Chapter Nineteen

Gideon brought the SUV to a halt behind room ten of the Cactus Garden Motel and shut down the engine. Amelia unclipped her seat belt, collected her tote, and prepared to open the door.

It had been a mistake to tell her the truth about his talent, Gideon thought. He should have known better. He did know better. What had he been thinking? That was just it. He hadn’t been thinking. He had taken the leap of faith on impulse, driven by the irrational hope that she would not only believe him but accept his talent.

At least he wasn’t getting the vibe that told him she was afraid of him. That was good. Maybe she simply didn’t believe him. The real problem was that he could not tell what she was thinking.

He knew she had indulged in a short-lived rush of triumph when she had informed Pike she was on a date, but the dose of endorphins had faded fast. She had gone very quiet after the phone call. He had hoped that the successful navigation of the gauntlet journey back across the resort parking lot would give her another mood boost, but she had remained locked in her quiet zone.

From out of nowhere he was hit with a sense of weary resignation bordering on despair.

He had been a fool. He should not have told her about his talent.

There had been a few occasions in the past when he had let down his guard and tried to explain his paranormal abilities to someone outside the family. The results had never been good. People either didn’t believe him and concluded he was a fraud and a con or they decided he was delusional.

Amelia did not seem to have fallen into either of those two categories, but her ongoing silence was not a good sign. Maybe she had decided to take a pragmatic approach. It wasn’t as if she had much choice. They both knew there were not a lot of private investigators who would take her case seriously.

“Shit.”

He did not realize he had spoken aloud until Amelia paused in the act of opening the car door and turned toward him.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if you’re going to fire me,” he said.

“What? Oh, no, of course not.”

“Because you don’t have any other viable options?”

“No.” She cracked open the door, jumped down to the pavement, and turned to look at him. “Because I’ve seen your aura and your energy prints. I’m not afraid of you, Gideon, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You trust your ability to read energy well enough to make a decision like that?”

“Call it my photographer’s intuition.”

“Then why the silence after dinner?”

“No big deal. It’s just that after Pike called it occurred to me the best way to determine whether or not he’s the stalker would be for me to make an evening appointment with him. I’ll need to get him into a dark place, but that shouldn’t be too difficult. A lot of restaurants are dimly lit, and then there are parking lots and the gardens at my apartment complex.”

He thought about that for a beat. “That’s not a bad plan, as long as I’m with you or close by when you meet Pike.”

“Thanks.” She smiled. “I came up with the idea all by myself.”

“Is that the only thing you’ve been thinking about for the past half hour?”

“Well, no. But trust me, you really don’t want to hear about the other stuff.”

He took a breath and exhaled with control. “I think I do want to hear about the other stuff.”

“Are you sure? You won’t like it.”

“We’re working as a team. It’s best if I know what you’re thinking.”

“Okay, if you insist. Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I never lose my temper.” He paused. “Hardly ever.”

“Right, the compartmentalizing thing. Well, the truth is, I was thinking about your talent.”

He groaned. “I had a feeling that might be it.”

“It must be a very difficult ability to live with,” she said gently. “I don’t enjoy reading auras and prints. I can’t even imagine how awful it would be to pick up the vibe of other people’s nightmares. I imagine that kind of energy affects your own dreams. No wonder you’re big on control and focus and compartmentalizing. It explains your paintings, too. I’ll bet they are how you cope with the bad stuff. Worst of all, your talent must be murder on your personal life.”

Blindsided, he stared at her, struggling to recalculate. “Are you telling me you feel sorry for me?”

“Sympathetic,” she corrected quickly.

“I don’t need sympathy, damn it.”

She held up a hand. “I warned you that you wouldn’t like the answer to your question.”

He pulled himself together and opened his door. “You’ve got that right. I sure as hell don’t want you feeling sorry for me.”

“Look at it this way. We’re even now.”

He climbed out of the car, reached back inside for his cane, and looked at her across the width of the cab. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t feeling sorry for me earlier tonight when you practically had to carry me across the restaurant parking lot. Do you think I liked that? I was mortified. Humiliated.”

“I was trying to be supportive.”

“Bullshit,” she shot back. “You felt pity for me.”

“That is not true.”

“Your talent might have a dark side but mine is downright embarrassing. Do you know what it’s like to become a recluse at night because you’re afraid of the dark? Try explaining that to a potential date or your friends. You start making up excuses, but they don’t work. Everyone tells you that you need therapy but what they’re really thinking is that you’re weak-minded. Prone to phobias and fears.”

“Have you considered that you may be overreacting?”

“After a while your friends stop calling. Stop visiting. Stop inviting you to join them for drinks at the neighborhood tavern because they know you’ll say you have to wash your hair instead. My talent is ruining my life. And I don’t like knowing people feel sorry for me any more than you like knowing they feel sorry for you.”

She shut the door of the vehicle with a forceful ker-chunk and stalked toward her room.

He closed his own door and went after her. “Hang on, we need to talk about this.”

“Some other time.” She jammed the key into the lock of her room door. “I’m not in the mood. I prefer to wallow in self-pity.”

She moved into the room, flipped the light switch, and shut the door in his face. He heard the bolt slam into place.

Clients. Can’t live with them. Can’t run an investigation business without them.