Read Online (Psychic Visions 01) Tuesday's Child by Dale Mayer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dale Mayer
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returned to normal. "I'd like to ask you a few more questions. May I come in?"
She took a step back, paused, then stepped off to the side giving him room to pass.
Brandt walked inside. It seemed as bleak as he remembered. The threadbare furniture, plank floors – everything clean yet old. Bare kitchen counters…only one mug stood by the sink full of water.
He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to stare at her.
She hadn't moved.
What was wrong? He opened his mouth to ask, when she walked to the stove and put on a teakettle. As usual, she had on a sweater several sizes too big that hung almost to her knees, only this one was a brown cable type of thing. Threadbare jeans and white cotton socks completed the picture. And the perpetual braid down her back. He eyed her outfit. She barely made five feet and her clothes accented her thin frame, but there were hints of curves in all the right places.
"Do you want a cup of tea?"
He'd rather have a coffee, yet with no coffeemaker in sight, there didn't appear to be much choice. And her offer could be deemed a definite step forward in the social game. Even for a prickly female like her.
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."
He watched as she pulled out a teapot and teabags from the cupboard. She never made idle chitchat or unnecessary movements. Economical all the way. She fascinated him. He couldn't think of another person like her. He walked over and sat on the same sofa as last time. "This is a nice place."
"I like it."
"Have you been here long?"
She shot him a suspicious look. "You mean you don't know already?"
His lips quirked. "I'd like you to tell me."
Samantha shrugged. "I've been here close to six months now."
"And before that."
She rolled her eyes. "Before that, I was somewhere else."
"Of course you were," he murmured. Her full history had been on his desk half an hour after he'd learned the details of the car accident she'd 'seen.' It hadn't taken long as there'd been little to add to what he already knew. Today's accident had opened doors for him. He wanted to learn the extent she was willing to fill in the missing details.
"Did you sabotage her car?"
She froze in the act of pouring water into the teapot. Her back went rigid. Fury visibly radiated through her bunched shoulders, rage-like waves he could almost touch. Ever so slowly, she finished filling the pot and replaced the kettle on the stove. Just as slowly, she turned around.
Brandt prepared to be blasted and found himself stunned at the pain evident in her eyes. Anger, yes, but he'd also hurt her. He grimaced. Damn, he'd judged that badly. He couldn't figure her out and had automatically tried to shock her out of her silence. Instead, it appeared he'd locked her deeper inside.
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
She stared down at the kitchen floor, the muscles in her jaw twitching. She walked to the small fridge and pulled out a carton of milk. After a long moment, she shuddered once before answering, "When I have these visions, I'm not on the outside looking in. I'm inside these people staring out." She shot him a look. "Believe me, it would be much easier if it were the other way around."
That was understandable. If what she said were true, she must experience what they experience. He didn't think that included the pain – no one could stand that. Still, being inside must forge a personal connection. And how hard would that be given the eventual outcome?
He waited until she'd brought his tea. "Can you do this at will?"
"No."
Did that make it better or worse? Brandt stayed silent. She didn't offer any more information. "What about controlling it?"
"I wish."
"So, what can you do?"
"Endure." She bit her lip afterward, but it was too late. The word had slipped out.
God. Brandt paused, cup midway to the table. So softly spoken, the word said so much. He stared at her. She
She took a step back, paused, then stepped off to the side giving him room to pass.
Brandt walked inside. It seemed as bleak as he remembered. The threadbare furniture, plank floors – everything clean yet old. Bare kitchen counters…only one mug stood by the sink full of water.
He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to stare at her.
She hadn't moved.
What was wrong? He opened his mouth to ask, when she walked to the stove and put on a teakettle. As usual, she had on a sweater several sizes too big that hung almost to her knees, only this one was a brown cable type of thing. Threadbare jeans and white cotton socks completed the picture. And the perpetual braid down her back. He eyed her outfit. She barely made five feet and her clothes accented her thin frame, but there were hints of curves in all the right places.
"Do you want a cup of tea?"
He'd rather have a coffee, yet with no coffeemaker in sight, there didn't appear to be much choice. And her offer could be deemed a definite step forward in the social game. Even for a prickly female like her.
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."
He watched as she pulled out a teapot and teabags from the cupboard. She never made idle chitchat or unnecessary movements. Economical all the way. She fascinated him. He couldn't think of another person like her. He walked over and sat on the same sofa as last time. "This is a nice place."
"I like it."
"Have you been here long?"
She shot him a suspicious look. "You mean you don't know already?"
His lips quirked. "I'd like you to tell me."
Samantha shrugged. "I've been here close to six months now."
"And before that."
She rolled her eyes. "Before that, I was somewhere else."
"Of course you were," he murmured. Her full history had been on his desk half an hour after he'd learned the details of the car accident she'd 'seen.' It hadn't taken long as there'd been little to add to what he already knew. Today's accident had opened doors for him. He wanted to learn the extent she was willing to fill in the missing details.
"Did you sabotage her car?"
She froze in the act of pouring water into the teapot. Her back went rigid. Fury visibly radiated through her bunched shoulders, rage-like waves he could almost touch. Ever so slowly, she finished filling the pot and replaced the kettle on the stove. Just as slowly, she turned around.
Brandt prepared to be blasted and found himself stunned at the pain evident in her eyes. Anger, yes, but he'd also hurt her. He grimaced. Damn, he'd judged that badly. He couldn't figure her out and had automatically tried to shock her out of her silence. Instead, it appeared he'd locked her deeper inside.
"I'm sorry. I had to ask."
She stared down at the kitchen floor, the muscles in her jaw twitching. She walked to the small fridge and pulled out a carton of milk. After a long moment, she shuddered once before answering, "When I have these visions, I'm not on the outside looking in. I'm inside these people staring out." She shot him a look. "Believe me, it would be much easier if it were the other way around."
That was understandable. If what she said were true, she must experience what they experience. He didn't think that included the pain – no one could stand that. Still, being inside must forge a personal connection. And how hard would that be given the eventual outcome?
He waited until she'd brought his tea. "Can you do this at will?"
"No."
Did that make it better or worse? Brandt stayed silent. She didn't offer any more information. "What about controlling it?"
"I wish."
"So, what can you do?"
"Endure." She bit her lip afterward, but it was too late. The word had slipped out.
God. Brandt paused, cup midway to the table. So softly spoken, the word said so much. He stared at her. She
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