Adam looked sharply at her. In addition to the bruises, she had dark marks under her eyes. Time to wind this thing up. “Thank you, Rune, for that miraculous recovery of memory.”

He must have sounded cynical, for Rune snapped, “Adam, she recalled one scrap of her life, nothing more. To do more, she has to know me, so I told her a little bit of my life. Surely even you must have been curious how I changed from a washed-up psychiatrist to a fully operational psychic.”

Adam shrugged. “We’ve all got our secrets.”

“In other words,” Rune said to Elle, “he has no intention of sharing his.”

Elle nodded wisely, as if she saw more than he would like. “He’s afraid if he touches a single thread of the yarn, it’ll all unravel, and he’ll be naked.”

“That’s enough.” Adam didn’t frown. He knew how to hide the pain.

Tamalyn came out on the porch bearing a grocery bag and the newspaper. She plopped the bag at Adam’s feet and offered Elle the newspaper. “You forgot this. Do you want it?”

“Yes, thank you.” Elle took it, unfolded it and looked at the front page. “This is not good,” she murmured.

Adam saw the headline and the photo of Big John Hammer and his perfectly imperfect wife. Rage and disgust swelled, blocking his airways, holding him immobile for an interminable moment. When he had gained control, he said, “He won’t be in the race much longer.”

“Do you have a premonition, Adam?” Rune’s tone was gently mocking, but beneath that Adam heard a solid curiosity.

“No.” He’d said too much. How unlike him. Elle’s appearance in his life had done more than change his circumstances: emotions threatened his calm, memories swamped his mind, and the old failures taunted him. He recognized a corner when he’d been backed into one. He was the last man who should be caring for her, and yet he could protect her. He could protect her.

Angelica followed Tamalyn, and as she came through the door, she tripped. She glanced back and frowned, then placed a clothing bag against Elle’s chair. In a low voice, she said, “I added some essentials.”

Elle looked inside and wasn’t surprised to see the neatly folded pairs of panties and two tan bralettes. “Thank you.”

Angelica offered a tube of ointment. “For your bruising—Arnica is an unproven but effective topical remedy. Don’t take it internally.” Her fingers hovered over the bump on Elle’s forehead. Retracting her hand, she smiled in that cool, superior way. “I’m sure you know how to read a warning label.”

“I do remember how to do that,” Elle said. “I’ll see you soon.”

Angelica nodded. “Yes. Gothic is a small town. Tamalyn...” She turned.

Tamalyn had skittered back into the store.