Behind Deville, Nick caught a glimpse of Petrie. His partner’s gun was raised.
“Freeze right there, Deville.”
Petrie’s voice didn’t seem to get through to Deville. He dropped the knife and went for Nick’s gun. Deville strong hands wrapped over Nick’s. His grip seemed to loosen against his will. Fear and dread combined into a cold that chilled his soul. Was this the end? Was this the moment that Jeri had predicted months ago?
Their arms rose above their heads in a struggle over the gun, a struggle for life or death. Deville’s or his. Nick was losing the fight.
Petrie’s voice penetrated the pounding rush of blood raging through his ears that drowned out everything except the loudest noises. “I’m warning you, Deville.”
Second seemed like hours.
A shot rang next to Nick’s ear. Deville forced the gun lower, until it pressed against his gut. The ring of a gunshot shocked him into stillness. Nothing. He felt nothing. Had the shot somehow missed him? Then, the searing pain woke up ever nerve ending in his body.
He collapsed against Deville.
His mind rejected the reality. Was this the way he supposed to die? In the arms of Jackson Deville? Surely not. He couldn’t die. Not that he was afraid of dying. No, he was afraid of not living long enough.
Another shot rang next to his ear. He waited for a second jolt of pain. But it didn’t come. Deville shuddered once. His eyes glazed over.
The gun in Deville’s hand discharged again as he crumpled to the floor.
Nick’s last thought before he lost consciousness was about Jeri. Had she survived the gunfire in the small space? Or had she also been hit? He wanted to know. He needed to know. His body wasn’t going to give him time to find out.
Part III – Epilogue
Chapter Thirty
New Orleans, Louisiana
New Year’s Day, 2015
Jeri had gone back to serving drinks at Johnny J’s. She’d talked Darwin into letting her work days instead of nights. He’d wanted to semi-retire anyway, so he’d agreed. That’s what he’d told her anyway.
Nick understood. Once he’d been able to get back on his unsteady feet, she’d needed to get out of the apartment some. Jeri had a restless spirit.
He’d gone to the bar to be with her on New Year’s Day. The place was crowded with people still celebrating. You’d think they’d all be in the motel rooms with hangovers. But no, a bunch of them were still going strong.
Jeri smiled at him.
He grinned back at her. “Everything going okay today?”
She nodded.
Every once in a while, someone would wander into the bar and recognize her. Then, there would be a slew of uncomfortable questions. A few idiots asked her to tell their futures. She politely explained to them that it didn’t work that way.
Besides, it seemed that her gift had gone dormant.
Nick wished she’d tell him when he was going to be able to go back to work. His doctor was in no hurry to release him back to active duty, and his boss, his dear old Uncle Ed, was in no rush to put him back in harm’s way. Not from bullets or knives, but from the fiery darts of the media. The case had made national news. He suspected that Ed wanted to allow the storm that had followed Deville’s death and the revelations of his crimes to die down. Ed had taken a lot of heat for allowing a serial killer to remain at large so long when he had been a suspect practically from the beginning of the investigation.
“Nick, where’d you go?”
He turned his attention away from his inner thoughts and back to Jeri. “Sorry. When are you getting off?” He already knew the answer.
“Another hour or so.”
Herb the bouncer lumbered up to them. “What you doing in here, cop?”
Jeri rolled her eyes at Herb. He still didn’t like cops. And particularly not this cop. He had a hard time forgiving Nick for allowing Jeri to fall into the clutches of Jackson Deville. As if Nick had had a choice in the matter. What was he supposed to do? Lock her in a cell?
“I’m watching you, Herb.”
Herb snorted with contempt and returned to his post by the front door.
Nick smothered his laughter at the bouncer’s expense. It wouldn’t pay to rile him up.
He leaned toward the bar. And Jeri leaned toward him. She knew he wasn’t after a kiss because he’d already gotten one of those sweet things from her. Jeri had a habit of giving them up to him rather freely. And she didn’t have a problem initiating them. He liked that about her.
“Petrie called me.”
She raised her eyebrows. His partner wasn’t supposed to worry him with fresh cases. Nick was supposed to remain in the dark about what was going on in New Orleans, but he had friends and he had ears and not much got past him.
“So what did he want?”
Nick licked his lips. “There’s been another fire.”
She backed up from him. Fear flickered in her eyes.
“Already?”
What did she mean by that?
He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at her. She’d said she hadn’t had any more visions? Was she telling him the truth?
She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “I haven’t seen anything. I promise. It’s just…”
“What?”
“I’d been so sure that wouldn’t be the last one. And I was right.”
Her eyes begged for understanding.
He sighed. “But you haven’t seen anything.” If she had, her vision might have given the investigators some clues where to look for the arsonist.
She shook her head. The seeing had diminished, but the knowing sometimes still afflicted her. Maybe it was because the silver pieces had gone into evidence instead of into the fire.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I can’t help him.” She rubbed a spot on the bar. “I’ve thought a lot about what happened…about the things I saw. I only saw them when I met someone who was involved. They came when they wanted to come. I had no control over that…except when I had the silver pieces.”
Jeri had told him often enough that she didn’t want them back. Maybe they were safer for the whole world locked deep in the vaults of the New Orleans Police Department evidence locker.
“I’d tell you if I thought I’d seen something. You know that.”
Yeah, he knew that. Why had he even had a flicker of doubt? “I’m not…I just don’t want you hurt like that again.”
What had happened in the house on Chippewa had devastated her. While Nick had been recovering from the physical and emotional damage of taking a bullet, Jeri had been struggling with the mental damage of watching her biological father and her boyfriend fight to the death.
She smiled, a weary sort of amused expression. “If they start again, you can’t stop them any more than I can. What hurts me the most…is the knowing. You can’t keep me from getting hurt from it, you know.”
He returned her smile. “I can try.”
She leaned in and kissed him. “My hero.”
He didn’t feel much like a hero. Wounded and cooped up in the hospital and then his apartment for months, she’d taken care of him. Not the other way around.
“Oh, Nick. Don’t you get it? You don’t have to be my hero. Just be my lover and my friend. We’re in this together. We have to have each other’s back. We have to take care of each other. That’s the only way two people like us are gonna survive in this world. One of these days…you’re going to have to take care of me the way I took care of you.”
His heart faltered. What did she mean? She’d said her visions had ceased.
She patted his hand. “I just know. But don’t worry. I also know we’re going to have a long life together.”
She’d said that many times. Maybe it was time he believed her.
Now, if he could just figure out how to keep her from always reading his mind. Sometimes he wanted her to read him, and sometimes he didn’t. Like now. He had a surprise for her when she got off work. Something sparkly for her ring finge
r. Was she the kind of girl that would make that kind of commitment after only knowing a guy for a few months? Maybe she was expecting it. Maybe she wasn’t. If she was, she wasn’t giving off any clues that she did.
Jeri smiled at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Of course, she knew. He’d never be able to keep a secret from her.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Denise is a Southern girl. She has lived in Louisiana all her life, and yes, she has a drawl. She has a terrific husband, two incredible children, and now a wonderful son-in-law, who not only has endured her writing moods, but has also encouraged her to indulge her writing passion. Besides writing romantic suspense, she enjoys traveling, reading, and cooking.
Accounting is a skill she learned to earn a little money to support her writing habit. She wrote her first story when she was a teen, seventeen handwritten pages on school-ruled paper and an obvious rip-off of the last romance novel she had read. She’s been writing off and on ever since, and with more than a few books already published, she continues to write fast and furious from the heart and has no desire to slow down.
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OTHER TITLES BY DENISE MONCRIEF
Deceptions Of The Heart
The End
Cross Examination
The Memory Catcher
The Arkansas Hauntings
Laurel Heights (Haunted Hearts #1)
Victoria House (Haunted Hearts #2)
Ashley Ridge (Haunted Hearts #3)
Shaw’s Landing (Haunted Hearts #4)
Chelsea Lane (Haunted Hearts #5)
The River Road Hauntings
The Unmistakable Scent of Gardenias (Haunted Hearts #6)
The Curse of a Single Red Rose (Haunted Hearts #7)
The Trail of Crush Azaleas (Haunted Hearts #8)
The Rush of Wind Through Magnolias (Haunted Hearts #9)
The Sweet Madness of Honeysuckle (Haunted Hearts #10)
The Colorado Series
An Impostor in Town (Colorado #1)
Purgatory (Colorado #2)
Twin Rivers (Colorado #3)
COMING SOON
The Dare Lake Trilogy
Oceans Apart
Dream Sight (Prescience Series #2)
Bonus Material
Prescience Series: Book Two
Dream Sight
Chapter One
New Orleans, Louisiana
September 2015
Life had never been so good for Meghan Landry. Someone had just signed the buyer’s order on a 2.7 million dollar French Quarter apartment that she’d had listed for nearly eighteen months. Before her, someone else had listed the property. It had been on the market for over four years. She was young, but she’d managed to do what the other agent had not been able to do. Three six-month contracts for representation had been signed. She’d had to keep promising the seller that a deal was imminent to keep the celebrity from turning to yet another Realtor.
She did the math in her head. Two point seven million at three percent…was a lot of money. Tonight, she would celebrate at home with wine and a perusal of new car ads. It was time to buy her first ever brand new vehicle. The car she’d brought with her to New Orleans had died a painful death shortly after the move. She’d been on foot ever since. No more riding public transportation. No more renting upscale vehicles to meet with VIP clients. A successful real estate agent needed a vehicle to match her professional status.
The agency she was with kept a small satellite office on the edge of the Quarter, so all the properties she wanted to specialize in were within walking distance. Two exchanges and three bus rides took her well away from the Quarter every night. She never told her clients where she lived.
Meghan waited on Canal for the bus and glanced at her watch. She’d made it just in time. If she’d been late, it would have been another twenty minutes before the next bus on her line pulled up to the stop.
She closed her eyes and counted her lucky stars. It had been the best decision of her life when she’d moved away from her small hometown to the city. She’d left everything behind. Her momma. Her younger sisters, the twins Jenny and Josie. But most importantly, she’d left Gabe behind. If she’d stayed, she would have ended up marrying him and having five kids before she was thirty. Nope. Small town life wasn’t for her. She loved Gabe, but she didn’t love him enough to want to be stuck in a small southern town the rest of her life.
Maybe she didn’t know what love was if she could let it go so easily. The idea that she could be so heart-calloused pestered her, but not enough to go back to her former life.
Her momma thought she was crazy for moving to New Orleans. The city was where her cousin Caroline had died. The whole extended Leblanc-Landry clan blamed New Orleans instead of the killer. They didn’t trust people who lived in the city. Meghan had to check in with her mother every night to reassure her that she wasn’t dead like Caroline. Now, that was crazy.
A warm hand on her upper arm jolted her out of her daydreaming. She jerked away from the stranger’s touch. You couldn’t be too careful on the streets of New Orleans. The lowlifes were brazen, picking on vulnerable people, even in the middle of the day. Did she look like a tourist? No one in the city was immune from strange encounters of the unnerving kind. She’d backed down her fair share of perverts, but she wasn’t inclined to fend off a pickpocket or a mugger. The thought made her more angry than scared.
The voice that whispered in her ear was piercing, and the tone was urgent. “Don’t do it.”
Meghan turned and stared into the eyes of a blue-haired woman. “Back off. I don’t have any money to give you.”
“I don’t want your money.” The woman tried to smile, but the effort appeared to wobble on the edges of her mouth. She backed up a couple of steps. “I don’t want anything from you. I just…you’re going to do something foolish. Just…don’t do it.”
The woman swiveled on her heels and started to walk away.
The fear that she shouldn’t ignore what the woman had to say resonated deep in Meghan’s soul. This was no ordinary weirdo.
Words she hadn’t intended to say popped out of her mouth. “Hey, stop. What do you think I’m going to do that I shouldn’t?”
The woman stumbled, turned, and blinked at her as if debating whether to give up any more information. “You’re a fire starter.” She tilted her head as if something bothered her. “But you’re not the fire starter.”
“What?”
“You’re going to start a fire.” The woman flinched. “Right now, you don’t think that you would ever do something like that, but when it’s time, you will, and you will regret it.” She backed up, keeping her gaze on Meghan. “Remember what I said.”
The woman was gone before Meghan could argue. She muttered to herself as the bus pulled up to the stop. “This whole town is full of crazy people.”
Several people rushed up to crowd onto the bus. Meghan glanced around her. Had anyone noticed her strange encounter with the creepy, blue-haired woman? It didn’t appear that anyone had, or at least, it didn’t appear that anyone cared.
Meghan tried to settle into a seat, but she couldn’t get comfortable. The encounter had taken the glow off her successful day. Why was there always someone out there in the wide world willing to crash someone else’s joy?
She leaned her head against the glass behind her and tried to forget, but the woman’s words kept rolling around inside her head.
For the first time, she wondered if she’d made a mistake moving to New Orleans. She squashed the thought before it could take hold of her thinking. Of course, she’d done the right thing. This was where she belonged. The rhythm of her heart ma
tched the pulse of the city, beat for beat.
When she arrived at her apartment in the Paterson’s basement, she dropped her bag and her keys onto the nearby table and sorted through the mail. When her landline rang, she paused and glared at the ringing intrusion on her solitude. The only person who ever called her on her landline, other than people trying to sell her something or ask her opinion about things she didn’t care about, was her mother. Her mother had insisted that she have a landline installed, had even gone so far as offering to pay for it.
Momma didn’t have a cell phone. Didn’t want a cell phone.
Her mother was a unique individual.
Meghan wasn’t sure, but she thought maybe Moira had once lived in a nudist colony. After that, she had spent five or six years living in a travel trailer in California. Momma never married Meghan’s father. Moira thought he was living in Thailand. Moira’s first husband was serving time for distribution of a controlled substance. Her second husband was missing and had been declared dead a few years ago. Moira was still a person of interest in that cold case.
Her mother was not like most mothers. The woman knew where to purchase a baggie of the good stuff, and she had never quite shed her hippie persona or her hippie way of life. Even though she lived with her third husband, the doctor, in a four-bedroom, brick house with a three-car garage and a swimming pool, she still played the part of the free-loving, free-spirited flower child. Her third husband rolled his eyes at her eccentricities and spent most of his time at his practice or playing golf. When he wasn’t doing that, he was at an LSU sporting event or an alumni association meeting.
Meghan lifted the receiver and dragged in a deep breath. “Hi, Momma. Where y’at?”
“Awright. Forget about me. Are you still alive, because you haven’t called me in days.”
Really? They had talked day before yesterday.
“I’m obviously alive, and I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine because I just closed my first big deal. I’m celebrating tonight.”
Second Sight (Prescience Series Book 1) Page 28