Page 150 of It Runs in the Family

My eyes fluttered open, and I said, “The photo breaks the code.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“The photo you took from the fridge will help you break the code of the spreadsheet.”

Skepticism covered his face. “The photo. How?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see that part. I could try again, but I’ve found a vision shows me what it wants to show me. Pushing it won’t change much.”

He studied me, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that his opinion of me had changed. And not for the better.

“I think I should take you to Garrett’s,” he said, turning to stare out the windshield. “There’s not much else we can do tonight.”

My throat burned. I felt like crying, but I swallowed the lump and said, “Yeah. But instead of taking me to Garrett’s can you take me to my apartment?”

He shot me an incredulous look. “I’m not leaving you alone at your torn-up apartment, especially after you claim to have seen a vision of yourself murdered.”

I considered protesting his use of the word claim, but it wasn’t worth it. He might believe me after he figured out the code using the photo. “I don’t want to go inside,” I said. “Well, actually I do. I want to get some clothes to take to Garrett’s, but then I’m going to drive my car to his house.”

“I’ll go in with you and then follow you to your cousin’s,” he said, all business.

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, more hurt than before.

“I may doubt that you have visions, Iris,” he said, sounding frustrated, “but you’re still in danger. I’ve never doubted that. There’s no denyin’ that men broke into your apartment.”

I didn’t answer. He was right, but I could hear a hint of resentment in his voice, like he was pissed that I’d changed the rules.

I didn’t want him following me into my apartment, and I sure didn’t want him trailing me to Garrett’s, but I also wasn’t stupid enough to tell him to go back to the motel. He was right—visions or no visions—I was in danger.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way to my place. He stayed outside my apartment while I grabbed several days’ worth of clothes. Then he walked me to my car.

“Let me get your phone number,” he said, gruff.

“Why?”

“In case I have more questions,” he said.

“Or my vision about the photo proves true,” I said with a half smile.

He didn’t smile back.

I almost argued that it would be pointless to give him my number, but I didn’t feel like arguing. So, I rattled it off while he plugged it into his phone. Seconds later, my text alert pinged from my jeans pocket.

“In case you need to get a hold of me.” His eyes were guarded, like he hadn’t wanted to share his number with a crazy woman but felt an obligation to.

I looked up at him. “I’m not going to see you again, am I?”

He didn’t say anything for several seconds, then cleared his throat. “I think we’ve gotten as far as we can. But thanks for all your help.”

I lowered my gaze, unable to look at him. “Can I ask for a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Can I have another vision? To see if I changed things?”

He started to say something, then stopped and reluctantly said, “Yeah. Okay.”

It wounded my pride to ask him, and his attitude hurt my heart. But at least he was letting me try.