I told my clients you could evenhear change. Maybe adisembodied voice would echo in your mind. Maybe you’d hear thefaint tinkling of a bell.
Me? I heard something growling. “Hey, areyou alright in there?” the voice repeated.
Again that electric shock of recognitionburst through me.
I don’t know why, but I felt like I knewthat voice.
Before the guy could growl again, I took astartled breath, realizing I had to answer. “Ah… I'm fine. Justcoming.”
I fumbled forward and threw myself downthe stairs. Though the book still had its hooks in me, the voicedid, too. In fact, I felt like I was being pulled between them. Apuppet suddenly tugged between two puppeteers.
I reached the front door just as somebodywas opening it. They slammed itright into me, and the heavy door smacked into my nose.
I spluttered, cramming my hands over myface.
Though I was a downtrodden, out-of-luck,crappy fortune-teller, I wasn’t meek.
So I opened my mouth to shout at theguy.
I stopped.
Abruptly.
I froze – my body grinding to a stop as every singlemuscle locked into place with a twang.
No, it wasn't the pain pulsing down mynose from where the door had hit me. Nor was it the fact this guyhad a seriously long shadow that suddenly cut out the sunshinebeyond.
It was the man himself.
In a single second, my mind took him in. Every detail. Fromhis height to his broad shoulders, to his shoulder-length brownhair and his piercing brown gaze.
But that didn’t actually come close to describing how he reallylooked. Even a photo couldn’t do his presence justice.
He felt like a god. He looked like one,too.
My suddenly confused mindtold me thatI knew thisman. Or at least somepart of me did.
I'd never met him – because, hello, I'd rememberencountering a demi-god in the flesh. But there was something abouthim. Something that set off a visceral, powerful reaction that shotthrough my body and sent biting tingles cascading into my hands andfeet as though they were on fire.
The second he saw me was the seconda pronounced frown spread hislips and jutted hard into that gorgeous, gorgeous jaw. “Who thehell are you?” he asked in a voice thick with a strong Scottishaccent.
Still surprised and with my nose andcheeks smarting, I replied with my hand crammed over my face.“Hmlili.”
The guy frowned all the harder. “No, seriously, who areyou?” he demanded. “Where's Joan?”
Oh god. It was happeningagain. Another weirdlyhandsome guy had popped up at my front door demanding to see mygrandmother.
Except this was different. Powerfullydifferent. About asdifferent in scale as an ant compared to the whole frigginggalaxy.
Detective Coulson had been hot, sure.
This man?
I couldn’t begin to understand what mybody was doing in his presence. I had no idea if my heart wasleaping or shuddering, if my mouth wanted to snap into a smile or agrimace, if the chills racing up and down my backwere the first sign of sickness oranticipation.
“Where is Joan?” he demanded.
Though his voice was a growl, there wasa distinctlyworried edge to it that caughtmy attention.
And sank my heart.
Despite the insane effect this guy washaving on me, I realized what I had to do. Slowly, reverently, Ilet my hands drop from my face. “Look, I’m very sorry to be the oneto tell you this, but Joan McLane is dead—”
At first, theguy didn’t react. Then confusion crumpled his brow as he took astep forward, his shadow somehow growing even longer. “I would knowif my future had died.”
Though the guy had a thick accent, he spokeEnglish well. I just couldn’t understand what he was saying.
My grandmother had been his future? Itdidn’t compute.
Before I could react, he thrust towards me,hooked a strong hand around my arm, and yanked me inside.
I didn’t even have time to scream beforehe shoved the door closed with the toe of his camel- coloredleather boot.
“What-what are you doing? Let mego!” I spluttered,trying to wriggle out of his grip.
Though I bucked and shoved against hisfingers, they were unnaturally strong, even taking into account hissize.
A wave of dread sank into my stomach, chilling my spine andsinking so hard into my heart it felt like it would explode. “Look,just let me go, please. There’s been some misunderstanding. Mygrandmother really is dead. She died of aheart attack. They found her in her kitchen. Please, just look itup on your phone.”
The guy suddenly ticked his head to theside, his eyes narrowing and his brow peaking. He looked confused,powerfully confused.
But if I thought his confusion would slowhis relentless attack, I was wrong.
He dragged me forward. As he did, hewalked past the open sitting room door, and I saw his shadow flit across the rug. For somereason, it seemed longer than an ordinary shadow,broader-chested, better formed. And somehow – some impossible how –I swore I saw a sword at his hip, even though there was nothingthere.
My bare feet snagged against the hallwayrunner, and I stumbled hard against the wall.
The guy didn’t seem to notice or care as wereached the kitchen.
He pulled out one of the chairs with hisboot and shoved me into it.
Before I could scuttle forward, sweatyfingers slipping against the edge of the table, he shoved a hand inthe back pocket of his chinos and grabbed out a round of electricaltape.
My stomach bottomed out as my heartexploded.
I doubted this guy was an electrician ora handyman.
Which left two other options: he justhappened to have gaffer tape on him, or he’d planned this.
He yanked back the tape with his teeth,and in a seriously quick, practiced set of movements, tied mywrists and ankles to the chair.
I was way beyond reasoning with him.
I was way beyond anything other thanscreaming.
“No one can hear you. These walls are toothick,” hementioned as he yanked off a short piece of tape and crammed it over mymouth, sticking a few scraps of
