A Deadly Web by Kay Hooper Page B

her eyes and very carefully lowered her walls. But as careful as she was, she was immediately slammed by the thoughts of those all around her, thoughts and fragments of thoughts she had to pick her way around and through.
    They so need a new cook in this place, this muffin sucks.
    . . . really don’t know why I should listen to his mother . . .
    . . . and if I’m really convincing, he’s probably good for another thousand at least . . .
    . . . thinks she can take my kids . . .
    . . . should have spoken up at the meeting, dammit, they’ll never notice me at this rate . . .
    I can trade my car in for something cheaper, and that’ll help.
    . . . poor little thing . . .
    Christ, you’ve never heard of tipping the waitstaff?
    . . . how anyone could be so cruel to something so helpless . . .
    Why do they keep sending me so damned many catalogs?
    . . . why he thinks I have to go to church . . . sitting in church doesn’t make me a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes me a car, and it doesn’t make him one either.
    First thing tomorrow I’ll just ask for the raise, they can only say no, right?
    . . . something back on my taxes this year, so . . .
    I really should just kill the bitch.
    —
    “Wow,” Astrid said softly, her eyes still closed.
    Duran remained at the window, but his head turned toward her.
    “Now I know why you want her so badly.”
    “Are you in?” he asked.
    “Almost. Give me a sec.”
    —
    . . . shouldn’t blame me . . .
    . . . and one more bet won’t break the bank . . .
    . . . judge’ll give me custody, I’m sure . . .
    Tasha?
    She went very still and focused on that voice, not at all surprised that it “sounded” to her like his speaking voice, because that was usual, she had discovered. She methodically closed out the other voices, the other thoughts, until only that quiet question sat in her mind.
    Tasha?
    “Yes.” She spoke aloud because it was less confusing to her.
    So you can read me?
    “Yes.”
    Okay. Look deeper.
    Tasha hesitated, because she had looked beneath the level of surface thoughts only a few times in her life, and it had never been a pleasant experience.
    Look deeper. You have to know. Have to understand. You have to trust me.
    She drew a breath and braced herself, making what she knew would be a futile attempt to protect herself from what he had felt.
    Everything he had felt.
    That was something she hadn’t told him. That it wasn’t just thoughts she picked up from others.
    It was emotions too.
    There were jagged pictures, like pieces cut from a movie, a scene here, an action there. Calm moments. Desperate moments. Flashing past her, faster and faster, years of moments. Some in color, some in black and white. And with them came the pain and the loss, the anger and frustration, the brief triumphs and more lasting grief.
    There was violence in his past, and danger, and a black rage and sorrow so deep and overwhelming she knew he had not yet dealt with it consciously.
    So deep . . .
    She was too deep.
    It was dangerous to be so—
    Tasha.
    Something tugged at her.
    Something pulled her even deeper, deeper than emotion and into a raw, primal place that was dark and terrifying.
    You aren’t Brodie. What’re you doing in his mind?
    At the extreme edge of her awareness, she thought Brodie became aware that something was wrong, became alarmed, but then she was pulled deeper still, and she no longer heard or felt him at all.
    How are you doing this? It’s his mind, I’m still there—
    Are you? Are you really, Tasha?
    She opened her eyes with a start. And she was no longer sitting in a chair outside the coffee shop. Instead, she found herself in what looked like a maze, with hedges towering much taller than she was, their branches reaching inward above her head, blocking out the light.
    If there was light.
    She stood at a junction, with mossy paths leading ahead of her, to the right of her, and