Page 22 of Family Jewels

Muffy was excited when I set her down on the passenger seat, even more so when I rolled down the windows partway so she could stick her head out.

I lived on a farm about twelve miles outside of Henryetta. It was part of my inheritance from my birth mother, whose existence I hadn’t known about until last year. Most of the thousand acres to the west were rented to a nearby farmer, but the nearly century-old Victorian house, the big barn several hundred feet behind the house, the horse pen, and several acres of fields to the east were mine to use as I saw fit. Joe rented the house on the property that butted up to the south side of mine, which was sometimes reassuring, sometimes irritating.

When I pulled up in front of the house, I set Muffy on the ground, and she ran around like she’d been cooped up for days. I carried the groceries into the kitchen, then shepherded her back into the house. She headed straight for her dog bed. Maybe she was ready for something familiar after her morning with Marci.

I locked up and got back into the truck, my stomach twisting into knots as I headed toward the abandoned Sinclair gas station off of County Road 110. James never asked me to meet during the day. We always waited until dusk or later to lessen our chances of being seen together. I had to wonder what had made him break his own rule.

As usual, he was already parked behind the station, but he paced along the length of his sedan. Something else that was unlike him. His dark brown hair had grown out a bit, and he was wearing a dark gray T-shirt and jeans today, along with a pair of work boots. His upper body was toned, and his shoulders and arms stretched his shirt. I always felt safe around the criminals I’d questioned when I was with him. He turned to watch my pickup as I pulled in next to his car, his dark brown eyes filled with concern.

“Hey,” I said, as I opened the door and climbed out. “Is everything okay?”

He moved closer. “Have you talked to Simmons lately?”

I froze. “I saw him this morning. Why?”

“Did he say anything about me?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know I won’t share his secrets, just like I won’t share yours.”

“Dammit, Rose. Is he preparing for something?” There was that worried look again.

I took a deep breath. “He thinks there’s going to be a turf war between you and Wagner.”

“So he knows that Wagner’s involved?”

I hesitated before answering, but Joe hadn’t said it was a secret. “He didn’t mention his name, just that there’s a threat. He’s worried.”

He nodded.

“What’s goin’ on?”

He ignored my question. “I need to ask a favor of you.”

My eyes widened. “What do you want?”

“I need you to have a vision for me.”

“Of who?”

“Me.”

That was exactly how our partnership had started last November. He’d asked me to force a vision about his bid to become king of the underworld; I’d seen a vision of his death. In fact, I’d seen it again and again—he’d asked me to repeat it until we could figure out how to change the outcome. That whole mess hadn’t been any more fun for him than it had been for me. He had to be really worried if he wanted to risk going through it again.

“What’s Wagner up to?” I asked with a quaver in my voice.

He shook his head, his eyes hard. “The less you know, the better.” Then he grabbed my hand and held it tight. “Tell me what you see me doing on Friday night.”

I closed my eyes and tried to settle my nerves so I could focus on forcing a vision. They were easier to produce on command now that I had more practice, but they were a bit harder to initiate when I was on edge.

“Well?” he demanded.

I opened my eyes and shot him a look. “Give me a second. I’m scared to death, so it’s taking its time.”

Sighing, he opened my truck door and lifted me up onto the seat sideways so that my legs were hanging out the door. He took my hand again and gave me a soft smile. “Don’t be scared. Knowledge is power. If you see something bad, I can change it, but only if I know what to expect.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat, and then closed my eyes again. James. Friday night. James. Friday night.This time it worked.

I found myself deep in a gunfight in James’ pool hall.