Chapter Nine
“Can you do that?”
A pensive look crossed the woman’s face. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried before.”
Well, that seemed honest.
“Nobody’s ever asked me to look back in time.” The so-called psychic hooked her long hair behind her ear. She seemed intrigued. “I’d be willing to try.”
Roxie chewed her lip. Her curiosity was piqued, but her amusement was quickly being replaced by suspicion. Or maybe it was guardedness. There was something about the way the woman was looking at her. It was as if she was trying to peer into her soul.
That was something Roxie was not comfortable with, soul peering.
“Are you for real?” she asked bluntly.
If she’d expected a reaction, she didn’t get one. “I have special abilities,” the woman said, so self-assured it made Roxie jumpy.
Yeah? Well, she had special talents, too. She could pour a beer without a head in ten seconds flat, and her boobs had been known to stop traffic.
She lifted her chin. “Think you can read me?”
“Only if you want to be read.”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? She’d seen the sign and had thought, “What the hell?” With the way her life was going, it would be nice to have a little help knowing which direction to turn.
Now that she was here, though, she wasn’t as sure she wanted the veil pulled back.
Prickles had settled onto the back of her neck, and she couldn’t keep her right foot flat on the floor.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Some people build up barriers.”
Well there you had it. The mind reader wouldn’t be able to get inside her head. She was Barrier Girl with a capital “B.”
“You’re the woman from the billboard,” the shop owner observed.
Roxie winked. “You don’t have to be psychic to know that.”
“No, you just have to watch the evening news.”
Roxie shifted. Was that going to be a problem? Had the woman formed an opinion of her? Plenty of people had something to say about that billboard. “Is that going to be a barrier?”
“It might be a bias.” The blonde cocked her head, and her straight hair fell to nearly her waist. “I happen to think it’s genius advertising.”
Roxie relaxed.
“Come in the back with me,” the tall woman said gently. Everything she said or did was that way, soft and subdued. Calming and entrancing.
It was part of the act, the scheme to make people comfortable enough to reveal themselves.
Roxie knew how con artists worked, yet she still found herself following without a peep.
The psychic looked like a schoolteacher dressed in light-colored slacks and a peach top.
Standing next to her, Roxie felt dark and edgy.
The grifter was good, keeping her off-balance in unusual ways.
If she was a grifter…
Roxie glanced over her shoulder at the salesgirl who’d returned to stocking shelves. She’d almost prefer to have gone with the pretend gypsy, knowing everything was just for fun. Shadows and mirrors. Distraction and deception.
The blonde Viking was making her nervous.
On guard, she entered the back room. She became even more confused when it turned out to be more comfortable than her own living room.
The furniture was plush, again in those soothing neutral tones.
The lighting was dimmed, but the air was warm.
She flinched, though, when she saw movement.
Something flashed along the wall before disappearing behind a loveseat.
A cat, she realized as she recognized a tail. Roxie’s lip curled reflexively. She preferred dogs.
“My name is Ingrid,” the woman said as she lit incense in the corner of the room. She frowned when she spotted the furry feline in the shadows. “I’m sorry, she usually prefers to sit in the front windows in the sunshine.”
That sounded like a good place to be.
“Would you like me to take her into the other room?”
Roxie’s gaze locked with a steady blue one. The cat had her in its sights. She drummed her fingers against her thigh. Experts seemed to have bred the predator out of most dogs, but cats still had those hunter instincts about them. “It’s fine,” she lied.
She wasn’t about to admit she was uneasy over a pussycat.
“Let’s sit over here.”
Following the woman’s direction, Roxie took a seat at a small circular table.
It was covered with a dainty table runner, but no crystal ball was in sight.
Blue cushions eased the harshness of the wooden chair.
If the scent of the incense wasn’t so noticeable now, she would have sworn she’d wandered into a tearoom.
“Ingrid?” she said skeptically.
“I know, it’s exotic, but in the wrong way.” The blonde sighed, but nothing seemed to offend her. She took the seat on the opposite side of the table and began rubbing her hands together. “Let’s begin.”
She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
“Sage,” she said, explaining the scent that was filling the air. “It cleans out negative energy.”
Negative energy like nerves, doubt, and resistance?
Roxie crossed her legs, and her foot bounced.
She watched the psychic closely, aware of the little show she was putting on.
It just seemed odd, with the blonde hair and the politician’s wife clothing.
The whole scene bordered on the bizarre.
This woman belonged in the PTA or, at the furthest, a ski chalet.
“You’re unsettled,” Ingrid noted when she opened her eyes. They were bluer than they’d been before.
Or maybe that was in Roxie’s head.
“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted. She’d been tempted, but she’d never followed through on the urge.
Damn her impulse control these days.
Damn Billy.
“That’s not what I meant,” Ingrid said. “Although that’s true, too. I’m just sensing a lot of upheaval in your life.”
Roxie drummed her fingers. As far as intuition went, it wasn’t that impressive. She knew what energy she was putting out. She was confused and jittery. Hell, even the cat knew that. She threw a glare in its direction when its tail swished. It was lying flat to the ground with its rump lifted.
She settled her hands in her lap. It was time to get serious, and she refused to help out this so-called mind reader any more than she already had. “There’s been a lot going on,” she said simply.
They were going to do this? Bring it.
A patient look settled on Ingrid’s face, and she turned her hands palms upward on the table. “For this to work best, why don’t you let me tell you what I see and feel? You don’t have to guide me. I just need to feel your energy.”
Roxie nodded. She was all for that. It would certainly be more convincing.
Not that she believed this woman could see her future.
Or her past. She had to remind herself that was why she was here.
“Okay, that’s fine with— Ah!” Roxie yelped. She nearly jumped out of her chair when a soft weight landed in her lap.
Ingrid let out a gasp and pulled back, too.
Roxie’s gaze locked with the cat’s. It stood in her lap, looking up at her with those tricky feline eyes. Her neck had never felt so vulnerable. She couldn’t tell if the evil little creature was going to go for her jugular or wanted to play.
“Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.” Finally, something had jarred Ingrid’s calm. She stood from her seat and reached for the ball of fur. “She’s never done this before. Let me—”
Not breaking eye contact, the cat sat down.
Ingrid paused, even more confused.
Something made Roxie hold up her hand. “It’s all right.”
As much as she didn’t trust it, the cat felt warm and soft. Its weight was grounding and comforting—for a cat. What confused Roxie the most was that her little friend was white. White and fuzzy and cuddly.
Damn it, clichés were started for a reason. Did this shop have to break every one of them?
Ingrid frowned. “I don’t understand this. She’s usually very shy and standoffish with guests. She doesn’t even let Monique pet her.”
No worries there. Roxie had no plans of going that far. She settled her hands on the outside of her thighs, ready to latch onto the sneaky feline if it went for her.
“I don’t usually…” Ingrid lifted her gaze. “I typically ask people for an item they have with them, a hairclip or a wallet, but would you mind if I took your hand?”
Roxie looked from the cat in her lap to the woman across the table. Puss in Boots had made itself comfortable, sitting down all the way and tucking its paws underneath it. Ingrid, however, didn’t look so comfortable anymore—and that made Roxie’s trust go up.
A little.
Hesitantly, she lifted her hand. Ingrid took it, her touch light and soft.
Until the static energy hit.
Roxie flinched and her gaze snapped upwards. Her attention quickly returned to the cat to make sure it didn’t pounce.
“Ohhh,” Ingrid said sympathetically. “That explains it.”
Her grip tightened.
“You’re both rescues.”
Some might have found the word offensive.
To Roxie, they were so true her heart clenched. Her fingers curled, nearly pulling away from the woman who was studying her so intently.
“What… What did you say?” she asked.
“I rescued Moonlight from the shelter,” Ingrid said, her gaze turning soft on her cat.
Roxie, hater of all things feline, found herself cradling the cat in her lap with her free hand. Her fingers sank into its luxurious fur, and the cat bumped its head into her forearm.
“I… how…”
“You were abandoned, too,” Ingrid surmised. Her tone was gentle, but her brow furrowed. “And you were rescued. Just like her.”
Billy.
Roxie’s breath caught, even as her brain raced. What tells had she accidentally given off? She’d come in alone, but that didn’t mean anything. She was tough, yes, but people grew hardened for many reasons.
How the hell had this strait-laced blonde jumped to the assumption that she was an orphan?
Roxie’s foot bounced. She suddenly wanted Billy here with her. Now.
“You were so loved,” the woman said, almost in wonder.
Roxie instinctively pulled back. She couldn’t do this without him. Or without her sisters. Maxie. Maxie would come here with her.