Her Darkest Fear

Book 2 in the Deadly Sight series
A fugitive hiding her psychic abilities fights her attraction to the one man she must avoid at all cost: the FBI agent assigned to bring her in.

Guilt drove Meadow Massaro away from her sisters. Their psychic abilities put them in the hideous minds of psychotic killers; hers lets her see visions from the innocent she has vowed to protect. She left to find her own path and use her abilities on her own terms, successfully hiding from authorities until the dramatic rescue of a child lands her in the FBI’s sights. The agent sent to find her is top-grade eye candy, and for the first time, Meadow is hiding her abilities from a man she’s attracted to—not because of the inevitable freak-out when he discovers what she can do, but because he already knows about her gift and wants to exploit it.
Special Agent Parker Glinn has been on leave for the last two years after the murder of his wife left him emotionally shattered. Transferred to Intelligence, his assignment—find a psychic vigilante roaming the streets of San Francisco—is supposed to be a gentle re-entry to field work. But when a killer from his past follows him across the country, Parker is at risk of drowning in the mire that nearly claimed his sanity—and his life—two years earlier.

Chapter One

Meadow Massaro shot upright in bed. A gasp froze in her throat as she dragged air into her starved lungs. The first breath after a vision was always like breaching the surface of an ocean, on the verge of a blackout.

Violence. Pain. Terror. Agony.

As quickly as it came, the vision was gone, but she’d seen enough to know where the attack was happening. She’d seen the assailant vividly, as though standing right behind the victim. Heard the woman’s cry in her own head. Petite hands held up to ward off the blows. Blood spray from her mouth that spattered on her sleeve.

In the narrow alley beside the coffee shop. Oh my God, I know this woman.

Too far to run. She needed the bike. Dammit.

The victim’s attacker was a hulking figure, shadowed, but with malice seeping out of him like ripples of heat. Dark hair, brown eyes, a scowl that could make the devil shudder.

He’d asked her out on a date; she’d said no.

Already in sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a sports bra, Meadow threw her legs over the side of her bed and shoved her feet into waiting running shoes. She pulled the Velcro tabs tight and secured them in under three seconds. Snatched the sweatshirt thrown over the back of her chair and pulled it over her head as she ran.

A woman was about to be raped or killed—a woman I know. Every second counted. She’d stopped using shoelaces months ago, after the first failure.

Don’t think about that now.

She sprinted into her tiny living room, yanking open the credenza drawer where she’d stashed her gun. Shoved it in her hoodie’s right pocket. The disposable mobile phone came next, yanked off its charger cable and shoved into the left. The phone was a weapon as necessary as the gun, and this was the first and last time it would ever need to be used.

She turned back and ran for the garage access. Her knees protested as her feet hit the stairs, and a familiar wave of dizziness sent the world spinning sideways. It would pass in a second. The dizziness always came after a late-night awakening when she’d been in REM sleep. But in REM sleep, her visions were always clearest.

She arrived at the garage, hit the door opener on the wall. The inner door to the South of Market row house, with its special doorknob that was always locked on this side, slammed shut behind her.

The key was already in the ignition of her Kawasaki Ninja. She turned the bike on and dragged on her helmet. Left the visor up; she needed the air. The dizziness was mostly gone, but San Francisco’s clean ocean breeze would chase the last of it away.

She didn’t know how long her body could keep up this punishment. It had been worse when she was entirely on foot, but now she only ran when the crime was close.

She roared out of the narrow garage and hit the remote button that was velcroed onto the tank, but didn’t look back to make sure the door was closing. It didn’t matter. Her landlord had given her exclusive use of the garage and the only item kept inside was the bike.

Besides, she’d be back in minutes, unless she was arrested.

Or worse.

Visions still blinked in, like scenes illuminated by a lightning strike. The victim was fighting back, surprising the attacker but no match for his brawn. Still, it was the delay Meadow needed to get there in time. Just another couple of seconds...

She roared through the dark streets, blasting through stop signs. 14th, Dolores, Market, Buchannon, Herman, Waller. The bike wobbled; she nearly dumped. She’d had the Ninja a mere six months, and this was only her second attempt at a rescue on it. Sweat flash froze on her spine. She was no help to the victim if she killed herself first.

The alley was one block up, two blocks right.

Another flash hit her. The assailant was amazed by the vigor with which his panicked victim resisted. He ended his clumsy grappling with a punch to the face. The vision in Meadow’s mind’s eye slowed like dramatic movie effects. She heard the crack of fist against cheek in her own head. Pain as her own teeth clacked together. Her cheek went numb.

This is a strong connection.

She slowed the bike and turned in to the alley, letting it coast as she reached into her right pocket. Her headlamp filled the alley with light. The attacker whirled around, a tattered piece of clothing clutched in his meaty fist.

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