Page 40 of Redeemed
“Your other sense?”
“Yeah. That thing that makes me spout nonsense at odd moments, usually timed to totally embarrass me.”
I need to learn more. “So you can’t control it?”
“Nope.” She leans back in her seat. “But working the night shift at the Shady Acres here limits the number of times I freak people out.”
“And your pack…” I let the thought fade so she doesn’t feel pressured.
“Imploded.” She answers readily enough, so I give her an expectant nod.
She rolls her eyes like she’s humoring me. “Our alpha died in a motorcycle accident and the rest of us sorta fragmented. Except none of the little pack-lets wanted to take on a lesbian psychic who has the habit of making weird announcements that might or might not be true.”
My shot glass is empty, and I spin it on the table. “Too bad you can’t perform on command. I could use a psychic right about now.” I’m not sure how, but having one around seems like a good idea.
Her shoulders sag. “Yeah, well, this patch of earth suits me fine. I can run the desert when the moon is full and it’s been a good six months since anyone told me I was crazy.”
The bravado in her tone does a poor job of covering a larger hurt.
“Forget I said anything, then. An unconventional pack might well be your thing, but you’re not stupid enough to get involved in my shitstorm right now.”
She straightens, her gaze narrowing. “How bad is it?”
“Bad.”
The waitress interrupts us and I send her off for another round. When she leaves, Cliffe stares into her beer. “I might be able to find you a permit so you can stay at the hotel.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”
She glances at me. “Me neither.”
“I’d appreciate the permit. We should talk again before I go.” The words are out before my common sense can reel them back in. Her smile is tentative, like she’s been disappointed too often to have much hope. I want to smack myself, but figure I’ll save that for David when he finds out I’ve brought home a stray.
Assuming I go back. As much as I miss Connor and David, putting distance between me and Jacques was a good idea. It won’t last forever, but I’ll take it for now.
Chapter Fifteen
David
CONNOR IN BUSINESS mode is different than any other version. He stands straighter—if that’s even possible—and he carries himself in a way that doesn’t invite questions.
I mean, he’ll never be a slouching surfer dude, but this is new.
Following him down a fluorescent-bright hallway, I do my best imitation of his walk. I might even be half an inch taller because of it. Well, maybe not, but a guy can dream.
We’re at Headquarters for the Elites, where Connor has arranged to meet someone he described as a Sensitive. I’m just along for the ride on this one, and I promise myself I’ll keep my mouth shut, or come as close to it as possible.
We enter a conference room with a large center table surrounded by leather padded chairs. One wall is windows, and a woman sits with her back to them. She’s gazing into space, a blank piece of paper in front of her. She holds a pencil in her right hand, but she’s not writing anything. Maybe she’s waiting for the angels to speak or something.
“As far as I know,” she says, her voice deeper than I expected, “those you call angels don’t communicate in a way a mere human can understand. I get my best information from lesser beings.”
I stop in the doorway, blushing to my bleached blond roots. “My mistake.”
If Connor’s curious about this little exchange, he doesn’t let it show. He stops behind one of the seats, leaving space between himself and the woman. “Melinda Barwell?”
“You must be MacPherson, the one they call Mack.”
“That’s me.” He extends his hand to shake. She grasps it, her eyes widening as if he’s hotter than she expected.
