Page 91 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“Did anyone show unusual interest in the deck?”

I think through the appointments, faces, voices, and hands that crossed the table. Some people touched the cards hesitantly. Others handled them as though they expected the paper to reveal its secrets through their fingertips. Nothing rises above the rest.

“I spoke to too many people.”

Rocco looks toward Grant. “Pull the footage from the hours surrounding her final appointment. Flag anyone who passed the booth more than twice or remained in camera range without entering.”

Grant nods and moves away.

I step closer to the table.

Rocco’s arm comes across my waist before I reach it. “Don’t.”

“I’m not going to touch the card.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Listen.”

Deputy Carver’s brows rise, but he says nothing.

I close my eyes and let the noises around me recede. The low voices outside. The rush of wind against the tent panels. The faint electrical hum from the portable light. I don’t reach for the card or invite another vision. I simply open the part of myself I usually guard.

For several seconds, there is nothing. Then something brushes the edge of my awareness. Not an image, but an emotion.

Humiliation burns beneath anger so intense it makes my stomach clench. I sense the need to punish someone, not merely for what they have done, but for what their actions revealed. Beneath both emotions is a conviction as cold and solid as stone.

Someone owes him. My eyes open.

Rocco hasn’t moved his arm. “What happened?”

“He believes something was taken from him.”

“The man who left the card?”

“I think so. But it isn’t money or property.” I look at the Tower again. “He feels exposed. Humiliated.”

“By you?”

“I don’t know.”

His arm tightens. “That isn’t good enough.”

“It’s what I have.”

Carver moves closer. “Could the card have been left as a warning about the festival?”

“No.” I don’t hesitate. “This is personal.”

The admission should frighten me. Instead, anger begins to rise through the uneasiness. This man entered a space I created to make people feel safe. He put his hands on my cards and turned one of them into a threat.

Rocco recognizes how angry this makes me, but sees it as a liability.

“You’re done here.”

“I’m not leaving the festival.”

“We’ll discuss that after we get you somewhere secure.”