And the dam broke. Wyatt’s shoulders shook as he tried to dam the flood of emotion. He wrapped his fingers over his eyes, and Gemma fell to her knees beside him.

“It’s okay, hon,” she said, rubbing his back.

Without removing his hand, Wyatt said, “Can you tell her how sorry I am that I failed her?”

I disagreed but nodded and relayed his message to her.

“Failed?” she asked, her tiny fingers sliding across her palm. “He tried to save me.”

“I know, but he feels like he failed you. Like you died because of him.”

She patted his cheek with her left hand and signed with her right. “He’s wrong. I died because of Mr. U.”

Finally, I got a name. Or an initial that stood for the name of Ussery. And we were right. Not that I had any doubt, but verification was always nice.

“I thought of his face,” she continued. “His face makes me feel happy.”

“She said you’re wrong,” I told Wyatt. “You didn’t fail her. And your face makes her happy.”

He nodded. It was all he could do.

“Do you remember what happened?”

But I’d lost her. Artemis had army-crawled past me and laid her nose on Faith’s foot. She laughed and bent to pet her. “I like dogs,” she said.

Artemis soaked up the attention like a dry sponge thrown into a swimming pool. Her little tail wagged and she rolled onto her stomach, pushing me out of the way with her butt. That was the thanks I got.

We’d made leaps today. Giant leaps. Hopefully I could talk to her more, convince her to cross, to be with her family.

The women hadn’t gone anywhere, but they had changed. They had calmed, were less erratic, less frantic. But they still stared off into space, their gazes vacant as though lost. I didn’t know how to help them. And I really wanted to help them. It would still be a while before Reyes got off work. Even thinking that felt foreign. Reyes working. Making a living. Surviving in my world. Keeping it real.

First I had to fix things with Rocket and Blue. Only then could I probe Rocket for suggestions on how to help the women in my apartment and for answers about Reyes, why my man’s name was on his wall of doom.

As I drove to the asylum, another thought struck. It happened. But I realized I’d solved a case without almost dying. Without being beaten senseless or dragged through broken glass. That shit sucked. But I’d done it. Things were looking up.

I straightened my shoulders and let pride swell for almost seven seconds before another thought popped into my head. I’d just tempted fate. By thinking the first thought, I’d quite possibly jinxed myself. I’d thrown caution to the wind, damn my pride.

But I’d done it. No doubt about it. So when a large vehicle slammed into Misery’s driver-side door – the sound of metal colliding and crumbling in on itself deafening – my last thought as darkness crept in was, Honestly, it’s like I don’t know myself at all.

19

Never underestimate the power of a woman on a double espresso with a mocha latte chaser high.

—T-SHIRT

I awoke in total darkness to the hum of an engine. Then I realized there were lights ahead in the distance. I figured I should walk toward them. It seemed like the right thing to do. But my legs wouldn’t move. Neither would my hands.

I was paralyzed!

Or tied up.

Probably tied up.

A truck hit me!

Memories flooded back. A huge truck, no, an SUV, came barreling toward me, then a grille, then the emblem on that grille proclaiming it as a GMC as it got closer and closer – so fast, I didn’t have time to think. To put up my guard. To slow time. I so very much needed to get control over my powers. Seriously, could I slow time or not? It seemed like I could defend myself only when my senses were already on high alert. With Cookie’s gun in the bar. With Reyes’s anger at Garrett in the apartment. I’d been aware. I’d known something bad was about to happen. But being blindsided was like, well, being blindsided. That truck came out of nowhere, thus the term.

The world spun and my head throbbed, letting me know it did not appreciate the collision one tiny bit. It was probably concussed. I’d had more concussions than an NFL defensive lineman. Permanent brain damage was looking more and more likely. Poor Barbara. I didn’t deserve her. She deserved to be in someone else’s skull. Someone with half a brain who didn’t dangle a carrot in front of danger and say nah-nah-nah-nah-naaaah-nah.

Slowly, feeling crept into my limbs. My hands were bound behind my back, my ankles tied together. Other than that, I was quite comfortable. The backseat in this thing went on for days. I realized the lights I’d seen were from my abductor’s dash. We were driving, and since I saw no streetlights overheard, we were probably not in the city anymore.

I tried to make out the driver through the haze. Caucasian with short blond hair. His sleeves were rolled up, and I saw a tattoo of an eight-ball on his forearm. Blond hair and the number eight. Son of a bitch, I was going to die under that bridge. Nicolette had seen me.

“She filed for divorce.”

My abductor knew I was awake. I tried so hard to pull out of the fog, but my vision just would not clear. The world kept tilting to the right. I felt drunk and was beginning to wonder if he’d drugged me as Kim had.

“Now all my planning, all my hard work, means nothing. I can’t kill the bitch now. I’d be the main suspect. Everyone will know.”

Yes! I’d nailed it! I was an expert at nailing things. Ideas, two-by-fours, men with low self-esteem. If it could be nailed, I could nail it. I should probably change my name to the Nailer. I knew he was that kind of man, out for the insurance money. Maybe I really was psychic. Stranger things had happened.