I saw it at last—the thing that had made Hiromi flee the gallery that first night. The thing that made Garrett and Arabella shudder.
Underneath his storefront psychic’s guesses, this man had a true hunger.
“Why do you care so much about her?” I asked.
His dark eyes were triumphant. “Why doyou, Jessica?”
The calluses on her fingertips, rough against my skin. Her lips on the muscles of my arms. The scent of her night sweat, when she said the wordsknife-throwerin the dark.
“She’s just a way to get to you.” Prey.
“She was,” he said. “But now you see what I see.”
Flash grenade, stab, reverse grip. Let the family have them.
“What happens when you stop believing in your strength, Jessica? What are you left with?” His questions came faster now, with the cadence of a mantra. “What remains of you? Did you keep enough pieces to remake yourself? Do you have the patience for being healed, the heart for it? How could you not realize that Hiromi has been calling? That she’s been wondering where you are?”
He leaned back, glancing at the glow in my pocket.
I pulled my phone out. Four texts.
Where did you go?
I feel weird. Happy, though.
Okay, I need you to come back.
Still weird. Maybe there was alcohol in these?
The special drinks for Hiromi, the flavors of tropical citrus, candies in a glass—and something stronger. That glow in her eyes.
That was when they struck.
The driver floored the gas, pressing me back into the seat. Dr. Lyonplucked the phone from my hand, reached across to open my door, and shoved me hard. I fell from the moving car.
Rolling through the flaying underbrush, first from momentum, then gravity. Down the slope beside the mountain road I spun, until brush and thorns brought me to a halt.
I tasted dirt and blood in my mouth.
My training had stuck—my hand still grasped the butterfly knife. Folded, so I hadn’t stabbed myself.
I sat up slowly. Everything hurt, the pain pounding with my heart.
Classic intimidation. Kick someone out of car in the middle of nowhere, the middle of the night. No phone, no idea where they are.
Except we Mortons carry our family in our pocket. Careless of them, not checking for a second phone.
Hiromi’s pulsing blue dot was still at the resort, five miles away. Uphill and through the brush—at least two hours’ hike.
I stood up carefully. My legs didn’t give way.
Arabella answered on the first ring.
“How’s the party?”
“Nothing broken.”
“What?” A pause. “Where the hell are you? There’s not even a road nearby.”
