Reunion (5 page)

Mike nodded.

“It’s on page three of this morning’s paper.”

Mike’s frown deepened.

“What’s on page three?”

“My dream.”

F
our hours had come and gone, and Mike was more confused about what Gabriel had just told him than when they’d started. But in spite of everything they had discussed, there was one thing that stood clear in Gabriel Connor’s mind, and it was a fact that Mike couldn’t shake. Gabriel was convinced that, somehow, he had witnessed a murder. All Mike had to do was prove him right…or wrong. And the only way he knew to do that with any degree of competence was to call someone better trained in that field. Psychics and psychic phenomena were a little out of Mike Travers’ realm. Trouble was, Gabriel wasn’t happy about letting anyone else in on what he perceived to be a monumental character flaw.

“It’s a stupid idea,” Gabriel argued. “And even if the guy believes me, what’s that going to prove? You know what people think about psychics. They—including me—think they’re nuts.”

Mike sighed. “The guy I have in mind is a girl. And what does it matter what
they
think? What matters is what you think about yourself.”

“Psychics are quacks,” Gabriel said, and then dropped into a nearby chair, his shoulders slumped, his face drawn and weary.

“Not this one,” Mike insisted. “I met her at a conference once. Her veracity is impeachable.”

Gabriel covered his face with his hands. There was a part of him that wished he could be a child again, if for no other reason than to be able to lie down and cry without being judged weak or insane. But he couldn’t give in to the notion. He’d lost so much already. If he lost control of himself, there would be nothing left.

He sighed. Maybe Uncle Mike was right. Besides, at this point in his life, there wasn’t much left to lose. The words of acceptance were on the tip of his tongue when something inside him began to change. It was a transient feeling, one that he never would have been able to describe. All he knew was that he was no longer alone in his own skin. His fingers curled upon the arms of the chair in which he was sitting as a whisper began moving inside his mind.

Don’t tell. Don’t tell.

Time ceased. He could hear the sounds of his own heartbeat, feel his lungs expanding and deflating as they drew in oxygen, separating it and then disposing of the unnecessary carbon dioxide in slow, agonizing exhalations. He looked out the window but didn’t see the view before him. Instead he saw murky shadows and a tunnel that seemed to go on forever. He moved with the sight, stepping into the darkness and hearing the splash of footsteps as they split the stagnant puddles on the floor below. He leaned forward, following the sight in his mind.

Lost. Help me. Lost.

Gabriel shuddered. He knew lost. It was the most lonesome experience a human could endure.

Mike was waiting for more of Gabriel’s argument when he happened to look up. He stopped in midthought, afraid to move—afraid to talk. The man sitting in the chair was still Gabriel, and yet somehow he wasn’t. Mike caught himself taking a step backward and then stopped.
What’s the matter with me?
he thought.
This is still my boy.

Right in the middle of a breath, the voice left Gabriel, as suddenly as it had come, taking the vision and the feeling of intrusion with it. And when it was gone, he shuddered, then wiped his hands across his face as if wiping away a bad dream. All he could think was,
Sweet God.
That settled it. He stood.

“Uncle Mike?”

“Yes?”

“Call the psychic. Call her now.”

Mike headed for the phone.

It was Sunday. Staff’s day off. Somewhere within the bowels of the Dane mansion, a phone began to ring. The distant peal was a rude reminder to Laura Dane that she could run, but it would be impossible to hide from who and what she was. Weary from a five-day stint with the Dallas police department, she considered letting the answering machine pick up and then shook off the notion. It would only delay the inevitable need to return the call later. With a weary sigh, she headed for the library.

“Dane residence.”

Mike Travers cleared his throat and shifted the phone to his other ear.

“This is Dr. Michael Travers. I would like to speak to Laura Dane.”

Laura dropped into the chair behind her desk and propped up her feet, using the desktop for a footstool.

“I’m Laura Dane.”

Elated that he’d gotten through to her so easily, Mike began to pace as he talked.

“Miss Dane, I’m sure you don’t remember, but we met last year at the Colorado symposium on psychic healing.”

Laura concentrated on the voice and closed her eyes. The image of a small, stoop-shouldered man with thinning gray hair popped into her mind. She kicked off her shoes and then leaned back again, letting her head loll against the headrest.

“About five-ten, graying hair, very academic in appearance, and you were wearing a charcoal gray suit with a missing button on the sleeve.”

Mike paused in midstep, more than a little surprised by what she’d said. “My word, you have a very good memory.”

Laura smiled to herself. “Not really. Your name was impossible for me to forget. You have the same name as my first-grade boyfriend. I was six. He was seven. You know how irresistible older men are.”

Mike chuckled.

Laura continued. “As for remembering you and what you were wearing, I think it’s because I had a run in my panty hose that day, and when I noticed your missing button, I was congratulating myself that I wasn’t the only attendee who was coming undone.”

Her sense of humor was unexpected. He chuckled again, then glanced at Gabriel and winked, trying to reassure him that everything was going to be all right. To his dismay, Gabriel threw up his hands and stalked out of the room, as if unable to believe his life had come to this point. Mike shrugged, telling himself that at this stage Gabriel didn’t know what was good for him.

“Well, then, let’s get down to business,” Mike said. Now that their point of reference had been established, it would be easier to talk.

Laura felt herself beginning to unwind. Her mother had always claimed that laughter was a powerful medicine. But when she heard the man on the other end of the line take a very deep breath, she tensed. Here it comes, she thought. She was right.

“I have an unusual request. But if you agree, you would be paid handsomely for your assistance.”

“Dr. Travers, most of the requests I receive are unusual, otherwise I would not get them. I’m usually a last resort, and…I don’t take money for what I do.”

“Well, then,” Mike said, “maybe a donation to your favorite charity?”

Laura smiled. “Talk to me.”

Mike glanced toward the doorway. Gabriel was nowhere in sight. He turned back to the phone.

“Here’s my dilemma. I have a patient who is also a friend. He recently suffered the loss of both parents and very nearly his own life. He is physically well, but mentally…well, that’s a different story. He claims to be experiencing a phenomenon that is beyond my expertise. Will you help?”

She heard the urgency in his voice, but her instinct for self-preservation was kicking in. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fix everyone’s problems, and she was exhausted. She rubbed at a spot near her temple where a dull pain was threatening to spread.

“Look, Dr. Travers, I’ve been gone for days. I just got home. In fact, I have yet to unpack. I can give you the names of several of my colleagues who might be able to—”

Sensing he was losing her interest, Mike interrupted quickly.

“Please! Miss Dane! You’re the only person I feel I can trust. This man is like a son to me. I’m too close to the situation to help him, but if he doesn’t get help, and soon, I’m afraid I’ll lose him.” His voice broke. “When he lost his parents, I also lost my two best friends. I can’t lose him, too. Please! For God’s sake—help me help him!”

Laura sat up, combing her fingers through her hair in weary frustration. “I understand your concern, but I don’t see how—”

Mike dropped into a nearby chair, his voice filled with defeat. “I won’t lie to you. Gabriel is totally opposed to this idea. He doesn’t believe in psychic abilities, yet it’s the only thing that explains what’s happening to him. Every day I see him slipping closer and closer to the edge of reason. I’m afraid he’ll fall off, and if he does, I won’t know how to pull him back.”

Laura stiffened as an image flashed through her mind. It was of a winged angel with two faces. One face was crying, the other twisted in agony. The abruptness of it, as well as what she saw, startled her. With nothing more than hearing the man’s first name, she had connected. She knew herself well enough to know that the decision had been taken out of her hands. Now she had no choice.

“Okay, I’m listening. Where do you live?”

Mike straightened, almost afraid to hope. “Oklahoma City. Say the word and I’ll overnight a first-class ticket.”

“Tell me one thing,” Laura asked. “Why me?”

Mike took a deep breath. “Because Gabriel claims to have witnessed a murder, and I know you’ve worked on such cases.”

Laura frowned. “You need the police. Not a psychic.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Mike said. “Like you, what he saw was only in his mind.”

Laura inhaled sharply. She knew all too well the horror of trying to live with the knowledge of other people’s deeds. And she’d had her entire life and the support of her family to help her cope with what she could do. She could only imagine the confusion and terror of trying to absorb such a skill overnight.

“Do you have a pen?” she asked.

Mike began scrambling through his pockets. “Yes.”

“I need a day to unpack and unwind. This is Sunday. I can be there by Tuesday. Send the ticket to this address, and make hotel arrangements, as well.”

Mike took down the information, but his mind was already moving into another mode.

“Miss Dane, the Connors had an enormous home. Why not stay here? It would be more convenient for both you and Gabriel.”

She frowned. “I don’t think so. That could put me and your friend in a compromising position.”

“Gabriel Connor is the last person on this earth who would harm you.”

Again, an image of a two-faced angel flashed through her mind, and this time both faces were crying. The information was strong, its power almost frightening. She knew better than to ignore what she was seeing.

“All right, I’ll come, and I’ll stay in Mr. Connor’s home. But if it doesn’t work out, I’ll be heading for the nearest hotel.”

The old man relaxed. “I’ll pick you up at the airport and drive you here myself.”

“Fine, then,” Laura said, wondering what she’d let herself in for this time.

“Miss Dane?”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. My skill is not an exact science. Sometimes the people I help don’t like what I see.”

Today the psychic was coming. Gabriel was already sorry he’d ever let himself be talked into this. In a short while, a strange woman whose single claim to fame lay in the fact that she could see into the future, would be intruding into his life. If that wasn’t enough to swallow, he’d agreed to having her as a guest in his home.

“I just hope she doesn’t look like some sideshow fortune-teller,” he muttered to himself. “If Dad were here, he would be laughing his ass off.”

He glanced at his watch and then headed for the kitchen to tell Matty there would be another guest for lunch.

Mike Travers drove carefully, letting the traffic flow around him without taking part in the race, while his passenger sat quietly beside him. Several times during the past few minutes he’d sensed her scrutiny, but until she asked, he didn’t feel the need to volunteer anything.

Laura felt comfortable with Mike Travers. His demeanor was nonthreatening, his belief in her abilities comforting. And while she was curious about the man who would be her host for the next few days, she resisted questioning the good doctor about him, preferring to draw her own conclusions from their first meeting instead.

Travers shifted his wire-rims to a more comfortable position on his nose and then signaled for a right turn.

“Almost there.”

Laura smiled.

“I hope you’re not still nervous about staying in Gabriel’s home?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Besides, if it doesn’t work out, there’s always a hotel.”

Mike shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, I assure you.”

“We’ll see,” Laura said. “Just don’t worry about it, because I’m not, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike agreed, then he began to slow down.

Moments later he turned off the highway and shortly drove between a pair of iron gates that were standing ajar.

“We’re here.”

The height and mass of the gates surprised Laura. There was less iron in the gates at Buckingham Palace. Her eyebrows arched. “Here” was quite a place.

“It’s beautiful.”

Her gaze raked the perfectly manicured lawns before moving to view the careful elegance of the home. But when she saw the man standing on the veranda, her attention narrowed.