“Well, if you think about it, why wouldn’t she? You’re a stranger. You’re on a bridge, and you’re talking suicide.”
“I know,” he said in frustration. “It’s a shit deal all the way around.”
“She didn’t look the way you thought she would, or she wasn’t wearing the clothes that you thought?”
“Not the person that I knew,” he said quietly. “I just—” And he stopped, not sure what to say.
“Well, I’ll see what I can do with her picture,” she said, “but that’s all I can promise.”
“Thank you,” he said. As he hung up and pocketed his phone, he turned to look back. The young woman had stopped at the far end of the bridge, but she turned to look at him. He lifted a hand, and she turned and walked away. And, of course, that’s all it was, replaying Kate’s words in his mind. He was a male; they were on a bridge. It was dark, overcast. It was windy, and, although it was still early in the morning, an ominous feeling was here, almost like she wanted to come back in his direction, and he was stopping her because he was standing there.
He probablywasstopping her, so he turned and headed back up and called for a ride. He didn’t know what the hell today would bring. He didn’t know if he’d helped her or hurt her, but, on second thought, he pulled out a business card, lifted it up so she saw it, even though she was walking slowly toward him. Finding a rock to hold it with, he placed the card on the ground and then turned and walked away.
Maybe she’d call.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
Chapter 16
Kate’s Wednesday Evening
Walking into herapartment after yet another judo session, Kate wearily dropped her bag on the floor and closed the door behind her. Almost immediately a horrible premonition washed over her.
She stopped, pulled her weapon from her bag, and silently moved through her apartment. And yet found nothing. Frowning, she checked everything that she could and then stepped back into the same spot, where she’d felt whatever it was that was so wrong. It was the first time she’d ever felt anything like that, and she didn’t know what it was or where it was coming from. As she stood here, the same horrible feeling met her again. She pulled out her phone, but she saw no new text; there was nothing. She immediately sent Simon a message.Are you okay?
When she got no answer, she was hardly surprised. There were often minutes to hours between their texts. And, of course, she couldn’t expect him to jump on the phone immediately. But, as she walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water, the feeling grew worse and worse and worse.
Finally she quickly changed into jeans and a T-shirt, grabbed her purse, threw on a light jacket, and snatched her keys. And she stepped outside, she felt such a sense of urgency that just wouldn’t quit. She raced to her vehicle and drove straight over to Simon’s apartment. No point in questioning her motivation or the destination.
As she got in his apartment building, she walked toward the doorman. As soon as she reached him, she asked, “Have you seen Simon today?”
He nodded. “Yes, he went up not too long ago.”
She nodded and said, “Call and tell him I’m here, will you?”
When he hesitated, she pulled out her badge and gave him a hard look. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
He swallowed, stepped back over to the counter, and she raced for the elevator.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, as if suddenly realizing the speed of her actions.
“Yes,” she snapped. “Now do what I say.”
With that, she bolted into the elevator and started punching buttons. It was damn frustrating when she had to wait for it to get anywhere. But finally she was cleared for the top floor, and, as she walked into his living room, she called out, “Simon, you here?”
But there was only silence. She raced through the living room to his bedroom. And there she found him fully dressed, collapsed at the end of his bed. He looked at her, and she saw recognition in his pain-filled eyes.
She dropped down beside him. “Jesus, what’s wrong?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to speak and then clenched his eyes shut.
“I’ll get an ambulance for you,” she cried out. She bolted to her feet but couldn’t move as his hand had locked on her wrist, and he stared at her. “No.” His tone was firm, hard even.
She sank back down beside him, her arms around him, trying to ease him back up fully on the bed, so that he could crash there.
“What’s the matter?” she cried out. She tested his forehead for a fever and checked his body over but found no visible injuries. “If you’re hurt, why not the hospital?”
And with the last of his breath, he whispered, “Psychic.”