Sudden Insight

Rachel laid her hand on his arm, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. They were wound up in a situation they didn’t understand, chased by a murderer and the cops. But that was only part of it. They still had to deal with their ability to read each other’s mind.

“Sealing the connection between us is our best shot.”

“How do we … do it?” she asked.

“The usual way. With physical contact.” Knowing he had reached the limit of his endurance, Jake hauled her into his arms.

She gasped as he pulled her against him but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she clung to him with a desperation that echoed his own.

Again, it wasn’t simply a guess about what she was feeling. He knew. He knew the exact touches that would bring her pleasure.

Unbearable heat threatened to overwhelm him. He felt as if he would die if he didn’t make love with her …

Just then he sensed her fear and he knew she sensed his in equal measure.

And would he die if he did?

Award-winning, USA TODAY bestselling novelist Ruth Glick, who writes as REBECCA YORK, is the author of more than one hundred books, including her popular 43 LIGHT STREET series for Mills & Boon^>® Intrigue. Ruth says she has the best job in the world. Not only does she get paid for telling stories, she’s also the author of twelve cookbooks. Ruth and her husband, Norman, travel frequently, researching locales for her novels and searching out new dishes for her cookbooks.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

You are going to die.

The words of warning clogged Rachel Gregory’s throat as she sat across from the well-dressed woman who had come to her for a tarot card reading. Evelyn Morgan appeared to be in her late sixties, with dyed brown hair and carefully applied makeup, obviously a woman of a certain age who wasn’t going to let time compromise the image she wanted to project.

And her mind was still sharp, because she instantly picked up on something in Rachel’s expression. Leaning forward, she asked, “What is it? What do you see?”

To give herself a moment before answering, Rachel fiddled with a tendril of dark hair that had come loose from the French braid at the back of her head.

“I think you may have a rough patch ahead,” she hedged as she looked down at the tarot cards again, hoping that her first impression was wrong.

Evelyn Morgan had selected them from the many different decks on Rachel’s shelves, shuffled them, then made random selections before laying them out. She hadn’t pulled the card most people associated with death, a black armored skeleton riding a white armored horse. But the Fool was there, upside down, which indicated the desire to strike out on a new adventure, although the journey could be disastrous.

The Nine of Wands was also reversed, showing that the man in the picture could barely take care of himself. And then there was the Hanged Man, contemplating making a sacrifice for the greater good. The Eight of Cups was also on the table, the card’s image signifying dissatisfaction with the woman’s present way of life. All in all, not a good outlook.

But the cards were never the only indicators for Rachel. She’d been doing this for fifteen years, since her early teens, and she always picked up more from the subject than the pictures spread out on the table.

Trying to pull her thoughts away from the woman’s uncertain future, she said, “You’re a visitor to the city. I think … you used to have a different name. Not Evelyn Morgan. You changed it after you left your previous job.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “You got all that from the cards?”

Rachel kept her voice even. “Well, the cards help me to … focus. To understand a person better.”

“I’d call that more than understanding. You’re coming up with facts that I haven’t told you.”

“Are they right?”

Ms. Morgan shrugged, and Rachel didn’t challenge her. She hadn’t expected confirmation. That was another thing about the customer sitting across the table in the comfortable wingback chair. She had secrets that she might or might not be willing to reveal to a stranger. Even when she’d come for a tarot card reading.

In this case, perhaps that was best. Because, if pressed, Rachel couldn’t explain how she dipped into people’s minds. Nothing deep. Only a superficial connection that gave her a glimpse into another person’s biography.

Too bad she didn’t have the same kind of insights into her own life. Or that she couldn’t use the special knowledge to make solid connections with people. Sometimes she thought that she was doomed to drift through the days and years, snatching information here and there but never going deeper.

She’d picked up a bit more from Evelyn Morgan. She had apparently held an important position in a D.C. think tank before abruptly leaving her job and going underground. She’d lived very quietly, because she was running away from something or someone. But what?