smile on her lips.
He had never seen her before.
Who was she?
One of them . One of the Others. One who knew Irving, who wanted to send him a message.
So she found one of the Chosen Ones—she found Aaron—and spoke in his mind. How did she know he was one of the Chosen Ones? Could she read his thoughts, too? Because if that was the case, he needed to clear his head, and observe .
The woman was short. Well-built. Dark hair. Dark, dark eyes. Tanned skin. She turned her head, lifted a cigarette to her lips, and took a long, slow pull, and a look at her profile made him sharply aware that she’d been a pretty woman once. Still was, but—
Rosamund put her arm around his back and said firmly, “Let’s walk.”
He stumbled along with her. The Chosen Ones had already confronted one mind speaker, and although in the end they had survived, it had been a disaster.
Was the older woman going to say something else? Had she taken possession of his brain? Could she control him?
And Rosamund said, “I know you weren’t raised in normal circumstances, but didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stare at people who are scarred?”
“What?”
“You don’t stare at people who are scarred.” Rosamund sounded exasperated and a little angry. “I mean, that poor woman. Isn’t it enough that someone slit her nose down the middle, without having some guy in a suit staring at her?”
“What?” Aaron searched his brain. He seemed alone, but then, he hadn’t been aware of anyone in there until the words had whispered through his head.
“Aaron!” Rosamund let go of his arm. “Are you really so insensitive?”
He looked down at her.
She looked flushed and indignant, her violet eyes narrowed behind dark-rimmed glasses, her carroty hair almost sparking. “You really are that insensitive!” With a huff, she stalked away.
Nothing else could have yanked him out of his stupor. After all that had happened in the last five days, and now this , he was not letting Rosamund escape him. Lengthening his stride, he caught up with her, took her arm, and hustled her toward the street. “I’m not being insensitive. I recognized her, and she could cause problems.” It was sort of true, and he needed to soothe Rosamund, get her to Irving’s, and in a hurry.
“You know her? I take it she’s not a friend.”
“No.”
“Did her husband do that to her?”
“Why do you think that?”
“In old Spain, a husband would slit his wife’s nose down the middle as a punishment for infidelity.”
Rosamund would know something like that. He suspected she was a repository of odd facts. . . . “I don’t know who did it.”
“I hope she got her revenge.” Rosamund stalked along beside him. “You wouldn’t think that kind of barbaric behavior was possible today, but husbands still have too much power over their wives. She looks Romany—”
“Gypsy. Of course. She’s a gypsy!” He couldn’t believe it took Rosamund to point that out. Where was his brain?
Maybe the gypsy was blocking his thoughts. Or maybe he was just petrified.
“Romany, maybe from another country. The injury must have happened when she was young. I think she’s had plastic surgery, but probably it had healed so it was too late to really fix it. How could you recognize her and not know this? What do you mean, she could cause problems?” Rosamund pulled her arm free. “And would you stop shoving me around?”
“I’m sorry. I saw a cab. On the street. I wanted to catch it. Rush hour, you know? Are you hungry? Irving has two cooks now, good ones, and I make a point of being there for dinner.” He was babbling, trying to distract her, herding her through the exit from the zoo.
“You’re not answering any of my questions.” The girl was too smart for her own good.
“I will. When we get to Irving’s, you can ask anything you want.” Not that she was going to get any real answers, but she could certainly ask. He flung his arm up
He had never seen her before.
Who was she?
One of them . One of the Others. One who knew Irving, who wanted to send him a message.
So she found one of the Chosen Ones—she found Aaron—and spoke in his mind. How did she know he was one of the Chosen Ones? Could she read his thoughts, too? Because if that was the case, he needed to clear his head, and observe .
The woman was short. Well-built. Dark hair. Dark, dark eyes. Tanned skin. She turned her head, lifted a cigarette to her lips, and took a long, slow pull, and a look at her profile made him sharply aware that she’d been a pretty woman once. Still was, but—
Rosamund put her arm around his back and said firmly, “Let’s walk.”
He stumbled along with her. The Chosen Ones had already confronted one mind speaker, and although in the end they had survived, it had been a disaster.
Was the older woman going to say something else? Had she taken possession of his brain? Could she control him?
And Rosamund said, “I know you weren’t raised in normal circumstances, but didn’t anyone ever tell you not to stare at people who are scarred?”
“What?”
“You don’t stare at people who are scarred.” Rosamund sounded exasperated and a little angry. “I mean, that poor woman. Isn’t it enough that someone slit her nose down the middle, without having some guy in a suit staring at her?”
“What?” Aaron searched his brain. He seemed alone, but then, he hadn’t been aware of anyone in there until the words had whispered through his head.
“Aaron!” Rosamund let go of his arm. “Are you really so insensitive?”
He looked down at her.
She looked flushed and indignant, her violet eyes narrowed behind dark-rimmed glasses, her carroty hair almost sparking. “You really are that insensitive!” With a huff, she stalked away.
Nothing else could have yanked him out of his stupor. After all that had happened in the last five days, and now this , he was not letting Rosamund escape him. Lengthening his stride, he caught up with her, took her arm, and hustled her toward the street. “I’m not being insensitive. I recognized her, and she could cause problems.” It was sort of true, and he needed to soothe Rosamund, get her to Irving’s, and in a hurry.
“You know her? I take it she’s not a friend.”
“No.”
“Did her husband do that to her?”
“Why do you think that?”
“In old Spain, a husband would slit his wife’s nose down the middle as a punishment for infidelity.”
Rosamund would know something like that. He suspected she was a repository of odd facts. . . . “I don’t know who did it.”
“I hope she got her revenge.” Rosamund stalked along beside him. “You wouldn’t think that kind of barbaric behavior was possible today, but husbands still have too much power over their wives. She looks Romany—”
“Gypsy. Of course. She’s a gypsy!” He couldn’t believe it took Rosamund to point that out. Where was his brain?
Maybe the gypsy was blocking his thoughts. Or maybe he was just petrified.
“Romany, maybe from another country. The injury must have happened when she was young. I think she’s had plastic surgery, but probably it had healed so it was too late to really fix it. How could you recognize her and not know this? What do you mean, she could cause problems?” Rosamund pulled her arm free. “And would you stop shoving me around?”
“I’m sorry. I saw a cab. On the street. I wanted to catch it. Rush hour, you know? Are you hungry? Irving has two cooks now, good ones, and I make a point of being there for dinner.” He was babbling, trying to distract her, herding her through the exit from the zoo.
“You’re not answering any of my questions.” The girl was too smart for her own good.
“I will. When we get to Irving’s, you can ask anything you want.” Not that she was going to get any real answers, but she could certainly ask. He flung his arm up