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to . . . what? Feel what it was like when I got shot?”
    Charlie’s lips curved slightly, but it was a sad smile. “I already felt that. I was there, remember?”
    And then it hit her. Charlie hadn’t been protecting herself . Alex sank back against the seat. “You didn’t want me to feel what you went through when you were kidnapped.”
    “And you ended up being blindsided by it anyway. I’m sorry I let my guard down.”
    Alex squinted at the pink shack, wondering idly why Lake Avalon Beach even let such an eyesore take up precious beach property. Thinking that was easier than thinking about what she’d just learned.
    She rubbed at her burning eyes, then winced as her fingers brushed a tender place high on her cheekbone, almost like she had a bruise. No way had Charlie struck her hard enough to leave a bruise, and it had much more likely been a slap rather than a punch anyway—
    “Your empathy is different from mine,” Charlie said softly. “When you touched me, you were gone. For a long time.”
    Alex turned her head to look at her sister, noted how pale she still looked despite the tan from working in her garden.
    Charlie took in a shaky breath before she went on. “I had to slap you to bring you back.” She tried to smile at Alex but managed only a grimace. “I don’t know how, but your ability is different.”
    Alex glanced down at her tangled hands in her lap. Different, great.
    Suddenly, Charlie grasped Alex’s chin and angled her head up, her eyes becoming scrutinizing slits. “What the hell? I didn’t hit you that hard.”
    Alex pulled back with a wince at the painful pressure on her jaw. “Ow.”
    Charlie’s gaze dropped to Alex’s hands, as though searching for something she was afraid to find. Gentle this time, she curled her fingers around Alex’s right forearm and lifted her hand to inspect the raw, red skin and bruises encircling her wrist. Her other forearm sported similar injuries.
    Charlie let out a shocked breath. “Oh, God.”
    Alex stared at her wrists, her own disbelieving “Oh, God” echoing in her head. She remembered being inside Charlie’s head, remembered struggling to get free of the tight bonds around her wrists.
    Somehow, what had happened to her sister then had carried over into her own reality.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Y ou still thinking you’ll turn that kid Justin around?”
    Logan glanced up at his lunch companion. Noah Lassiter had a bacon cheeseburger in one hand and a can of Coke in the other. In a navy polo, white shorts and sun-streaked hair, he looked like a tourist, minus the sunburn. Fleeing his life as a police detective in Chicago in favor of private investigation in Lake Avalon, along with living with Charlie, seemed to agree with the man.
    “Yeah, I do,” Logan said.
    “Why don’t you just take the kid into custody and get it over with? He’ll get the help he needs that way.”
    “He needs to make the choice.”
    Logan took a drink of Coke and squinted out at the pedestrian traffic that flowed past the sidewalk cafe. People in shorts, tank tops and sunglasses mixed with men and women in business suits or khaki pants. Tourists and residents alike out for lunch or a stroll. Since it was May, residents outnumbered the tourists, most of whom had returned to their northern homes after Easter. But the weather was still comfortable ahead of the dense humidity of summer.
    After finishing off his burger, Noah flipped open a notebook he’d pulled out of his back pocket. “I did the checking you requested and came up with zilch on the kid’s background. None of the Parkers in Lake Avalon have heard of him.”
    “Damn. I knew the name he gave me was bogus, but I was hoping it had a family connection.”
    “He’s probably a Spider-Man fan.”
    Logan arched an inquisitive brow. “How do you figure?”
    “Peter Parker . Teenage boy dealing with the rejection and feelings of inadequacy that go with growing up. Odds are Justin’s first name is for real, though