Page 16
His jaw softened the merest bit. He seemed relieved by her answer.
“Nor do I recall giving my card to any gentleman,” she added. “Most of my sittings are conducted with ladies, especially in the last few months.”
“So you do not believe you gave a card to a barrister named Percival Pennington?”
“No, I know I didn’t.”
His jaw clenched again, and he glanced at the carpet, seemingly pondering that new information. “Do you recall who you did give your cards to recently?”
“I haven’t given any out recently, except for one this morning, to a lady who’d come to me for a sitting. She left abruptly, and I gave her a card in case she wished to reschedule.”
“And what was her name?”
Electra bit her lip, then said, “She asked for privacy and that I not share her name with anyone. I think she feared someone might find out she’d come to me.”
“But as she was apparently the last person you gave a card to, Electra, I must know her name.” His tone was harsher than she was used to from him.
Her brows winged up. She could not imagine the petite woman she’d met this afternoon killing a man hours after departing and shoving the card of the psychic she’d had an aborted meeting with into his hand. But she also knew it was Gideon’s duty to collect all the information he could and then decide its relevance.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him of the vision, though there was so little of it to convey.
“Her name was Mrs. Jane Wilson,” she finally said. “I had an odd experience with her. A vision…”
Gideon reached up and pinched his brows. She knew that he still harbored doubts about her abilities. He was on the hunt for a killer. Would he even care that she’d seen him in a room with a blond-haired man who died months ago?
“We were unable to complete our session because Cordelia came home, and that seemed to make Mrs. Wilson uneasy enough to depart.”
Gideon frowned. “Is it typical for one of your…” He seemed to struggle for the appropriate word. “Your visitors to be so skittish?”
Electra shrugged. “It is not unusual. Most ask for discretion, since many would ridicule them for seeking answers from a psychic.” She met his gaze straight on. “Some would cast judgment on me and my abilities, or anything that cannot be empirically perceived.”
The first time Gideon had questioned her during a murder investigation, he’d insisted she tell him only what she’d observed by empirical means, distrusting her claim that she could sense and see things via gifts she could not fully explain. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to remind him of that moment now, but his gaze on her had hardened. There was an air of suspicion in his tone that she could not bear.
“I understand,” he said in a low voice. “And I meant no offense.”
It was a rarity for Gideon Pierce to relent so quickly, and it warmed something in the center of Electra’s chest.
“I swear I do not know Percival Pennington, Gideon.”
“I believe you.” The earnestness in his tone made her regret her defensiveness. He lowered his head and released a sigh. “I must admit to being glad you are not acquainted, that you aren’t entangled in his case.”
“But I am,” Electra pointed out. “For some reason, a dead man held my card as he died.” She stared at Gideon’s coat pocket, thinking of the piece of paper and what she might learn from it. The urge to learn more about the man who’d had it in his possession in his last moments overwhelmed her. “May I… May I touch the card?”
Gideon’s head snapped up, his expression one of shock, though it soon ebbed into something very like curiosity. The muscles of his jaw shifted as if chewing on the notion of how this might complicate his case, or perhaps warring with the prospect of allowing her to become more entangled.
Finally, he nodded and lifted the card from his pocket once again.
Electra stepped forward, and Gideon placed the card on her outstretched palm.
Her abilities were unpredictable. Sometimes she saw and felt nothing when touching a person or object. Other times images flickered, too faintly, in her mind.
She closed her eyes, intensely aware of Gideon watching her.
Yet she did her best to open herself to whatever her abilities might reveal. All at once, her chest tightened and her muscles stiffened as images arose in her mind.
A blurry image of a carriage interior at night, where the air felt close. The gentleman who’d held her card, Pennington, had been angry at the person who sat at his side in the carriage, but he kept his gaze focused ahead. She could make out nothing of his companion but a dark overcoat. Then the images shifted, becoming clearer. Daylight filtered into an elegant room, and a middle-aged gentleman stood shouting at Pennington, his face twisted in a grimace. She heard no sound but saw the fury on his face, tears welling in the angry man’s eyes. Then something drew Pennington’s gaze away, toward a door sliding open. A blonde young woman pushed inside…
As if a curtain had been pulled across her vision, the images went black and she opened her eyes.
