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didn’t reach out, and she didn’t speak, but she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him, either.
    And then they closed the doors, and Brigit gave him a shove.
    “I said wait!” Scarface commanded. He was reaching into his coat now, and James had little doubt he was about to pull a gun.
    They’d made it back to the car, and James reached for the passenger door just as Brigit started the motor with a roar. Her window was down, and she was looking back at the man. As James predicted, he was leveling a gun.
    “Freeze! Don’t make me—”
    Brigit lifted a hand, palm up, fingers loosely touching her thumb.
    “Don’t kill him!” James shouted.
    She flicked her fingers open as her gaze intensified, and a beam of light pulsed from her eyes toward the man. Something exploded, shaking the sidewalk, and even the street, so powerfully that several onlookers fell down. Dust and rubble rained down as people ran screaming for cover. At the same instant, Brigit was gunning the motor again, spinning the tires, shifting rapidly through the gears as she sped away.
    James turned in his seat, wondering if the debris falling on the crowd included bits of Scarface. But no, it seemed to be a magazine stand that had stood a few yards from him.
    “Don’t worry,” Brigit told him. “The vendor had left his post to gawk at the lady who was gunned down on the sidewalk. No casualties, though I think letting that scar-cheeked bastard live was a mistake.”
    “You sound just like Rhiannon, who, I think, originated the phrase ‘Kill them all and let the gods sort them out.’”
    “Funny you should mention her.”
    He closed his eyes. “Tell me that’s not where we’re going.”
    “Who the hell else is going to be able to tell us what’s going on, J.W.?”
    “I keep telling you, I go by James now.”
    “Yeah. You do keep telling me that. It’s irritating. I wish you’d stop.”
    She took a corner so fast that he was mashed up against the door, and he knew there was no going back now.
    He’d been sucked back in. Just as he’d always pretty much known he would be. His family were not the kind who let go easily.
     
     
    The ambulance attendant was sticking a needle into her arm the second the doors swung shut, and Lucy gasped at the unexpected pinch of it. Then she looked up at the young man and said, “I really think I’m all right.”
    “Just relax, Professor Lanfair. You’re in good hands.”
    “How do you know my na…uh…” Ocean waves came washing into her brain, crashing and then slowly sucking her logical mind back out to sea again. “What did you…give me?”
    “Just relax now. It’s all fine. Just relax.”
    He was smiling and his eyes were kind and sort of hazel. But they weren’t those other eyes. Those piercing, electric-blue eyes she’d been lost in moments before. And this medic’s hands, while soothing and strong, were not the same hands she’d felt on her before, either. That other touch had been so powerful she’d felt it in every cell of her body. A touch that she knew had somehow…healed her.
    And that man. That face. That familiar, beautiful face. Something in her, something deep inside her, had recognized him—though she knew she had never seen him before in her life.
    Perhaps, she thought, he was an angel.
     
     
    “Time to wake up now, Professor. Come on. You’ve had a good rest. Wake up. We need to talk.”
    Lucy opened her eyes. But the white room was tipping slowly one way, then the other, growing on one side, shrinking on the other, then reversing itself before just spinning slowly. There was a woman. Black hair with a white streak. A man with a big scar on his face. It must have been his voice she heard.
    That was all she noticed before she slammed her eyes closed again.
    “I’m going to be sick.”
    “No, you aren’t,” the woman said softly. “Do you remember who you are, dear? Hmm?”
    “Am in the hospital? Did I die?” God, she was so disoriented.
    “You’re safe, and