Reese put the clipboard on the coffee table and reached for her coffee, but her hand trembled so badly she pulled it back and tucked it safely between her knees. So … she didn’t look like a lady. Did she really want the attention of this gorgeous man anyway? At least the great Paul Malloy was unaware of Luke.

Play it cool. Play it calm. He has a boat to catch. He’ll be gone in a few minutes.

Paul sat straight back into his chair and peaked his fingertips under his chin, never taking his eyes off of Reese. She wondered if a bullshitter could bullshit a psychic. But then she figured he wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. She didn’t have a female spirit following her. Luke would have told her if she did, right? Would he even know if another spirit was there? The topic had never come up.

“So, can I assume you won’t be needing my services?” Reese said, determined to end the charade.

“Interesting,” Paul responded, still with a stare so penetrating Reese thought perhaps he could read her mind.

“What’s interesting?” She asked. Damn. She slipped up and asked.

“You don’t even want to know why a spirit is following you?”

“Oh, that,” she slumped forward and reached for the clipboard. She made a show of glancing through the sheets again but her eyes registered nothing. “Do you have a message for me or not?”

“I do.” He let up on the staring and leaned forward in a casual repose again. “I suppose you have heard of the Cascade Hills Park attacks?”

There was no physical way for Reese to stop the blood from draining out of her face. She thought how ironic it was she could feel herself go white as a ghost.

Paul watched with silent amusement smirked across his lips. That damn perfect little smile was going to get a slap if he didn’t stop egging her on. She had killed a man; she certainly could handle a simple face slap.

“Okay, obviously I am at the right place,” he said.

Her brain raced. Had she messed up? Was there a witness to Asshole’s murder? What should she say to the nosey psychic? Something appropriate.

“Are you trying to tell me I am going to be the next victim? I can’t be. I don’t fit the profile.” Okay maybe she shouldn’t have added that last part. Too much information. She knew better than to say too much.

His smirk disappeared and he became serious. “No. Nothing like that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hah! She was the better bullshitter! She fought her own smirk from surfacing into a smug sneer.

“You’ve heard of Claire Yates, right?” He rushed his words.

Reese nodded her head.

“The message is from her,” he said, nearly stammering now. The poor guy thought he had frightened Reese into believing she was a potential target. Well, he had scared her, but only because she thought his little psychic skills had stumbled across her secret.

Reese let out a little chuckle and quickly covered her lips. She was relieved and amused all rolled up into a massive giggle about to explode. She composed herself before proceeding. “Her spirit,” she said, air-quoting the word spirit, “can’t have a message for me. She’s not dead.”

Paul’s face stiffened like a smooth beach rock and he edged forward as if he had a secret of his own to share. And damn it all if she didn’t fall for it. She moved forward so they were both leaning over the small glass coffee table.

“She’s dead. Trust me,” he whispered. His warm breath caressed her face and she felt as if she might swoon again. Enough with the swooning there girl! You are a murdering vigilante and not prone to hysterical displays of female weaknesses.

Reese sat back and looked at Paul, still leaning toward the empty air now. She clasped her hands together on her lap and felt like a high school teacher giving her students the silent treatment until they calmed down from their hormone induced frenzy. After a few seconds of her stern look, Paul sat back uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said.

“I don’t. I would have heard it on the news. As of yesterday after speaking with you, she was still alive, albeit she was still in a coma, but alive. Even if she died today and you could talk with her spirit, you called me yesterday. I’m not sure what the point of your bizarrely concocted story is, but I believe …” She dramatically pulled her left wrist toward her face and glanced at her watch. “Yes, our time is up.”

“Like I said, Miss Caldwell, you don’t have to believe me. The message is from Claire Yates.” He slowly enunciated each word as he said, “Claire Yates says Reese Caldwell has the wrong guy.”

Reese started to stand, but felt woozy as she did. She thought she might like swooning over woozing. Thump. Thump. Thump. What the hell was that noise? It sounded like water rushing, the thump, thump, thump noises getting louder. Her muscles felt all weird like they didn’t work anymore. She couldn’t stand for even another millisecond. She plopped back into the chair which made a whoosh sound as the leather expelled thousands of air bubbles from its seams.

She felt Paul’s cool fingers clasp around her wrist. “Your heart is racing,” he said like a concerned doctor. She connected the dots and realized the thumping noise was her pulse pounding Morse code signals to her brain. More oxygen. More blood. Brain needs more oxygen, more blood.

She suddenly felt a wad of cold, damp paper towels on the back of her neck. Reese hadn’t even realized Paul had let go of her wrist and gone to her little bathroom. She snapped away from the impending fainting spell.

“Reese, are you okay?” Paul’s voice sounded very far away.

She nodded, willing herself to get her act together. Swooning? Nearly fainting? What was going on with her? She felt herself getting angry. Angry at Paul Malloy for disturbing her Sunday with this nonsense. But mostly angry with herself for allowing this uncharacteristic side of her show in front of this stranger, dangerously good looking stranger.

She inhaled deeply and then exhaled through her nostrils, imagining she was expelling all these stupid emotions. She had no use for them.

“Here, take this,” Paul said, holding out a paper cup of water. Reese did as commanded, but only because it was a good idea. She sipped and nodded again.

After a few seconds, she wagged her hand and said, “I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine but she was a lot more fine than she was a couple of minutes earlier.

“I take it the message means something to you?” Paul asked wearily and returned to his seat.

Reese couldn’t very well say no at that point. “Maybe. I’m sorry. I think I just overdid it on my run this morning.”

He cocked his head ever so slightly and squint his eyes. “Do you mind sharing what the message might mean to you?”

Reese took a sip of water so she could think and not talk for a few seconds, but the cup was quickly emptied. “It’s silly really. Sometimes I just play amateur sleuth and I thought I might have the rapist figured out. I guess I was wrong.” She sipped at the empty cup and felt embarrassed as she lowered it again.

“Can I get you some more?” He pointed to the cup.

She waved him off. “No. I’m fine. You should get going. You have a boat to catch, remember?”

He didn’t answer, just sat there watching her, observing her. Reading her? Reese was feeling uncomfortable with the whole conversation and certainly with the staring. “Amateur sleuth?” Paul asked, returning the favor of the air-quotations. “Interesting.”

Reese thought he was going to say something more but instead he slammed his hands on the arms of the chairs in a finality kind of gesture and stood. “Well then, I should be off. If you’re fine, of course.”

Reese nodded.

“Can I send you a check in the mail? I forgot my checkbook.”

Reese almost said she could run a credit card, but really just wanted him to leave, so she waved her hand. “No problem.” She knew she would never get paid.

“So … you’re good with all of this?” He asked skeptically.

“I’m fine. Really. I should have eaten breakfast.” Lame. Lame. Lame. But she didn’t care if he didn’t believe her. She wanted him gone. He wasn’t coming back for a follow up appointment so she would probably never see him again.

“Is there someone I can call for you?” He asked as he took a couple of steps toward the office door.

“No, really, I’m fine.” She managed to stand and walk with Paul to the door. She opened it and used it to keep herself propped in a standing position.

“It was very nice to meet you,” Paul said and extended his hand. Reese took it and this time there was no spark jolting her arm.

He disappeared to the front doors and Reese waited for the chime to ring. Gone. She shut her office door and leaned against it.

Claire Yates says she has the wrong guy. What the hell? She couldn’t possibly have the wrong guy. Killed the wrong guy. He was the Asshole. She knew it with every ounce of her being. But what was she thinking? Claire Yates wasn’t dead. She couldn’t have sent Paul Malloy with the message.

She pushed off the door and went to her desk, bringing the Internet back up and searched Claire Yates. A breaking news banner scrolled across the screen. Claire Yates died the day before at 10:28 AM. The news was only just being released because the suspected rapist, now murderer, had been found in his apartment, dead from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. His fingerprint matched the one recovered from the third victim. “10:28?”

Reese hoped from her desk and grabbed the clipboard. Her eyes didn’t register anything when she glanced through the paperwork, but her brain had. She scanned the first page. Paul had actually taken the time to complete the questionnaire. Another time that fact would have been amusing. She flipped to the next page. There. The question was ‘what component of your life are you most satisfied?’ and his answer was 10:28, underlined twice. Below it, he had scribbled, “when you’re ready to talk, call me.” His phone number was written in block print.