Page 44 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

Chapter Eighteen

Lake

Baxter had announced his intention to take a shower before meeting me in the hotel restaurant, so it came as no surprise that I’d been sitting there for a while by the time he arrived—or that his hair still curled damply around his neck. It suited him, giving him a just-rolled-out-of-bed look that immediately sent my thoughts into X-rated territory they had no business occupying. Perhaps Baxter and I being in a hotel together hadn’t been the best idea. I quickly thought of something else.

“Not Napoleon,” Baxter quipped with a smirk as he lowered himself into the chair opposite and pulled a menu toward him. “Anyone but him.”

“What?”

“If you’re that determined to block me out, I’d at least like something interesting.”

“You know I do that?”

He shot me a look that clearly said, Do you think I’m stupid? “Of course.”

Heat crawled its way slowly up my neck to my cheeks. “I…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said lightly. “I know what I do makes people uncomfortable. Makes you uncomfortable.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No.” Baxter returned his attention to the menu. The silence stretched until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Mainly because if I wasn’t talking, I was thinking. And either way, Baxter could read me like a book, so I might as well control what came out of my mouth. “I wish you could turn it off.”

Baxter laughed softly without looking up. “Trust me. So do I.”

“It must come in handy, though.”

“Sometimes.”

“Like that guy in the bar the night we met. The one who wanted to lure you to a dungeon. Think how that might’ve gone if you couldn’t read his mind.”

Baxter made a noncommittal noise.

“What’s it like?” I asked.

He lifted his gaze then. “Loud.” He glanced around the restaurant. It was only half full, but half full still meant a dozen people. A dozen people and a dozen minds. He nodded toward a couple a few tables away. They were eating together, but barely speaking. “He’s trying to figure out how to broach the subject of them buying a new car. Something sportier now he’s had a pay rise. He refuses to call it a midlife crisis.”

“And her?”

Baxter’s gaze flicked to the woman. “She’s thinking about the gardener who comes twice a week while her husband’s at work. He sees to more than the hedges, if you know what I mean. He’s fifteen years younger than her husband, so she appreciates the stamina. She can’t believe her husband hasn’t worked it out yet. Part of her wants him to, just to find out how he’ll react. She still loves him, but she feels invisible.”

“You got all that in the few minutes we’ve been sitting here?”

Baxter nodded. “People’s minds move faster than their mouths.”

“What about everyone else?” It was a terrible question, but when would I ever get another chance to spy on strangers?

Baxter gave me an amused look. “Well, they’re definitely not thinking about Napoleon.”

“They should be,” I deadpanned. “His military intellect, strategic brilliance, and leadership skills were second to none. He had an incredible ability to analyze vast amounts of information and adapt to the chaos of battle.” I got about halfway through my informative lecture before Baxter returned to the menu. “Did you know he once wrote a romance novel? Only seventeen pages, but still...”

“Didn’t know. Don’t care.”

“His first wife narrowly avoided the guillotine.”

Baxter rolled his eyes. “And we’re back to the guillotine.”

“He used to dress as a member of the lower class and walk the streets of Paris. Ask me why.”