Page 87 of The Bride Wore White

He stopped breathing for a beat. “That’s a little far-fetched.”

“I don’t think so. I’m certainly not infallible, but in your case I think I’ve got a clear read. My analysis provides the answer to a question I’ve had about you from the very beginning.”

“You now know how I got the scars?”

“No. It explains why you agreed to consult on my case.” She poured a cup of coffee for him and reached for the teapot. “LutherPell said he assigned you to the investigation primarily because you had taken an interest in my situation. He seemed to think that was a rare and amazing thing.”

“That’s an overstatement.”

She poured tea for herself. “Regardless, now I know why you took me on as a client.” She set the pot down and picked up her cup. “You need to know if you’ve developed some genuine paranormal talent or if you’re becoming delusional, maybe going insane. You took my case because you hoped I could give you the answer.”

He watched her for a long moment, allowing himself to acknowledge the truth. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Simple.” She took a sip of tea and lowered the cup. “You went back for Bonner’s notebooks. On the surface, that appears to have been a reckless, even foolish decision. The lab was on fire. You had rescued the two men Bonner had imprisoned. Glass vials and beakers were no doubt exploding, sending unknown chemicals into the atmosphere. You should have been running for your life. Instead, you tried to retrieve the notebooks.”

He was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t know what Bonner was working on in his lab but did know that two of his other so-called research subjects went mad and died by their own hands.”

“And after you recovered from your injuries, you realized you were changing. You wondered if you were becoming insane. No wonder you started having nightmares.”

“I definitely see some things in a different light now,” he said.

“Do you want the opinion of a possibly fake psychic dream reader who is known to cheat on occasion?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Here’s what I think is going on,” Prudence said. “You always had a whisper of psychic talent, but you told yourself you possessed acute powers of observation and a logical mind. After the explosionin Bonner’s lab, your abilities became even sharper, and that worried you. Maybe you did have some psychic ability or maybe you were becoming delusional. If you were delusional, you might be doomed, just as those poor research subjects were.”

“I’ve figured that much out for myself. Just tell me what you think is happening to me.”

She smiled her mysterious smile. “I could remind you yet again that the dividing line between intuition and psychic sensitivity is very murky. And that would be true.”

“Or?”

“Or I could tell you another truth. I was raised in a family of genuine psychics, and in the course of my former career, I met a lot of frauds. I can tell the difference. Your new talents for observation and deduction are at least a couple of steps beyond ordinary intuition, and deep down you know it. The longer you refuse to acknowledge that simple fact, the more miserable and depressed you will become. The choice is yours, but you are not delusional.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yep.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I told myself I was consumed by my work, but I think I have spent a lot of time being miserable and depressed.”

“Yep.”

He was shaken by the sense of relief that came over him. It was as if he had been walking through a dark cave and had finally found the way out into the sunlight.

He smiled. “In my own defense, I would like to point out that I was not miserable and depressed after we slept together last night.”

She looked startled, and then her eyes got warmer and deeper. “Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

“I’m glad. As you know, I did not have a panic attack.”

“Sounds like a solid basis for a relationship.”

“Yes, it does.”

He wanted to get to his feet, walk around the table, pull her up out of the chair, and kiss her, but he suddenly remembered to check the time.

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