Perfectly Matched

  Dovie leaned forward. “Wine, Preston?”

  She shook her head.

  “Tapas?”

  “No thanks.”

  Dovie threw me a worried glance. I wondered how long the blood work would take to return.

  Thoreau stirred from his sleep and came over to sniff the goodies on the table. Marisol lifted him up onto the chair next to her. “By the way, Lucy, you’re not going to believe what I found out about your little cat.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Remember how I told you her microchip came from a clinic where I volunteered?”

  “You told me that this morning. I’m not senile. Of course I remember.”

  “Cranky,” Marisol said.

  Dovie nodded.

  I was cranky. It had been a bad idea to come up here tonight. I wasn’t fit for company.

  “Go on,” Em said to Marisol. “Lucy’s just worried about Sean.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “You’re forgiven.” Marisol’s hair gleamed in the moonlight. “Anyway, I went to the clinic this afternoon, and they let me peek at her paperwork. You’re never going to believe who placed that microchip in Ebbie.”

  The hairs raised on the back of my neck. “You?”

  She nodded. “Isn’t that crazy? And as soon as I saw that file, I remembered her. Such a sweet cat. She’d been a stray when she came in nearly starved. I even took her home with me and fostered her until she put on some weight. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her today.”

  I bit my lip, recalling a recent conversation I’d had with Jeremy.

  “And Ebbie told you she wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently,” he said, “only you can find my soul mate.”

  Ebbie had once known Marisol... “When did you microchip her?”

  “Late November. Why?”

  “Just trying to piece a timeline together. It’s not long after that she was placed with Jeremy Cross.” He’d said just before Christmas.

  “That makes sense. It was right around the time she ran away from the clinic.”

  I set my wine on the table. My stomach was too topsy-turvy to finish it. “She ran away?”

  “Apparently. I didn’t know about it, because by then my stint volunteering there was over. One of the techs told me today that Ebbie was their one and only escapee.”

  “That’s really strange,” Em said. “That she’d somehow find her way back to you.”

  “Not strange,” I said. “Fate.”

  “Does she have any thoughts about who your soul mate might be?”

  “She says that you can find her.”

  “What do you mean?” Marisol asked.

  I smiled. “It means you might have to cancel your date with Mr. Delectable. You’re already spoken for by Dr. Doolittle.”

  ***

  A couple of hours later, Thoreau and I made our way back down to my cottage. I had fully intended to spend the night at Dovie’s, but I hadn’t been able to sleep, and decided I’d rather be at home.

  Ebbie and Grendel met me at the door as if I’d been gone for weeks not hours. I showered them with love and affection and crutched my way into the kitchen for some more ibuprofen.

  While there, I pulled out a piece of processed cheese and removed the cellophane. I broke the cheese into quarters and tossed three to Grendel (who liked to chase his treats), and one to Ebbie, who sat daintily on the counter.

  I leaned down and said, “It’s Marisol, isn’t it?”

  She blinked at me.

  I rubbed her ears. “Okay. We’ll figure this out.”

  Because as much as Ebbie wanted the match between Marisol and Jeremy, I wasn’t so sure about it.

  A ghost of a man.

  What kind of best friend would I be to set Marisol up with someone who claimed he was a ghost of a man?

  Ebbie nibbled at her food while I made my way to the couch. As my laptop warmed up, I checked my cell phone. Sean hadn’t answered my last text, and it had been more than fifteen minutes.

  I texted again: sleepy?

  He wasn’t one to fall asleep on the job, but it was hot, he was bored, and he was exhausted. I couldn’t rule it out.

  While I waited for him to write back, I typed “Jeremy Cross” into a search engine again, and came up with the same results as last time.

  Grendel hopped up beside me, looking for attention. After I gave him lots of scratching and rubbing, he hopped down again and sniffed Thoreau, who was curled up in the dog bed next to the hearth. Ordinarily, he would join him there, but tonight, he crossed the room and leapt into the bassinet.

  Ebbie ran in from the kitchen and joined him.

  He flicked an ear in her direction, and she nudged him with the top of her head.

  I thought for sure Grendel was going to pitch a fit, but he sank down, curling up to go to sleep. Ebbie did the same.

  I thought again about opposites attracting. Which led my attention back to the computer screen. As far as I could tell, Jeremy and Marisol were about as opposite as they could be.

  I typed in everything I could think of having to do with psychics and animal communicators. Marshfield Farms. Orlinda. Anything.

  Needing a break, I texted Sean: Anything new?

  When he still didn’t text back, I called him. It rang and rang, and finally his voicemail picked up. I left a message asking him to call me back. That I was getting worried.

  Which I was. But I tried not to let it overwhelm me.

  Biting my lip, I stared at my cursor, and thought about what I knew about Jeremy. Which led me to thinking about the men in the woods.

  I typed in “FBI Psychic Jeremy.”

  The very first hit was an article about FBI profiler, psychic Jeremiah Norcross.

  Bingo.

  For the next hour, I skimmed articles and pieced together Jeremy’s life.

  Gifted psychic, recruited by the FBI while in college. He worked the toughest cases, tapping into the criminal minds of some of the most depraved people in the world.

  Until one of those people killed his wife and his daughter.

  And almost killed him.

  Jeremiah Norcross then fell off the map.

  I guessed that’s when he’d changed his name and became a farmer.

  He’d gone into hiding.

  You must remember that some scars run deeper than what’s on the surface. Wounds run deep.

  Orlinda was a wise, wise woman.

  On a hunch, I typed the words Annie Hendrix had heard on my front porch last night. The words I suspected came from Ebbie—and also added the town Jeremy had given me as well.

  “Hidden Hollow + Marshfield.”

  Up popped a yellow page listing for Hidden Hollow Wildlife Sanctuary in Marshfield, Massachusetts.

  I leaned back, feeling a sense of relief.

  I’d found this ghost.

  But what did I do with this information?

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I looked down at my hands, shocked that they were so small. And dirty. Until I realized I was finger painting, making big smiling suns and colorful rainbows on a large piece of construction paper.

  Until I realized they weren’t my hands at all—I was once again in someone’s head, watching the world through another set of eyes.

  Paint splashed, and looking down, I saw it had splattered onto a pink skirt.

  A woman came into the room and said, “Almost done?”

  The woman looked familiar to me, and I tried to place her. Streaky blond hair, big blue eyes.

  “Almost.”

  “Five minutes, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  The small hands took a moment to paint a large flower onto the paper, and I noticed the stack of mail on the table. I didn’t recognize the man’s name on the bill, James Rockwell, but took note of the address—it was in Phoenix.

  Then we were moving, keeping arms straight out in front so as not to get paint
on the walls.

  Down a hallway, past a pink bedroom filled with toys. To a small washroom.

  “Annabeth!” a male voice called.

  Turning, I saw a man in the doorway.

  He smiled. “Hurry, hurry!”

  My heart nearly stopped. I definitely recognized the man. He had been the one who took Bethany, minus the beard.

  Paint ran into the sink, the colors blurring together. More soap. More scrubbing.

  And finally—finally!—a glance into the mirror.

  I nearly cried as I looked into the almond-shaped brown eyes of Bethany Hill.

  I bolted upright, my eyes flying open. Breathing hard, I looked around. I was on the couch in my cottage. All was quiet.

  At some point Ebbie had moved from the bassinet to the couch alongside me and had brought a friend with her—the pink bear. It sat on the couch pillow, right next to where my head had just been resting.

  I picked it up and stared at it, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  What I had just seen.

  I glanced at the clock. It was just after three in the morning. I grabbed my phone. It had been hours since I heard from Sean.

  My heart pounded. He should have called by now. He’d promised me no more disappearing acts...

  I dialed Sam.

  “Lucy?” he asked, sounding bored.

  “Have you talked to Sean?”

  “Not since earlier.”

  “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “He’s probably asleep,” Sam said.

  I wanted to believe him. Prayed he was right. But I knew it wasn’t. Felt it. “Something’s wrong.”

  There was a beat of silence before Sam said, “I’ll drive over and check.”

  “Hurry. And call me when you get there.”

  I stood, picked up my crutches and the bear.

  Was it possible Bethany was alive?

  It was a ridiculous hour to call someone, but I picked up the phone to call Orlinda. Only to be told she’d already checked out of the hotel. Apparently, she’d gotten an early flight out, but that meant I didn’t have any means of communicating with her—she had no cell phone.

  I couldn’t help but hope that Bethany was in fact alive. There was no reason to doubt it. The other visions I’d had like this one had proven true.

  Then I thought about what Graham had said, about the shallow grave. It was entirely possible he’d been wrong. That his vision had misled him, as so many of mine (when I touched Sean’s hands) had done to me. Psychics were not infallible.

  I wanted to do a jig.

  I was taking several deep breaths, trying to get my heart rate back to normal when a pair of headlights swept across the windows.

  Sean? I hobbled quickly to the door to peek out. Hope bubbled, and then burst when I saw who was getting out of the car in the driveway.

  Dr. Paul McDermott.

  As soon as he took two steps toward my door, he was flanked by two intimidating men dressed all in black. He looked about to pee his pants, so I pulled open the front door. They helped Dr. Paul up the steps and said to me, “Do you know him?”

  I gazed at them, at how intensely scary they were. “What’s the safe word?”

  I saw a flicker in the eyes of the man closest to me. He leaned in and whispered into my ear. “Fuzzy navel.”

  I tried not to smile—it wasn’t really a humorous situation—but I couldn’t help myself. This rock-solid, scary-as-hell man saying “fuzzy navel” was about the funniest thing I’d seen in days.

  If Dr. Paul had come with nefarious intent, these men had undoubtedly changed his mind. “You can let him go,” I said.

  They nodded and dropped his arms. Spinning, they disappeared into the darkness.

  Dr. Paul stumbled into the cottage. His face had gone pale. “Holy ninjas! Who the hell are they?”

  “Protection.”

  “Effective.”

  I nodded and set the pink bear back into the bassinet. If Dr. Paul saw that I’d been holding it, he didn’t say anything. “What are you doing here?” Suddenly, I noticed he wore a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt along with a pair of flip-flops. There were still pillow markings on his face. He’d obviously just tumbled out of bed.

  “I had a dream,” he said, taking off his glasses and pulling a hand down his face.

  “About Bethany?”

  “Bethany?” He slid his glassed back onto the bridge of his nose. “No, it was—”

  The sound of footsteps on the front porch interrupted him. The screen door pulled open and Preston stuck in her bedhead. “I saw the commotion,” she was saying, “and came down to check it out.” Her gaze zeroed in on Dr. Paul. “But I’ll be going now.”

  “Get back in here,” I said, “and sit down.” By the looks of her, she wasn’t going to make it back up the hill. “Dr. Paul was just going to tell me about a dream he had.”

  Preston sat. “What dream?”

  He gazed at her with such intensity that it made me uncomfortable.

  She looked at me. “Make him stop staring at me.”

  I nudged Dr. Paul. “The dream?”

  “It’s Sean.”

  “My Sean?” I asked. My pulse jumped and started racing again.

  “I didn’t know if it was real. I came here to find out. Is he here?”

  I shook my head. “He’s on a stakeout.”

  “Does he have a black car?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you know where he is? Exactly?”

  “I could find it, yes.”

  “Then, we need to go. Grab some shoes. Well, shoe.”

  “Dr. Paul,” I said, trying to fight back a wave of nausea, “what did you see?”

  “Is Sean dead?” Preston blurted.

  I sat on the arm of the couch. I’d been thinking the same thing. After all, Dr. Paul was Dr. Death.

  “What? No! No! Not that I know of.” His bald head glistened. “All I saw was a masked man sneak up behind Sean and hit him over the head. He put him over his shoulder and walked away.”

  “Over his shoulder?” I asked. “Like a fireman’s carry?”

  “Exactly like that.”

  My stomach started aching.

  The phone rang. I snatched it up. It was Sam.

  “His car is here, but he’s not,” Sam said, cursing a blue streak.

  “Call the police. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I hung up and hopped over to the door and slipped on a flip flop.

  Preston stood up, wobbled a bit, and said, “I’m coming, too.”

  Dr. Paul handed me my crutches. “Oh no you’re not, Preston.”

  “Says who?” she demanded. A feeble demand, but still.

  The air grew eerily still. Dr. Paul walked to over to the table, picked up the phone, and punched in a couple of numbers. Into the receiver, he said, “This is Dr. Paul McDermott. I need an ambulance sent right away.” He gave my address, and then hung up.

  Preston’s jaw dropped. “What? Tell me that ambulance is not for me. I’m coming with you two.”

  Dr. Paul took a step toward her, and she took a step back. Softly yet sternly, he said, “No, you’re not. There’s someone who needs you a lot more than Sean right now.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s that?”

  Yeah, who? I wondered. Because Sean being knocked out and carried away by a madman seemed pretty life or death to me.

  Dr. Paul said, “The baby you’re carrying is clinging to life right now. If you don’t get to a hospital, he will die. No question. You have to go. Right now.”

  As if her legs had given out, Preston slowly sank into the chair behind her, her face filled with shock. “Baby?”

  “Baby?” I echoed, glancing at her. She was rail thin, not even a trace of a baby bump.

  “You didn’t know?” he said to her.

  She shook her head and tears sprang to her eyes. Her hands pressed against her stomach. “What’s wrong with him?”


  Orlinda hadn’t been kidding when she predicted a huge upheaval in Preston’s life. Upheavals didn’t get much bigger than unexpected dangerous pregnancies.

  “I’m not sure,” Dr. Paul said.

  Her tear-filled eyes were wide as she stared. “But if I go to the hospital right now, the baby will be okay?”

  His silence was telling. “I’m not sure, Preston, but for right now, he’s alive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dr. Paul drove.

  I fidgeted in the passenger seat of his Mercedes, wishing I could be in two places at once. Preston needed me.

  Yet Sean needed me more.

  We’d driven Preston up to Dovie’s house and filled her in before we headed out. Dovie woke Em, and both would stay by Preston’s side. I called Cutter, but he hadn’t answered. I left him a message to call Dovie immediately. I could only hope he didn’t answer because he was on a plane on his way here.

  We’d crossed paths with the ambulance on our way to the highway.

  “Is it really a boy? The baby?” I clarified. “You kept saying ‘him.’”

  He nodded.

  “Did you know she was pregnant the day she followed you around the hospital?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t realize how severe her condition was until I saw her tonight. The baby’s spirit was already starting to leave her body.”

  “Is he going to die?”

  “I hope not, Lucy. Right now, it could go either way.”

  Tears stung my eyes as I thought about a little boy with Cutter’s brown eyes and Preston’s spiky blond hair. Please let him pull through.

  Dr. Paul sped along the highway, pushing his car to eighty, ninety miles an hour. There was hardly any traffic, but the city looming ahead looked spooky, half of it in blackness.

  The brownout.

  Nausea rolled through my stomach, and I stared out the window, trying to keep the queasiness in check.

  Dr. Paul said, “Can you connect to Sean psychically?”

  “Only when I touch his hand.”

  It reminded me of the vision I’d had. The one where we were surrounded by smoke.

  I would find him.

  I just didn’t know when. Or how.

  Directing Dr. Paul to Sean’s old neighborhood wasn’t as easy as I remembered, but we eventually found the street. There was one lone police car at the scene, sitting behind Sean’s Mustang. Sam stood off to the side, speaking to an officer. Several neighbors had emerged from their houses to try and see what was going on.