I wave my hands in the air, gesturing for him to spit it out.
“He’s considering closing down shop. Says he’s getting too old for this. He’d be interested in taking on a resident manager role, which means you could apply for a Watch, Guard, Patrol Agency License.”
My brows are furrowed as I try to rack my brain for what that means.
“You could skip over the part of working for someone else. It would give you the opportunity to start your own business now.”
I’m stunned by the revelation, my mind racing with the possibilities. I wrap my arms around Nick, pulling him close and kissing him fiercely, not caring who sees.
He chuckles against my lips. “If I knew that’s what I’d get for simply sharing good news, I’d have done it sooner.”
I place another kiss on his lips, smiling.
“Maybe I just like to kiss you,” I say.
“By all means.” He pulls me back in, pressing his mouth against mine again.
With Nick by my side, anything feels possible, and I can’t wait to see what our future holds.
27
Three of Pentacles
Nick
I’m jolted awakeby the sound of Alyssa gasping. Her breathing is labored, and she’s drenched in sweat. I reach out to touch her arm gently. “What’s wrong?”
Alyssa’s eyes snap open, shining bright with anxiety. Her head is shaking back and forth erratically, fear gripping her.
With everything she’s been part of lately, it’s not a wonder she’s having nightmares.
Murder. Cover-ups.
Then you add in ghosts and poltergeists, and that’s too much for anyone.
It’s my job to deal with strange events and gruesome murders. Alyssa’s a mom, a former advertising executive. This foray into detective work is all new to her, and it’s clearly taking a toll.
“I had a dream…” Her head shakes, face pinched. “A vision,” she amends, her voice trembling. “Another girl is dead, or will be.”
I slump back against the headboard, contemplating what she said. If any other person were to tell me that someone has died oris about to be killed based on a dream, I’d laugh at the absurdity of it. But I know Alyssa has abilities beyond human comprehension. I trust her implicitly, even if it goes against everything I’ve been raised to believe.
Evidence.
That’s what my father drilled into me. Yet, I’m about to go down this rabbit hole of dreams being reality.
I feel a surge of urgency coursing through me. The need to solve this case is damn near crippling.
“Tell me everything,” I urge, my mind already racing.
Alyssa jumps up from the bed and begins pacing, her movements frantic as she recounts the details of her vision.
“A dark-haired girl, petite, and likely in her early twenties,” she rattles off, as though she’s reading down a checklist.
The description already fits the Grayson and Montgomery cases.
“She was sitting alone at a crowded bar. The bartender leaned over, and she slid an envelope under his hand.”
“Could you tell what was in it?”
