and true love along the way. Not a bad bargain, even considering the terrifying shit they’d gone through. Too bad it hadn’t turned out such a sweet deal for Miles. He’d been the one left bleeding out of his eyes. Monumentally fucked up.
Whoa. Self-pity alert. Cut that shit out fast.
Nina couldn’t get past his mental shield. Not even that psycho Rudd had breached it, using the psi equivalent of high explosives. Anabel, Rudd’s bimbo henchwoman from hell, hadn’t breached it either, using her turbocharged sexual allure. It was a good, sound shield, if he did say so himself. If there was one thing he had totally nailed in his lifetime, it was computer security, even the analogous mental kind.
He just looked at Nina. “Don’t try.”
She gave him a limpid, innocent look. “Couldn’t you just drop the shield?” she coaxed. “It might help, if I could see what’s going on. If I knew more about what you’re going through, we could—”
“Don’t. Try.” It came out louder this time.
She nodded, but his ordeal was far from over. The feeling started small. Anxiety, like the start of the brain-ripping agony Rudd had inflicted on him, but just a distant roll of thunder on the horizon.
His stomach flopped with ugly associations. He looked at Aaro. “Try that again, and I’ll rip your limbs off,” he said.
Aaro’s nostrils flared, but the feeling dissipated quickly.
Miles took a deep breath, and visualized the mountaintop again. He fumbled in his pocket for his sunglasses. Wearing them indoors looked affected, but he had nothing to prove to anyone.
“So?” he said. “Everybody done poking and prodding?”
“Not even close,” Sean said. “Brace yourself.”
Miles let out a painful sigh. “It’s all I ever do.”
“Let’s go out on the terrace,” Nina urged. “We can talk.” She touched his arm. The contact took him by surprise. He recoiled so violently that everyone froze, shooting glances at each other.
“Jesus, Miles,” Kev murmured. “That bad?”
“I’m okay,” Miles said. “Just please don’t touch me. It’s nothing personal, I swear. Just . . . don’t.”
“Double shot of Scotch?” That was Davy’s dour suggestion.
Miles shook his head. If only it were that simple.
The place was set up for the dessert orgy later on. They all sat down at a couple of the white-draped tables, the chairs of which had been tarted up with padded, puffy, brocaded skirts. Edie grabbed one of the cards that had been folded into a tent and left on each table. Dessert menus. A glance at the one in front of Miles showed baba’, boccanotte , tiramisu and flauti filled with raspberries and crème chantilly. Plus the cake. Overkill, as usual. The hand of Zia Rosa was evident. The thought of all that sugar made his teeth ache.
Edie pulled a stub of pencil from her handbag, turned the dessert menu over, and gave him a questioning look. Miles shrugged. Edie had a psychic talent of her own. Sometimes her drawings took on oracular meanings. She’d drawn for him before, even after the Spruce Ridge debacle, but he’d never made any sense of the images.
“Go ahead,” he muttered. “Do your worst.”
“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me,” Edie said, but his permission had set her hand loose. She was already scribbling frantically.
The pencil, scratching against paper, scraped nastily over his nerve endings.
“So,” Kev said. “Woods, mountains. Did it help?”
“When I was there, it did,” he said. “Doesn’t do shit for me now.”
“It’s not a solution,” Aaro broke in. “Hiding like a rabbit in a hole.”
Miles kept his gaze fixed firmly on the dessert menu.
“So, uh, the sensory overload,” Kev asked. “Is it still . . . ?”
“Kicking my ass,” Miles supplied.
Nina reached out again, as if to touch his hand, but stopped. “So why are you here?”
“Didn’t want to piss off Bruno and Lily,” he offered.
Sean grunted. “You haven’t cared about pissing us off for a
Whoa. Self-pity alert. Cut that shit out fast.
Nina couldn’t get past his mental shield. Not even that psycho Rudd had breached it, using the psi equivalent of high explosives. Anabel, Rudd’s bimbo henchwoman from hell, hadn’t breached it either, using her turbocharged sexual allure. It was a good, sound shield, if he did say so himself. If there was one thing he had totally nailed in his lifetime, it was computer security, even the analogous mental kind.
He just looked at Nina. “Don’t try.”
She gave him a limpid, innocent look. “Couldn’t you just drop the shield?” she coaxed. “It might help, if I could see what’s going on. If I knew more about what you’re going through, we could—”
“Don’t. Try.” It came out louder this time.
She nodded, but his ordeal was far from over. The feeling started small. Anxiety, like the start of the brain-ripping agony Rudd had inflicted on him, but just a distant roll of thunder on the horizon.
His stomach flopped with ugly associations. He looked at Aaro. “Try that again, and I’ll rip your limbs off,” he said.
Aaro’s nostrils flared, but the feeling dissipated quickly.
Miles took a deep breath, and visualized the mountaintop again. He fumbled in his pocket for his sunglasses. Wearing them indoors looked affected, but he had nothing to prove to anyone.
“So?” he said. “Everybody done poking and prodding?”
“Not even close,” Sean said. “Brace yourself.”
Miles let out a painful sigh. “It’s all I ever do.”
“Let’s go out on the terrace,” Nina urged. “We can talk.” She touched his arm. The contact took him by surprise. He recoiled so violently that everyone froze, shooting glances at each other.
“Jesus, Miles,” Kev murmured. “That bad?”
“I’m okay,” Miles said. “Just please don’t touch me. It’s nothing personal, I swear. Just . . . don’t.”
“Double shot of Scotch?” That was Davy’s dour suggestion.
Miles shook his head. If only it were that simple.
The place was set up for the dessert orgy later on. They all sat down at a couple of the white-draped tables, the chairs of which had been tarted up with padded, puffy, brocaded skirts. Edie grabbed one of the cards that had been folded into a tent and left on each table. Dessert menus. A glance at the one in front of Miles showed baba’, boccanotte , tiramisu and flauti filled with raspberries and crème chantilly. Plus the cake. Overkill, as usual. The hand of Zia Rosa was evident. The thought of all that sugar made his teeth ache.
Edie pulled a stub of pencil from her handbag, turned the dessert menu over, and gave him a questioning look. Miles shrugged. Edie had a psychic talent of her own. Sometimes her drawings took on oracular meanings. She’d drawn for him before, even after the Spruce Ridge debacle, but he’d never made any sense of the images.
“Go ahead,” he muttered. “Do your worst.”
“Your enthusiasm overwhelms me,” Edie said, but his permission had set her hand loose. She was already scribbling frantically.
The pencil, scratching against paper, scraped nastily over his nerve endings.
“So,” Kev said. “Woods, mountains. Did it help?”
“When I was there, it did,” he said. “Doesn’t do shit for me now.”
“It’s not a solution,” Aaro broke in. “Hiding like a rabbit in a hole.”
Miles kept his gaze fixed firmly on the dessert menu.
“So, uh, the sensory overload,” Kev asked. “Is it still . . . ?”
“Kicking my ass,” Miles supplied.
Nina reached out again, as if to touch his hand, but stopped. “So why are you here?”
“Didn’t want to piss off Bruno and Lily,” he offered.
Sean grunted. “You haven’t cared about pissing us off for a
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