’ boy. He tossed a bag in the backseat, then after getting in, he handed her some cash.
She might have protested, but he put his hand on her arm, silently telling her that what he had was hers, too. Which meant what for the future? She might have asked, but she knew neither one of them wanted to look too far ahead.
Before they could get into a mental discussion that was going to make them both uncomfortable, she got out and headed for the store. In the women’s department, she bought jeans, a jean jacket and a couple of tops. As she changed in the ladies’ dressing room, she tried to keep her mind in neutral. But the reason for the shopping trip came slamming back at her when she went to the health and beauty aids department. She’d never thought of dying her hair before, and when she started reading the directions, all the steps she’d have to take to go blond made her stomach knot.
When she got back to the car, Jake put his hand on her arm.
“Couldn’t bring yourself to dye your hair?” he asked, though she knew he’d read the answer in her thoughts.
“Sorry.”
He touched a dark curl near her ear. “I didn’t like the idea much. You look perfect with dark hair.”
“What about leaving it down?”
“Right.”
She made the switch as he drove to the other side of town, where they picked up lunch at another fast-food restaurant, then checked into a small motel.
“Did you tell that sleeping-with-a married-woman story again?” she asked when he returned.
“Naw. I just did my good old Southern-boy routine,” he said, gesturing toward his downscale outfit.
She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. At least not for her.
Inside the room, they sat at the table by the window, and she managed to eat a little of her burger and drink her iced tea before getting out the tarot deck that she’d shoved in her pocket.
He got up and restlessly walked around the room as she shuffled through the deck, finding the cards that Evelyn Morgan had selected for her reading.
Jake came over to the table as she pulled out the Fool and laid it upside down.
“Why is it upside down?” he asked.
“Because I’m laying the cards out the way they were when Evelyn Morgan pulled them.”
“It makes a difference?”
“Yes. A lot of cards that you’d want to get in the upright position are much less favorable when turned the other way.” She gestured toward the Fool. “Upright, it can point to an adventure. Maybe a new life or a new job or a new relationship.” She tapped the card. “Upright, he’s full of optimism and hope. He has a clean slate. A fresh start. And maybe that’s what Evelyn was looking for when she came to New Orleans. When you turn it the other way, the same desires are expressed, but instead of an adventure, you’re likely to get a disaster.” She kept her hand on the card. “Look at his satchel. Everything’s going to fall out. The sun’s setting instead of rising. And the guy looks like he’s going to fall off the cliff.”
He shrugged.
“You don’t look convinced.”
“I guess I can see it, when you point it out.”
“To me, it’s always made sense.”
“You’re a natural.”
She shuffled through the deck again, pulling the Nine of Wands and reversing it, as well.
Jake studied the card, obviously trying to figure out the meaning. “The guy’s got a bandage on his head.”
“Yes. And he’s holding one wand—with eight behind him. It represents the desire to protect and help others. But upside down, it looks like the guy can barely take care of himself.”
“How long did it take you to learn all that?”
“Like I said, the basics came easily. But I’m still learning the finer points.”
Next she pulled the Hanged Man.
“That looks grim,” Jake said.
“It could indicate that she’s sorry about her former life and contemplating making sacrifices for the greater good.”
“She did end up making a sacrifice—her life.”
“I’m guessing that wasn’t in her plans.”
She pulled more cards, explaining what each meant.
“Are you stalling?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going into a lot of detail on all the cards.”
She raised her chin, trying to deny his accusation, but the truth was Jake had read her mind. Even without touching her. “Okay, I’m stalling because I’m afraid I’m not going to like what I find out.”
“You have to do it anyway,” he said, punching out the words.
“I know.”
She picked up the cards she’d laid out, sifting them through her hands, trying to get more than she had at the initial reading, but nothing came to her.
“So much for your premonition.”
Feeling defeated, she put the cards down and looked up at Jake. “I thought…” She trailed off in frustration.
“Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I risked us getting arrested by going back to get this particular deck. The one she’d touched.”
“Maybe you need a little power assist.” Jake walked in back of her and laid his hands on her shoulders.
Like the first time they’d touched, she felt a jolt similar to an electric current going through her, only this time it was familiar, not alarming.
When she sighed, Jake pressed harder, and she caught her breath as she was suddenly assaulted by vivid pictures. Scenes from years ago.
She had expected to get some insight into Evelyn Morgan’s life, but this wasn’t from the woman who had come to her for a reading. This was something from her own past.
The scene was in a doctor’s waiting room.
Not just a doctor’s office. A clinic, she answered Jake’s mental question because the word leaped into her mind. And all at once she knew more.
The photograph! It’s the place from the photograph.
You recognize it?
No, I just know, she answered, feeling a thrill of excitement at the revelation. She’d had no clue where the picture was taken. Now she was seeing it before her.
Where is it? Jake asked.
I know it was a clinic. I still don’t know where it was.
Was Evelyn Morgan there?
I don’t know, Rachel answered. But I was. She saw herself—and other children—playing with an assortment of toys. There was a school bus with wooden figures that fit into holes in the interior. A garage with toy cars. A farm.
Men and women, undoubtedly the parents, sat on chairs and couches around the room. Some were writing on clipboards—probably filling out forms or questionnaires. Others watched their children. There wasn’t much conversation among the parents.
“What kind of clinic is it?” Jake probed.
“I don’t know. But I went there for tests. The children don’t look like they were sick, do they?”
“No.”
The strangled sound of his voice jolted her.
“What is it?”
He dragged
in a breath and let it out before answering, “I was one of them.”
She blinked, struggling to process his words. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes. I remember it. I was there, too.”
She twisted around, and stared at him.
Almost in slow motion, Jake moved his hand down her arm, then to her wrist and finally her hand as he moved around the table, pulled the other chair over and sat down beside her.
She closed her eyes, studying the long-ago scene. She’d forgotten about it, or blocked it out. Now it was so vivid in her mind she felt she could reach out and touch it.
It was as if she was a child again. Back there, where her parents had brought her. And the other children she saw were the same ones, over and over.
“I came there every few months,” Jake said in a voice that was full of wonder.
“I did, too.”
“And…”
As they sat holding hands, she looked up and saw a boy a few years older watching her. It was Jake, and she gasped in shock. The reaction wasn’t from the little girl she’d been. It was from the woman who recognized him.
The little boy scooted over, pushing a school bus full of little peg people. “Wanna play?”
“What’s your name?”
“Jake.”
“I’m Rachel.”
We talked.
Yes.
“I’ll be the driver. You be the little girl going to school.”
“Okay.” She picked up a peg person with brown hair and a red dress.
In the present, Jake’s hand tightened on her, but she couldn’t take any more. Twisting out of his grasp she jumped up and stood with her shoulders pressed to the door, gasping.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed.
“It was a shock—to both of us.”
She nodded, her mind desperately trying to sort through new information.
“I’d forgotten all about it,” he said.
“So had I.”
“Maybe because something disturbing happened there.”
Her gaze flew to him. “What?”
“We went there…a lot.”
His expression turned hard. “Whatever’s happening to us now, I can’t believe it doesn’t have something to do with that place.”
She nodded, unsure and yet certain at the same time.
“You went with your parents?” she asked.
“Yes. Obviously it was before they were killed.”
“Then you went into foster care.”
“Yeah.” He made a rough sound. “Those years were pretty bad. I guess I tried to wipe them out. And anything before, too.”
“What happened to your parents?” she asked.
“They died in a fire. My mother threw me out the bedroom window, and somebody caught me.”
She winced.
“She saved my life, but not her own.”
When she started to speak again, he raised his hand, palm out. “Talking about my childhood after my parents died isn’t going to help us figure out what that place was.”
“You’re right.”
“What if they were…doing…some kind of experiments on kids?”
“Like what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have a clue. Psychological testing, maybe.”
She found herself following his line of thinking. “Or, you know, there are places that advertise for test subjects and they pay the people they use. What if they were testing some kind of vaccine or drug that turned out to have weird effects on us?”
“And our parents did it for the money?”
“Did your parents need cash?”
“If they did, I was too little to know about it. They died when I was five.”
They were both silent, trying to come up with scenarios. But they didn’t have enough information. They didn’t even know where to find the damn clinic.
“Did you have a good relationship with your parents?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“I didn’t,” she whispered.
“In what way?”
“You can probably figure out most of it. I wasn’t very close to them. I could spend hours in my own fantasy world. And then…I got interested in psychic stuff. They were down-to-earth people, and what they called mumbo jumbo made them uncomfortable. I went to college early and never really came home again. I hung out around Jackson Square in the summers. After college, I moved in with a group of girls looking for a roommate, but I was never really close to any of them, either.”
Her eyes drifted out of focus as she remembered that time.
“My parents hated me hanging around the tarot card readers. They wanted me to get a real job. I just stopped calling them, and they stopped calling me.” Her breath hitched. “I didn’t even know that my mom was sick until my dad phoned to say she was dead.”
He pushed back his chair and strode toward her, taking her in his arms.
They should have told you, so you could visit with her. Maybe make your peace with her.
I disappointed them.
Stop. You couldn’t pretend to be something you weren’t.
She nodded against his shoulder. She’d gotten up to separate herself from him, but now she held on tight, absorbing the feel of his arms around her—and the soothing thoughts he sent her. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Nothing she had ever expected.
Yet she couldn’t completely surrender, because that would mean losing herself.
AS JAKE HELD HER, HE caught the thought. He wanted to comfort her, yet he couldn’t help feeling a similar resistance to the link that had formed between them. Maybe the resistance was stronger for him than it was for her. He’d been on his own since he was fifteen. Sharing his thoughts and feelings with anyone was entirely new. And it put him on edge.
It’s okay to want some privacy, she whispered in his mind.
Are you sure?
Go on.
Slowly, he eased away.
“I’d better call my office.” He was grateful for the excuse. “Maybe Patrick can tell me something new.”
“You mean, like they caught the killer, and we’re off the hook? That would be good, but won’t the police…be tracing calls?”
“To be safe, I’ll buy a prepaid phone, then throw it away after I check in.”
“Good idea.”
“We’d better drive to another town, make the call and get out of there.”
“How long can we keep paying for rooms—and leaving after a few hours?”
“For a while.” He laughed. “If they’re not luxury suites.”
They left the motel room they’d checked into so recently and drove for about thirty miles until they came to a commercial area with a drugstore chain. Rachel waited in the car while Jake bought a phone.
Out in the car again, he activated the instrument and punched in the number of his office.
Patrick answered, sounding tentative.
“It’s me,” Jake said.
“The cops have been all over the place. I’m afraid they’ve made sort of a mess.”
“I’ll bet.” He dragged in a breath and let it out. “I’m going to be lying low until I figure out how to clear my name.”
“You and Rachel Gregory. Is she with you?”
”Let’s not talk any longer than we have to.”
“Sure. But don’t hang up yet. You got a call from a guy who says he’s got urgent business with you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Patrick gave him a number.
“And you don’t know who he is?” Jake asked.
“Not a clue.”
Chapter Nine
Jake wanted to ask more questions, but he knew staying on the line would only make him easier to trace if the cops had his office phone tapped. With a sigh, he ended the call.
“What did he say?” Rachel asked.
“The cops have been searching my office—and probably my house, too.”
“And by now they’ve undoubtedly
turned my shop into a wreck. I mean more than we already did with that detective.”
“Don’t worry about that now.” He gestured toward the phone. “Patrick says somebody wants to talk to me.”
“Who?”
“The guy didn’t give his name.”
“It could be the police being tricky.” She hitched a breath. “Or that guy who’s been after us.”
“We’d recognize his voice.”
“But what if it’s the police?”
“I think I should follow it up. I mean, what if it’s someone who knows about Evelyn Morgan—or the clinic?”
“How could they?”
He shrugged, then turned toward her. “If you tell me to forget about it, I will.”
“I think we have to,” she answered.
“Do you have a bad feeling about it?”
She considered the question. “Maybe. But I’m not in very good psychic shape. It could just be my general level of anxiety.”
He started the engine and turned out of the parking lot, then, in the interest of caution, drove ten miles down the road before pulling into a picnic area. Once again he cut the engine. As he punched in the number, Rachel put her hand on his arm.
They both waited tensely.
A guy picked up on the second ring.
“This is Jake Harper. You wanted to talk to me?”
“Thanks for getting back to me, man.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mickey.”
“And?”
“I have some information that can help you.”
“Like what?” Jake asked.
“I’d rather not discuss it over the phone.”
Jake’s grip tightened on the cell. “You need to be a little more specific.”
“About your background.”
“That covers a pretty wide area. Give me a hint,” Jake said, trying not to sound impatient. He had never met this guy, but he picked up on a strong feeling of dislike.
The man laughed. “Okay. You been having any mental changes recently?”
“Maybe.”
“I can tell you some stuff about it. But we got to meet in person.”
“Where are you?”
“In New Orleans.”
“Do you know the city?”
The man hesitated. “Not so much.”
