Page 11 of Guardian

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Logan insisted on cleaning up the mess that he’d made, and Winter let him, watching him as he carefully disposed of the glass shards and wiped the floor dry.

When he was done, he looked up at her, a hesitant smile on his face. “Sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s just a glass.” She rose from her chair, feeling much better now.

The nightmare had been a powerful one, yet she’d managed to force it back, taking strength from Logan. Odd, how his arms around her had helped her calm herself during the episode, making her ordeal shorter and less scary than normal. Maybe if she had somebody who cared about her, somebody who’d be by her side during the nightmares, she would finally be able to conquer them and banish them from her life.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked, concern in his voice and a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, really. I can continue your tarot reading now. I’ll lay a new spread for—”

His hand on her forearm stopped her. “It’s not necessary.”

She tried to ignore the way his hand made her feel, how it calmed her. How she wanted him to never let go. “But you came here with a question.”

“It’s not important anymore.”

For the first time Logan smiled, and it was as if her entire kitchen suddenly lit up. Not only was he handsome, he had the most disarming smile she’d ever seen. Like a light in the darkness. Again the image of the man who’d beheaded the green-eyed monster of her nightmare flashed across her inner eye, but this time she tried to concentrate on the face of her rescuer. But before she could focus on her savior, he’d turned his back to her. She couldn’t see his face. Only the back of his head and his short, dark hair.

“You still seem a little dazed,” Logan said.

His hand on her arm was gone. She blinked and smiled at him, trying to ease his concern. “I’m perfectly well. Thank you. May I offer you something to drink? Or to eat?” Just so he would stay a few minutes longer and let her enjoy his company.

When he hesitated, she quickly said, “It’s okay. I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be. I shouldn’t keep you. You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be. Not right now anyway,” he said. He shifted his weight as if he was uncomfortable—or nervous. “It’s just… there’s something I need to talk to you about.” He motioned to the table.

She looked over her shoulder, but saw nothing of concern. Only her drawings, still strewn about. When she looked back at Logan, she noticed that he’d stepped closer, his expression unreadable.

“Those drawings,” he started. “I know what they are.”

Her breath hitched. Logan knew that the drawings were part of her art therapy and were meant to help her deal with her nightmares? But how? Doctor-patient confidentiality should have prevented her psychiatrist from breathing a word to anybody. So how did this stranger know? Or was he guessing? Was Logan going through something similar? Was he trying to tell her that he was just as crazy as she? That he was afflicted with the same disease? Was that why he’d been comforting her, knowing what it was like when the nightmares struck?

“They’re nothing,” she insisted.

“Listen,” Logan said calmly, “I know it’s difficult for you to talk about this to a… well, to a stranger, but if you’d let me explain.”

Winter narrowed her eyes, suspicion creeping up her spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think it’s better if you leave now. As I said before, I’m on my lunch break, and you’re not interested in me continuing the reading.” She pointed to the door. “Please.”

Logan lifted his hands in a capitulating gesture. “I mean you no harm. And I wish I could make this easier on you, but there’s no easy way to tell you what you need to hear.”

Right now he sounded just like any conman who was trying to lure his mark into a trap. She’d allowed herself to drop her guard because of his good looks and kind demeanor. It had been a mistake.

Instinctively she took a couple of steps back, until the kitchen table halted her retreat. “Whatever you’ve got to say or sell or whatever, I’m not interested. Please leave.”

He didn’t move, neither making any attempt to leave the room, nor one to approach her. In fact, he remained frozen.

“I can’t leave. You need to know the truth. The things you see in your visions are real.”

“Visions?” She shook her head. “How do you know about the nightmares?”

“They’re not nightmares. They’re psychic visions. The green-eyed creatures you see, they’re demons.” He pointed to the table behind her.

“No.” She snatched a quick breath. “You stole my medical file.” She eased away from the table and toward the kitchen counter, where the knife with which she’d cut herself still lay. “What are you planning to do with it? Embarrass me? Ruin my business? Drive me crazy?”

She let out a bitter laugh and took another step toward the counter, avoiding looking at the knife so he wouldn’t notice what she was trying to do.