I sat down heavily on the couch. I wasn’t ready for this yet. I make my living as a professional psychic, and three months earlier I’d had a booming practice. All that changed one early spring morning when I’d been shot at close range and I’d very nearly died. Okay, scratch that—I actually had died, but only for a moment or two.
So for the past three months I’d been laid up here in my boyfriend’s home, tucked away in a lovely little city called Royal Oak, Michigan. For the first month I’d done little more than sleep. I’d been told that when you’re recovering from a major trauma like mine, your body slows down considerably, and mine was no exception.
But the past two months I’d steadily gotten stronger, and I’d become more active. Mentally, however, I just couldn’t seem to get a grip. The prospect of going back to work actually terrified me, and even though my bank statements continued to show a decline in my liquid assets, I just couldn’t seem to get up off the couch and go back to work. I’d reasoned that I’d probably already lost most of my clients anyway—as a psychic, if you stop working, you stop eating.
Dutch, who’s an FBI agent, recognized what I was going through, and labeled it post-traumatic stress disorder, which sounded to me like a nice tidy way of calling me loo-loo.
Now here I sat, not having done a single reading in three months, and one of my best clients was on the phone again. I looked up at Dutch and gave him a winning smile. “Can you tell her I’m out and take a message?”
Dutch smirked and answered the phone. “Hi, Candice, you looking for Abby?” I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on the couch, thinking what a great boyfriend I had after all. “Sure, sure,” he said, nodding his head. “She’s right here, hang on.” And with that he extended the phone.
I mouthed, “I’ll get you for this,” and took the receiver. “Hi, Candice!” I said, going for breezy. “Long time, no talk-to.”
“Abby!” she sang. “Man, girlfriend! It is so great to finally hear your voice. How are you feeling?”
Dutch was still hovering nearby, and I cut him a look of death but continued to keep my voice light. “Oh, you know, taking it slow and easy. I still get tired quickly, but what can you do?”
Candice made a concerned sound into the phone and said, “You poor thing. I expect you haven’t gone back to work yet, have you?”
“No,” I said as I fiddled with the tassel on one of the couch cushions. “I’m easing into the idea. I don’t want to push it just yet.”
“I would imagine that’s got to be a bit of a drain on your finances, then,” she said. “It must be hard to maintain your mortgage and the rent on your office.”
I wasn’t sure where Candice was going with this. She and I had never really had the normal psychic/ client relationship. Candice was a private detective and had a home base in Kalamazoo, about ninety miles west of Royal Oak. On occasion she would call me and drive over to get my feelings on a case she was working on. We’d made a great team on the few cases we’d worked, and I’d come to consider her a friend as well as client. “Yeah, but I’ve got a few pennies saved, so I should be okay for a little while yet.”
I couldn’t see Candice’s reaction, but I could have sworn she was disappointed when she said, “Oh, I see.”
There was a bit of a pause before I asked her straight out, “Want to tell me what’s up?”
Candice giggled. “I never could be subtle with you. Here’s the deal, Abs. I’ve decided to hang out my own shingle.”
“Really?” I asked with a smirk. “Gee, now, where have I heard that idea before?”
Candice’s giggle turned into a laugh. “Yes, I know, you were right—again!” I had given her a reading about six months before, and in that reading I’d told her that she was going to entertain the idea of going it alone, and that it was worth considering. “But here’s the catch….” she added.
“Yes?” I asked when she paused.
“I need to find cheap office space to work out of.”
“Have you tried the classifieds? I’m sure there’s plenty available in Kalamazoo.”
“No, not in Kalamazoo,” she said. “I’m moving in with my grandmother, so I’ll need to find a space close to her place.”
“You’re moving here?” I asked. I’d met Candice’s grandmother a few months before. She also lived in Royal Oak.
“Yes. Just like you, I need to watch my pennies, and when Nana offered that nice big house of hers, I couldn’t pass it up.”
That’s when the light bulb went on in my head. “And you were thinking I could sublet you some space in my suite?”
“I know, I know,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have asked; it’s just that I know you have that extra office in your suite, and I heard you’d all but quit the business, so I thought I could help you out until you got back on your feet as well as give myself a little head start.”
“It’s a terrific idea,” I said—my right side felt light and airy, which is my sign for yeppers.
“Really?” she said. “Oh, Abby, that’s awesome!”
“Absolutely.” I grinned. It had been a long time since I had shared my office with anyone. The extra office in my suite had once been rented by my best friend, Theresa, who had moved to California almost exactly a year ago. I’d entertained the idea of a suite mate since then, but no one had ever seemed quite right. Until now. “When would you like to move in?”
“This weekend, if that’s okay?”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Come on over when you get into town and I’ll give you the spare key. We can talk rent then, if you like.”
“Perfect. Thanks again, Abby. And I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
I clicked off with Candice and trotted into the study in search of Dutch, who had stopped his eavesdropping around the time I’d agreed to let Candice rent the office. “That was a dirty trick you pulled,” I said as I handed him back the phone.
“Needed to be done,” he said gravely. “Now have a seat. I want to talk to you.”
“Sounds serious,” I said as I plopped down into one of the leather chairs across from his desk.
He looked at me for a long moment, and, like always, I felt my breath catch at the beauty of the man. Dutch is tall, blond and incredibly handsome. But the most riveting thing about him is his eyes. They’re midnight blue in color, and whenever they stared me straight in the eye like they were doing now, I knew I was in for a lecture. “I’m worried about you,” he began.
“Here we go,” I said, and got comfortable. Dutch was big on worry, but usually only where I was concerned.
“I’m not kidding,” he said. “It’s time for you to think about getting your feet wet again.”
“But I took a shower this morning,” I said lightly.
“Edgar,” he sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m not ready,” I said as I looked down at my hands.
Dutch didn’t say anything for a long minute. Finally he said something startling. “Not even if it’s to help me?”
“What?” I asked, lifting my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Dutch picked up three folders on his desk and waved them at me. “When you were in there talking to Candice, it gave me an idea. These are the three cases I’ve been working this past month, and I’m at a roadblock on all three. I need a break, Abby, and I was really hoping that you could do for me what you usually do for Candice.”
My jaw dropped a little. Dutch had never asked me for help on a case. In fact, he’d all but fought me off every time I’d tried to assist with an investigation. For him to ask me this meant he’d turned a corner of sorts, and the sneaky bastard did it knowing full well I could hardly turn him down. Still, I was a bit doubtful that he was for real. “Are you fooling with me? Because if you are, that would be a low move on your part.”
“I’m dead serious,” he said, holding my eyes.
“I see,” I said, weighing my decision. Half of me really wanted to help. After all, my boyfriend
was legendary for his skepticism. I’d seen him try to run to the aid of a ghost who’d disappeared before his very eyes, and still try to deny what he’d seen. He was also the type of guy who liked to be the hero, and asking for help wasn’t something he’d ever been comfortable with.
But if I was honest with myself, I had to admit that the trouble wasn’t so much on his end as on mine. I hadn’t used my radar in nearly ninety days, which was an all-time record for me. In fact, I’d worked hard not to use it. The truth was that it had failed me at the moment in my life when I had most needed it. I’d been sucker punched by a bullet to the chest, and I’d had no idea it was coming.
That’s what was really eating away at me, the fact that when I’d relied on my intuition the most, it had been silent. Now here I was, faced with a decision that was as tough a choice as any I could face right now. Should I take my boyfriend up on his offer and accept that he’d extended a bridge to bring us closer together, or blow him off and continue to sit in my stink? “Okay,” I said grimly. “I’ll help, but only on the condition that you take my input seriously, no matter how far-fetched it sounds.”
Dutch smiled and extended his hand. “Deal,” he said, and we shook on it.
Victoria Laurie, Killer Insight
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