Mind Games

“And I’d go there if I needed. The headaches don’t last. Four or five minutes, maybe. It’s just a quick, sudden pain.”

“The queasiness?”

“A little longer, but not as often.”

He asked more questions, then took her hand again.

“This point here.” He pressed a thumb on the back of her hand between her thumb and index finger. “It’s called a Hegu. When the headache comes on, press your thumb there, keep it pressed, and move it in a circle.”

“Acupressure, Doctor?”

“Acupressure, Psychic Girl.” He sent her a reassuring smile. “It can’t hurt. For the nausea, try here, inside of the wrist, between these two tendons. Fresh air, regulate your breathing, use the pressure point.”

“Okay, I’ll try those. I thought Maddy knew more in this area.”

“I’m a quarter Chinese, so I guess I picked up something. If it persists? I want you to tell me or tell Maddy. We’ll try something else.”

“All right. Is the exam officially over?”

“It is.”

She rose, hugged him hard. “I’m so happy you and Maddy are getting married.”

His grin spread like sunlight. “I knew I’d wear her down eventually. That woman’s crazy about me.”

“That’s true.”

“I’ll make her happy.”

“You already do.”

“We’ll let you know when the test results come in, but I don’t see anything to worry about. I wish he’d leave you be, Thea.”

“I keep hoping he’ll give up.” She thought of the cut on her shoulder, then pushed that aside.

She wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I’m going to take my healthy self back home. Tell Maddy that to pay for making me do all this, she’s going to have to tolerate the outrageous wedding shower I’m throwing her. We’re going to play games.”

“She’ll hate that.”

Grinning, Thea picked up her purse. “I know.”

* * *

She dreamed of a storm again, of slashing wind and crashing thunder. In the dream, Bunk whined as rain pounded the roof like fists. She rose, murmuring to the dog to soothe him as she walked to the window she’d left open to the night air.

And saw her garden in tatters, all the neat rows now a mire, the thriving plants, the carefully trained vines beaten into muddy ground by the fists of rain.

In the coop lay the bloody remains of her chickens. The eyes of the fox who ravaged them gleamed against the dark.

Though too late, far too late, she ran to her closet to take the shotgun down from the high shelf. She yanked open a drawer for shells loaded with rock salt.

With Bunk beside her, she rushed downstairs and straight to the back door. She yanked open the door.

Riggs walked over the muddied ruin of her garden. Not a knife in his hand, not this time. He held a gun, the same gun he’d used to kill her parents.

The same gun he’d used in the dream to shoot Ty.