by Mary Behre
“Sort of. I remembered a day that happened a few months before my mother died but not much else. Anyway, I saw Ross put a placard in the window asking for a waitress. It seemed like a sign.”
“A sign?”
That blinding heart-stopping smile was back on her face. “Yes, a sign. No pun intended. I needed a temporary job while I’m in town for the summer. I know it seems like a huge coincidence but I was just as surprised as you to find you here.”
“A coincidence?”
“Yeah. Well, a sign. I don’t really believe in coincidences. Do you?”
He shook his head. “So you saw the sign and applied for the job?”
“That’s what I said.” Her eyes sparkled. “Right?”
“Right.” He was repeating her but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Something about her made him both want to boot her out the door and go in for another one of her amazing kisses. He did neither but kept talking. “Didn’t you just graduate college? Shouldn’t you be looking for more permanent work? Or is this what you plan to do while you paint?”
“You remembered that I’m an artist?” Delight made her tawny eyes soften.
“Of course I remember. Your blue owl was unique. Extraordinary.” Much to his surprise, her lips were now inches from his. She hadn’t moved closer. He had. Somehow he had closed the distance between them without realizing it. His hands, no longer clutching the doorknob, hung limply at his sides. His fingers tingled with the need to touch her. “Are you looking for permanent work or is this a summer break thing?”
“A summer break thing, but shouldn’t you be more concerned with, um . . . other matters?” She sucked in her bottom lip, but it did nothing to dim the smile on her face.
“Other matters?” he asked hoarsely.
She folded her arms over her chest, her face solemn. “Firing me, for one. Unless I’ve passed your not-a-psycho-stalker test.”
“Right.” Her words dipped him in frigid reality. He had been worried about just that. And clearly, she knew it. Way to look like an ass in front of her.
A stalker wouldn’t have given him a bogus number. Therefore, she couldn’t be a stalker. An infuriatingly attractive woman he’d slept with once but not a stalker. A woman who had the skills to do the job and do it well. Why not hire her? It was only for a few days.
“Look, what I said out there was true,” Niall said. “We cannot afford to keep you on past the wedding but Karma is also right. Since you’re not staying in Tidewater indefinitely, this could work out for both of us. You can work this week, while looking for your sisters and another job, and I don’t have to find someone else to train.” He paused, then added, “Let’s just keep what happened back in Fincastle back in Fincastle, if you know what I mean. You work for me, nothing else.”
He held his breath.
A vertical crease appeared between her brows and she nodded slowly. “Sure. That’s ancient history. You’re my boss and I’m your employee. Got it.”
Then they stood there.
Unmoving.
Breathing the same air. Honeysuckles.
Christ, the scent made him think of their night together. An incredible night.
She reached out a hand and he might have jumped, if not for his training. It wasn’t him she reached for. It was the doorknob.
“Right,” he said, reaching past her before she could touch it. He yanked the door harder than he’d intended but it was open. He’d started, so he kept right on going, striding out of the office and to the back door. He didn’t trust himself not to touch her when she moved past, so he followed his brother’s lead and headed to the exit, calling over his shoulder, “Lock up, Karma. See you tomorrow.”
Once outside in his truck, he sat with the key in the ignition.
It would be easy, too easy, to go back inside. Tell her to forget what he said about forgetting Fincastle. Why in the hell had he said that anyway? Like he wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to fuck her again.
No, not fuck.
Their night had been more intense than that. More personal than a simple itch that needed scratching. Not the flowery crap that poets write about . . . but something that made a corner of his soul crave the chance to experience it all again.
And that was why he sat in the truck, unmoving. Part of him wanted to leave. The woman was damned unnerving. She affected him in ways he didn’t want to think about. She was a stranger. He shouldn’t feel this bizarre pull to be around her. Hell, he’d even tried to call her for all the good it did him.
Not to screw her or to touch her or to even see her. Just to talk to her. When had he ever felt that desire before? Never. That cold December night, she managed to reach inside and comfort him on the very night he could have sworn he’d never feel peace again. Then she’d kissed him good-bye and handed him a phone number to nowhere.
And that too kept his ass in the seat of his beloved truck.
Christ, he was a fucking Marine. Marines didn’t run from danger, they ran toward it. But he’d bet his left nut that no Marine had ever before gone up against a slip of a woman with a fairylike face and the ability to bring a man to his knees with a simple glance.
Tomorrow, he wouldn’t run. He didn’t need to. She’d be gone in a few days. But before she left, he’d find out why she’d given him a bogus number.
* * *
“ARE YOU ALL right?” Karma asked as soon as Niall left.
“Sure. I still have a job.” Hannah smiled and tried to push away the hurt that had knifed through her at Niall’s request to leave what happened between them in Fincastle. She’d already decided she’d have to show him he needed her around. She’d just kind of hoped that he’d want to pick up where they’d left off.
Karma pursed her lips, giving her a narrow-eyed stare. “Your au—” She cut herself off as Michael pushed through the door from the Master Room, a bin full of dirty dishes in his hands. Turning to him she said, “Michael, just leave the dishes, I’ll get them. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Michael’s bangs shifted, as if moved by raised eyebrows before he smiled. “Sure. Clock me out?”
Karma nodded, taking the bin from him and disappearing around the demi-wall to the sink area.
Michael removed his apron, tossed it into the laundry basket by the back door, then left. Karma immediately pulled the screened door closed and latched it, then shut and locked the heavy wooden door behind it. Lifting her shoulder in a come-with-me maneuver, she gestured for Hannah to follow her to the sink.
Despite being tired and seriously ready to call it a night, Hannah obeyed.
The big metal dishwasher ran noisily. Steam poured from beneath the grate, wafting through the room like a wet, heavy cloud. But everything, aside from the tub of dirty dishes, gleamed in the kitchen.
“Wow, the cooks don’t waste time cleaning their stations at night, do they?”
Karma smirked. “Can you blame them? Virgil wants to get home and spend time with his wife. And Paulie . . . well, he’s an enigma. Doesn’t really say where he’s going at night. But if I had to guess, I’d say he’s curled up at home in bed with a book.”
“Not an extrovert?”
“Hardly. Our chefs, and we call them chefs here, are more comfortable sorting tomatoes than talking to guests. That’s why they have us.” Karma set the bin of dishes on the floor next to a white cooler with a blue lid. She lifted off the top, pulled out two bottles of water, and handed one to Hannah.
“Thanks.” Hannah twisted off the cap and guzzled half the bottle.
“Worked up a thirst tonight?” Karma asked, grinning when Hannah nodded. She took a pull from her own bottle, then tilted her head to one side as if studying Hannah. “Your aura’s looking better. It’s a vibrant orange again. Not that sickly yellow it had been when you walked out of Niall’s office. And definitely not that hot orange red it was when you two wal
ked into it.”
“You really see auras. It’s not just an impression of people’s characters you get when you talk to them, is it? You see actual colors. All the time?”
The dishwasher made a shunking noise, indicating the next wash cycle. Karma eyed it, then lifted herself onto the clean table and sat. Hannah folded her arms over her chest, but didn’t join her on the metal table.
“Yep. I literally see colors around living people.” Karma lowered her eyes and hunched her shoulders. “Pretty weird, huh?”
“No, not at all. I think that’s amazing. I have my own little, um . . . talent.” She hesitated briefly, but figured if Karma saw auras, she shouldn’t be weirded out by Hannah’s gift. “I touch objects and get visions.”
“You’re a psychometrist!” Karma’s expression brightened. “I’ve heard about people like you but I’ve never met one in person until now. Now that’s a cool gift. How does it work? Is it like mine? Do you do it all the time? Bet that’s a great way to weed out loser dates.”
Hannah laughed. “It can come in handy for spotting the creepy guys but it can be a bit of a pain too. I don’t just see visions from objects—metal objects—I mean. I, um, well. Shoot, it’s going to sound nuts but I actually live the vision.”
Karma frowned. “You mean if I handed you a fork, you’d get into my head and fish around?”
“Nothing quite that diabolical.” Hannah twisted her braid in her fingers. “It’s more like you hand me something and whatever memory you had when you were handling it will be one I walk through. I’ll see it, hear it, smell it, taste it, just like you did. Like a dream, sort of. You know how it’s all bright and shiny when you’re in the dream and it fades after you wake up? My visions are like that.
“In a way, I am you for a few minutes. But I cannot search for other memories once I’m in there. Usually, I wonder a question, like what’s your favorite guilty secret TV show or something before I touch the object. Unless you were really upset when you touched it before me, I’ll usually only see the answer to my question.
“I think it’s an invasion of privacy to go rooting around in someone else’s memories, you know. Anyway, I don’t think I can do something like that. I’ve never tried. And I wouldn’t. It’s kind of, you know, icky.”
The dishwasher emitted a loud hiss, then water ran down the drain. Karma glanced from it to Hannah, then grinned. “We’re so going to get along. Tell you what—” Michael Bublé singing “Home” rang out from her pocket. Karma held a finger in the air, then tugged out her cell. “Hey, Ziggy . . . I’m closing up . . . How about I stop by the station in an hour? No, I don’t need a ride . . . No, I won’t walk there alone in the dark . . . Yes, I can’t wait to see you either.”
Karma ended the call. Her dark brown eyes were bright with excitement. “Tell you what, I need to finish up in the office and sign the time cards for everyone. Can you do the dishes? You don’t need to put away the clean ones, just load the dirty ones into the dishwasher and get it started.”
Karma pulled the clean rack of dishes out of the dishwasher and set up another one for the dirty ones.
After receiving a quick demonstration on the machine, Hannah agreed. It wasn’t rocket science. And they had a much smaller version of this model dishwasher back in Fincastle. Karma gave her a quick hug and bolted to the office.
Hoping for more time to talk after, Hannah lifted the rubber bin from the floor and started loading the plates. Everything was fine until she grabbed a handful of knives. The world around her went gray.
Then someone screamed.
CHAPTER 8
EVERYTHING WAS DARK, but that was perfect. Mercy loved the dark. Besides, the only thing Mercy needed to see was him. And there he sat, trussed up. Naked. Delicious. Dying.
Blood ran black rivers from the left side of his chest. It gurgled and spouted.
The heavy scent of metal clung to the warm, humid night air. And Mercy drank it in. How that smell made her shiver. Excitement danced through her like electricity.
“Mercy, please,” her lover begged. His long blond hair hung limply in front of his face. His brown eyes, hollow. The skin beneath them sunken. He radiated pain.
Mercy’s joy dimmed.
“You’re still here?” She moved closer. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not after everything. He was supposed to be gone. To be free. He shouldn’t be clinging to life like this. “That’s not right. Not right at all. What do you think you’re doing? I set you free. You can’t stay.”
Her bare feet shuffled across the rough, unfinished floor. He wriggled his legs uselessly. He couldn’t fight her. He was tied to the two-by-fours that framed the house’s ocean view window. She reached out her free hand to touch his leg and he kicked at her. The weak move sent more blood pumping through the hole in his chest.
Fury exploded through Mercy. This was how he repaid her kindness?
She shifted the knife from hand to hand, slashing the air with each pass.
He screamed again, a long throaty cry of agony.
And she sank the knife into his neck this time.
Blood spurted up into her face. It dripped down her cheeks and lips. “Yes! Yes! Baptize me in your blood. Show me you’re grateful for my mercy.” Laughter rang out loud and disjointed and she shivered in delight.
He was gone now.
Her mercy had been granted.
“Hannah! Hannah, let go of the knife.” Karma’s voice filtered in, distant and tinny. Then fingers brushed her damp cheeks. “Hannah, let go of the knife.”
Hannah blinked open her eyes. Karma’s caramel-colored skin had gone gray and her eyes were wide and frightened.
“Wha?”
“The. Knife.” Karma repeated the words, separately, slowly. “Let. It. Go.”
Knife?
Hannah glanced down to see her right hand, covered in blood and clutching the blade of one of the dinner knives. She dropped it instantly. Fear and pain rushed in to replace the vision.
“Damn!” She cried out when Karma wrapped her hand in the black apron Hannah had been wearing. “Oh, that hurts! Holy fucking schmoley.”
Karma snorted a nervous laugh. “I’ve never met anyone before who says holy and fucking like that in the same sentence. Are you back with me?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Hannah nodded. Her palm throbbed and burned. Oh, she was most definitely back in the land of the living. Pain was really good for breaking free from a vision. “Sorry if I frightened you.”
“I’m just glad you’d told me about your gift before I found you clutching that thing like you were about to stab someone with the wrong end.” Karma gave her a weak smile. “Although, the fact that your aura was no longer any shade of orange but a muddy brownish-black would have clued me into something being really wrong. Are you sure you’re okay? Do you think you need stitches?”
“I hope not. No insurance right now.” Carefully, Hannah unwrapped her hand and examined the wound. Blood smeared her palm, making it difficult to see the actual damage.
“Come here.” Karma gently but firmly pulled her to the sink and ran her hand under a stream.
Hannah’s palm burned despite the cool water. “I really think it’s fine. A lot of blood, but the wound doesn’t look too deep.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Karma’s voice took on that Spanish accent again. “Do you always whip knives in the air during a vision? Seems like it could be very dangerous to me.”
Despite the levity of her tone and the smile on her face, Karma’s skin was still gray.
Hannah tried to pull back but gave up when the manager tightened her grip on Hannah’s wrist.
“Really, Karma. I’m fine. I’m not sure what happened. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“How would you know?” Karma pulled Hannah’s hand out from the water stream and examined it again. She b
lotted it dry with a paper towel, only to push it back under the water again. “You didn’t seem to know what you were doing when I walked in here.”
Hannah pulled free of the woman’s grasp and pressed a paper towel to the wound. “Karma, I’m normally very careful about what objects I touch. It was stupid of me to pick up a bunch of silverware bare-skinned. I wasn’t thinking. And I certainly couldn’t have imagined what I’d see when I did.”
Karma shut off the water and handed Hannah another paper towel. “What did you see?”
Hannah focused on stanching the blood from the long, shallow cut and tried to think. She needed to tell someone fast because the vision was already starting to fade.
The name, what did the killer call herself?
Mercedes? Mirabo? Marcy?
Hannah needed to touch the knife again and reconnect with the vision. Her stomach pitched at the idea but maybe she could get something she missed the first time. She held out a shaking hand and said, “Karma, can you hand me the knife?”
“You want it back?” Karma frowned. She held it aloft, wrapped in a hand towel, examining it herself. “Why?”
“Because I need to touch it again to remember what I saw.”
“Are you going to stab me with it?”
“Of course not.” I hope.
Karma slowly lowered it into Hannah’s waiting palm.
Instant connection, hot and fierce. A flash was all she needed and Hannah shoved the utensil away.
“You okay?” Karma asked, putting the knife behind her on the table. “What did you see?”
Hannah stared at the gold-handled table knife sitting innocuously on the tabletop. It wasn’t the knife from the vision. So why had it sent her world spinning?
“Hannah, what did you see in that vision?”
“A murder.”
* * *
MERCY SAT AT her mother’s vanity and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t the ugly little nothing she’d once been. So why didn’t he notice?