Page 3 of Bad Moon Rising
She released a huge breath. Tears welled up behind her eyelids. It was such a small scrap of information she’d probably taken for granted at one point. But now, it was a lifeline—her first clue as to who she was.
The phone dinged a countdown reminder. No time for a self-indulgent breakdown.
00:15:27. She shoved the phone back into her top and clung to wisps of hope that the man in the photo would give her answers without a life-or-death showdown. She better not be a pawn in some twisted sociopath’s game. Pawns often died.
No sign ofhimon the dance floor, although people were packed in tight enough to make finding anyone difficult. He didn’t look like the dancing type based on his picture. He looked like a person who loomed in dark corners until he saw something he wanted. And then…
Someone pressed in behind her and put a hand on her butt.
The smell of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne burned her nose. She spun.
Her interloper’s dark, dilated eyes dropped to her neckline. “Looking for some fun?”
Not with you.She grabbed the hand headed for her breast. With her other hand, she fisted one of his nuts. “Remove your hand from my ass and back the fuck off, or I’ll squeeze until it pops.”
Images bombarded her brain, momentary and rapid. A body crumpled on the dance floor. Pulsating lights. Screams. Bleeding…so much blood. The vision starred cheap-cologne guy at this club. Her gut said,strongly, that this was a peek into the future. At his death. For a second, she almost felt sorry for him, but then again, he hadn’t removed his hand from her ass yet.
He could be forcing her to see this… Which meant she believed people could have precognition or magic. Impossible.
“What are you doing to me?” She crushed his testicle harder. “How are you making me see this?”
A squeak emerged from him. “See what?”
Maybe she was insane and imagining him dying in a gruesome way, but it seemed so real. “Tell me!”
The offending palm came off her butt, and he raised his hands. “Crazy bitch.”
She released him. He scurried off stiffly.
The phone buzzed.
00:09:55.
No new text.
She skirted a grinding couple and a waiter with a drinks tray on the way down the stairs. A gated off area, which restricted access to somewhere farther downward, stood on the far side of the dance floor. Did the stairway behind the gate lead to the subbasement? She moved in that direction.
A graceful woman in a skintight dark dress and platinum blonde hair almost collided with her at the top of the stairs.
Nova smiled wide and said in German, “Going down?”
“Na sicher.” Of course. The woman’s accent came out thick, as if the words escaped from her nose rather than her mouth. “You?” she asked with an edge of haughty.
Nova nodded but frowned. She leaned in close. “There’s a bit of something on your chin. Want me to get it off?”
“Yes.” Ms. Platinum whirled to face away from the entrance, her cheeks flushing pink.
Nova leaned in and wiped imaginary smudge off the woman’s chin. Fast, efficient. Another smile thrown in. Instant bonding moment. Perfect.
In the brief instant of skin-to-skin connection, Nova got a flash of a man lunging at this woman, serrated knife in hand. She heard no sound but could see the woman’s mouth open as if screaming before she fell to the floor, bleeding.
Oh, God. Another death image. This had nothing to do with the cheap-cologne guy. Not at the club. Not tonight. But within seven years, if her strong, intuitive feelings told the truth.
Nova’s chest tightened. Did this lady know she’d visualized her death? How was this possible? Most important of all, was it real? Would it actually happen that way?
Ms. Platinum blushed and sagged as if relieved. “Vielen dank. Are you okay? You lookpale.”
“Yes,” she forced out. No, she wasn’t bloody well okay. She was following orders from someone she didn’t know, someone who might’ve given her some sort of top-secret military drug to steal her memories. And, she got flashes of people dying when she touched them.
