The First Prophet by Kay Hooper

you two are perfect partners,” Tucker commented, cautiously sipping coffee
     that was very, very strong and had a shot at holding a spoon upright in the cup.
    “Yeah, it’s been great. Hey, I fed that cat she’s adopted and let him out. He seemed
     to want out.”
    “I was supposed to let him out last night,” Tucker admitted, “but he disappeared on
     me.”
    Margo shrugged. “Maybe he slept in Sarah’s room. She told me he does that sometimes.”
    Tucker wondered when, in that case, Sarah had let the cat out of her room, but it
     didn’t seem important enough to worry about.
    In a lightning change of mood, Margo said with sudden gravity, “Jeez, I was sorry
     to hear about Sarah’s house. She loved that place, poured her heart into restoring
     it.”
    “How did you hear about it?” he asked casually.
    “On TV—the news last night. That’s why I came back ahead of schedule, of course, even
     though she didn’t call me. Maybe
especially
because she didn’t call me. I know Sarah. She’s as strong as bronze—”
    “Steel,” Tucker murmured, unable to stop himself.
    “Yeah, steel. Strong as steel, thinks she can handle anything and everything on her
     own—but she’s had afairly bad year, and I just don’t know how much more she can take. First that damned
     mugging, and then David—” Her gaze cut swiftly to Tucker. “You know about David?”
    He nodded without comment.
    Margo was obviously still trying to size up the relationship since Tucker had introduced
     himself only by name, and was clearly disappointed that he didn’t react in some dramatic
     way to mention of the last man in Sarah’s life.
    “Yeah, well. First we find out the bastard was not one of your basic in-sickness-and-in-health
     guys when she got hurt; he could barely bring himself to visit her every couple of
     days, for Christ’s sake, and made it screamingly obvious he wanted to be someplace
     else when he did show up. Then, when she finally comes out of the coma…”
    “Able to see the future?” Tucker supplied when her voice trailed off.
    She grimaced. “Yeah. I didn’t know if you knew.”
    Again, he nodded without comment.
    Margo flipped a fried egg—the fifth so far, with two more still in the pan—onto a
     plate on the counter beside the stove, and Tucker was mildly tempted to ask how many
     people she planned to feed. But he didn’t want her to be distracted from the subject
     at hand.
    “She really can do it,” Margo said, defending her friend staunchly. “It scared the
     hell out of her at first—still does, I guess. Well, wouldn’t it you?”
    “Definitely.”
    Margo nodded. “Yeah, me too. In fact—Well, nevermind that. The point is that Sarah’s life has been hell this year. And now the house…jeez.
     The news said the cops suspected arson?”
    “So I understand.” He didn’t mention the stranger who might still be outside watching;
     he hadn’t been able to casually look out a window without drawing her attention, and
     he wasn’t sure how much—if anything—Margo knew.
    “That means the insurance won’t pay off for ages,” she said in a practical spirit.
     “Damn. She can stay here as long as necessary, of course—this place is half hers—but
     it would be a lot better if she could concentrate on rebuilding right away. With everything
     at fives and sixes like this, she’ll have way too much time to think about…stuff.”
    Tucker didn’t bother to correct her. “About what happened to David…?” he probed, wondering
     whether she knew that Sarah’s latest prediction supposedly concerned her own death.
    Margo’s exotic face darkened. “That son of a bitch. I know you aren’t supposed to
     speak ill of the dead, but if you ask me, he got what he deserved. If he’d treated
     Sarah with a modem of respect, things might have been different.”
    Tucker cast about in his mind and settled on
modicum
. Yeah—a modicum of respect.
    “But he didn’t,” Margo continued,