Touch and Go

“Right. Well, if I decide I need help with my light flickering telekinesis, you’re the first person I’ll call.” She let out a shaky breath. Her emotions—normally well under control—were all out of whack from meeting Patrick. She felt flustered and confused by her uncontrollable attraction to him. “Maybe we should just focus on the interview.”

“Sure.”

She bit her bottom lip. “You’re still holding my hand.”

“I am.” He looked down at it. “And you’re not pulling away.”

She wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with Patrick’s abilities, but a tingling sensation was sliding up her arm, moving further throughout her body the longer they remained touching. It felt really good. He was wrong about her—about the telekinetic thing, anyway—but she was so attracted to him she might consider letting the ridiculous subject slide.

The problem was, she was seeing someone. Joe was a great guy she’d met at the magazine a month ago. He worked in the layout area as a designer. They’d only been dating for two weeks, but there was no reason she’d simply break up with him because of a couple of minutes of intense hand-holding, sexual tension and empathic reading with the psychically seductive Patrick McKay.

He slid his index finger along one of the lines on her palm. Could be her life line, maybe her love line. She didn’t know.

Her breath caught. “Do you get this close with every woman whose fortune you read?”

“I don’t normally read fortunes.”

“So I’m special?”

He met her gaze and held it with a heated one of his own. His grip on her hand increased. “Carrie, you’re—”

There was a buzzing sound, and Patrick’s jaw tensed before he pulled his hand away from hers and fished into his inner jacket pocket for his a cell phone.

“Yes,” he said. “No, I won’t be long. Talk to you soon.”

He hung up.

“Let me guess,” she said, sliding her fingers around the rim of her wineglass. “It’s PARA wanting you to jet across the country to pick up a cursed garden gnome from somewhere.”

“That wouldn’t be completely unusual in my line of work, actually.” He put the phone away. “But, no, that was…my fiancée.”

“Oh.” That piece of news worked like a glass of cold water thrown directly in her face. She hadn’t seen a wedding ring, so she thought—

What had she thought? That something meaningful was going on between them? Stupid. This was only an interview and a glorified palm reading. Nothing more.

She shook her head and smiled at her own naiveté. “So let’s talk PARA.”

Patrick leaned back in his chair. “You’d be good there, you know.”

“Would I? Did you read that, too?”

He kept his hands on his side of the table, on either side of the place mat. It was easier to concentrate now that the thought of being totally skin to skin with Patrick McKay was no longer a possibility. And damn it, she felt disappointed about that. She couldn’t help it. A lot of things she wanted in life were positioned just out of her reach. Patrick was the most recent example.

“Yes, I read it. You’re meant to be an investigator—whether it’s journalism or something else. You’re analytical, you’re naturally curious, you’re levelheaded—well, most of the time.” He smiled.

She felt heat flood her cheeks again. “You make it sound like you know me.”

“I think I do.”

It was well past time that she gained full control over this conversation again. “Let me tell you one thing, Patrick. I am a good investigator, but I won’t ever be working at PARA. I’m a writer, not a psychic. And as far as I’m concerned, I’m done with this topic of conversation.”

The light above them flickered violently until it finally went out completely.

She looked up at it. “And I didn’t do that.”

“I think you’d best be careful of elevated emotions in the future. It makes the TK go a little crazy if you don’t have a firm grasp of it.” He reached into his pocket and produced a business card. “Here’s my number at the office. Whenever you need me, just call. I’d be glad to help you.”

She picked up the card and pointed it at him. “I won’t need it. Now let’s get back to these questions because I have to be somewhere else soon.”

“No you don’t.”

She hissed out a breath. “That is really annoying.”

He grinned. “Sorry. Okay, ask your questions, Carrie. I’m all yours.”

No, he wasn’t. But that was okay. She was only interested in the next hour. After that, she’d probably never see the gorgeous and engaged empath Patrick McKay again.

She had to admit that the thought was disappointing.

2

TWO YEARS SURE COULD change a lot of things—personally and professionally.

Carrie pulled her jacket tighter around her, ignoring the winter chill in the air and the snow falling around her. She stared up at the tall glass front doors of the Paranormal Assessment and Recovery Agency a moment before entering the building’s front lobby.

Well, here I am.

She’d kept Patrick McKay’s business card safely tucked away in her wallet all this time, taking it out every now and then to look at his name, title, phone number and email address. He’d somehow managed to frequently work his way into her hottest dreams after spending only one hour in her company. But dreams weren’t reality and she was more than aware of that.

Her normal life was just that—normal. She still wrote articles for the Mystic Medallion. The profile on Patrick had garnered rave reviews from readers who loved finding out more about all things supernatural. A year ago, she’d rented an apartment in New York to try her hand at big city living and bigger writing gigs.

It had gone well, or it was starting to when disaster struck and Patrick’s “read” on her proved only too true.

Six months ago, on Carrie’s twenty-ninth birthday, her telekinesis arrived in full force. Bam. Or, rather, splat. The cake her then-boyfriend had bought for her flew across the room and straight into his face when she learned from a friend that he’d cheated on her. Things had been crazy ever since. The control she’d valued since leaving home at eighteen and putting herself through college by working two jobs was gone.

Telekinesis was real. Forget about flickering lights in restaurants, she was now a full-out safety hazard. A jinx. A walking natural disaster.

That should be her byline—Carrie Stanfield: Natural Disaster.

She believed in psychics without question now. In fact, as she reflected back on her life, there’d been signs she was a telekinetic since she was a kid. Little things. Doors slamming shut when there wasn’t a breeze. A boy in Grade Six who’d picked on her losing his balance and falling headfirst into a swimming pool. The windshield of her father’s car cracking down the middle as he drove away, leaving her mom for another woman.

It was different now. Worse. Her emotions played a huge part with the crazy happenings. She knew she needed help mastering her new and unwanted abilities.

And she just happened to have the business card, tucked away safely in her wallet, of someone who’d promised to help. Someone who’d said she would make a great agent for PARA due to her journalism background and her natural curiosity.

Two weeks ago, she’d summoned enough courage to finally call Patrick to explain her situation. True to his word, he told her to immediately move back to Mystic Ridge and start work at PARA, where he’d personally help her master her telekinesis.

She was so grateful she’d nearly cried right then and there. She could investigate paranormal phenomena. Sure she could. And in return she’d get her life back under control. It sounded like a fair deal to her. An opportunity that sounded too good to be true.