The cab darted forward, and she fell back against her seat.
Scrambling up to perch on her knees, she watched out the back window as her nerves tightened into painful cords.
She kept expecting to see another cab or even Brian’s car come hurtling down the street behind them.
But only the sight of the dark desert on either side greeted her.
She continued to watch until they pulled out onto the freeway.
Then she gave the driver her address and collapsed limply against the seat, letting out a long sigh as relief roared through her.
The adrenaline had run its course leaving her drained and hollow.
Cassidy tried to string thoughts together, to make some sense out of the past half hour, but concentration eluded her.
Unshed tears burned in the back of her throat, and her body began to shake with reaction.
A chuckle came from the front seat.
Probably some love affair gone bad, or she caught him with his mistress.
Offended, Cassidy leaned forward to address the driver.
“Excuse me?”
The driver glanced back over his shoulder, confusion plain on his beefy face.
“I didn’t say anything, ma’am.”
He continued to glance at her warily in the rear view mirror.
Doubts swirled in her already foggy brain.
She needed to make sense of it all.
If she could just bring everything into focus, it would somehow make sense.
She shook her head, and reached again for the wisps of logic that floated just outside her grasp, trying to piece together what had happened, but they continued to confound her.
A milder version of the harsh pain throbbed inside her head, sending repeated ice pick strikes of agony through her eyes and out the sides of her head.
She reached up to massage her temples.
Is this what it feels like to have a brain tumor?
I can picture the headlines now!
Phoenix
Symphony cellist dies of brain tumor in the back of a Yellow Cab.
The single twenty-nine-year-old developed the tumor due to stress associated with an extremely bad second date.
A nervous laugh bubbled inside her throat at the thought.
Tremors began low in her stomach and spread up and out through her limbs until her entire body quaked with reaction.
She leaned back, closing her eyes against the events of the evening.
Her stomach roiled and she swallowed hard at the taste of bile which crept up the back of her throat.
She pressed her fingers to her aching eyes and prayed for the night to end.
“And people wonder why I don’t date,” she murmured loud enough to make the driver cast her another wary glance.
*****
Zachary Hatcher continued to vent his frustrations by bench-pressing increasingly heavy reps.
He’d decided a workout would take his mind off waiting for the op to begin—always his least favorite part of the job.
In the time his dossier assured him it would take the Reaper to drive back to Cassidy James’ house, he could be in the mindset for the op.
“Why the hell hasn’t Gerald called yet?
And why hasn’t the Reaper made his move?”
Zach laid the barbell on its cradle and sat up with a loud huff.
He wouldn’t break radio silence and possibly compromise Gerald’s cover just to get an update.
They’d call when the Reaper left the restaurant with Cassidy James, and not before.
A cold slice of pizza might take his mind off the wait, but he decided on coffee and padded barefoot toward the kitchen, surprised to find it so dark.
Once again, he’d lost track of the time and had forgotten to turn lights on in other parts of the little house.
Loud chatter throbbed suddenly inside his head.
“Inconsiderate bastard who doesn’t know how to keep from broadcasting to everyone within range!
Christ almighty.”
He brought his hands up instinctively to cover his ears.
But as the noise throbbed
inside
his head, his hands did little to help.
“Anyone that strong has used their gift long enough to know how to control it better than that.”
He concentrated and filtered out everyone but the person—no, the woman, he corrected himself, who still filled his head with chatter.
Not wanting to intrude on her privacy, he quickly closed his eyes, picturing small, colored building blocks with different letters of the alphabet on them erected in a loose wall around his mind.
Mental shields just strong enough to filter out the worst of the onslaught, but loose enough to not cut him off from all outside perceptions.
His mother had taught him how to erect shields from a young age, and had demonstrated by using his alphabet blocks.
He’d pictured his every day shields in terms of his childhood toys ever since.
He weaved through the sea of boxes stacked around his living room.
No one around the neighborhood possessed this much power, he would’ve sensed it earlier.
No one remotely open enough to recognize him as another with the gift lived within hundreds of miles.
But then again, he’d only moved in yesterday, and this
presence
may have been out of town.
Whoever she was, she needed to learn to be more considerate.
While fumbling for the kitchen light, he stubbed his little toe on the edge of the counter.
“Holy Christ!” he yelped as he cradled his injured foot in the dark.
“It’s her fault.
Damn woman, chattering on incessantly.”
He found the switch, and light flooded the crowded kitchen.
Still favoring his injured toe, he wound his way through the stacks of boxes and furniture to the only item he’d babied as much during the move as his gun—his automatic coffee maker.
It held an honored place within the household, and he’d cleaned the kitchen countertop first, to make a place for it.
He reverently pulled out the basket, added the filter and coffee, pushed the power button and waited for the lifeblood—caffeine—to spill into the pot.
He decided that a watched coffee pot wouldn’t perk faster, but would just serve to darken his already black mood.
Clutter from the move claimed every inch of available space, so he wandered out to the living room, opened the front door, and took a seat on the porch swing he’d inherited from the previous tenants.
He sighed and began the gentle to and fro motion of the swing.
Hours of tension and stress drained from his body like water from a broken cup.
He breathed deeply, inhaling the earthy smell of rain not yet fallen.
A gentle breeze played against his face and bare chest, and an eerie glow cast from the full moon bathed everything visible in a surreal luster.
Zach sensed her before he saw the cab turn the corner.
The woman who broadcast into his head appeared to be his new neighbor.
The cab stopped, and she stepped out alone, which explained why Gerald had never called.
They were tailing the Reaper, not Cassidy James.
Sexy and tall with nice curves in all the right places, her legs seemed to go on forever.
Why didn’t I sense her when I looked over the neighborhood?
She possessed a powerful gift.
Even now, he blocked her out to ensure he didn’t intrude on her personal thoughts as she carelessly broadcast them to anyone within range.
The cab pulled away, and she hurried up her driveway.
Just as she reached the door, she dropped to the ground clutching her head like she’d been shot.
Without conscious thought, Zach bolted from the swing and raced across the street in nothing but his favorite pair of jeans.
The sharp edges of the desert rock from her yard bit into his bare feet, but he ignored the sharp stings while he rushed to her side.
He dropped down beside her and tried to roll her over.
Curled tightly into a fetal position, her eyes screwed shut, she moaned sounding like a wounded animal.
He concentrated and dropped his shields just enough to determine the problem.
Reaching out tentatively with that part of his mind which governed his gift, he touched her psyche with his.
Immediately, he sensed an intruder, a psychic presence causing pain, discomfort, and a kind of mental rape no less real than the physical kind.
Taking a deep breath, he clamped down on his own anger at anyone misusing their gift in that fashion.
He would be no good to her if he frightened her further or entered her mind without her consent.
“Are you okay?”
Zach shook her just enough to get her attention.
He leaned down, straining to hear her whispered response.
“Open your mind,” he commanded and reached out gently so as not to cause further pain or fear.
Zach zeroed in on the intruder, and in one burst of concentrated effort flung him out forcefully, raising mental shields of his own around her as she slipped from consciousness.
*****
Cassidy awoke to the comforting sensation of strong arms around her.
An amazingly sexy combination of soap, aftershave, and sweat filled her senses.
Not an expensive cologne like Brian’s, but a rugged, more masculine earthy scent.
A sudden sensation of floating seized her.
This has got to be just another one of my knight-in-shining-armor dreams.
I’ll have to let my subconscious out to play more often
Cassidy had spent her entire life a tomboy.
When she got older, all the men she knew put her into the
friend
category because of her sarcastic humor, easy going attitude and penchant for a ponytail and jeans.
She had grown used to being the friend rather than the seductress, and was comfortable with that role.
She found it difficult to picture herself as sexy.
Tonight’s date only proved again her taste in men and Murphy’s Law had a long standing association.
No wonder her subconscious brought to life a man who could grace the front of a steamy romance novel.
Strong arms cradled her, carrying her, and she sank into the sensation, reveling in the uniquely feminine way it made her feel—petite and protected.
She risked opening her eyes.
Oh yeah, I’m definitely dreaming!
He can’t be real.