and lifts my chin so that I’m looking at her. “I could never hurt you, Jillian. Just like you could never hurt me. I’ve always got your back.”
She’s protected me from bullies, now the game has changed. Still the big sister keeping me from getting hurt. “You know, for a muse you inspire a lot more than creativity.”
She begins eating her lunch. “By the way, on the subject of hot guys…” Her eyebrows went up and so did her voice, into a sing-song third grade lilt. “I know someone who likes Jill-i-an…”
***
His name is Gavin, and he’s a new client. He greets me with a warm handshake and I gesture toward the seat opposite mine. He’s maybe thirty, tall and slender, expensive charcoal gray windowpane suit and a red paisley tie with a perfect dimple in the knot. Classic square jaw, jet black hair, deep blue eyes I could get lost in if I were ten years older or he were ten years younger. Champagne Rolex on his wrist, french-cuffed shirt with gold cufflinks. Tells me he manages a mutual fund. I’m wondering why the hell a guy who looks this good and is obviously loaded needs help with romance.
And then he tells me. “I’m thinking my fiancée is cheating on me.”
“I’m thinking your fiancée is an idiot,” I mutter.
Oops, he heard me. He furrows his brow. “Excuse me?”
I smile and laugh a bit. “Forgive my attempt at humor. But what you said surprised me. I mean, well, I would guess women would be beating a path to the door of a guy who looks like you and wears a watch that costs more than most cars.”
He offers a sheepish grin. “That, uh, used to be the case. But I’m ready to settle down. I need to be sure my fiancée is as well.”
“Any particular reason you think she’s cheating?”
“Well, lots of calls to our apartment lately that hang up when I answer. She’s working late a lot. And, she, uh, had a reputation as a party girl a few years ago.”
“Fair enough. You brought a picture of her?”
He nods and reaches into his back pocket, then pulls out his wallet. “Sure.” He removes a small photo and hands it to me.
I can see why he’s worried. Blonde, stunning, holding a drink, obviously hammered past the legal limit, wearing a skirt up to her ass. “She’s really pretty,” I say, as I hand it back to him.
“Sometimes they’re too pretty, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, but let’s get started. I want you to take my hands for a moment, look at me, and ask a very specific question.”
“Okay.” I reach out and he takes my hands, then looks at me with those incredible eyes that make me gulp. “Is Jennifer Logan cheating on me?”
“Now close your eyes and focus on your question, and only your question.”
He closes his eyes. I do the same as I let go of his hands and take the crystal ball in mine. I focus on this Greek god sitting five feet away, then on his bimbo fiancee. I’ve got a pretty good idea what the future will reveal. A minute later I look at him. “Okay, open your eyes.”
He does, and I look at the ball.
Which is already fogged up.
Emotion. But it’s all his this time. I personally don’t feel anything one way or the other.
“Well?” he asks.
I put up one finger. “Patience. The image is clearing.”
It does and reveals an image of his fiancée actually working late. But she’s doing so with another man, and it’s obvious they’re attracted to each other. The clothes come off, the image begins to get a bit X-rated, my eyes grow wide as I can’t help but blush at a scene that belongs on late night Cinemax.
“You see something?” he asks.
I nod. “You were right. She’s with another man. Someone at her office. The name on the door reads…Dan Jellison.”
His hands ball into fists, the blue eyes narrow and fill with hate. “I’ll kill him,” he says.
And then I see him do it.
“So after you saw this man kill his fiancée and her lover, what happened?”
This time it’s just one prosecutor at The Summit, and Sebastien is being a lot nicer this time. He’s politely asking questions instead of demanding answers. We’re in his office, along with my mom.
“Right after he said ‘I’ll kill him,’ he got up and stormed out. I followed him out to the street and tried to get him to come back but he ignored me. Got in his car and peeled off.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I pulled out my cell phone and called Fuzzball. The police got there just in time or they would have been dead.”
Sebastien makes some notes on the legal pad, which sits atop his massive oak desk, then turns to my mother. “Is she always emotional?”
“I’m not an emotional person!” I say, realizing I sounded like one. “Who wouldn’t get emotional after seeing real-life murders?”
He put up a hand toward me. “Please, Jillian. I’m asking your mother.”
“No,” she says. “Jillian’s usually very calm. Doesn’t get angry. She’s very easygoing. We get along remarkably well, especially considering half the teenagers out there don’t even speak to their parents.” She shoots me a look and smiles. I nod back, silently thanking her for not telling Sebastien about our argument last week about my father.
The ticking of an ancient grandfather clock is the only sound in the room for the moment. Sebastien leans back in his leather swivel rocker and looks up at the ceiling, as if searching for answers. I sit silently, looking around the dark paneled room at the very old oil paintings of people I don’t recognize, probably paranormal pioneers of some sort. Finally he breaks the silence. “Tell me what you were thinking during each reading when you felt emotion.”
“Well, with the murders, I was more scared than upset. I mean, watching murders that are real instead of the stuff you see in movies scared the hell out of me. I could feel my heart pounding. In the last case, I was even more frightened because the man sitting across from me was the murderer.”
“And yet you ran after him. Weren’t you afraid for your own safety?”
He has a point. If I was so scared, why did I run after him? “I guess…maybe subconsciously I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me. I was hoping to calm him down and maybe stop him from killing people.”
“And the situation with your friend Roxanne?”
Great,
