When she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, he held on to her, afraid she might run if he gave her the chance. Or was that her thought?
He wasn’t sure. He’d never been less sure of himself in his life. Well, not in years.
He steered her a little way down the street, under one of the balconies that ran along the second floor of the buildings, providing shade during the day and shadows at night. His head was pounding, making it hard to think.
When they were alone, he dragged in a breath and let it out. “What just happened?”
“Evelyn Morgan was murdered.”
“You picked that up?”
“Yes.”
She had gotten that information from his mind. How?
“Will you take your hand off me?” she asked.
“Why?”
“You’re making me nervous.”
He dropped his hand to his side, ready to reach out again if she decided to turn and dash away. At least she looked as confounded as he felt. That was something.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She looked like she didn’t want to answer, but she finally raised her chin and said, “Rachel Gregory.”
“You have a shop in the French Quarter,” he said slowly as he recalled the mental images. “You read Tarot cards.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him. “You researched me?”
“No. I picked that up from . . . your thoughts.”
“Impossible!”
“Is it?”
“Are you saying you didn’t learn anything from me? You’re the psychic.”
She sighed. “You’re Jake Harper.”
“How do you know?”
“From the TV news. You’re a local celebrity.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What would you call yourself?”
“A businessman.” He swallowed hard. “Let’s cut to the chase. What’s Evelyn Morgan to you?”
“She had a Tarot reading yesterday, then asked me to come to her hotel room tonight.” When he raised an eyebrow, she asked, “You don’t believe me?”
“Actually, I do. Did she say what she wanted?”
“No.”
“What time was that? I mean, the reading.”
