Rebecca York - Sudden Insight

He sat back in his chair, trying to put himself in Morgan’s place. She was up to something, but did it involve putting the screws to her own boss?

For what?

Money.

He had no intention of paying. And no intention of leaving her roaming around on the loose where she could make trouble for him or drag the good name of the Howell Institute through the mud. He could have used the operative who’d sent the report on Morgan for the next part of the assignment, but he’d always found it better to compartmentalize. He went back to his computer and opened another file—this one a list of men he’d used for supersensitive assignments in the past. All of them were efficient and reliable.

Carter Frederick was in the New Orleans area, which meant he could get on the job quickly.

Wellington had never met the man in person. In fact, he dealt with him only through an alias—the Badger. Frederick didn’t know who he really was and never would.

After dialing the number beside the name, he waited until an answering machine picked up.

“If you know your party’s extension, you may dial the number at any time.”

He punched in 991 and waited for a set of clicks.

Frederick came on the line. “How may I help you?”

“This is the Badger calling. I have a problem in New Orleans. A rush job.”

“That will cost you.”

He didn’t like the guy’s assumption that he was in charge of the conversation, but he was willing to overlook that, if he got results. “Not important. I’m having issues with a former employee. I want you to find out what she’s doing there and what she knows.”

“About what?”

“It’s your job to get that from her.”

“Better tell me a little bit more, so I’ll know if she’s spinning some kind of wild story.”

“If I knew why she was in town, I wouldn’t need you to question her.”

“Okay. You got her location?”

He gave the hotel’s name and address.

RACHEL SAW A FEW MORE clients, one a woman who came to her every few months for advice. She was glad to focus on the familiar customer so that she didn’t have to think about Evelyn Morgan.

But finally she was alone again and unable to shake the sense of dread that had dogged her ever since she’d read the woman’s cards.

She’d been sure Ms. Morgan was going to die. Could she tell her that, and maybe help her prevent it, if she did another reading when they met again tomorrow night?

After closing the shop, she went up to her apartment and busied herself fixing tuna salad, which she spread on some fresh greens and ate on the second-floor terrace adjoining her apartment while she looked through a catalog of new-age books she was considering for the shop.

Finished with the light dinner, she washed the dishes, then sat up in bed and read a romance novel for a while. She liked them for the intensity, for the emotions of the characters in relationships she was never going to have. Tonight, though, she was unable to keep her mind from wandering to Evelyn Morgan.

She finally gave up and lay in the darkness, trying to calm her nerves with relaxation exercises, but she knew she was definitely going to say something to Ms. Morgan tomorrow.

The decision was like a giant weight lifted off her chest. It was the right thing to do, and she was able to relax.

With a little sigh, she closed her eyes, and for a few hours she slept peacefully. Then she woke. Or did she?

She was lying in her bed, only she had the strange feeling that she wasn’t really conscious.

Before she could puzzle that out, a shadowy figure stepped into her bedroom. A man. She couldn’t see him in the darkness, but she knew he was large and solid.

She lay rigid as he walked toward the bed. In a shaft of light from the street, she got a look at him. He was tall and a little rough around the edges with dark hair and dark eyes.

He stood staring down at her, then glanced over his shoulder at something she couldn’t see.

“We have to get out of here.”

She shrank back. “Why?”

“They’re after us.”

“Who?”

He made a sharp gesture with his hand. “I don’t know, but we have to leave before it’s too late.”

There was no reason to believe him. Then from downstairs, she heard the sound of a door quietly opening, and the realization of danger almost choked off her breath.

“Come on!”

He reached out and grabbed her arm, and a blaze of sensation shot through her, as if she’d suddenly grabbed a live electric wire, and the current was sizzling along her nerve endings.

But it was more than a physical reaction. So much more. Part sexual. Part longing. Part intimacy. None of which she could explain.

She’d never met this man before. Was he even real?

Yes!

It was like when she was reading the cards and she got a sudden insight into the person sitting across from her. Only this was so much deeper.

Did he feel it, too?

Yes .

He hadn’t spoken. But she had heard the word in her head.

Before she could stop to consider that, he was urging her to leave.

Come on , he said again, another mind-to-mind communication.

She’d never experienced anything like it, nor did she know what to make of it.

But she got out of bed, wearing a sheer white nightgown that did nothing to hide her body from him.

He gave her a long, hot glance, and she knew that under other circumstances, they would be heading back to the bed, not away from it.

Instead, he led her quickly to the French doors.

They stepped out and ran across the roof, just as a man burst through the doors behind them, and she knew that if they didn’t get away, they were dead.

The man who had first come to her room jumped nimbly down to the street level and held out his arms.

Without hesitation, she gave him her total trust, jumping into his embrace, crashing against him. He staggered back but kept his balance. When his arms came up to enfold her, she burrowed into him, feeling safe and at the same time more terrified than she ever had in her life. Not just because someone was after them. It was him. Them. Whatever was between them was going to change her whole life, and she couldn’t stop it.

He lowered his mouth to hers for a hard, frantic kiss. As the contact deepened, something strange happened. She felt as though she was looking right into his mind, and the experience was like nothing she had ever imagined.

She opened for him, tasting him, taking in the flavor of man and fine wine.

She was so wrapped up in the experience that she had forgotten all about the guy on the roof, until his shadow loomed over them.

She saw it, even with her eyes closed.

Breaking away, she gasped.

Even though they were supposed to be running from an intruder, they had gotten wound up in each other. Now they were trapped.

She woke with a start, the dream leaving her feeling disoriented and scared and exhilarated, all at the same time.

She lay in bed, breathing hard, going over the details of the encounter. The man who had first come to her room had been familiar. She should know him. But she couldn’t dredge up his name.

He had come to warn her that they were in danger. Was it a premonition? Or had she made it all up because she was upset about Evelyn Morgan?

RACHEL WAS RESTLESS ALL the next day and feeling as though she wasn’t doing her best work for her clients. Finally, in frustration, she closed the shop and changed into a comfortable dress and low-heeled shoes before stopping to put on a little lip gloss and blusher.

The building she owned was several blocks from the Bourbon Street Arms, and she had plenty of time to change her mind as she walked through the winter New Orleans evening, past bars and restaurants, T-shirt shops and strip joints—that rich mix of French Quarter sights and sounds she’d known all her life.