Gideon knew it wasn’t going to work. Paul was being jostled, and there was no way to give him a calm enough space to perform his precise psychic skill. Gideon appreciated that the youngest and newest member of their team had tried for him though. He appreciated that his adopted family would rally around when he needed them, but he feared it was far too late.
14
I have mad love for you, Lydia, but go away. I didn’t get to bed until four thirty this morning, and I haven’t been sleeping.” Rory pulled the covers over her head. “I don’t care what time it is. Go away,” she repeated.
“I’m sorry, hon. You need to wake up.”
The combined notes of regret and urgency caused Rory to drag the covers down to her nose and force her lashes to lift just enough to focus on her friend’s face. She wasn’t the only one in the room. The man standing behind her was tall and grim-faced. Detective Larrsen. Her breath caught in her throat, and she grasped the covers, her first thought that something had happened to Ellen. Reason hit next. Lydia would have been hysterical.
“Gideon.” She whispered his name and sat up slowly, dragging the covers with her. She wasn’t wearing much. “It’s Gideon. Something’s happened to him.” She knew the color had drained from her face. She hadn’t forgiven him. She couldn’t. But nothing couldhappen to him. She couldn’t live with that. Just the thought of something happening to Gideon left her feeling sick.
As the intensity of her feelings hit, there was a stirring in her mind. Then Gideon poured in, filling every lonely, aching place she had until she didn’t feel alone and apart from everyone.
Rory wrapped her arms around her middle, relief flooding her.
Red? What’s wrong?
He was there. So strong. She felt him stronger than she ever had before, as if the connection had grown between them during their separation. Or he had become more powerful. She wanted to cling to him. To stay. Never be alone again. She couldn’t believe in what he was offering, no matter how enticing. No matter how much, on her side, she cared.
She closed her mind to him, regretting that she’d let him in, because now the loneliness and feelings of complete devastation were far worse than they had been before.
“No, no, honey. As far as I’m aware, Gideon’s just fine,” Lydia hastily reassured her, sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing back some of the hair that had escaped the braid Rory had hastily woven the night before.
“Our friends, then?” Rory was beginning to feel desperate. Why didn’t they just tell her?
Once more, Lydia looked up at the detective as if asking his permission. At his nod, she took Rory’s hand. “Someone beat the crap out of your car,” Lydia said. “They slit all the tires and wrote graffiti all over it. It’s bad, honey.”
The relief was tremendous, so much so that Rory had to cover her face with the sheet. “I’m so glad it was my car and not one of you or Gideon. I was so scared when you woke me up like that.” She took the sheet from her face. “There have been so many horrible things happening around here lately, I thought...” She trailed off.
“Get dressed,” Lydia said. She stood up and left the room, with the detective following her out.
Rory closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. It was just one more thing to deal with. One at a time. She had insurance. It couldn’t be that bad. She didn’t have the best car in the world anyway. The car was athing. Her friends were people. Gideon was Gideon.
“Get up, Laurel,” she ordered aloud. “You can’t hide from your problems. No one is going to help you but yourself. Stand on your own two feet.” Her mantra.
Flinging the covers back, Rory placed both feet on the floor and forced herself to get up and dress. She didn’t do more than splash water on her face and brush her teeth. She’d already met the man of her dreams, and he’d turned out not to be her prince.Wouldn’t you know?She wasn’t going to dress to impress, put on makeup that she really didn’t know how to use anyway or try to tame her wild San Francisco foggy curls.
Lydia and Detective Larrsen were waiting in the living room for her. She noticed right away that Larrsen stood close and looked very protective of Lydia.
“Where’s Ellen?” Rory asked.
“Pam and Janice are watching her,” Lydia said. “They took one look at your car and immediately decided to call Detective Larrsen. They told me they’d watch Ellen so I could be with you for support.”
Rory pressed her lips together. Funny, once Gideon had opened the waterworks, now the floodgates were turned on permanently. She wasn’t used to kindness. Or friendship. It would be so difficult to give that up.Gideon. She’d lost so much when she’d lost him. The city she’d come to love. The job she enjoyed so much. These friends she’d really come to love. That had snuck up on her when she wasn’t even aware.
“Don’t look so sad, Rory. We’ll go car shopping,” Lydia promised.“Although”—she made a little face, burst out laughing and looked up at the detective sheepishly—“I’ve never bought a car before. I’ve always taken public transportation.”
“That makes sense,” Detective Larrsen defended her as he led the way to the elevator. “There’s very little parking in San Francisco, and if you’re a native, you know how to get around with buses. There’s little need to have the additional expense of a car.”
Lydia leaned against the brass handrail in the elevator, her face glowing as she looked up at Larrsen. That look made Rory smile. She wanted Lydia happy. She’d struggled for a very long time, and the detective seemed to be a good man. Just because Gideon hadn’t been sincere in the things he’d said to her didn’t mean the cop wasn’t truly interested in Lydia. How could he not be? Lydia was sweet. She was a good mother. She wasn’t the clingy type. She had made it on her own without help for years.
The elevator door opened on the third floor of the parking garage, and they stepped off. Lydia seemed reluctant to view the car again and hung back a little, so Rory walked toward her parking space. Larrsen kept pace with her. She stopped when she came up on what had been her car. She just froze, unable to move.
Her hand went to her throat defensively, her breath catching there. Whoever had done such damage despised her. This was personal. Very, very personal. She just stood there staring, unable to believe the wreck had once been her car. It was barely recognizable.
Her lungs burned and it was difficult to draw in air. The parking garage spun in a curiously lazy circle. Little black dots appeared behind her eyes, and voices faded in and out. She found herself sitting abruptly on the concrete floor right in the middle of shattered glass, twisted metal and chunks of rubber. One door and part of a seat with the cushions ripped to shreds floated in and out of her line of vision.
Rory. Talk to me. Use your inhaler, baby. You need your inhaler. Where is it? Take it out and use your inhaler. You aren’t breathing right.
