a Touch of Revenge (Romantic Mystery - book 6): The Everly Gray Adventures by L.j. Charles

images bombarded me. I jerked my hand back. Well, damn. It had been so long since I touched someone with the intent to sneak a look at their personal space, I’d forgotten to prep my mind. “Sorry. I…”
    Pierce, bless his super-spy training, had jotted something on a napkin and handed it to Jon, covering my faux pas. “Our number—”
    “Did you put my name on it?” My brain had snapped back into gear. “Everly Gray. Cait calls me El.”
    Jon glanced at the napkin, slipped a pen from his apron pocket, and added my name. “Got it. I’ll pass it along to Cait when her…when she gets off shift.” He pointed to our plates. “Enjoy. Flag me down if you need anything else.”
    Pierce nodded to Jon, then raised his pint of brown ale to me. “Welcome back, Everly.”
    “Huh?” Obviously I’d mastered eloquence one-oh-one. Wait. Pierce had called me Everly. He only did that when he was really serious. I turned my hand over and stared at my fingertips. Had Pierce been waiting for me to integrate my new Annie-and-Whitney-type skills with my intuitive gifts?
    Slowly I met his gaze. “Shutting down a major part of myself wasn’t the answer, was it?” I lifted my glass, clinked the rim against his, and drank. The cider was cold, the taste crisp and heady.
    Pierce shrugged. “You can’t put a rush on—”
    “Healing. I know that. Should have known that. No wonder Aukele has been giving me more space than usual.”
    Pierce splashed malt vinegar on his fish and chips, then handed the bottle to me. “What did you see?”
    “Nothing about Cait, at least not that I could decipher. It was more a tangle of emotions about Jon’s parents and control. He probably still lives at home, so it sort of made sense.” I forked a bite of mushy peas. “What I really need to do is touch Cait.”
    Pierce was chewing his first bite of fish. I’d probably never know if his groan was a comment on the exquisite taste of our supper, or on my newly awakened resolve to start touching stuff again.
    We dedicated the rest of our meal to savoring the flavors of the seriously good chippies, and we were both stuffed by the time we left The Moon and Star.
    The air had chilled enough that my muscles did one of those weird, uncontrolled shivers. “I hate when that happens.”
    Pierce raised an eyebrow.
    “The gooseflesh kind of shiver, like someone’s walking over your grave. I hope it wasn’t an omen.”
    We were halfway down the block when the steady thuddity, thud, thud of running footsteps came up behind us.
    “El, wait. I need to talk to you.” The frantic edge in Cait’s voice rooted me to the spot.
    “Cait? We just left a message for you with Jon.”
    Her gaze zeroed in on Pierce, and she stepped back.
    I slipped my hand into his. “This is my fiancé, Tynan Pierce. Honey, this is the woman who introduced me to The Moon and Star chippies. Cait—”
    “Connor. Nice to meet you.”

 
    ELEVEN
     
    CAIT’S GAZE HADN’T HELD STEADY on either Pierce or me for more than a second, but darted around the area, taking in everyone who wandered by. She hitched her shoulders, clutched my arm in a death grip, and then stepped back onto a narrow path that ran off the main road. “This way. She can’t see me talking to you.”
    Panic seized my insides and held on. Cait Connor. Fion Connor. It couldn’t be.
    Pierce freed his hand from mine, unfastened the snap on his Taser pouch, and moved to block Cait and me from the view of anyone passing by.
    A rush of adrenaline hit me. I stuck my hand in my purse, found my blade, and palmed it. “Who can’t see us talking, Cait?” My voice was clear, steady—in complete contrast to the muddle of emotion and thoughts bombarding my mind.
    “My mother. I saw you today. At the estate.” She glanced behind her, then backed deeper into the deserted side road and scooted into a doorway. “Come on. She left the pub a few minutes ago, but she could be anywhere around here. She can’t see us