She waited for him to move out of her way. He didn’t.
“All right, Ms. Barrett, how do you know about me?”
His authoritative tone had developed an even sharper edge and his eyes were chips of granite.
For a second Emily stared at him. Then it hit her. Dear heavens. Those things she’d been thinking about him before she came to. She must have said them aloud. Oh, hell.
Don’t panic, Emily. You can handle this. Remember, the best defense when cornered is to act innocent.
She squinted at him like someone who’d forgotten her glasses. “I’m sorry. I don’t seem to recognize you, Doctor. Do we know each other?”
His skeptical expression told her he wasn’t buying the act. The sound of a siren approached. Footsteps rushed past in the hallway. The injured men from the construction site were here. This was her chance to escape.
Second-best defense—run to the nearest exit.
“You have people who need you,” she said. “I’d better be on my way. Thank you for taking care of me, Dr…uh… I’m sorry. What was your name again?”
“Where did you find out those very personal things about me?” he demanded, not budging an inch.
She did her best to look confused. “What things?”
“My ethnic background, coloring, height, weight, age, favorite color, favorite—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted with a regretful shake of her head, “but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You expect me to believe you don’t remember what you said?”
“I have no memory of meeting you before today, Doctor. When am I supposed to have said these things?”
“You said them while lying on this bed not five minutes ago. And you know it. You’re not leaving here until you tell me exactly where you learned those personal details of my life.”
She could see he damn well meant it, too. There was only one choice left.
Third-best defense—scare the hell out of the opponent so he runs to the nearest exit.
Emily plastered a look of excitement on her face. “I told you about personal details in your life? And they were accurate? Well, well. That hasn’t happened in quite a while.”
“What hasn’t?”
“When I’ve been in semiconscious states before, I’ve shown…well, that is, people have told me I display very strong psychic powers.”
For a fraction of a second, something that looked like discomfort flashed across his stoic features.
Emily settled farther back on the bed, no longer making any attempt to leave. As a matter of fact, she was doing her best to convey the impression that she planned to stay awhile.
“Once I collapsed in a store and before I came to, I’d told the owner all about the affair he was having with his bookkeeper,” she lied blithely. “Of course, he was a little upset at me since his wife was standing right next to him at the time. But that’s one of the drawbacks of being a semiconscious psychic.”
Brad’s eyes darted toward the phone on the wall. Debating whether he should call for restraints or a psychiatric consultation?
“This is really exciting, Doctor. You don’t know how glad I am you told me. So many people are afraid of acknowledging any sense beyond the mundane five—especially people from the so-called scientific disciplines. Why most doctors wouldn’t dream of repeating what you did for fear of being ridiculed.”
His eyebrows inched so tightly together, they were about to meet.
“Please, you must give me the details of everything you said and what I told you,” she begged. “When I tell people about this, they’re going to want to be sure you didn’t give me any hints. Not that I blame them for being skeptical. There are so many fakes out there. Do you mind if I borrow some paper and a pen to take notes?”
To his credit, he didn’t so much as flinch. But he was clenching the hospital chart so hard, his knuckles were white. It took an effort of will for Emily to keep a straight face.
A nurse rapped once on the door, then stuck her head into the room. “You want the concussion or the bleeder?”
“The bleeder,” he said. “Ms. Barrett is ready to be released.”
He shoved the paperwork in the nurse’s hands and was out of the room so fast that Emily could feel the gust of air displaced in his wake.
She let out a sigh of relief. Well, she’d managed to dodge that bullet. But only just. On paper, Brad Winslow had been very impressive. In person he was one formidable son of a gun.
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY, EM?” Dorothy Mission asked for the umpteenth time as they worked together to prepare dinner in her kitchen.
Dumping the romaine lettuce she’d chopped into a large salad bowl, Emily sent her friend a look of exasperation. “If you don’t stop asking me if I’m okay, I’m going to throw this salad at you.”
Dorothy smiled. “Could you wait until you slice in the tomatoes? A green outfit always looks more festive with a nice splash of red.”
Emily chuckled as she went back to her task. “Truth is, I nearly had a heart attack when it dawned on me that I’d unconsciously blabbed all that stuff to Brad Winslow.”
“Imagine the jolt he must have felt hearing what you said.”
“At least he made sure I was okay and everything that was medical had been attended to before he tried to nail me to the wall on it.”
“Em, I know you said you never wanted to meet him, but now that you have, are you glad?”
She gave the question some serious thought as she chopped the carrots. “I admit it did satisfy a certain curiosity.”
“Is he everything that you…hoped?”
Emily glanced over at the speculative look on her friend’s face. “Forget it, Dot. He’s just a man like any other. And, as far as I’m concerned, good for one thing and one thing only.”
“Oh, I think they might have one or two other uses,” her friend said with a mischievous smile.
“I can open tight jars and take out the trash myself, thank you,” Emily said, knowing perfectly well that was not what Dot had been referring to.
“Come on,” Dorothy persisted. “You selected Brad Winslow out of the hundreds you could have picked. You must think he’s special. What stood out most strongly when you met him today?”
“That he’s no one to fool around with. If I hadn’t lied my head off and known what button to push, he’d have found me out, and I’d be in serious trouble now.”
“Em, I respect your wishes on this, really I do. But you’re such a nice person that… I mean even after all you’ve been through, I guess I still hope you’ll…oh, forget it. You’re right. I can’t pretend to understand what I haven’t experienced. And people who say they know how someone else feels are irritating.”
“On that we agree wholeheartedly,” Emily said.
“You two are agreeing?” Holly Mission said as she entered the room. “Oh, this can’t be good.”
Dorothy gave her daughter a hug. Holly was both smart and sweet—a seventeen-year-old version of her mom.
“So, is Lester gone?” Dorothy asked Holly.
“Yeah, Josh and I stuck around until he got his stuff together and drove off.”
“Did