Sight Unseen

by AnonYMous

  He tipped his head, inquiring. White-blond hair, a few inches too long for fashion, shifted along one well-built shoulder. “No. I wasn’t saying anything.”

  She narrowed her eyes. His expression was bland, but she suddenly got the impression he was screwing with her. Man, she hated walk-ins.

  “All right,” she said. “Let’s just do the reading, then, shall we?”

  North smiled and set his left hand on the tabletop, palm up.

  She looked at it, and out of nowhere, a cold finger of apprehension tapped on her spine. He had the long, well-manicured fingers of a pianist, but his broad palms were callused enough to suggest more muscular hobbies. A nice-looking hand, indeed. Her reluctance to take it confused her.

  This wouldn’t be difficult. He had no ring on his fourth finger, no tan line either. The way he was looking at her, she doubted he was gay. So all she needed to do was mutter some crap about looking right in front of his face, add in some bullshit about a bad relationship in his past and predictions of some stellar size-zero on the horizon, and he’d shuffle off.

  Except she didn’t want to touch him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just, uh, seeking out the spirits.” She’d read a book once, some self-help manual for single women, and the main thrust of it had been to follow your instincts. If a guy seemed shady, you shouldn’t waste time trying to figure out why; you should just walk away. She wondered if that advice applied to fake psychics who’d suddenly turned chicken.

  “You know what?” She stood up. “Since this is a lost object case, maybe I will use the scrying glass.” Something to put between them—to block the negative vibes, her mother would have said.

  Oh shit. She knew it was bad when she started calling on maternal wisdom.

  “No need,” he said. “Do as you usually do.”

  “No, really,” she said, and turned to get it. “This will—”

  The crystal ball was glowing. There was an actual glow emerging from beneath the cloth.

  She stepped in front of it so the client wouldn’t see. One look, and he’d be crowing to all his friends about it, and the next thing you knew, there’d be a group outside setting up shrines to Hecate. Worse yet—if he saw it, he’d want her to use it. And there was no way she was touching it. Not when it had suddenly gone radioactive.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Good question. For starters, her pulse was racing, and she thought she might be hallucinating. “Nothing, I’m just . . . not feeling myself. I think the spirits aren’t in a good mood. Maybe you should come back another time.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’m glad to wait, Miss Marsh.”

  “Well, I—hey! How do you know my last name?”

  He paused. “The article. The one in the Weekly Register.”

  “Oh.” Great. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry. What can I say? It’s an off day for me. Sometimes the spirits just don’t cooperate.”

  “Or they cooperate all too well.”

  She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

  “Perhaps my presence is evoking sensations you aren’t accustomed to,” he said with sympathy. “It does happen, occasionally.”

  The pompous—! Clearly his looks had gone to his head. She opened her mouth to give him the mother of all comeuppances—and the bells rang in the front of the shop.

  With a ridiculous sense of relief, Kate gestured toward the door. “I’m so sorry. That’ll be my six o’clock appointment.”

  But it wasn’t. It was Luna, who came sweeping past the curtain in a tinkling of anklets and bangles. The reek of patchouli entered with her. “Darling, I simply must—oh! Forgive me, I didn’t know you were with a client.”

  “I’m not,” Kate said, locking eyes with North. She didn’t know why this had turned bad, or how it was bad, even—but it felt bad. And like the book said, she wasn’t going to second-guess the feeling. “He was just leaving, actually.”

  A faint smile curved North’s lips. “Yes. After I get my reading.” He turned toward Luna, and his smile broadened into shameless flattery. “I’m quite excited.”

  The older woman, in the process of adjusting her sandal, actually paused to gape at him. “Oh, my,” she breathed.

  “Indeed,” he replied in warm, low tones. “I’ve heard she’s the best.”

  “Really?” Luna straightened up, glowing. “But how lovely! I always knew she was special. A very raw talent, to be sure, but still—unmistakable! She gets it from her mother.”

  North slid Kate an unreadable look. She bared her teeth at him. Luna chattered on, oblivious. “I had no idea, though, that word had already spread to the psychic street! It must be that article.”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

  “Of course, dear. We’ll talk later. Now sit down, darling.” She took Kate’s shoulders and guided her back to the table. “Do your reading, and don’t mind me; I’ll just be in the back. I promise,” she said to North, “you’ll have complete privacy.”

  Kate ground her teeth as the office door groaned shut. Privacy, her ass. She had no doubt Luna was even now plastering herself up against the window, greedy for another piece of eye candy.

  Damn it, damn it! Last time she had turned a customer away—a distraught woman who had wanted Kate to cast for the location of her missing daughter—Luna had threatened to fire her.

  “The psychic street awaits, Harmony.”

  North’s sarcasm cleared her nerves right up. She lowered her voice to a harsh whisper so Luna wouldn’t overhear. “Sorry to break it to you, but my name is Kate. Harmony is my stage name.”

  That was a lie, of course. But how would he know?

  His eyes moved past hers, to the blacked-out window. “Well, Kate, you’re currently on stage.”

  She hesitated, totally unnerved now. No one had ever figured out the window before.

  He hadn’t figured out. He’d just given it a casual glance. People looked away when they were in thought. Maybe he’d just remembered to add something to his shopping list.

  Nevertheless, for some reason it gave her the motivation she needed. She put her hand in his, and shut her eyes.

  His skin was warm and dry. When his fingers closed around hers, she almost jumped out of her seat.

  “Fingers flat,” she said through her teeth.

  His fingers loosened. She started to count the seconds. Twenty was generally all it took to seem as if she’d received and thoughtfully considered the spirits’ advice.

  She made it to five before the tingling started. I’m losing my mind. It felt like an electric current was building between their palms. I’m getting turned on by this asshole? Not possible.

  The current seemed to be moving up her arm now. She was more aware of him, suddenly, than she’d ever been of any man—aware of all of him, like she was pressed up against his body. Without even opening her eyes, she visualized with perfect clarity how his hand flowed into his wrist into his forearm, as if her own hand were smoothing up the powerful bulge of his bicep, then swinging over for a little detour across his chest—his abs were flat, she could count the ridges, and oh dear god—

  She yanked her hand out of his and opened her eyes. His were locked on hers. For a second, he wore an expression that made her heart trip: ferociously focused. An immensity of intensity, aimed at her.

  Her cheeks were burning. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  He quirked a brow. “Any surprises in my future?”

  Yes. You will learn you are the female equivalent of Viagra. She licked her lips and began to speak very rapidly, hoping all the while that Luna had given up interest and would not take note of her protégé’s pathetic lack of positive body language. “You’ve been disappointed in the past, very badly.”

  “Hmm.”

  “By a woman.”

  He leaned forward attentively.

  “You’ve decided you’ll never find anyone who can appreciate you for who you are.�
��

  “How . . . perceptive.”

  Mr. Pompous definitely needed pricking. “But the spirits tell me otherwise. They say there is someone. You’ve already seen this woman—on the street corner, waiting for a ride to come along. Something casual. Maybe she was getting her lawn mowed. Or blowing a wad at the local mall. Or, you know, filling her tank at another pump. Racking someone’s cue at the pool hall.” She paused. “Pocketing balls.”

  He made a choking sound, then coughed into his hand.

  “You know what I’m talking about?” she asked.

  “Think so,” he said, his pretty-boy voice slightly strained.

  “Ah, good. Well then, she’s seen you, too. But she’s underestimated you.” Kate let her smirk bloom into the open. “Yep, she definitely has. Thing is, she’s got this hole in her life. And she’s not sure you’re man enough to fill it. You’ve got to convince her that you’d be a good fit. I’m warning you, I don’t think you’ll be able to measure up. She’s looking for something huge, and the spirits tell me that you’re actually rather—”

  “Fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “That’s what I’ll pay you, to help me find what I’m missing.”

  The breath left her in a rush. “What?”

  “I need it back,” he said simply. “And only you can help me find it. Give me a single day of your time. Do this for me, and I’ll pay you well for it.”

  He was definitely with the Mafia. Or he was insane. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she whispered. She realized suddenly that they were both whispering. Somehow, he definitely knew about Luna’s window. “I don’t do anything. And I certainly don’t do anything worth that much money!”

  “I beg to differ. I’ll be paying you just to do this . . . charming thing that you do.”

  Fifty thousand dollars. “Why me? There are other psychics.”

  “Not like you.”

  Score one for his team: she actually almost laughed at that. “It’s illegal, isn’t it? Whatever you’re looking for.”

  “I assure you, you wouldn’t be breaking any laws.”

  She noticed that he didn’t make any promises about himself. “I don’t abet crimes, either.”

  He laughed. “I’m a businessman, Miss Marsh, not a criminal.”

  Oh, so she was Miss Marsh now, was she? “What sort of business?”

  “Mergers and acquisitions.”

  She sucked her teeth in thought. That could basically mean anything. “What company do you work for?”

  “My own.”

  “And what do you merge and acquire?”

  “Stocks.”

  “Well, I doubt you need me to look for a stock,” she said. “So what is it you’re looking for, exactly?”

  “Ah.” He paused. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that until I know you’re committed. But rest assured, it’s nothing too terrible.”

  “So, not a body.”

  He arched a brow. “We’ve been over that.”

  “You seem like a good guy,” she lied. “If you’re missing something, why not go to the police?”

  “The police can’t help me with this particular problem.”

  “And I can.”

  He sighed. “Evidently I believe so, if I am willing to part with such a large sum of money for a day’s worth of work. Besides . . .” He shrugged. “The people who borrowed this object believe very firmly in the powers of the mind. They respect psychics. Thus they would be more receptive to gentle probing from you than to an interrogation at the local police station.”

  She thought of her mom’s friends. Okay, she could see that. After years of being rooted out of public spaces, jailed for nudity and disturbing the peace and whatnot, most of them mistrusted cops. On the other hand, send a psychic around asking questions, and they’d find it very romantic. They’d probably line up to talk to her.

  Still, something was bothering her. This coincidental sum of money, almost a precise match to the amount she needed. “Admit it. You’ve been spying on me. Going through my trash, maybe?”

  He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Okay, maybe not. Fifty thousand dollars. Just for a single day of playing Harmony the Psychic?

  No, no. She narrowed her eyes. Nothing about this seemed right. She’d figured him for bad news the moment she’d met him, but this was just—crazy. Add in the fact that she wasn’t really psychic, and she’d have to be certifiable to agree to this.

  Still, fifty grand in one day! She could quit this job and go into the doctoral program debt-free. Scratch that, she could keep this job for a month or two and finally buy some dental insurance and still pay off her student loans entirely.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “So, I go around with you for a day, do the psychic thing—” At his frown, she hastily added, “You know, channel my spirit friends while interviewing these people who have your stuff. And what, tell you if they’re actually telling the truth?”

  “Even simpler,” he said. “All you need do is accompany me.”

  She frowned. “And, like, impress them? With my . . . psychic self?”

  “Precisely.”

  Okay, so she would definitely need to borrow the beaded headdress from Luna for this. “But it wouldn’t be dangerous.”

  He laughed. “Not in the least.”

  “So . . . maybe I’ll consider it. But first, you have to tell me how you knew.”

  He blinked. “How I knew what?”

  “That fifty grand was the exact sum of money which would make me sit up and take interest.”

  “Was it really?” His smile unfolded like a bad secret—it started dark, and got scarier every second. “How odd. Perhaps I’m psychic, too.”

  Chapter 3

  The plan was simple. All Kate needed to do was tag along on North’s mysterious errand—provide the psychic muscle, as it were. At nine o’clock the next morning, she was waiting on the curb outside her North Berkeley apartment, sweating in her trench coat. It had to be eighty degrees already. What was up with this weather?

  When a silver Lexus turned down her block, she pulled out her mobile phone and opened the camera app. First, a shot of the license plate. Then . . .

  He pulled up and rolled down the window. God, he was gorgeous. Looking at his face felt like a fist-blow to her belly. Was this how women felt right before they got into the car with a serial killer? Dazed, apprehensive, caught?

  Swallowing, she snapped a photo of him.

  “Miss Marsh—”

  Blurry. “Hold still,” she said, and aimed her phone again.

  He regarded her with glacial coolness. “Is there some reason you require a photo of me?”

  The camera wouldn’t focus. A blurry pic would have to do. She texted the images to her BFF, Amelia. “I’m not getting in a car with you without making sure someone knows who I’m with.”

  A muscle ticked in his square jaw. Then he nodded fractionally. “Get in.”

  Last chance for sanity to intervene. She took a quick glance up and down the block—leafy, green, unusually deserted. Yesterday, at closing, Luna had pulled her aside to warn her to be cautious. Mercury was entering retrograde.

  Kate didn’t believe in astrology. But she did watch the evening news. This bizarre heat spell was putting everyone on edge. Two people had gotten shot last night downtown. A brawl had broken out at the bourgie bar on University.

  “Time is money,” North said.

  To be precise, it was fifty grand. “We’ll be back by dark?” Eight hours of work for fifty thousand dollars. She was not backing out now.

  “As I promised.” That flat remark made no attempt to reassure.

  On a deep breath, she crossed to the passenger side, pulling off her trench coat before slipping into the car.

  A choking noise came from North as he pulled away from the curb. She stole a glance, and shock rippled through her.

  Yesterday, she wouldn’t have thought him capable of genuine, uncomplicated laughter. But his face now c
ame alive with it. Beautiful as poetry, hot as a current, the smile he was trying to contain. God, but his mouth was something.

  She felt herself blush, and scowled to cover it. “I thought I should dress the part.”

  She felt his sidelong gaze like a ray of sunlight. With her eyes closed, she would have known where he was looking. From the heavy bronze amulets that hung down over her mirrored tribal top—to the gilt-picked hip-scarf, down to her patchwork skirt—“I look ridiculous,” she muttered. “That’s the point.”

  His lips at last pressed into a flat, effortful line. “I wasn’t aware that the part required so much . . . glitter.”

  Yep, the body glitter had been genius. She pulled down the sunshield to inspect her eye makeup. The kohl was holding up nicely. YouTube had been a real boon to her career lately. Amazing number of videos devoted to psychic chic. “Don’t hate the player,” she said. “Hate the game.”

  She caught his blank look from the corner of her vision. He drove with one hand, one very large hand; he had the bruised knuckles of a boxer and the long, elegant fingers of a sculptor.

  He glanced over, his dark eyes too sharp on hers. His irises melded with his pupils, an effect that should have been eerie.

  It was eerie, not least in the way it affected her hormones. She’d never been one for insta-lust. Nerves boiled in her stomach. She turned away to look out the window.

  “You took a real risk, you know.” Why was she speaking? They could pass this trip in silence. There was no need to babble. “Did you just stop at the first psychic shop you saw? A lot of these people, they take themselves way too seriously to ham it up like this.”

  He said nothing.

  He could at least try to be polite. She cleared her throat. “Was I the first psychic you tried?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “No luck involved,” he said. “I had no use for a real psychic.”

  She snorted. She kept forgetting he bought into all this. He just didn’t look the type. “Right, of course not. So I guess you searched Yelp for the psychic with the worst reviews?”

  “Do you hold that distinction?”