She was ten-and-two'ing her hands, and focusing on the M6, concentration tightening her brows. Her lips were moving slightly, as if she were singing a song or talking to herself, and he wondered which one it was.
“So what about this passing-out thing?” Jim prompted.
“You're not surprised about it, are you.” Vin reangled the mirror. “You ever hear of a medium?”
Jim looked over. “Yeah.”
“Well, I see the future and sometimes I talk when I do. And there's some other shit, too. So…there you go. And lest you think it's a fucking party, let me assure you it's not. I did my best to get it out of me and thought I'd licked it. Guess not.”
When there was just the rising and falling of the M6's massive engine, he said roughly, “You get points for not laughing.”
“You know what? I might have a couple of days ago.” Jim shrugged. “Now I'm not inclined to at all. You always been like that?”
“Started when I was a kid.”
“So…what did you see about her?” When Vin couldn't bring himself to reply, Jim muttered, “Okay, I'm guessing it wasn't candlelit dinners and romantic walks on the beach.”
“Not hardly.”
“What was it, Vin. And you might as well tell me. You and I are in this together.”
Anger spiked, hard and hot. “Right, I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. What the fuck are you doing—”
“I died. Yesterday afternoon…I died and I've been sent back to help people. You're my first.” Now it was Vin's turn to get good and silent.
“Looks like you get points for not laughing, too,” Jim muttered. “Tell you what, let's stipulate that we both have some of the WTF going for us and move along. I need to save your ass from yourself and like I said, I have a feeling the solution is not Devina, but the woman behind us in that Camry. So why don't you cut the shit and tell me what you saw about her—because I'm not going to fail on my first trip out of the park, and the more I know the better.”
Jim Heron did not seem delusional, and considering where Vin was coming from when it came to the freaky shit, he figured he could give at least marginal credence to what the guy said. Even if it didn't make any more sense than…well, medium trances, for example.
“I saw…a gun go off.”
Jim's head slowly swiveled around. “Who was hit? You or her?”
“I don't know. I'm assuming her.”
“You ever been wrong?”
“No.”
The guy's hands cranked on the steering wheel. “Well. There you go.”
“Sounds like we have more to talk about.”
“Yup.”
Instead, they didn't say another thing: They sat side by side in the car, and Vin couldn't ignore the metaphor, the two of them belted in on some kind of ride, with God only knew what outcome waiting for them.
As he looked into the rearview mirror again, he prayed that Marie-Terese wasn't the one who got hurt. Better him. Much better.
When they finally got to the Commodore, they pulled into the garage, and as Marie-Terese waited in front, Vin thought maybe that was a good thing: He'd just end up trying to say good-bye to her again, and enough was enough.
“I'm spot number eleven over there.”
After the M6 was parked, Vin got out of the car, took the key from his new buddy, and they went their separate ways, with Jim heading over to the stairwell that would lead him up to the street.
Vin walked off in the opposite direction to the elevator, and when its doors opened wide for him, he stepped in and turned around. Jim was almost to the exit, his stride closing the distance quickly.
Vin blocked the elevator doors from shutting and called out, “I'm going to break up with Devina.”
Jim stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Good. But go easy on her. She's in love with you.”
“She certainly makes it appear that way.” But underneath all that “loving” exterior, there was something hollow about her—and it had been part of the reason he'd wanted her around: He'd rather have dealt with the calculation, because self-interest he trusted more than love.
Not anymore. Shifts were occurring in him, shifts he could no more control than he could stop the imposition of those visions. On a usual day, he was ninety-nine percent about business. In the past twenty-four hours? He was pulling a fifty percent, if that: His mind had been consumed with other, more important things…things that had a lot to do with Marie-Terese.
“I'll keep you posted,” he told Jim.
“You do that.”
Vin let the doors close, and hit the button for his floor. He had to talk to Devina, and he needed to get that conversation over with. It wasn't only the fair thing to do…he had some sense of urgency about it that had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn't looking forward to hurting her.
That horrible dream was still with him…like it had stained his brain permanently.
On the twenty-eighth floor, the elevator let out a discreet
“Look what I found while I was tidying your study.” She extended her open palms, holding out the Reinhardt's box. “Oh, Vin! It's perfect!”
She rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck, her perfume choking him even more than her hold did. As she went on about how she shouldn't have opened it but couldn't help herself, and how it even fit her finger, Vin closed his eyes and saw echoes of the nightmare he'd had.
A conviction lit off in the center of his chest, one that was as undeniable as his own reflection in a mirror.
She was not who she said she was.
Chapter 20
When Jim got into the green Camry, he leaned over and extended his hand. “Jim Heron. Figured we might as well introduce ourselves.”
“Marie-Terese.”
The woman's smile was slight, but warm, and as he waited for a last name, he had a feeling one wasn't coming.
“Thanks for the ride back,” he said.
“Not a problem. How's Vin doing?”
“For a guy who just trouted it in a parking lot, he seems all right.” Jim looked over at her as he did up his seat belt. “You holding up okay? Talking to the cops is not a party.”
“Did Vin tell you? You know about the security tapes and…”
“Yeah, he did, and thanks.”
“You're welcome.” She put on her directional signal, checked her mirrors, and pulled out after an SUV went by. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How long have you been sleeping with his girlfriend?”
Jim tightened his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“The night before last, I saw you leave with his girlfriend after she'd spent about an hour staring at you. Same thing last evening. No offense, but I've been watching people do stuff like that for a while now, so I doubt there was only a lot of hand-holding going on in the parking lot.”
