Double Booked by CJ Anaya

about me.
    On the other hand, I couldn’t believe how liberating it felt to encounter someone who not only knew of another person that spoke with spirits the way I did, but who also seemed to have a healthy understanding of it.
    “"Yeah. That was...that was very effective. I don’t feel it pulling on me any longer.” I swallowed hard and then ran my fingers through my disheveled hair.
    “I think you and I have a little explaining to do, yes?” he asked, giving me one of his ridiculously adorable grins.
    “You first, Miguel.”
    He glanced in the rear view mirror. A troubled look flitted across his face.
    “Miguel?”
    He tore his eyes away from the mirror as I looked behind us. Through the back window, I could see a black SUV slowly approaching.
    “Let’s talk while we drive. I promised you an historical outing to The Strand.”
    I peered at his profile as he put the car in gear and pulled onto the highway. His usually lighthearted look had changed to that of grim determination, and the normally relaxed set of his shoulders now appeared taut and stiff.
    A chilling sense of foreboding crawled its way along the length of my spine. Something about this whole situation did not sit right with me, and if Miguel thought I hadn’t noticed that black SUV following us, he was either crazy or thought I was clueless. He was about to discover that I was not the right girl to underestimate.

Chapter Four
     
     
    “My mother’s gift was never something we broadcast to our neighbors and friends, though she was willing to help anyone who came to her with special requests. This usually included a search for loved ones or getting rid of pesky ghosts,” Miguel began.
    It felt surreal to be talking about another woman who communed with spirits in the same way I did.
    “Did your mother understand where her gift came from?”
    He hesitated before answering, and I had to wonder why. “It has to do with certain bloodlines from specific families in Spain.”
    I narrowed my eyes at that. “But I’m not Spanish.”
    He took his eyes off the road long enough to quirk an eyebrow at me. “You’re quite certain of this?”
    I sighed. “No. When it comes to my own family history, I’m afraid the details are a bit sketchy. I’m adopted. I never met my birth parents.” I decided he didn’t need to know why they gave me up. Revealing their concern for my safety would only encourage him to ask questions I couldn’t answer.
    “I’m nearly one hundred percent certain you are a descendant of one of these bloodlines. Your blonde, nearly white hair is a dead giveaway.”
    I self-consciously raised a hand to my hair, surprised that its unusual coloring would be an indicator. “How many bloodlines are there?”
    “There used to be several, but many were eradicated during the Spanish inquisition. Anyone capable of communing with spirits during those dark times was considered a heretic and put to death. At the moment, there are only two remaining bloodlines left upon this earth. The Salazar line and the Saint-Mauxent line.”
    “And your mother passed away?”
    “Yes.” That one word conveyed an aching pain that had yet to heal.
    I felt deeply disturbed that I’d never had the chance to meet his mother.
    “How long ago did she die? I ask simply because you mentioned her before as if you still spoke with her.”
    “It’s been...a while now.”
    I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he kept curtailing his comments and holding back the complete truth.
    “I find it a strange coincidence that you and I ended up double booked in the same suite. It’s almost as if our encounter was orchestrated, and I’d like to know why.” I searched his face to see what reaction that comment might elicit.
    His face revealed nothing, a sure sign he was hiding something. “I would call our encounter fortunate, a happy twist of fate. It is clear you have had no one to guide you through this process. My mother was blessed with loved ones capable of training