Never Tempt Danger

Her pulse had not stopped racing since he put the box down. Jimmy put the velvet box on the white china plate set in front of her. She stared, her green eyes transfixed on the little square, dark against the gleaming white of the plate and linen tablecloth, and the shimmering ivory candles. She picked up the champagne flute intending to take a sip just to relieve her dry mouth and ended up draining the glass.
“Sweetheart.”
Maureen looked away from the blue velvet and into deep chocolate eyes. “Huh?”
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Open it.” Even to her own mind, she sounded dimwitted. Of course, she was supposed to open it. She rubbed damp palms over her black slacks.
“Let me help you.”
Jimmy reached across the table for two and eased open the clamshell box. Her heart fluttered as he revealed a beautiful princess cut solitaire. He lifted the ring out of the velvet and held out his other hand for her. She swallowed hard and wiped her nervous, clammy palms on the tablecloth before she brought her left hand above the table. What would she say?
“Will you marry me?” Jimmy asked as he clasped her hand.
The contact of his fingers wrapping around hers sent a mishmash of images slamming into her. A speeding car, a bright light, and an explosion flashed in her mind.
“Maureen, honey?”
She shook the image aside, drew her attention back to Jimmy, and looked into her lover’s eyes. She smiled and opened her mouth to answer his question. The squeal of tires and an engine gunning had her holding off. Then she knew. Jimmy! She started to tug her hand back, wanting to reach for her purse when she heard the crack, saw the bright orange flash of a shot out of the corner of her eye, and Jimmy’s head exploded.
His lifeless hand that had grasped hers dropped to the table on the white linen that was no longer white, but splattered with dots and splotches of red blood and brain matter. People ran screaming from the restaurant, knocking chairs and tables over in their wake. Maureen sat stunned into silence unable to breathe, to think, only to stare at Jimmy’s hand holding hers.
The sounds of sirens approaching galvanized her. Taking a deep breath, she slid her hand from Jimmy’s cold fingers, and got to her feet. She picked up her purse from the back of the chair, slung it over her shoulder, and turned away, walking down the sidewalk, into an alley and then gone.
She found the nearest gas station and used one of the restrooms to change and clean up as best she could. Afterwards, she went inside the service station and bought a T-shirt to wear that expounded the virtues of somebody named Johnson.
* * * *
Hundreds of miles, and hours later, Maureen stepped into a shower and broke down. Forearm against the porcelain, she rested her head and let the stinging needles of the hot spray bring her back from a numbing cold. As the water washed her body, she let the tears wash away the pain.
If she had let the images play, would Jimmy still be alive? Could she have saved him? She pounded her fists against the unforgiving wall, sobbing. “Why?”
Why did she not know sooner that something was wrong? Why have a gift if it didn’t work in your favor?
Because it was a sucky gift! The kind of gift she wanted to ¬return or re-gift. She slumped against the cool, wet tiles, covering her face with sore hands. She spent years hiding from visions. Years! Ever since she made the mistake of sharing her ability, gift, and curse with one man, she never made that blunder again.
“Ugh.” She did not have time for self-recrimination. She had to get out of there and some place safe.
Turning the knob, Maureen killed the water, wrung her wet hair and stepped out of the shower. With a towel wrapped around her, she padded barefoot into her bedroom, turned on the television for white noise and dropped to the bed, her hands hanging between her knees.
“What do I do now?”
When her mind came up blank for an answer, she tugged the covers back and crawled under the paisley print comforter. Rolling onto her side, she pulled her knees up to her chest, enfolded them in her arms, and sought the kind of peace that only came in sleep.
* * * *
A deep, loud voice penetrated her slumber when he announced, “A government contractor is dead and his business is in flames.” Maureen sat bolt upright, shoved her hair out of her face and gaped at the television.
“The owner of NanoRobotics, a government contracting company, was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting yesterday evening. Firefighters received phone calls just after eleven last night that the building that housed NanoRobotics headquarters was ablaze.”
Maureen stared wide-eyed at the television screen and the footage of the old Georgetown building burning up, firefighters aiming hoses at the red and orange flames that licked at the brick.
Scrubbing her disbelieving eyes with her hands, she shoved the covers back and hopped out of bed, the towel trailing to the floor in her wake. From the closet, she pulled out a suitcase and a handful of clothes. She flipped the case onto the bed, hurriedly unzipped it and flung the clothes inside. She went to the ¬dressers, grabbed some clothes from each, and stuffed them into the black bag, then dressed.
After finishing in the bathroom, she tossed her toiletries into the suitcase and zipped it shut. Giving the room a last look, Maureen grabbed her cell phone, dragged the bag into the kitchen, and made sure there was nothing that would spoil in the refrigerator. That done, she took a deep breath, muttered goodbye to her house, and left. It was time to get lost.
Not soon enough. She heard a car crunch over the gravel of her drive and brake hard to a stop. Heart pounding, she hurried to the corner of the house and with her 9-millimeter drawn, peered around the corner. Two men dressed in black, and armed, exited the non-descript dark-colored sedan and rushed up her front porch. When no one answered their hard knocks, they let themselves in.
As soon as she saw the men go inside, she bolted across the yard with her suitcase trailing behind and stopped next to their vehicle. Kneeling down beside the car, she quickly unscrewed a cap on a tire valve and pressed the little doohickey. Air hissed out. Waiting for the tire to go flat, she heard the crash of lamps and furniture.
“Hurry u—up.”
When the rim met the ground with only a thin layer of rubber between it and the dirt, she figured it was now or never. The flat would not stop them completely, but it would at least slow them down. Now she had to get to her own car.
Weaving her way between trees, trying to be unseen, she made it to the garage. She entered through the unlocked side door and deposited her suitcase in the trunk. Rather than using the remote control, Maureen opted for releasing the hook on the garage door and manually sliding it open. The less noise she made the better. With one hand on the metal plate of the garage and the other on her weapon, she slowly lifted the wooden door. Certain no one had heard her, she ran for her car and slid inside, and made sure her window was open so she could shoot if need be.
“Here goes.” She turned the ignition and the engine roared. Cringing, she shoved the car into reverse, slammed her foot on the gas pedal, and gunned the car backwards, jerking her head back as she went. When the car had done a J-turn, she hit the brakes and the headlights just in time to see the two thugs racing out of the house. Frantic, she thrust the car into drive and pushed on the gas and the car lurched forward and then took off, almost hitting one of the guys who jumped out of the car’s path in the nick of time.
The man still standing took a shot and hit her bumper. Tugging the wheel to her left, Maureen turned the vehicle, fired back at the two idiots, heard the satisfying ping as the bullet struck metal, then gunned the car down the street. From her rearview mirror, she saw the two get into the car to chase after her and then stop when sparks flew as their rim made contact with concrete.
Safe for now, Maureen blew out a breath and tucked her weapon between her legs on the driver’s seat. Her cell phone rang for the umpteenth time. Without looking, she knew who it was and chose to ignore it anyway.