by Lyn Horner
Deciding her self-analysis could wait, she showered, washed her hair and blew it dry. She considered donning another of the colorful sarongs she loved but settled on tan walking shorts that showed off her long legs and a wrap top in a shade of rose that complimented her skin tone. Adding a matching headband to hold back her hair, she applied a touch of lip gloss and stepped into a comfortable pair of sandals. She’d just stuffed a small blanket into her straw beach bag when the doorbell rang.
Hurrying downstairs, she set the bag on the floor near the door, opened it to greet Dev and gasped at the sight of him. “What happened to you?” she asked, staring at the swollen, discolored left side of his jaw.
He grinned and winced. “I got into a little altercation last night.” He touched the ugly contusion. “Don’t let this bother you. It’ll be better in a few days.”
“No doubt, but it looks painful now.” Quelling a foolish urge to reach out and comfort him, she retrieved her beach bag and drew her keys out of the inside pocket.
“Let me take that,” he said, relieving her of the bag as she struggled with it while locking the door. “So, where do you want to eat?”
“I was thinking of Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s on Harborside Drive, on the opposite side of the island from the beach. Is that alright with you?” She turned to accompany him down her front steps and out to his vehicle.
“That’s fine. I’ve been there and I like their crawfish po-boys.”
“For me it’s their lobster bisque.”
He held the door for her while she climbed into his cherry-red Range Rover. “By the way, you look beautiful in that outfit. It sure shows off your suntan.”
She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Medina. I confess I’m a sun lover although I try not to overdo it. You have quite a tan yourself.”
“Mine comes from the Tex-Mex side of my family. And you don’t need to be so formal. Call me Dev and I’ll call you Mickie, okay?” He winked and closed the door then walked around to the driver’s side.
“You heard Andrew call me that, I assume,” she said as he buckled up and started the car.
“That’s right. I take it he’s your boyfriend.” He pulled out into light traffic on her street.
“Not really. I just met him Friday night.”
“Yeah? How’d you meet him?”
“I stopped for a drink with some friends and he introduced himself.”
“And he asked you out. A fast worker, huh?”
She glanced at him, noting his tight lips. “Perhaps. He was alone on the island and in need of a friend, he said.”
“Mmm. So he’s not from here. What else do you know about him?”
“Only what he’s told me. He’s from Minneapolis, where he works as a stock broker.”
“What’s he doing down here? And why did he pick you to cozy up to?”
“He’s here on vacation.” She frowned at him. “And just maybe he finds me attractive.”
Dev laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. He’d have to be blind not to.”
She permitted herself a pleased grin but quickly sobered. “I gather you think he might be one of them, the Hellhounds?”
He shrugged, powerful shoulders flexing beneath his navy blue t-shirt. “I don’t know, but he’s a stranger. Remember what Lara said about trusting strangers. It could be dangerous.”
“I’m aware of that, but he hasn’t said or done anything suspicious.” Well, except for that angry vibe she’d picked up from him yesterday after his encounter with Dev. Tapping her fingers on the car door’s arm rest, she wondered if it was simply jealousy or if Dev was right to distrust Andrew.
They arrived at Fisherman’s Wharf and she pushed the uneasy question to the back of her mind. They were shown to a table overlooking the harbor and the tall ship Elissa, a restored nineteenth century sailing ship docked next to the Texas Seaport Museum. Admiring the three-masted beauty, they placed their orders without bothering to look at a menu. The service was excellent, the food as good as always. They made small talk until almost done eating, when Michaela raised a subject that had been nagging at her.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you have some sort of special mental ability?”
Dev paused with a last bite of po-boy halfway to his mouth. Eyeing her warily, he lowered the morsel to his plate. “That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?” His expression remained unperturbed but she’d caught a flash of alarm in his eyes.
She leaned forward and spoke quietly. “Because I possess such a gift and I have detected a hint of psychic power from you.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. He stared at her for a moment and said, “This isn’t the place to talk about it. Are you done?” At her nod, he caught their waitress’s eye and requested the check. He didn’t say another word until they sat behind closed doors in his SUV. Then he turned to face her.
“Exactly what kind of gift allows you to detect psychic power?”
“I don’t know if there is a name for it, but when I’m near someone with ESP, I sense it.” She dropped her gaze, gripped the edge of her seat and drew a deep breath. “I can also read other people’s thoughts.”
“Good God! You’re a mind reader? Are you reading my thoughts right now? Have you been doing it all along?” He sounded affronted.
“No!” She shook her head adamantly and looked him in the eye. “I can’t often do it at random, and I would not probe your mind without your permission. I swear.”
Frowning, he studied her closely. “But you sensed I have some kind of ESP.”
“Yes. It struck me yesterday and I feel it now.”
Turning away, he grasped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. After a charged silence, he said, “Psychic gifts run in my father’s family. He’s empathic.” He glanced at her. “You know what that means?”
She nodded.” It means he can feel other’s emotions.”
“Right, including pain, rage and depression. Because of that he has a hard time around groups of people. His father, my granddad, was good at predicting the weather. He was a rancher and always knew when it would be a good year for grazing cattle or when there would be a drought. My great grandmother was a medium. She could see and speak to ghosts, so the story goes.” He shot her another glance, tawny eyebrows raised as if asking whether she believed such a thing was possible.
“Many charlatans have claimed that ability,” she said, “but I know one person who truly can see shades of the dead, and converse with them.”
“Yeah? Then maybe my great granny wasn’t crazy and the stories about her are true.” He swiveled in his seat to face her again. “And then there was my great-great-grandmother Jessie and her brother and sister. They came to Texas back in the 1870s from Chicago. All three possessed some kind of psychic power. Jessie had the sight.”
“Ah, she could look into the future, a very special gift.”
“Yes, she could, and I’m like her. Every now and then I dream of something that hasn’t happened yet, and it comes true.”
Michaela caught her breath. “You’re a seer! I’ve never met a seer before. Does Lara know of your gift?”
He shook his head. “No. Nobody outside my family knows about it.” He smiled, electric blue eyes twinkling. “Except for you, of course.”
“Thank you, Dev, for trusting me with your secret,” she said, flustered beneath his gaze. He was like the ancient ones, those who had handed down the seven great prophesies she and the other Guardians were sworn to protect. A sudden thought struck her.
“Your great-great-grandmother, was she Irish?”
“Yeah, how’d you guess?”
She stared at him, unable to speak. Oh Goddess! Could it be? Were he and his Irish ancestors descended from the Old Ones? Clearing her tight throat, she said. “Ireland is the birthplace of my mother’s ancestors. Those like me, the other Guardians, also trace at least part of their ancestral roots to Éire. With what you’ve told me about your family, it’s quite possible we are related
far back in time.”
“No kidding! Then I guess we’re kissing cousins.” He winked and grinned crookedly.
Michaela grew hot all over. “I wouldn’t say that.” Looking out her side window, she fiddled with a lock of hair and tried to ignore his deep, knowing laugh.
“Okay, time to head for the beach.” He started the car and tuned the radio to a soft rock station. Humming along with the music, he left her to her disordered thoughts.
They found the beach more crowded than the day before. Stowing their footwear in Michaela’s beach bag, which Dev insisted on carrying, they strolled barefoot along the sand until coming upon a relatively quiet spot. There, they spread the blanket she’d brought along and sat watching gentle waves lap the shore.
“Hard to believe peaceful water like this can turn so deadly in a hurricane,” Dev said.
“I was thinking the same thing. Were you in Houston when Ike hit in 2008?”
“No, I was on a job halfway around the world, but I’ve heard how bad it was.” He crossed his legs Indian style and asked, “Did you evacuate?”
“Oh yes, I wasn’t brave enough, or crazy enough, to try to ride out the storm. Some of those who stayed didn’t live to tell about it.”
“How far inland did you have to go?”
“Many evacuees went to San Antonio or Dallas-Fort Worth where emergency shelters were set up, but my sister lives in Oklahoma City. I drove up there and stayed with her.” Leaning back on her hands, she added, “Galveston residents weren’t allowed to return until almost two weeks after the hurricane. The roads were too choked with debris until then. When I finally made it back here, I found my house had been flooded with several feet of water.”
“Must have been rough.”
“It was, but I count myself lucky because I had a house to come back to. Many weren’t so fortunate. Their homes were completely demolished or swept into the Gulf, especially on the west end of the island where Ike made landfall. In poorer areas on the bay side, many houses were also badly damaged. Some still stand empty and boarded up.”
Dev leaned forward and scooped up a handful of sand. Sifting it between his fingers, he asked, “Do you see your sister often?”
“Not really. It’s been close to two years since we last got together. She’s married with two school age children and my practice keeps me pretty tied down.”
“How do you think she’d feel about you coming for an extended visit?”
Michaela straightened abruptly. “And put her and her family in danger if the Hellhounds track me there? No! I won’t do that. How can you even suggest it?”
He raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “Okay, okay, it was just a thought. You’re right, bad idea. But you have to face the fact that you can’t stay here. It’s just not safe.”
“We don’t know that for sure yet, and I’m not willing to turn my life upside down until I must.” Rubbing her arms as if suddenly chilled, she pushed to her feet. “I need to go home. Now!”
Muttering under his breath, Dev stood, shook out the blanket and stuffed it back in her straw bag. “All right, let’s go.”
The ride back to her place was accomplished in an uncomfortable silence. When they arrived, he toted the beach bag up the steps to her door, waiting while she unlocked. She reached to take the bag from him but he swung it away.
“Un-uh. I want to check and make sure you don’t have any uninvited guests. In fact, I insist.” He met her uncertain gaze, daring her to argue.
“Very well, but you’re being obsessive.” She opened the door and led him inside.
“Maybe, but better safe than sorry.” He deposited her bag on the floor and said, “Stay here while I look around.”
Michaela didn’t like being given orders but she did as he said, crossing her arms and impatiently eyeing the living room wall clock. Dev returned within a few moments, mouth set in a determined line that made her faintly nervous. Had he found some sign of an intruder?
“All clear for now,” he said.
She released the breath she hadn’t been conscious of holding. “Good. Thank you for checking even though it wasn’t really necessary.” She started to move aside so he could leave, but he blocked her path.
“You’re welcome.” His big hands settled on her waist, drawing a startled gasp from her throat. She stared into his eyes as he stepped close, pressing her against the hard length of his body. Then he bent his head and kissed her boldly, taking advantage of her parted lips to explore the inside of her mouth with his tongue.
Her head swam with the heat and taste of him. Her hands climbed his muscular chest to rest on his wide shoulders while his mouth did amazing things to her senses. She wanted the kiss to go on and on but as swiftly as he began it, he released her and backed away.
“Dream of me, golden girl,” he said in a husky rumble. “And be sure to lock up.” Then he strode out the door, leaving her stunned and breathing hard.
Leaning against the entry wall, she hugged herself and listened to him descend the stairs. Only after his footsteps faded away did she come to her senses enough to close and lock the door. Making her way on wobbly legs into the living room, she dropped into her vintage fan back wicker chair, leaned her head back and thought about what had just happened.
After chewing Dev out for suggesting she go stay with her sister and calling him obsessive for wanting to check out her house, she had expected him to angrily stomp out. Instead, he had taken her completely by surprise with his kiss. And what a kiss! Her insides were still on fire from the effects of it.
Several minutes passed before she noticed the blinking red light on her nearby phone. She pressed the play button and listened to three messages, all from Andrew, progressing from friendly to clearly annoyed. Not caring for his tone in the last one, Michaela almost decided not to call him back, but good manners drove her to hit redial. He answered on the second ring.
“Michaela? I’d about given up on you,” he said, not bothering with any niceties.
“Hello, Andrew. I’m sorry, but I did tell you I might be unavailable today.”
“Did you get my messages on your mobile number?”
She touched the pockets of her shorts, finding them empty. “No, I forgot to take my cell phone with me. Sorry,” she again said.
“Yeah? What kept you tied up so long?”
“I was with a friend,” she replied, struggling to hold her temper. She was rapidly growing tired of his jealous sounding questions.
“Was it that big ox, Medina?” he demanded in a snide tone.
“That’s really none of your business.” Fed up, she added, “I don’t think we should see each other again. Please don’t call me.” She disconnected, hoping he would abide by her request.
CHAPTER FOUR
Listening to Mark Gedrick vent his suspicions about a new co-worker, who he believed was out to get him, Michaela recognized it as a manifestation of his mental illness. When he’d started coming to see her four months ago at his medical doctor’s insistence, she had quickly diagnosed him with paranoid personality disorder. Persons with PPD tended to be self-centered, defensive and constantly suspicious of others. Mark was a classic example.
She’d thought they were making progress in controlling his paranoia, but apparently she had been too optimistic. Tapping her pen on the small notebook she kept handy for jotting down pertinent insights – in addition to the session recording – she took advantage of a lull in her patient’s tirade.
“Mark, have you been taking the medication I prescribed for you?”
Seated on her brown leather couch, he looked away, facial muscles twitching nervously. “Yes. I’m not imagining the jerk’s attempts to make me look bad in front of our boss, if that’s what you think.”
“I didn’t say you were. Why don’t you lie back and tell me about the rest of your week,” she said soothingly. While he stretched out on the couch and began to ramble on about incidents related mainly to work and people he viewed as untrust
worthy, she laid aside her pen and notebook. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, gently probing his thoughts. She hadn’t tried this before with him, not deeming it necessary until now.
At first, she encountered a muddle of angry, accusing thoughts about his new colleague and others who he was certain wanted to get him fired. Delving a little deeper, she read his lie to her. He had not been taking his medication because it made him feel funny and he didn’t believe he needed it. She wasn’t surprised; she’d guessed he was lying from his nervous tic and his refusal to look her in the eye.
Then she read something unexpected. Besides imagining his new, younger co-worker was plotting to get him fired, Mark detested the man for his obvious interest in a young woman who also worked in their office. Her name was Jill and he thought of her as his girl, even though he had never found the courage to ask her out. Since Mark had never mentioned Jill to her, Michaela wondered what other secrets he harbored that might be contributing to his paranoia.
As she probed deeper, searching for an answer, part of her mental process became distracted when an image of Dev Medina popped up. Along with it came the memory of his kiss and her reaction to it. She tried to shut him out but failed until the sound of creaking leather brought her back to the present. Eyes flying open, she saw Mark sit up and swing his feet to the floor. She instantly broke her lingering contact with him.
“My head hurts,” he said, leaning forward and clamping his hands around his skull. “It feels like something is worming its way into my brain.” He lowered his hands and raised his head. “Or it did. That feeling is gone now, but I have a headache,” he added with a grimace.
Realizing she’d lost herself in thoughts of Dev and had neglected to muffle her mind probe, Michaela wanted to kick herself. “Perhaps it’s a virus coming on.” It was the only reason she could think of to explain his pain. “I recommend you go home, take two acetaminophen tablets and lie down. If you’re not feeling better in a few hours, call me.”