ability?”
She hesitated. “Not that you could … document.”
“Which means what?”
She raised one shoulder. “It means, there were times when I got a glimpse of the future.”
“Like what?”
“My mom called this afternoon. I knew it was going to be her, and I sensed that something bad …” Her voice trailed off, and she started again, “Something bad was going to happen. I didn’t know she was going to … die.” Her voice cracked, and he could see she was struggling not to cry.
He wanted to cross the room and put his arms around her, pull her close and stroke her back, her hair. But he stayed where he was.
When it looked as if she’d regained control, he said, “And you feel guilty about not dropping everything and coming here.”
“Yes.”
“But you were too far away to change what happened.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
He nodded.
“What about you?” she asked. “I mean have you had psychic experiences?”
He tried to answer as honestly as he could. “I’m an investigative journalist.”
“Working on a book that will blow Rudy Maglioni’s New Jersey mob operation wide open.”
“Yeah. But let’s not get sidetracked,” he said in a tight voice.
“Okay.”
“I always thought that I had better than average instincts for stories. Good instincts for interviews. I’ve got a pretty good idea when someone’s lying to me. I know when I can push them to say more than they intended. I know when letting the silence stretch will make them jump to fill the vacuum.”
“Useful.”
“But nothing like … that thing outside has ever happened to me.”
“So what was different tonight?” she pressed.
“We’re both on edge. I mean, your mother just died, and I …”
“You’re hiding out from the … wiseguys. You’re willing to risk your life to finish the book.”
“Like I said, let’s drop it,” he snapped. “And that doesn’t explain the weird stuff.”
“I guess not.”
They stared at each other.
“I should leave,” she said.
“I wouldn’t advise it. You said you sometimes have an inkling of the future. What if you didn’t want to stay in the house because of … the stalker.”
“What stalker?”
“Come on. That’s what your mom called about.”
She sighed. “Inconvenient that you picked that up from my mind.”
“Like your knowing too much about my damn book. Inconvenient.”
Again, they lapsed into a tense silence.
He was used to letting the other person do the talking, but he ventured, “We picked up all that stuff from each other … when we touched.”
“Yes.”
He shifted in the chair. “We could try it again. See what happens.”
Her posture became more guarded. “There was more than just an exchange of information,” she said in a hard voice. “You wanted … me.”
“It wasn’t exactly one-sided. You wanted me, too.”
She kept her gaze fixed on him as she asked in a hard voice, “Did you do something to me?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Use some kind of voodoo hex?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Okay, maybe not voodoo. What about some kind of hypnosis technique you learned from your vast research?”
He spread his hands. “I don’t have any secret techniques.”
“I’m just trying to figure it out.”
“We both are. And you must know I was as confounded as you by what happened.” He paused a beat before asking, “Did it give you a headache?”
She stared back at him. “Yes. Did it do that to you, too?”
“Yes.”
He wanted to press her for information. No, he wanted to touch her again, badly. And it was almost impossible not to act on the impulse. He pictured himself leaping out of the chair, crossing the room and pulling her into his arms. To get information?
Perhaps, but the sexual component was as strong as the need to explore the psychic link. He had touched her, kissed her, and felt an instant craving like nothing else he had ever experienced. It was as if the two of them had been born to connect.
Well, he might think that, but he didn’t dare say it because he didn’t want to send her running out into the night.
To cool his ardor, he asked, “Did you have trouble making friends with people?”
By the look on her face, he knew the directness of the question had caught her by surprise.
She swallowed. “You know I did. You did, too. We found that out when we touched.”
No use denying it. Most people formed easy relationships. He couldn’t do it because it always seemed that something was missing. Which was probably why he’d chosen his profession. If he couldn’t get close to people on a personal level, he could know more about them than anybody else. Sometimes he dug up secrets that the world needed to know. Or was that putting it in terms that were too grandiose?
“If we have trouble making friends, then what happened tonight?” he challenged.
“I don’t know, but we’re not friends.”
“What are we?”
She moistened her lips, and he had to wrench his gaze away from her mouth. It was more difficult than ever not to cross the room and wrap his arms around her. Something would happen when he did.
“Don’t.”
“You’re reading my mind?”
“Your expression.” She lifted one shoulder as she stared at him.
“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”
“Isn’t that a standard male line?”
“Yeah, but in this case it’s true. You could make sure I’m telling the truth by touching me.”
“No, thanks.”
When she stood up abruptly, he knew he had pushed the suggestion too hard.
“Stay here.” The command came out more sharply than he’d intended.
“Why?”
“Someone’s out there,” he said in a harsh voice.
“Back to the stalker?”
“Yeah. You’d better sleep here.”
“So you can …”
“Protect you.”
He held his breath while she considered the advice. If she said no, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do.
Another lie. He would grab her arm to stop her. And then what? Give her another peek into his private fears and longings?
“You were here most of the