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eyes, as if all the sights she’d missed out on for the last few minutes were there, waiting to flood in and torture her.
    A shrill sound of pain filled her ears, and it took her a moment to realize that she was the one making that horrible sound.
    She clamped her lips shut, and breathed through the assault, letting it wash over her. Slowly, her breathing evened out and she opened her eyes.
    Cain was on the floor, his big body shaking. She blinked to clear her vision, wondering if what she was seeing was real.
    A flash of an advertisement in a gun magazine superimposed on top of someone washing his hands captured her attention for a second before she could regain a moment of control.
    She wasn’t seeing things. Cain was sprawled on the white tile, making a horrible choking sound.
    Panic darted through her bones, freezing her in place for a long second. Once her heart started beating again, she gathered her senses and glanced around for signs of an attack. No one was here, but she couldn’t imagine what could have been strong enough to knock the giant on his ass like that.
    Rory knelt down beside him. Pain spiked through her knee as if someone had taken a hammer to it. She felt blood seep faster from the wound, but ignored all of that.
    She grabbed Cain’s head to keep it from slamming into the metal shelving, and he went still in her grip. Fast, hard breaths rose from his lips.
    Once again, Cain was the only thing she saw. No lights, no visions, just his face.
    So strange, and yet so very, very welcome.
    Concern lined his forehead and sweat dotted his brow. A vein in his temple throbbed and his breathing was labored. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough and strained.
    He was asking about her? “You’re the one on the floor. You were thrashing around like you were choking.”
    His hands covered hers, vibrated against them, and she swore she could feel his ring buzzing near her skin.
    “Sorry. I knew it would be bad for me, but I didn’t think it would hurt you, too.”
    He sat up. His face was close to hers now, and for the first time, the lighting was good enough for her to actually see him. He was older than she’d first thought. With a heavy build like his and those gliding reflexes, she’d guessed him to be in his twenties, but now that she got a closer look, she knew that was wrong. He looked like he was in his thirties, but that didn’t seem to fit, either. He seemed older, though he had no heavy creases or lines, no gray in his hair. There was a kind of depth in his moss green eyes, a kind of awareness or wisdom she’d seen only in people like Nana who’d lived a long, long time.
    Several small scars marked his hands and face, supporting her theory. His dark brown hair was mussed from the wind, falling over his forehead in places. A few strands clung to his damp skin. She realized she’d been staring for a long time. Too long.
    Rory cleared her throat and looked away. “You didn’t think what would hurt me?”
    “Breaking contact. I saw your face before I . . . collapsed. I heard you. You were in pain.”
    She wasn’t about to talk to him about her visions. No way. All she needed was to get patched up and back out there to hunt for the person who could make the visions stop.
    The way he did.
    Maybe he was the person she’d been looking for. Maybe he was the one who’d stopped her visions before.
    “Do you live nearby?” she asked.
    “No. Why?”
    “Were you ever at Sister Olive’s shelter before it burned down?”
    He shook his head, frowning at her. “Not that I remember.”
    “Near it?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe. Why does it matter?”
    “I’m looking for someone.” She felt obligated to tell him at least that much. He had, after all, saved her life tonight.
    His gaze roamed her face, so palpable it was almost a caress. “Who?”
    Oh baby. She could get lost in a man like this. It wouldn’t even be hard. She was so used to being invisible—to people merely glancing at the