Four

CLARISSA SIGHED. Three days had passed since her trip to the bank. Three miserable days where she kept thinking about David Lorde, The Infuriating. Three nights where her mind filled with visions of the diner.

The growing night reached out with long shadows across her backyard. The still full trees blocked her view of the neighbor’s yard, and she usually liked that. Over the coming winter months, she’d become accustomed to seeing the familiar figure of Mrs. Larson as she washed her dishes each night. She actually looked forward to it, which surprised her.

But right now, she felt isolated and more alone than she had in a long time. In the window glass, she watched herself lift her coffee cup and sip. She was still tired, but in the distorted reflection she couldn’t see the dark circles she knew were there. All she saw was the outline of her riotous curls that fell in a tangle down her back. She barely reached five feet. A throwback, Mother had always called her, referring to how she looked like that old tintype of her great grandmother instead of a modern young lady.

She shook her head. She was happy with herself, with her looks. Somehow seeing David Lorde had messed with her thinking.

Why did the memory of the icy coldness in his eyes make her think of heat? So what if he made her heart pound like it hadn’t since her first crush? So what if he made her yearn for things like she’d felt back in high school? So what if he made her feel things—and it was obvious she made him feel nothing. Except maybe suspicion.

The straight arrowness of his stance made her feel like melting—and taking him with her. The stiffness of his jaw and the twitch in his cheek told of anger, but it also showed her a man fighting to keep control.

But control of what? Himself? Her? His sanity?

She’d tried to lie down and rest earlier, but her mind filled with the alternating images of David’s handsome face and the awful images of the visions. They both overpowered and intimidated her. She wasn’t sure which was more disturbing.

She had managed to forget for just a little while at the farmer’s market. Until she’d run into that old lady. Even now she shivered as she recalled her words. Trust in your instincts, just like Granny had always said.

She sighed. Her life seemed to have gone haywire lately. Strange visions. Strange people. And David. Clarissa wanted nothing more to do with him, or anyone unusual, for that matter.

She’d done her job. She’d warned him, hadn’t she? That had to be good enough. But why didn’t it feel good enough?

With another heavy sigh, she flipped the kitchen light off and made her way down the hallway to her bedroom.

She passed the living room and paused. The turmoil and thoughts she couldn’t escape seemed to continue. She walked into the darkened room and settled into the old rocking chair by the picture window, recalling the hours she’d spent as a child nestled in it. The heavy wooden arms curled around her in a welcoming hug. The high back hovered protectively overhead. The long, narrow runners had taken her on countless flights of fancy.

She’d longed for this chair when she was away from Granny. As soon as they arrived at Granny’s house, she’d grab one of Granny’s old musty-smelling books and climb into it.

For hours she flipped the pages, trying to read the old-fashioned handwriting that looked more like curls and art than any letters. She’d woven stories, and sometimes she’d closed her eyes and let the stories play on the inside of her mind. Later she learned she didn’t have a normal overactive imagination, but was actually seeing bits and pieces, glimpses, of other people’s lives.

She’d stopped looking through the old books then, afraid of what she’d see. When Granny passed away and the books came to her, Clarissa packed them away. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked at them.

She hadn’t been able to pack away the old rocking chair. It was her ground, her lasting connection to the one person she’d loved most.

So the chair remained in her living room and frequently, like now, served in the role of the comforting embrace as Granny had once done. The tension eased and seemed to slip away as she relaxed in the familiar chair.

For the first time in days, she went to bed and slept soundly . . .

. . . Until the sudden ring of the phone shattered the quiet.

Fumbling around on the nightstand, she finally located the phone. Though her first inclination was to fling the receiver across the room, she put it to her ear. “Hello,” she mumbled.

“Ms. Elgin? My name’s Linda. I work at Dove’s Place. You, um, were talking to Barbara? She left a note for me to call you when that guy came in.”

“Yes. I remember.” Clarissa sat up, shoving her hair out of her eyes as she squinted at the digital alarm. Two thirty a.m.

“He just came in. I don’t know. Something’s not right. He doesn’t look good. I think he’s hurt.”

“Linda, is it?”

“Yes.”

Clarissa chewed her lip for a moment before saying, “Don’t let him leave, if you can keep him there.”

“Oh, once he’s here, he never leaves until the sun’s up.”

After she hung up, Clarissa sat staring at the receiver in her lap. What was she doing? What was he doing? She’d warned him. She didn’t owe him anything else.

Frightening thoughts slipped into her mind. Should she go to the diner? If she didn’t, could she stop the events? What if . . . No, her visions, especially ones this strong, had never been wrong. She had to convince him she was telling the truth.

Reaching into the nightstand drawer, she pulled out a business card. Mac, the big, burly cop who’d given it to her, was one of her early morning regulars who finished his overnight shift with a strong cup for the drive home. He’d told her to call him if she had problems at her shop. She’d suspected he’d had other motives for giving it to her—complete with his cell phone number, but she wasn’t interested in him that way. He was nice enough, but . . .

Thoughts of David’s tall, slim frame came to mind, and she hastily pushed those thoughts away.

Quickly, she dialed the phone number. Scooting to the edge of the bed, she waited for Mac to answer. The deep voice on the other end wasn’t inviting in any way. “This is McHenry.”

“Uh. Hi, Detective . . . uh Mac. It’s Clarissa Elgin. From The Angry Bean coffee shop?” She spoke fast, before she lost her nerve. “Do you know of a diner called Dove’s Place? Do you know where it is?”

At first the line was silent, as if he were trying to get his bearings. “Dove’s Place? Yeah. A hellhole just this side of condemned. How do you know about a place like that?”

“I was there yesterday, and I saw something. I think something bad is going to happen.”

“Whoa. What do you mean you saw something and think something might happen? What’s going to happen?”

“I’m not sure, but it’ll be bad. I think it’s going to happen tonight.” She tried, and failed, to keep the tremor out of her voice. She knew she sounded like a crackpot, but it was better than being branded as an accomplice.

“That isn’t much information.”

“I know.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m not crazy. Please, just trust me. There was a man there yesterday, really creepy, with blue eyes.” She shivered at the coldness in those eyes. “I just got a call from, uh, my friend Linda. She says he’s there now.” Or would probably be there soon if the vision became reality. She knew lying to the police was probably on some sin list, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Is there anyone else involved?”

“I don’t know anyone’s name except . . . David Lorde.”

A low whistle came through the line. “Lady, you sure can pick ‘em.” His breath came unevenly, and she knew he was moving around. “Do you know who that guy is?”

“Well, sort of. He works down at the First National Bank.”

“He doesn’t just work there, he is First National. I think his family founded the place. Do you know what you’re getting mixed up in?”

She couldn’t explain that she didn’t have a choice. She’d already been sucked in too deep.

“We’ll check it out.” She heard a door slam on the other end of the line.

“I’ll meet you there.”

“No, you won’t. We’ll handle it. Stay home where it’s safe.”

“Mac?”

“What?”

“Thanks.” She hung up the phone before he could say another word.

She stumbled to the closet and pulled on a pair of jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt over her blue nightgown. Gathering up her keys and shoes, she ran through the house. She had to convince David she wasn’t a nut case, that she was telling the truth. She relaxed a little knowing that at least she had back up if that didn’t work. Please, God, don’t let me be too late.

DAVID STARED AT his reflection in the mirror behind the counter. He didn’t look any different but he felt different. Inside emotions fought for their place in his mind, struggled to be felt and set free. He grabbed his coffee cup and, with a swallow of the dark brew, he tried to wash them away.

He met his own familiar gaze and saw the triumph there. Once again he felt nothing, a cold, lonely emptiness settled into place. The physical pain in his ribs that had plagued him was duller now, too. But what pleased him most was the lack of emotions he felt.

The door of the old diner opened, accompanied by the faint tinkle of the bell mounted on its frame. He watched in the mirror as the woman stepped into the dimly lit room.

Even in the gloom he recognized the bright riot of curls that cascaded down her back. Her skin looked pale in the dimness, but just as pretty as when she’d walked into his office. While he couldn’t quite make out the color of her eyes he knew they were light. And warm.

She stood in the entry as the door slowly closed behind her. She looked around the room as if searching for someone—searching for him?

A frown creased her brow, then their eyes met in the mirror.

The frown vanished, and he thought the color faded in her face. Her shoulders lifted, and she shoved her purse strap up farther on her shoulder. Then, without breaking eye contact, she started toward him.

This time he frowned. What the hell was she doing here? He took another swallow of his coffee and looked away.

He didn’t have to see her to know she’d stopped right next to him. A light floral scent reached out to him, daring him to ignore her.

He couldn’t resist and turned his head to find her only inches away. Up close she looked beautiful. Her skin no longer looked pale, but light and fair like a soft summer breeze. And her hair fell in those ringlets that tempted him to reach out and touch their softness.

And her eyes were green. Bright and warm, as he’d noticed before, but now he saw something else.

He saw knowledge there and suddenly a reflection of himself.

FOR SEVERAL LONG seconds David continued to sip his coffee, staring straight ahead. Then he turned to look at her. Clarissa gasped. Pain marred his handsome features, and the pallor around his lips told her he was hurting.

“You should change your perfume,” he said before she could comment. “That scent’s a dead giveaway.”

She grimaced at his choice of words. “Sorry. I didn’t put it on to irritate you. I came here to help you.”

“Yeah, like you tried earlier? Sorry to disappoint you, but your warning came a bit too late.” He gulped his coffee as if it were laced with something stronger than sugar.

“I’m not trying to pry into your private life. I just don’t want the vision I saw to become reality. Just do me a favor and go home.”

“Why? Tell me one concrete, believable reason why.”

Clarissa bit hard on her lip, controlling the angry retort that nearly sprang from her tongue. “Just humor me. If I didn’t have a vision, then you’ll be none the worse for wear. If I did, you’ll be safe. Is that asking too much?”

“Tonight? Yes, it just might be.” He turned then and winced with pain.

“You’re hurt.” Concerned, she reached out. Rather than accept her touch, he pulled away. Disappointed, she dropped her hand.

“It’s no—”

They didn’t have time to say more. Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open, the jangle of the bell shattering Clarissa’s nerves.

Too late.

“Gimme what’s in the register.” The frighteningly familiar voice emerged from Clarissa’s vision and grew into a terrifying reality. Slowly, she turned to see the masked face. She knew exactly what he looked like. The madness in his eyes still shook her.

Linda stood motionless, staring at the robber with a fearful expression.

“Now,” he barked, gesturing toward the register with the gun.

At his sharp command, Linda tried to push the correct buttons, but she kept fumbling and missed. Tears formed in her eyes as her fright grew.

Clarissa’s heart pounded, and she knew that within a few moments David would be dead. No! She had to do something. But what? She didn’t want to get shot either, and this time he could see her.

“Freeze!” The barked command echoed around the room and Clarissa slumped in relief. “Put the gun down. Now.”

That wasn’t Mac’s voice. Turning quickly, Clarissa stared, shocked to see David standing a few feet away, a gun in his hand, aimed and ready. She saw the look of death in his eyes and the responding fright in the other man’s. No one could look into David’s eyes now and not fear for their very existence.

“Do it.” David sounded so calm, but the edge of his voice gave away the intensity of his anger.

“Both of you freeze and drop your weapons.” This time it was the officer’s voice which resounded through the night. Mac flashed his badge, and the thief hastily put his gun down, his eyes clearly showing his preference for the cop to the angry man before him. David relaxed, his arm falling to his side where the gun dangled between his fingers.

“Lorde. On the floor and kick it over to me.”

David’s gaze momentarily flickered to the big police officer, as if wondering at the recognition. The sound of the heavy metal pistol scraping across the linoleum filled the air.

Relieved, Clarissa leaned against the counter.

Mac quickly handcuffed the thief’s hands behind his back and checked him from head to toe for other weapons. He reached up and ripped the mask off his face. The two men glared at each other for a long minute. Mac broke the silence as he recited the Miranda rights.

Finished, he shoved the punk into a corner booth. “Sit down. There. I’ll get someone to haul your lame butt in. You.” He pointed at David. “Stay where I can see you. You’ve got some questions to answer.” He glared at Clarissa for an instant and then pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers, never once taking his eyes off them except to look at Linda.

“Your cook’s out in the back alley. He’s okay, but he’s got a nasty bump on his head.” Linda gasped and made a move to go outside. “He’ll be fine.” Mac’s voice softened. “Stay here. I told him we’d get the EMTs to check him over.” Obviously relieved, Linda leaned back against the counter.

Clarissa had barely moved since she’d first heard David’s orders. She could only stare at him, at the whole scene.

David moved first, grabbing Linda’s arm and guiding her to the seat next to Clarissa. He lifted the coffeepot sitting abandoned on the counter. He poured a full cup and handed it to Linda.

“Drink it.” His voice was even and smooth, as if nothing had happened.

Linda automatically did as she was instructed, though the pallor remained on her face.

“You want some?” He lifted the pot toward Clarissa, but she shook her head.

He looked like a totally different man. The anger was still in his eyes, but the mask was back in place. He turned to put the pot back on the burner, after filling his own cup. He took a deep swallow.

And she saw the red stain on his shirt.

“You’re hurt.” She hurried to his side. She hadn’t heard a gunshot. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” David pulled away. “I cut myself earlier. I must have bumped it.” His features twisted, as if the forgotten injury now hurt.

He wasn’t as unfeeling or undisturbed as he wanted her to believe. The muscles in his throat moved convulsively, and she watched his eyelids slip down over his tormented eyes. When they opened again, he’d gained control once more.

Mac pocketed his cell phone. “They’ll be here as soon as they can.” Turning, he rested his hands on his hips and glared at David.

The two men sized each other up. Clarissa watched the male ritual with fascination. She wasn’t sure who would win if it came down to it. Mac was big, muscular and powerful, easily a head taller than David.

But what David lacked in brawn, he more than compensated for in ferocity. The beast often outwitted the hunter. She felt David’s strength and sensed that some of it came from the well of anger he carried around with him. She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to return some warmth to her fright-chilled limbs.

“I’m Bryan McHenry. They call me Mac.” The officer extended his hand and David took it. Clarissa saw the tiny muscles in each man’s hand move as they gripped each other’s fingers. “I hope you got a permit for that.” Mac glanced at the gun on the counter.

“David Lorde. Yeah, I do.” David continued to meet Mac’s gaze, daring him.

“Good.” Mac picked up the gun, popped out the clip and then opened the gun and palmed a bullet from the chamber. He handed the empty weapon to David. “Put it away before there’s any more trouble.”

David took it and slid it into a shoulder holster under his jacket. His fingers were long and tanned, and as he lifted the side of his coat, she saw the expanse of his T-shirt covered chest. The impression of a warm haven flitted into her mind. All at once, she wanted to snuggle into that haven.

Mac saw the blood stain and pointed at David’s shirt. “Care to explain what happened?”

“I fell earlier. On a fence.”

Mac seemed to ponder his explanation, and then with a curt nod accepted it. Clarissa wasn’t as willing to believe him, but now wasn’t the time to question him. Mentally shaking herself, Clarissa tore her gaze away from David’s appealing and injured body, forcing herself to look into his anger-filled eyes, to remind herself of the evil that touched this man.

No, warm haven was not a notion she dared associate with David Lorde, and trust was something she couldn’t afford to give.

Bright red and blue light strobed through the windows, playing across the dingy walls of the diner and flashing off the metal. In only a few minutes uniformed police officers escorted the punk into the back of a cruiser and Mac prepared to head back to the station.

Linda still sat where David had put her. Clarissa walked up to her and gave the still trembling waitress a hug. “Thank you for calling me.”

Looking up, as if startled, Linda tried to smile. “I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Linda nodded but didn’t say anything else. Clarissa followed Mac out of the diner and into the cool night.

“Thanks, Mac.” She leaned over, placing a kiss on the big man’s cheek. He had the grace to blush beneath his late night beard.

“No problem, just doing my job. Next time, which I certainly hope there isn’t, stay home.” He smiled at her as if he doubted she’d listen to him. She knew he’d be there the next time she needed him.

The roar of his motorcycle broke the quiet of the empty street long after his taillight disappeared around the block.

“So, why were you here tonight?”

Clarissa stiffened at the sound of David’s voice. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him.

The moonlight illuminated his features, while the neon light flickered behind him. Neither light touched the darkness in his eyes. His hands were shoved into his back pockets, exposing the wide expanse of his chest that she had earlier thought of as safe and comforting. He looked casual, but the tightness in his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes told her he was holding back. But holding back what? On his emotions? On his anger?

Whatever it was took strength; she saw it in the tight muscles of his shoulders and arms.

“You know why.” Her chin lifted a notch as she met his stare despite her discomfort.

“I called Linda’s boss. She’s closing up for the night. After I drop her off at home, can we talk?”

Not only did the sudden shift in the conversation surprise her, but she couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Now, at nearly three thirty in the morning, he wanted to talk? He hadn’t had the time or the understanding to talk to her earlier in broad daylight. Sighing and knowing that tomorrow she’d regret this, she agreed.

“EXPLAIN TO ME exactly what you do. What are you?”

Clarissa bristled at David’s bluntness. After he’d dropped Linda off at her house, Clarissa had met him at another all-night diner, in a better part of town. She didn’t want him near her home, and he didn’t invite her to his. She wasn’t sure she’d have gone if he had. The fact that a busy street ran nearby comforted her.

Still, they were the only customers in the place, and the silence was disquieting. She stared at him over the rim of her cup. How could she explain to someone who didn’t believe? “I’m psychic. I receive images in my mind, usually in my sleep, or just before I fall asleep. Brain patterns are different then.”

“What exactly do you see?” He gulped his coffee.

She paused, sliding her finger around the rim of the cup as she tried to figure out how best to explain it. “It’s different each time, but usually it’s like I’m watching television or a movie. I see what’s happening, but the people don’t know I’m there. I’m seldom a part of what’s happening.”

“But?”

“But this time you knew I was there. You talked to me.”

His gaze caught and held hers. She couldn’t break free from the powerful hold. She felt herself falling into the golden brown depths, saw her own image reflected there. Catching herself as she leaned toward him, she stood and reached for the water carafe the waitress had placed on the next table. Anything to stop the trembling in her hands and the ache in her chest. What was wrong with her? Why did this man affect her so?

Something inside him touched her, filled her with longing, compassion, and fear so deep it chilled her soul. What was even more frightening was the realization that she might not be strong enough to help him.

She turned to face him, pasting a smile on her lips. “All I can do is warn you of what I see. I can’t change the events.”

“You changed tonight.”

“No, you did.” The waitress delivered their order then, and the unnatural silence of the unfinished conversation stretched out between them.

“How did I change things?” He dug into his pie.

“You heeded my warning, didn’t you? That’s why you had the gun. You didn’t in the vision.” Hope hesitantly rose within her. As the moments stretched on and he didn’t answer, she let it fade. He stared past her and out the window, as if longing to escape.

The night outside and the lights within bounced their images back at them. What did he see? The sleeping city? Was he watching his own reflection or hers? Clarissa saw herself as she sat at the table and his image beside her. The illusion of distance between them vanished.

“Okay, you have visions. You see things. Can you control what and when you see it?”

She shook her head, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. “I’ve never been able to, though my grandmother could.”

“It’s hereditary?”

His surprise made her laugh and the tension ebbed. He looked up, and with the faint traces of a smile trying to fit onto his lips, he took another bite.

“Yes and no. My mother doesn’t have the sight. I’m not sure she even believes, and my father’s just an Irishman with a big imagination. He’s quite willing to believe in leprechauns and that witches really ride around on a broomstick.” But not in real magic power. Thinking of her parents twisted a knife in her chest, and she quickly pushed her memories away.

“You’re very lucky,” he said.

“Why?” She didn’t think he was talking about her powers. Recalling the vision she’d seen in his office earlier, she shuddered. His life hadn’t been an easy or safe one. She knew violence had somehow been a part of it for a very long time.

Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers, wanting to comfort the grief from him. She wasn’t prepared for the warm shock shooting from his fingers to hers. Heat slid up her arm, past her shoulder, and snuggled in against her heart. Though she doubted he even knew it, he reached out to her. Past the darkness, past the pain, past the cold exterior, was a man. She sensed his loneliness as keenly as if it were her own.

“Why do you say that?” she repeated her question, unsure if he’d even answer.

“At least you know your parents.”

His revelation shocked her, hurt her with its intensity. She looked into his face again and saw him pull away. A question that had lurked in her mind since that first vision reared its head. She might never get the chance to ask him again. “Who’s Rachel?”

The violence with which his emotions snapped shocked her, and she pulled her hand back, clasping it over her chest. His eyes were more than shuttered—iron bars kept her out.

“How do you know about her?”

“You blamed her in the first vision. She wouldn’t let you stay home, that’s why you were in the diner. Who is she?” She repeated her question, knowing he would avoid answering it.

His anger vibrated around the room, mingling with the pain she already sensed in him. She hesitated to reach out to him on any level, emotional or physical, afraid of the darkness emanating from him.

Suddenly, he stood, his chair scraping against the tile. The echo of the sound slammed against her ears.

“Rachel is—was—my wife.”

Without another word, he pulled several bills out of his pocket and tossed them onto the table. He stalked to the door and shoved it open with a force she feared would break the heavy wood. She stood and moved to the windows to watch him walk down the sidewalk toward downtown. At the end of the block, he broke into a jog.

The sun lifted its head, and the dim light in the east backlit his figure as he moved quickly. Like a caged animal finally released, he took off. She sensed he chased freedom, a freedom he wanted with a desperation she couldn’t begin to understand. A freedom she realized he might never find.

Suddenly, he bent over. Was his injury bothering him? Worried, she moved a step and then realized he was gone. All she saw was a faint shadow moving into the fading darkness.

She nearly went after him, her heart wanting to ease some of the anguish that gripped him so hard.

Instead, she gathered up her purse and prepared to head home as her thoughts raced. His wife. Rachel had been his wife? Were they divorced?

As she paid her bill, coolness slipped over her skin. A whisper of thought slid through her. Faint images of a woman with long dark hair and warm, friendly eyes wafted through her mind. Rachel. Clarissa knew it was her, knew the images were of his wife. A deep, soul shattering sadness clung to the image.

She knew David felt that pain, that it tormented him.

Was she the woman in the earlier vision?

Had David killed her?