weren’t. Even above the wild beating of her heart, she heard his footsteps on the marble floor coming closer and closer.
She was going to die. That certainty streamed through her, heightening each one of her senses. She could smell the scent of the gunfire and blood, see the fractured image of the approaching shooter in the broken mirror, and she felt a door handle dig into her side. The cupboard. She tried to grip the handle, but her damp fingers slid off of it. Another shot was fired from farther away. The choir loft?
The footsteps coming toward her never faltered. Any second the shooter would step into the sacristy. The door to the walkway seemed miles away. Desperate, she gripped the handle again. This time it turned and she pressed herself backward, deep into the garments hanging in the cupboard.
Then J.C. Riley began to pray.
BY THE PRICKING of my thumbs something wicked this way comes.
“Dammit!” Nik Angelis braked at yet another red light. He, along with thousands of other San Franciscans, was inching his way toward the Golden Gate Bridge to escape the city for the weekend. But it wasn’t the slow-moving traffic he was cursing. It was the damn pricking in his thumbs. It was bad enough that the annoying little rhyme had been popping into his mind all day. It had started when he’d taken his morning run along Baker beach. Any day that began near the sea was a good day—when he wasn’t plagued by a hint of coming disaster. But now his thumbs had actually begun to hurt.
That sucked. This was his weekend off.
Taking his hands off the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers. The sensation didn’t go away. It never did simply because he wanted it to.
According to his aunt Cass, a well-known psychic in the San Francisco area, the prickling sensation he always got when something significant and usually bad was about to happen was simply an outward sign of the psychic ability he’d inherited from his mother’s side of the family. From the time he’d been a child, first his mother and then his aunt had encouraged him to nurture and develop it. Instead, he’d chosen to ignore it—as much as it was possible to do that.
It was only since he’d become a cop that he’d begun to value a talent that he suspected had saved his life on more than one occasion. Anything that warned of approaching disaster was something a cop had to appreciate. But he was off duty this weekend, and the only significant thing that he wanted to happen was to beat his brothers, Kit and Theo, to his family’s fishing cabin and get out in his sailboat. Oh, he’d fish, too, but his first love was to be out there on the water, capturing the wind and skimming over the waves.
Theo was already at the cabin, Nik had gotten the gloating phone call before he’d left the office. There was still a good chance that he could beat Kit there. His youngest brother was a P.I. and a writer. If he wasn’t tied up with surveillance, he could be hunched over his laptop determined to meet his next deadline.
Nik let out a frustrated breath as the traffic light ahead of him turned red. A love of the sea and fishing was big in the Angelis family. Their paternal grandfather had made his living as a fisherman in Greece, and Nik figured he’d inherited his love of sailing from his maternal great-grandfather, who’d made his fortune building boats in nearby Sausalito. Even though his father had become a restaurateur, Spiro Angelis still found the time to join his sons at the cabin as often as he could. But lately Spiro was always busy at the restaurant.
After eighteen years, there was a new woman in his father’s life. She was a five-star chef he had met on a recent visit to Greece and had invited to come to San Francisco to help him expand his restaurant. The result was that The Poseidon now offered fine dining on an upper level—and Spiro and Helena had somehow become rivals. Each time Helena added a new item to her menu, Spiro felt obligated to add something to his. His aunt Cass and his sister Philly thought that Spiro was in love with Helena and bungling it badly. So far, Nik and his brothers had stayed out of it, but drama was running high at the restaurant.
As he inched his car forward, Nik felt the pricking in his thumbs grow stronger. Not a good sign. He was Greek enough to know that he couldn’t escape what fate had in store and curious enough to wonder if his premonition would prove to be work-or family-related.
He thought of his partner, Dinah McCall. She was assigned to a stakeout this weekend—a drug dealer that they’d been watching for months. Because he was off duty, she was paired up with a rookie.
On impulse, he lifted his cell phone off his belt and punched in her number.
“If you’re calling to let me know that you’re sitting on the front porch of that cabin and opening your first beer, I’ll get even,” Dinah said. “You won’t know when it will happen—next month, a year from now. Or what it will be—tacks on your chair, salt in your coffee. Or perhaps, I’ll have a heart-to-heart with one of those blondes you’re always dating and tell them what a long string of other Malibu Barbie-types you’ve left in your wake. You’ll live in terror, not knowing when or how I will strike.”
Nik grinned. “Empty threats. I live in terror of you already. How’s the stakeout going?”
“Boring. I’m on my third crossword puzzle and my second bag of M&M’s. Luckily our relief should get here soon. And you’re calling because you don’t think I can handle myself without you.”
“Not true,” Nik insisted. And it wasn’t. In spite of the fact that she was barely five foot two and dressed like what his sister Philly would describe as a girly-girl, Dinah McCall was a smart and tough cop. “I’m just having one of my…feelings. So be careful.”
“You be careful, too,” she said, her tone suddenly serious. “Where are you calling from?”
“My car. I figure it’s going to take me another hour just to get across the bridge.”
“I’m hanging up. Do you happen to know how many accidents are caused every year by people talking on their cell phones? In some states, you could get a ticket for driving while talking on your cell. And if you got into an accident, you might mess up that pretty face of yours, and there would go one of my job perks.”
“Nag, nag, nag.” He glanced in his side-view mirror, then floored the gas pedal and cut off a taxi. The cab driver blasted his horn.
“Considering the way you drive, it’s a wonder your thumbs haven’t fallen off,” Dinah commented.
Nik laughed. “Watch your back, Dinah.”
“Same to you, partner.”
He shouldn’t have called her, Nik thought as he hooked the phone back on his belt. She’d worry about him now, but he’d wanted her forewarned. Dinah was the only person outside his family he’d ever told about his “gift,” and she’d been with him once when one of his little premonitions had saved both of their lives.
The problem was the premonition could very well be about his family. The last time his thumbs had pricked this insistently was the weekend his cousin Dino had announced that he was going to join the naval academy and see the world. It wasn’t a decision that Nik had particularly liked because he’d seen the sorrow that had come into his aunt Cass’s eyes. However, he’d supported Dino because he’d seen the same look in his father’s eyes when he’d announced he was going to enter the police academy.
His father had always nurtured the dream that one of his sons would follow in his footsteps in the restaurant business and take over The Poseidon one day, but it didn’t look like it would pan out that way. Kit had
