Lethal Outlook

by Victoria Laurie

  Not long ago I’d finally upgraded to digitally recording all of my sessions. After the session was over and the client paid, I e-mailed them the WAV file of the reading and kept a copy for myself, just in case the person lost it or it failed to download it. I kept all these readings on my hard drive, and after doing a short search I came up with Jamie’s session. Pumping up the volume, I pressed play and turned the computer a little so that Candice could hear the whole thing.

  “Okay, Jamie, the very first thing I’m getting from the ether around you is that your love life is smack-dab in the middle of a transition. I feel like within the past two months you may have split up with someone you really, really loved, but it just wasn’t working out. Is that right?”

  “Yes! Oh, my God! Abby, you’re good! My ex-boyfriend and I split up in June.”

  I closed my eyes as the memory of the reading began to come back to me. I could now recall Jamie’s face. She’d been a petite little thing, with a round face and freckles giving her the appearance of someone younger than she was. “And that relationship had been very much on-again, off-again before you guys made the permanent split in June, correct?” my recorded voice continued.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m feeling like I need to tell you, Jamie, that this time, the split is permanent. You two aren’t getting back together.”

  “Oh,” she’d said, and even now I could detect the disappointment in her voice.

  “You were hoping I’d say something different, weren’t you?”

  “No,” she lied. “No. I’m good with it. He’s a great guy, but I don’t want to get back with him.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at Candice meaningfully, and she nodded. She’d heard the note of disappointment too. “Well,” my voice said from the computer, “I’m glad you’re not disappointed, because splitting up was the right move for both of you. Did you know he’s moving away?”

  There was the sound of a gasp on the recording. “He is?”

  “Yes. He’s moving to New York. And the move will be quite sudden. I think he’s following a job offer or a transfer. Either one will be very advantageous to his career. And Jamie, he won’t be coming back.”

  I smiled and rolled my eyes a little at my own voice coming through the computer. I never openly fought clients’ insistence that they were over a past love even when the ether spoke otherwise, but it was just like me to keep drilling the demise of the relationship into them. I always felt it was better to know there was no hope of getting back together with someone, because it was often the only way for them to be open to receiving an even better relationship down the road.

  “Now, what’s interesting about your energy, Jamie, is that I see you taking this man’s move quite hard. I feel it might upset you in ways you hadn’t anticipated, and while I can understand that, I want to tell you that the longer you spend thinking about what could have been, the longer you’ll delay getting on with your life. I feel like you’ll want to shut the door on romance for a while, and I can tell you that your decision to do that would only cause you more sadness. Denying yourself the joy of a new relationship just because you don’t want to be disappointed again is absolutely the wrong move for you. Does that make sense?”

  “I…I guess,” she’d said.

  “Good. Now, my advice to you is to start dating again. But don’t date with any expectations about finding the right guy. Just have fun. Enjoy broadening your social circle. Go out there and kiss a few frogs, and if one of them turns into a prince, awesome. If you just date frogs for a while, then have a great time. And before long, don’t be surprised if someone who hadn’t been on your social radar at all begins to work his way into your life in a very important way. This man’s emergence is unexpected, Jamie. I feel like he’s a very good guy, but he’s got a lot of stuff on his own plate right now. And many of those loose threads need to be wrapped up before anything can start between the two of you, but I feel like, by the time next spring or summer comes around, you two might become a little bit more than just friends. And the energy around your future relationship with this man feels so good. In fact, it feels better than good; it feels great. You both have a lot of love to give, and when the time is right, I think this would be a great match.”

  At this point I must have felt satisfied with the topic, because I’d moved on to other things. “How’s the house hunting coming?”

  Jamie gasped again and started laughing. “You are blowing my mind, Abby. I’ve been shopping for a condo for the past two months, but I haven’t been able to find one I really like that I can also afford.”

  You could hear my own laughter through the computer. “Two months? Well, no wonder you’re not finding anything, Jamie. You should be looking at houses, not condos.”

  “A house? Really? I was thinking that was going to be too much for me to handle.”

  I smiled when I found myself shaking my head as I listened. More and more of the reading was coming back to me. I knew I’d very likely shaken my head at her then too. “No, it won’t be too much for you, Jamie. You’ll find something small, no more than two bedrooms, but they’re a nice size and the house feels warm and inviting. Look at single-story, two-bedroom homes and you’ll be on the right track. Oh, and with the spacious backyard your home will come with, you’re finally gonna get that dog you’ve been thinking about.”

  There was yet another little gasp on the recording. “Really?” she’d asked me, her voice high and squeaky. “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog for a while. You know, to take my mind off the breakup, and I’ve been volunteering down at Austin Pets Alive on the weekends. There’s this adorable little King Charles mix that I’m just in love with.”

  “Oh, that dog is totally yours,” I’d told her. “I’m surprised you’ve resisted scooping him up for this long, actually. Call your Realtor this afternoon and tell her that you want to skip the condos. You’d rather look at ranch-style homes, especially anything in a bold color like red or yellow. I feel like the house that’s made for you will come in a very bright color.”

  “Really?” she’d said, a bit of skepticism in her voice. “That wouldn’t be something I’d normally go for.”

  “Humor me,” I’d told her dryly.

  Candice laughed and quickly tried to stifle it, but I knew that she was thinking that I could be a little smug about telling my clients what they needed to do.

  Abruptly, I’d switched topics again. “Say, do you know a girlfriend who’s launching her own business? Something online maybe?”

  There was a slight pause, then, “You know, I do have two girlfriends who’re going into business with each other—”

  Whatever Jamie had been about to say after that I couldn’t know, because I’d run right over her with the rest of my impressions. “Two girlfriends? Oh, well, that won’t work. Listen, you tell the girl who’s got the brown hair to just do this thing on her own, okay? Tell her that I know she may think the girl with the blond hair is a friend, but I’m here to tell you, she’s not. And this brunette should stay away from her. Seriously. It feels like their association with each other means nothing but trouble for the brunette. And I’m not sure why…”

  My gaze snapped back to Candice, who was already eyeing me keenly as she mouthed, “Kendra and Bailey?”

  I nodded vigorously, while on the recording Jamie said, “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I know the blonde’s not a friend. But I haven’t figured out how to tell the brunette.”

  “Be blunt,” I’d told her. “And tell her. It’s important.”

  Candice and I listened to the rest of the reading, but there was nothing more about the blonde and the brunette, which I was convinced was a reference to Kendra and Bailey. Once the tape was finished, I closed the lid of the laptop and asked Candice, “What do you want to do?”

  “Do you have Jamie’s address on file?”

  I opened my laptop again and did a quick search. “All I have is her e-mail.”

  Candice got up a
nd moved to the hall. “I’ll get it,” she said over her shoulder.

  A minute or two later she was back. “I have an address at an apartment that’s about a year old, and a new address on Forty-second Street near Duval.”

  I smiled. “Looks like someone just bought her first home.” I recognized the cross streets as part of a cute residential neighborhood on Austin’s central east side.

  “She could be renting,” Candice pointed out.

  “Yes, she could be. But she isn’t.” Sometimes I just know I’m right. Those are the times I may also try other people’s patience.

  Candice held up her wrist to check the time. “She’s probably at work right now.”

  “And I have a client in ten minutes!” I gasped, suddenly realizing I was late getting my reading room ready.

  “Is that your only one?”

  I shook my head, getting up from my desk to hobble quickly into the next room. “I have a full list of six clients today all back-to-back except for the half-hour lunch in between.” I grabbed a pack of matches and began to light candles.

  Candice didn’t say anything, and I looked up to see her brow raised. “Six?” she repeated. “That’s pretty impressive, Sundance.”

  I grinned. “Word must be spreading.”

  Candice nodded. “What time will you be through?” she asked next.

  “Four. Want to pick this up then?”

  Candice offered me a sly look. “Methinks you’ll be hungry after your sessions. We can grab a quick happy-hour snack and give Jamie until five thirty to get home from work.”

  “You don’t want to just call her at home?” I asked. “I’m sure I can get her phone number off her release form.” I made all my clients sign release forms listing their names, e-mail addresses, and phone numbers just in case.

  “No,” Candice said. “I find that catching your subject a little off guard helps get the truth out of them, and showing up unannounced at their house usually puts them exactly in that slightly nervous, very talkative state that I like.”

  I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll be done at four, and I should be ready to go by four fifteen or so.”

  Candice yawned. “Great. I’m gonna head home and catch some Zs. I’ll pick you up downstairs at four fifteen.”

  “Deal,” I told her, already turning back to the candles. I heard the front door close not too long after that, and within a few minutes after that my first client had arrived.

  The day with my clients passed quickly. Despite the fact that I’ve been doing this for almost a decade, it’s still rare to hit every reading out of the park. Still, that’s always what I go for. I give every single client my all because they pay me well and because I want them to have a good experience. It puts a lot of pressure on my shoulders to deliver an accurate and authentic reading, but it also forces me to remember that I’m providing a service, not a favor. I want every client to feel like a million bucks when they leave, but some people are just never satisfied, and that’s a hard thing to accept.

  My last client of the day was like this. I’d provided her with what I thought were some really good hits, but she failed to see them as such, only grunting a little here and there when I asked if what I was saying was making sense to her.

  At the end, when I turned it over to her for questions, she asked me why I hadn’t said anything about her bakery in France.

  I did this mental Say what now? and asked what she meant by that.

  “It’s my dream to open a bakery in France.”

  Thinking maybe I’d missed something important, I scanned the woman’s energy again. Nope. No bakery. In France or otherwise. “Do you bake?” I asked her, nearly regretting it the moment it came out of my mouth.

  “A little,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor.

  Her answer gave me pause, but only because…well, where do you go with that? “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m not sure I understand this. You only bake a little and you want to open a bakery in a country famous for its bakers?”

  Her frown deepened. “Well, I’d take lessons,” she snapped. “I mean, if Julia Child can move to France and become a successful cook, why can’t I do the same?”

  Because you have no savings, don’t speak French, and don’t even know how to bake, you fool! is what I thought. What I said was, “Ah. Well, if that’s your dream, then lessons are a terrific place to start!”

  Luckily, by then we were short on time, and the session ended just a minute or two later. Relieved to see her out the door, I blew out all the candles, powered down my computer (ignoring the red blinking light on my phone that indicated I had voice mail), and locked up my office, vowing to return calls first thing in the morning.

  I made it downstairs and to the parking garage by four ten and allowed myself a nice cleansing sigh. It’d been an intense but mostly good day. And my hips didn’t even hurt that much, which was a great sign given all the sitting I’d done.

  While I waited for Candice to swing by and pick me up, I rolled my shoulders and rocked my head from side to side, listening with satisfaction to the pops as my neck cracked. I closed my eyes to work out the final kink and heard a car roll up. Had to be Candice. Giving my head a final good roll, I opened my eyes to see that a black SUV with smoked-out windows had stopped right in front of me.

  I felt a jolt of alarm, especially when the rear door opened and out stepped a virtual ogre of a man. Bald-headed, with a round face, spare chins, and small ears that stuck out away from his head, he came right up, grabbed me around the waist, and began to lift me toward the car.

  I screamed and brought my cane down on his head as hard as I could. He uttered a guttural sound and squeezed me around the waist tighter. The way he held me put pressure on my pelvis, and I screamed again, but this time in agony. I brought my cane down again and again and heard a loud crack as I watched it break in two—the lower half skittering across the pavement.

  With a grunt the ogre practically threw me into the SUV, climbed in after me more quickly than his size should have allowed, and slammed the door.

  “GO!” he shouted to the driver, and the car took off. Before I could even right myself, I realized I’d just been kidnapped and looming over me was one angry brute with several welts the size of plums rising on his bald ugly head. Welts I’d put there.

  “I am so fecked,” I whispered, officially scared down to my toes.

  Wouldn’t you know it—Shrek actually nodded, right before reaching out to grab me again. A moment later my world went dark.

  Chapter Nine

  I don’t know if I was relieved or even more ticked off by the hood being rudely shoved over my head. My abduction was happening so fast that I was having a hard time even making sense of it. One minute I was closing my eyes and bracing myself for what I thought was some serious manhandling, and the next my eyes were open and I couldn’t see a thing. My hands were quickly bound up too, but they’d been tied in front of me and not very tightly.

  I was then hauled off the floor and propped up in one of the seats. My abductor then strapped me in with the seat belt. Of course, his courtesy stopped there and he gave me a rough shake of the shoulders and ordered me to sit still.

  I detected a British accent. Figured. He looked like a beefy English rugby player.

  We drove for what felt like a very long while. Of course, if you’ve ever spent time with a hood over your head, even five minutes can be an eternity. The hood was hot, and it was hard to get enough air—especially given the panicked cadence to my breathing.

  I’d tried asking questions at first, and that was met with stony silence. Then I tried to remember the turns, right and left and how far apart. Maybe I could get to my cell and make an emergency call?

  But I had no idea where my purse had ended up, or even if it’d made it into the SUV. In those first panicked moments, I only remembered whacking Shrek, not if I’d thought to keep my purse with me.

  Also, I tried to avoid thinking too far ahead to when the SUV stopped. They
tell you if you’re attacked to never, ever, ever get into the vehicle to be driven to a second location, because it’s likely to be somewhere remote with no one around to hear you scream.

  That thought petrified me, and it was hard to think through it. Plus, I knew that Shrek wasn’t alone—someone was driving the SUV, which meant I officially had at least two abductors.

  But why had I been abducted in the first place? Was this a random kidnapping? And then I thought about another abduction and my blood ran cold. Could it be that Shrek was the same man who’d taken Kendra? And then a detail came to me, blooming in my mind like a firework; the ogre had been wearing a blue blazer, white shirt, and black dress slacks. I closed my eyes to concentrate, and sure enough, the image was clear in my memory. He’d been dressed more for a business meeting than for a kidnapping.

  Which meant he was likely a professional. Hired by someone else to grab me. That thought made my cold blood turn to ice.

  If this is the first time you’ve read about me, you might be surprised to learn that I’ve made a few enemies over the years. Why, just a few months before, I’d made a whole host of very powerful enemies when I’d been recruited by the CIA for a top secret mission abroad. And a few of the very powerful people I’d encountered on the mission had actually been killed.

  Was this payback for my participation in that mission?

  Or did it have to do with my current work with the FBI?

  Or was I right and this was somehow connected to Kendra?

  All three scenarios weren’t likely to end well, but the more I could figure out before my hood came off and I met my true abductor, the better.

  I thought about trying to talk to the guy next to me and fish for details, but I had a feeling Shrek wasn’t going to utter one more word, and he certainly wasn’t going to give me any details about who’d hired him. So I did the only thing left to me. I calmed my butt down and turned on my radar.

  I got a series of impressions, most of them confusing. I could feel the anger from the ogre filling the small space in the backseat. I knew he seriously wanted to throttle me, but he was holding back, and for that I was quite relieved.