Read The Cure for Free Online

effort. That this man was alone and anxious worked in my favor, but the fact that he was a complete stranger and I wasn’t touching him were definite drawbacks. A gift in combat or speed at this moment would have come in a lot handier.
    I pushed out my thoughts, my head aching as it had in school after staying up all night cramming for a law exam. He’d been drinking, and I could feel his unbalance. The drunkenness would help since he’d be less likely to fight me. I pushed a little more. My head screamed.
    Looking through the memories of a conscious person was far more chaotic than with someone who was unaware. There was no placid lake or thought bubbles. There were only images from the current world around us, and ideas that felt like sand running through my hands. Glimpses that I couldn’t hold and study, but only peer at as they rushed by at lightning speed. Finding the right place to jump into the stream to observe was the challenge.
    “Does your family know where you are?” I prompted.
    Yes, that did the trick. As he considered my question, disjointed scenes rushed at me in the sand, like cars on a freeway. “What about your mother?” I asked. “When you call her in Dallas from the pay phone tonight, what are you going to tell her? And your grandpa? Your abuelo? He’s a hero, isn’t he? What would he say if he knew you were doing this? He gave up his life to save his town from being overrun by a Mexican drug cartel. You know he wouldn’t approve.”
    The bum’s eyes widened and his face paled. His gun lowered slightly. “How did you know?” Was it just me or had his accent suddenly diminished?
    Something else in the sands of his memory, caught my attention: the bum lying under a sink, a wrench in hand, stopping to grin up at a raven-haired girl whose face radiated happiness. Then later, sitting on a paint can in a garage, drinking from a beer bottle and watching the same girl, tears streaming down her face, stalk to a small white car and drive away.
    Fixing a sink? Garage full of paint cans and tools? It was embarrassing that those things were every bit as compelling to me as the story of his grandfather. I was sick of dripping water from my bathroom sink keeping me awake at night.
    “Look, I can give you a job,” I said. “Your girlfriend might change her mind about calling it quits if you find work, but drinking isn’t going to get you there.”
    “I rob you, and you wanna hire me?” His voice was harsh, guttural.
    “Well, we could use a handyman. I know that might not be your regular job, but you can fix things, right?” Hiring the bum likely meant no immediate personal connections to worry about—except the girlfriend who wasn’t in the picture right now and the mother who lived far away in Dallas. We’d have to vet him to make sure he wasn’t a true felon, of course, but having the courage to hold up two women while you were drunk wasn’t necessarily a drawback in our business, especially when I could tell he didn’t really want to hurt us.
    A sound escaped his throat, signaling that he was close to breaking. Not good. I sent a wave of soothing emotions, but he shook his head as if trying to toss off an invisible net. Nausea curled my stomach, a direct result of my mental exertion. I definitely needed to refine my technique. At least my efforts had offered a distraction. I pulled from Mari’s grasp and sprinted forward, diving at his gun and twisting it from his hand. Muttering a curse, he turned and ran.
    I thought about giving chase, but Ava was waiting for me. “If you change your mind,” I called after him, “we might be here a few more days!” With Mari and Stella’s great-nephew hopefully onboard, we’d be able to leave Portland soon—preferably for a warmer climate.
    I felt bad watching him run away. The man’s grandfather had given his life for a cause he believed in, and I would have liked to give him the opportunity to fight for an equally important cause. Plus his