Why Me? Read online

  Cassie very carefully stood up again.

  "I'm feeling much better now."

  Even if it was a lie, the lie was worth it. The strange, panicky feeling was still there, but she felt better on her feet.

  "Are you prone to these spells?" The man asked her in a faintly accented voice.

  She couldn't quite tell what the accent was but his accent, combined with his deep voice, made his speech incredibly attractive. Almost hypnotic. Damn, there was that hypnosis thought again.

  *I can't believe this. How did I get you, of all people?*

  "Not at all." Cassie dismissed the idea briskly. A housecleaner better sound brisk or people might see her as having potential problems doing her job. "I can't imagine what came over me. Believe me, I'm just fine now. Never better." She forced herself to stop talking and just looked at him.

  His eyes narrowed, studying her again. "Indeed."

  "Mr. Harmon—"

  "Wynn."

  That was his first name! She hadn't even known that after all these months. She'd figured it had to be William, though that seemed a bit ordinary for someone so—so atypical. Win. That suited him better.

  "With a y, then double n." The man's words broke in smoothly on her thoughts. He said it as if he had spelled his name to people far too often.

  "Oh. Unusual name."

  "It's Welsh."

  That might explain the accent. Cassie gathered herself together.

  "Cassie. Cassie Majors. Oh. I guess you know that. Seeing as you write checks to me all the time."

  "Cassie isn't short for Cassandra, I trust." Wynn still sounded indifferent but polite. "I always thought Cassandra a rather unlucky character in the myths."

  "No. It's short for Cassidy. I never use the full name but my mother thought Dad's last name should be put in somewhere. That was only fair."

  "Ah—theirs was a very modern, feminist marriage?"

  "Oh no."

  "I see. They weren't married."

  "Oh, they were married. Just not to each other. And not to anyone at that particular time."

  Cassie couldn't believe she was actually discussing this with a near-stranger. Not only that, he was her client. She shut her mouth hastily but feared the impression had already been made.

  *How is anyone going to believe this flake? Why of all possible people did she have to be the one to get through? A security guard is going to take her away before she gets within a mile of Art—*

  "Hey!" Cassie yelped, indignantly.

  It was bad enough to be hearing strange things in your head. Things were going too far when your strange thoughts began to criticize you as if you weren't even there.

  "Excuse me." Cassie retreated to the hall closet where the vacuum was kept.

  Cassie didn't wait to see how Wynn Harmon was going to respond before she went to the hall. She turned on the vacuum. The noise made any sort of thinking difficult. That was just the way Cassie wanted things before she ran into Wynn Harmon again.

  Flipping out in front of clients who were near-strangers was not high on her list of smart career moves. She wasn't sure why, but she was determined to appear somewhat sane until she could finally get out.

  "And I'm not a flake," Cassie muttered to herself as she dragged the vacuum back and forth rather viciously. "How many flakes know the term supercilious?"

  *I said flake. I didn't say illiterate.*

  "That does it." Cassie concentrated on not thinking anything at all. She thought about black, black holes. No light. Only darkness. No sounds, no smells, no messages—

  *That's too much effort. Why don't you just listen to me and do as I say instead? I promise to stop just as soon as you tell Art and get him to understand.*

  "How do I do that? I don't even understand." Cassie bit her lip after saying that.

  This not thinking wasn't working. In fact the situation was getting worse. The voice was already telling her what to do. Soon she would be having heart-to-heart conversations with it. Next she'd be stripping her clothes off, running down the street and predicting the end was near. And it would be. Someone would cart her off to the nearest mental institution. The End.

  *None of that has to happen. You don't have to understand either. You just have to listen to me.*

  "No!" Cassie turned off the vacuum.

  She had made it to the kitchen but, unfortunately, there was her client, Wynn, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee as he read the newspaper. No, probably tea. Seeing as he was British.

  She hoped the vacuum had been noisy enough to muffle her yelling from her client.

  "I'm going to need to mop here." Cassie tried to sound courteous. She had to remember it was his house. He could be wherever he wanted in here, even though she was having a personal crisis right now.

  "All right."

  He gave her another assessing look, got up and strolled out of the room, cup in hand. Cassie took time to admire his walk since he couldn't see her check him out. That made her feel a little less subordinate. And his rear wasn't bad to look at, either. It was too bad he was so...so...unapproachable. She was actually getting a little sexual tingle from watching that butt.

  A few moments later she heard a computer switch on in another room.

  She was a little surprised he had actually understood that she needed him away from her when she cleaned. Wynn, with a y double n, Harmon didn't seem like the type to care about what other people wanted or needed. She couldn't figure him out at all. Then again, why should she? All she had to do was clean his house.

  She corrected herself. All she had to do was clean his house without cracking up while she mopped the floor.

  She was profoundly grateful that he'd left her alone before she did something really weird. Of course, poking into someone's trash and talking out loud to a voice in your head might already qualify as weird to some people.

  *I'll give you time to get used to the idea. This must be upsetting for you, I know. But I don't have much time to give. You need to understand that. And, believe me, I wouldn't use you if I didn't realize you're all that I've got to work with right now.*

  "Damn it, you need to stop insulting me! I'm certainly not doing anything for a voice that can't treat me with a little respect." Cassie paused with the mop.

  The sick feeling in her stomach told her the truth. She wasn't dreaming now. She knew that. No, she was awake, and she'd not only heard a voice in her mind but she'd had conversations with the damned thing.

  "Oh, God. I'm in big, big trouble. This may be even worse than last time. What do I do?"

  Chapter Two

  "So, Ned, I've started to hear these voices. Well, just one. A guy's voice. I think. I don't know why I think it's a guy...Anyhow. That isn't important. What is important is that it's already telling me to do weird stuff. Uh—Ned, are you paying attention?"

  Ned turned his head toward her and looked earnest.

  "Yeah, Cassie. That's, like, so strange. Hey, were you on anything? That could cause you to hear and see stuff."

  "No! Ned, of all people, you ought to know I don't do drugs!"

  Cassie couldn't believe she was sitting in her sunny, bright little kitchen having this conversation. Ned, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. She wondered what it would actually take to faze Ned.

  "Well, you could've changed your mind. Hey, did anybody give you anything? You know, like you were at a party and someone slipped something in the food or a drink..."

  "I didn't even see anyone that whole day. Except Wynn Harmon. And he was the one who was drinking. Tea. Well, probably tea. Anyhow, I wasn't at any parties and I didn't eat or drink anything except what I made for myself at home."

  "Whoa. Really, really strange." Ned blinked at her.

  Cassie could have sworn he looked a little respectful. Oh damn, why had she actually thought Ned could help her think through anything?

  "Yeah, well it really spoiled my trip to the beach, I can tell you that." Cassie had discovered she didn't like walking the bea
ch wondering if she was crazy and, if she was, what to do about it.

  Cassie toyed with the idea of telling her family. No. They already thought she was way off center. This news would just confirm all their worst suspicions. They'd have her institutionalized in a second.

  Ned stood up and stretched. Cassie paused for a minute to admire him. You couldn't say much for Ned's mind, what there was left of it, but his body was still in fine, fine condition. And Ned meant well. Most of the time.

  "Well, Ned, what should I do?" Cassie couldn't help asking it.

  Someone who looked as strong and tough and masculine as Ned should have a strong, tough brain to go with the body. Somehow she still thought that. Well, she thought that in her weaker moments.

  She felt weak now. She felt vulnerable and weak, weak, weak.

  "Wow, Cassie. I don't know."

  Ned returned to the kitchen table with the bowl of sugar in his hand.

  Yeah. Great. That's why we've dated each other off and on for years, Ned. Because you're such a rock for me to lean on.

  No, she didn't want to think about that. She'd wondered why she's put up with Ned far too often. Right now she had more important concerns.

  "Like, maybe you need help."

  "Help?"

  "Yeah. A professional. You know."

  Ned poured a huge amount of sugar into his coffee cup and stirred it.

  "A shrink?"

  "You don't have to shout. That's what shrinks are supposed to work on, right? People with voices in their heads?"

  "What would my brother say if he found out I was going to one? And Dad?"

  "Why should they know? You can hire a shrink yourself, right? And the psychiatrist has to keep things confidential. Right?"

  "Oh. Right. Yeah. But what if this shrink makes me do something awful?"

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. Undergo hypnosis or something. Or talk about my childhood. Whatever it is that shrinks do."

  "You hired him. You fire him."

  "Oh." It was frightening when Ned began to make sense.

  Ned gestured expansively." Therapy can be real helpful, you know. That's what all the magazines say. I had some done on me once. A while back. Sometimes they give you drugs, too."

  "What was that like, Ned?"

  "Some of the drugs were OK but the therapist didn't do a thing for me. On the other hand nothing hurt, either."

  "Nothing much ever does hurt, does it, Ned?" Cassie resisted a patronizing pat on his hand. "Well, I'd have to find a good one. One that could help. That can't be the easiest person in the world to find."

  "Well, yeah, of course. Why not ask your stepmom for one?"

  Cassie stared at Ned again. She wasn't sure just how Ned's mind came up with ideas but—yeah. How had Ned managed to connect her stepmother with a psychiatrist?

  Even worse, he was right. Cassie would bet big money that Tasha would know a good shrink. She might never go to one herself but she would know the best in the area. Tash always knew how to get the best of everything everywhere. For years Cassie had fought the annoying tendency Tash had of knowing the right thing to do and the right person to do it with.

  Maybe this was the time to stop fighting Tash and use her.

  Now all Cassie had to do was come up with a way to ask without having Tasha run to her dad, screaming that poor Cassie had finally admitted she needed help. Her stepmother had probably been waiting for that moment ever since she married Dad.

  Cassie began to rub her forehead. Oh boy. This would be very, very tricky. Who did Cassie and Tasha both know who Tasha would believe needed a shrink?

  Ned scraped the kitchen chair against the floor before he got up again, the way he always did.

  Well, that was easy. Anyone would believe Ned was in desperate need of psychiatric assistance.

  Just faintly, in the background of her mind, Cassie thought she could hear a protest. She didn't know why. She decided not to listen. Listening to what was in her head had gotten her into enough trouble.

  "I need a second opinion," Cassie said out loud.

  Ned shrugged and drifted back to the refrigerator.

  When you started relying on Ned for his brains, you were in trouble. She needed someone bright.

  Emily.

  Cassie hesitated. How long had it been since she'd called Emily? Cassie tried to remember.

  They'd been really close in boarding school and college. After graduation, though, Emily had gotten engaged and married and Cassie hadn't. Then Cassie had kept going to school while Emily started work as a high-pressured, low-paid advertising flunky. And then Cassie had started work just when Emily stopped work and started having kids. They'd been out of synch for a long time.

  Cassie figured she hadn't talked to Emily in over a year. Wasn't it after Emily announced she was pregnant for the third time?

  She needed Emily. Emily was bright. Emily was stable. She still had the same husband, she sent out Christmas cards with those photos of smiling, normal kids. Cassie couldn't think of anyone more rational than Emily. Better yet, Emily didn't talk when she knew she shouldn't.

  Besides, right now Cassie was out of other ideas for second opinions.

  "Ned."

  "Yeah?"

  "I am calling someone now. When she picks up, I want you to go away." Cassie spoke very distinctly, the way she might to a five-year-old. Subtlety was wasted on Ned. On the other hand she figured he might actually get upset if he heard he had just developed a psychiatric problem.

  Ned grunted but she was pretty sure he'd heard.

  Then, before she could think any more, Cassie punched in Emily's phone number. The disembodied telephone voice informed her that the phone number had been disconnected but was gracious enough to let her know what the new number was.

  Cassie scribbled it down on her list and put that one in.

  Another disembodied voice then allowed her to leave her name and telephone number. Cassie snarled her message into the receiver and then hung up.

  Cassie had to admit that after a year apart, it was stupid to feel annoyed that Emily wasn't there when Cassie needed her. But now Cassie was annoyed and without a second opinion.

  * * * * *

  Where the bloody hell was she? She had to pick up!

  The biggest problem with sharing his gift with others was there was no guarantee that they'd use it wisely. And Ms. Cassie Majors looked like a person who could never be counted on to do anything wise.

  He thought about the unexpectedly vulnerable look she'd had at times, especially when he'd sent out his most powerful message. He'd made the transmittal stronger and more urgent than he needed to, obviously. But Wynn hadn't known how receptive Cassie was to him.

  When he thought about her reaction, he fought down the sympathy he felt. He imagined Cassie found it easy to inspire sympathy and interest. The woman looked like a sexy waif—he judged she usually was more waif-like than sexy, but either one could work on a man's feelings. Not on him, of course. He had no time for either waifs or feelings.

  Still, when she had sat down on the floor she had looked, literally, punched in the gut. She was sensitive all right.

  She was small, too, so it seemed worse somehow that she looked so hurt. Wynn knew he'd done that to her and that he couldn't do anything about it. He'd wanted to, though. At the same time he'd wanted to push her further down on the floor, too, and bury himself inside her. That hadn't been sympathy urging him on. He could imagine her face, dazed with longing and delight, as he pushed his way into—

  Right. As if he always dazed and delighted women when he had sex with them.

  Wynn scowled. His prowess and her sex appeal made no difference. What was important was that she was receptive to his gift—although Cassie Majors looked totally unsuitable for any of his purposes. He could only hope he was wrong about how useless she would be.

  On the other hand, his gift was useful for sensing danger. Wynn knew that danger was getting closer. He was sure he was right abou
t that. He had tried to play innocent and that had worked. For two days. But that ruse would fail soon.

  This morning he'd heard crashing sounds in the driveway. When he went to his car, he found his laptop computer had been smashed. Wynn didn't see anything obviously wrong with his car but he didn't need to. His plan to drive out fast when they weren't expecting it wasn't going to work.

  Damn. How would he get in touch with her if he had to leave the house?

  She was unreliable, unpredictable, the communication he had with her wasn't established long enough and it sputtered out too easily. It was always difficult finding someone whose mind was receptive to him. Also, while it was fairly easy for him to read receptive minds, it took more time to allow him to project his thoughts. If she were nearby, touching something, he was able to strengthen the link—Lord, if she were nearby he could just talk to her and explain somehow. Or maybe he could just get away with everything without explanation. He preferred that.

  Meanwhile the prickling on his neck was getting stronger. He ought to know to pay attention to that after all this time. Wynn hesitated, then moved to the closet and pulled out a small, worn-looking bag. He'd used that bag before to escape. He could do it again. After all, that was what he'd been doing all his life.

  Once he was gone how would he find her? Wynn shrugged. He'd try the easiest way first. He pulled her business card out of his wallet. But, as he had figured, the response he received came from an answering service. Somehow he didn't think he could leave this message. He took a quick look but of course her name was unlisted in the telephone book. So much for easy.

  He paused and concentrated. Yes. He remembered the license plate number on the BMW. Hesitating no more, he moved to his desktop computer. The Internet could be just as useful as telepathy. While he punched in the e-mail address and his question, he could feel the prickling grow stronger.

  C'mon, man. Hurry.

  Waiting for a response seemed to take forever. Logically he knew that demanding an answer that required a little—work—in what were supposed to be inaccessible files took time. But he also knew he didn't have much time.