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She’d have to buy a backup wig before they left the country.
She’d just stood up to put the wig away when a knock sounded on her apartment door.
She froze, uncertain what to do. The police had backed off on their interrogations, the press had been pretty successfully blocked and she’d followed Glen’s instructions and told all her friends and coworkers that she needed her privacy when she was at home. So who could be at her door?
Timidly, she walked into the living room, hovering near the sofa, trying to decide what to do.
“Mrs. Fisher?” Claire called out. “It’s Claire Hedgleigh. I came to see how you are. May I come in?”
It was that lovely young woman who was a psychic.
Suzanne felt an unexpected surge of relief. There was something about Claire Hedgleigh that she found very comforting. She was a kind person, with a generous soul and an amazing gift. She’d obviously sensed that Suzanne needed female companionship—someone to share a cup of tea with—and she’d responded to that awareness.
And if Suzanne was wrong, if Claire had come as a member of Forensic Instincts and had concocted some kind of offensive agenda, she’d be swiftly shown out.
But somehow, Suzanne didn’t think that was the case.
“Just a minute,” she called back.
She was halfway to the door, when she realized she was still holding the wig. Hurrying over to the sofa, she stuffed it under the closest cushion and returned to the hallway.
She unlocked and opened the door, giving Claire a guarded smile—one that curved her lips but didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” she greeted her.
Claire drew her brows together in a quizzical look. “I hope I’m not intruding. I know this is a difficult time for you. I just got the feeling I should drop by.”
So she was right, Suzanne thought. This wasn’t a fishing expedition. It was simply a caring gesture—one that was based on the gut feel of a psychic.
“That’s very nice of you,” Suzanne said. “I was feeling out of sorts tonight. I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
“That would be wonderful.”
“Please, come in. Sit down.” Suzanne swept her arm in a welcoming gesture.
“Thank you.” Claire entered the apartment, crossed over and settled herself on the sofa.
“I have every kind of tea imaginable,” Suzanne told her. “I was about to brew chamomile to help me relax.”
“That’s my favorite for relaxing, too.”
“Then I’ll make two cups.” Suzanne disappeared into the kitchen.
While she waited, Claire folded her hands in her lap and gave herself a stern talking-to. For whatever reason, she was having a hard time staying put and keeping her expression serene. She hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. She hadn’t had it the last time she’d been here. But this time, there were new and complicated energies filling the rooms—energies that screamed of Glen Fisher.
He hadn’t physically been here. Claire felt certain of that. But his presence was as powerful as if he had. Recently. Which meant he’d definitely been in touch with his wife and that he was calling the shots about whatever was going on. His personality was so strong that Claire could hardly breathe. And his aura was so evil that it caused her physical pain.
There was the panicky feeling again. Claire swallowed hard, determined to go with the feeling and not to follow her instincts and bolt. She had to figure out the source of that suffocating panic.
She was exposed, in d
anger. It was a very personal danger, not one that was routed to her from another source. No one was touching or assaulting her. Yet she was at the mercy of the evil that enveloped her. She couldn’t escape it. She was desperate to run—now, right now—to get away from this apartment and the threat that existed here.
But she didn’t.
She remained where she was, seated on the sofa, battling to understand. Suzanne Fisher wasn’t going to harm her. No one else was in the apartment. So what was causing the panic that kept coursing through her?
Eyes shut, Claire forced her body to relax on the sofa.
