I’m a freak. Accept it and move on.
“You gonna come help me out again? I had two high school kids but since school’s started they don’t have any time to give me. Always want summer jobs, but they whine and whine if they have any social activity at all.”
“I’d love to.” Gemma seized on the idea. Working at the diner sounded…good.
“Yeah? Well, you put yourself together for a couple more days. Get rid of the remnants of that eye.” She held Gemma’s chin and moved her face from side to side. “Honey, you just bashed yourself good, didn’t ya?”
Her caring tone caused a ripple of emotion to run through Gemma’s heart, leaving her throat hot. She swallowed hard and said, “I’ll come in for an afternoon just to get started again. Will I see Charlotte?”
“Oh, you know she’ll be around.”
Gemma left her booth and lifted a hand in good-bye, then hesitated at the door. “When was that? When I chased that guy out?”
Macie lifted a shoulder. “’Bout a week ago, or so.”
“You didn’t recognize him?”
“Wasn’t a regular.”
“What did he look like?” Gemma asked.
“Like every other middle-aged man in the world. I kinda thought he was from around here, but I can’t remember why. He had a baseball cap on, I think. Or maybe that was the other guy, the one that left right after you did. I don’t know. It was the morning crowd and they were all hungry. I wasn’t paying all that much attention except that you were kinda wild-eyed.”
“I almost remember,” Gemma said.
“Almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades,” Macie responded automatically. One of her favorite expressions.
Gemma smiled faintly. “The guy that left after me. What did he look like?”
“More apish,” Macie said after a moment of thought. “Rounded shoulders like he worked out too much.”
Gemma was heading out when Macie caught her by the arm. “Have you thought about seeing Doc Rainfield?” she asked.
“What?” Gemma asked.
“If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly okay, y’know. But that shrink doctor of yours has helped before. He’s a nice guy.”
Gemma suddenly pictured the older man with the creased, sad face. He was a nice guy. And he had helped her.
“Your momma had her fits with him, but I always thought you and he connected. Do what you want.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “Just, if things are bad…he might be able to help.”
With that she scurried off to deal with another order and Gemma left the diner.
Looking in the mirror, Lucky realized she’d been injured far worse than she’d originally thought. She shrank inside herself at the bonanza of colors: green, purple, brown, that ran down the side of her face and covered one eye. That eye was a problem. Blood had drained into the white part and turned one corner a sickening scarlet, which was slowly fading to magenta-ish pink. She’d had to wait over a week for her face to stop being such a show stopper. She’d waited impatiently, afraid Letton would be released from the hospital before she could take care of him permanently—the bastard had had the nerve to survive!—but apparently she’d hurt him pretty damn bad because he was still languishing there.
Good.
She’d used the time to recover herself. She kinda hurt all over. The seat belt had left a deep bruise and it was a little tricky to take a deep breath.
But with each tick of the clock she’d grown stronger. And now that she’d purchased actual rose-colored glasses, her magenta-filled eye looked damn near normal. If she went to Letton’s room in the early evening, maybe around dinnertime when there was more hustle and bustle and confusion around the hospital, she might not be noticed as much. But she would have to be careful. Find a way to disguise herself.
She cocked her head and considered. One more day? Two?
If Letton were released that would compound her problems. She needed to wrap her hands around the man’s throat and choke the life from him. Or smother him with a hospital pillow. There would be sweet irony in having his place of healing turn into his place of death.
Her temple throbbed and she pressed fingers hard against it, as if pushing the pain back inside.
And then she was hit by a wave of something like lust. Not her own. A sample of what Letton had felt when he was eyeing prepubescent girls. It left Lucky feeling sick, spent and bent over, hacking, on the verge of throwing up. Saliva ran from her mouth; the precursor to vomiting. She wiped it away and drew several breaths, straightening with an effort, staring at her reflection in the mirror. This wasn’t the first time she’d been able to sense—physically sense—what someone felt. It was a kind of psychic ability she neither understood nor wanted, but it was something she’d been born with and it had sent her on this quest. This mission.
She visualized Letton, saw the hot need in his eyes.
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard,” she whispered harshly.
Edward Letton woke with a snort and a gasp. Demons were running around inside his head. They were spinning. Chortling. Poking fingers at him and laughing like hyenas. He was in hell. He was dead. Or dying. Suffocating.
Slowly he opened his eyes. His mouth was slack and desert dry. There was a tube running from his nose. No. Into his nose. Oxygen. He was being given oxygen because he was…in a hospital…and he could feel pain, though he was oddly dissociated from it. Drugs. Demerol, maybe, or something like it.
What happened?
He couldn’t piece it together. It was too much. He’d been at work but that was on Friday. And then there was—
A soccer game.
He drew a quaking breath of fear and tried to look around. Did they know? He’d been in the van. Oh, God. The van.
Fuzziness ruled his head. The damned drugs. He was in a hospital bed but he couldn’t remember why. How long had he been out? Had he said anything? Did they know?
He struggled to move but his body screamed at even the slightest twitch. He was breathing hard, though he’d scarcely done more than squeeze his eyes closed, sucking up the oxygen, in some kind of real mess here.
What had he done? What happened? How had he ended up in a hospital?
Faintly, as if viewing it from a long, long distance, he saw the young girl with the slim legs and blue shorts. She was so beautiful. He wanted to rub against that firm, nubile flesh. But he knew she wouldn’t allow it. That’s why he’d brought the van.
The van. He’d worked so hard on the van. Long hours, away from Mandy. Hiding out in the garage, listening with active ears in case she should enter the garage uninvited, surprising him. The sweet danger of that had given him almost a constant erection. If she caught him fitting out the van, what would he say? Would she believe him? Would he have to take her as his first victim, just to keep her quiet? He despised her. Her big tits and fat, cellulite-filled ass. But she was a necessary part of the equation. His cover. His loving wife.
But she never came in the garage. Couldn’t be torn away from her reality TV shows. That one where a bunch of shrieking women went after the rich guy really turned her on. She about wet her pants when those guys gave the girls roses. If she’d had an ounce of sexuality herself, she might have given herself a rub and tickle, it turned her on so much. Unfortunately, that would never happen. Mandy liked chocolates, and an occasional gift, though he could never afford the diamonds and furs she salivated over. Maybe if he could, she might have tried to at least enjoy their monthly hump and bump, but she pretty much just