Santiago glanced at the clock. It was late. “Cafeteria is closed—but we can find you something.”
Grudgingly, Boswell followed Janet out while Santiago smiled vapidly. As soon as the door shut behind him, her shoulders sagged. “Ai! Talk about annoying. He just kept repeating numbers in his head, over and over and over. Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nine.”
Great, now I’d have ’em stuck in my brain, too. Presumably Santiago was spared the earworm as she was too young to get the reference. “So, he’s paranoid?” I asked.
“It wasn’t a psychiatric screening.” She gave an eloquent shrug. “The only conclusion I make is that he thought his mind was being read.”
Because…it was.
“Bring him back tomorrow and I will try to get him into therapy.”
“Try?”
“Well, I can not force him, can I?”
Wrist restraints sprang to mind…and then I berated myself for thinking that in front of a telepath. And then I was horrified by what else I might start imagining. Not that I’ve ever personally been into bondage. But we did have a DVD that featured a set of fuzzy handcuffs.
I bid everyone goodnight and headed down to the garage—and once there, I saw Jacob’s car was gone. So much for carpooling. I pulled up a rideshare app—cripes, did every single app on my phone really need to update every single day?—and I fantasized about taking a long, hot shower and being free from Sledge, and Boswell, and whatever Sarah had left behind at the haunted apartment.
Just me…and Jacob.
Who’d totally missed out on all the good stuff. I was glad he hadn’t seen me toss my cookies, though. He’s overprotective. It’s simply his nature. He doesn’t give me credit for being fully aware of my own limits, and sometimes, it’s easier to fly solo than to deal with his concern.
I was jabbing at my download button, trying to make it step up the pace, when a certain van pulled up and the passenger window rolled down. “That little performance was enlightening!” Boswell called across the dash.
I looked up and raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
“Now I know exactly how I’ll rid myself of this ghost.”
Normally, I’d chalk up his assertion to more incoherent ramblings. But I’d just rated the guy a fourth level medium…and the possibility that, with some training, he could exorcise a piece of himself was disturbingly real. “I wouldn’t be so hasty,” I said, as casually as I could. “It’s a major pain in the ass when an exorcism backfires.”
“Then I’ll just need to be careful.”
Damn it. “Don’t go off and do anything stupid.”
Affronted, Boswell said, “I am the epitome of caution!”
“But you’re venturing into new territory without a roadmap. At least wait until you have the lay of the land.” And until Dr. Santiago could stabilize whatever else was misfiring in his brain.
It was a good argument, but Boswell’s wheels were turning. He was about to take the idea of self-exorcism and run with it—right off a cliff. I said, “Let’s grab some dinner and discuss this. My husband knows more about psychic shielding than anyone.” I didn’t mention that for Jacob, it was innate. But if I couldn’t make Boswell see reason, maybe Jacob could.
“I suppose I am a bit peckish.”
Bingo. I started thumbing out a text:Meet me at Domingo’s….
“But if you broadcast my location, all deals are off.”
“Fine. No names.” I did want to give Jacob some heads-up.I’m bringing our friend.
A single word reply.Can’t.
Huh.Everything ok?
After a brief pause, a thumbs-up emoji appeared.
“Is he being held for ransom, or is he always that vague?”
“Stop reading over my shoulder,” I snapped, but the damage was done. Because Jacob was never vague. And now I had an image of him duct taped to a chair while a guy in a ski mask sent me emojis.
