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was precisely how he felt at the moment as he met his sister’s gaze of astonishment. “How can you lose someone you don’t even know, Nick? You’re confusing her with that damn portrait.”
    “Now you’re the skeptic? And yeah, I’ve been questioning my sanity,” he said between clenched teeth. “But tell me Nora, what are the odds of a woman who’s a dead ringer for the Countess of Guildford, with the same first name of said Countess, coming into our shop out of all the hundreds of galleries in the city to buy the Goodman Cottage painting.”
    “Lockwood’s painting?” Nora gasped. He waited for her to say something, but she simply stared at him in shocked disbelief.
    “What? No words of wisdom or insight as to the fact that there are no coincidences in life?”
    He knew she didn’t deserve the sarcasm, but he was fresh out of polite sentiment at the moment. Fresh out of patience with all this past lives talk of hers. He’d been listening to it for so long he was beginning to believe it himself. What the devil made him think he knew Victoria? His imagination was running amok because of guilt. Guilt that he was okay and that Victoria had nearly died and still might. He ignored the voice protesting vehemently in the back of his head.
    “What would you like for me to say?” Nora asked quietly. His jaw tightened as he noted the pained expression in his sister’s brown eyes.
    “You didn’t deserve that. I’m an ass,” he said as she dismissed his words with a wave of her hand.
    “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked.
    “Not particularly.”
    As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t know how to talk about it. He didn’t have the words to explain how one brief touch had bonded him to a woman who was a total stranger. How the fuck was he supposed to explain something like that? Especially when he didn’t understand it himself.
    Nora sank down into a nearby chair as he returned to pacing the floor. Silence drifted between them for several long moments until another sound echoed in the hallway. Turning toward the door, Nick recognized the man entering the lounge as the trauma room physician.
    “Mr. Barrows?” The doctor crossed the floor to close the distance between them and shook Nick’s hand. “I’m Doctor Bertram. We’ve stabilized Miss Ashton. She suffered second degree burns on her hands where the electrical current entered and exited her body. They’re not life-threatening, but you’ll need to avoid touching her hands when you see her. We’ll continue to monitor her for any other physical reactions to the electrical shock.”
    “What else,” Nick demanded as he saw something flicker in the man’s eyes.
    “Unfortunately, Miss Ashton has slipped into a coma.”
    “A coma?” Fear knotted his gut at the doctor’s resigned expression.
    “It happens sometimes in cases such as this. She was resuscitated three times before we managed to stabilize her heart rate.”
    “When will she wake up?”
    “There’s been a great deal of stress to your fiancée’s system. She’s lucky to be alive, and a coma is often the body’s way of healing itself.”
    “You didn’t answer my question. When will Victoria wake up?” He watched the man closely. Searching for something, anything that would tell him Victoria was going to be all right.
    “I can’t answer that, Mr. Barrows.” The regret on the doctor’s face sent an icy chill through Nick. Barely meeting his gaze, the doctor cleared his throat. “Her brain activity readings are unlike anything I’ve seen before. I’m not able to determine the level of brain damage.”
    “What do you mean, brain damage?” Nick snarled as his insides tightened with dread.
    “Her brainwaves appear to be continuously fluctuating between an active and almost vegetative state.” A perplexed frown wrinkled the doctor’s brow. “I’m at a loss to explain it. I’ve called in our best neurologist to see if she has any answers.”
    “So,