“I told you I don’t look dangerous. Your husband didn’t pay any attention to a hunched-over little old lady, not too steady on her pins, moving slow with her cane next to her daughter and kiddos. Sweet little girl, all eager to help me, stayed real close in case I teetered. Who wouldn’t help a friendly little old lady out to buy her Polident to hold her chompers in? My mama used that stuff, you know. Still clacked when she talked. Yep, this was as easy as drilling a hole in a tooth.
“No, look straight ahead. You and I are going out the back. I have a little Kia parked out there, lifted it this afternoon from a parking lot behind the bowling alley. You and I have lots to talk about, like that pretty hair of yours.”
So many people, women with babies and toddlers, chatting, comparing heads of lettuce, or in a hurry, anxious to get home, none of them suspecting a thing. At least Blessed was focused on her. She had to keep it that way. She and Dillon had been right, Blessed hadn’t tried to make her lose herself, to make her brain go off into the ether; he had to use a weapon to control her. It was a huge relief. He was only a middle-aged man, albeit with her gun now, pointing her gun at her and determined to shoot her, but Dillon was close. He’d said ten minutes. He’d miss her sooner than that, because it had to take less than ten minutes to buy a box of Cheerios.
“Walk, nice and easy, girl. If you try to turn on me, if you even twitch, I will kill you, then I will blast a bunch of mothers and their little kiddies.”
“I’ll walk.” Sherlock walked slowly in front of Blessed and wondered exactly what he looked like walking behind her.
“You need to pay for that, ma’am.”
A young voice brought her up short. She realized she was still carrying the box of Cheerios.
Blessed’s gun pressed hard against her spine.
Sherlock gave the teenage clerk with his moon-round face and buzzed black hair a big smile. “Sorry,” she said, and handed him the box of Cheerios. “I met up with my aunt here and forgot I still had it.”
Blessed didn’t say a word until the clerk, who, after one long, suspicious look, took himself off to aisle nine to restock the Cheerios. “See that restroom sign back there? That’s where we’re going. Walk.”
“Why didn’t you hypnotize me—stymie me, as you call it?”
The gun pressed harder against her back. “None of your business. Shut up.”
“No more juice, Blessed? So now you’re like everyone else, aren’t you? How does it feel, Blessed, to be normal and vulnerable?”
She felt him jerk behind her. He said, low, against her hair, “It feels bad.”
He sounded shaken; she supposed. In theory, she understood. His gift had been part of him all his life, and now he felt like a man with one leg. Did he even know how to operate in a world where he couldn’t simply tell anyone to do what he wished and see it done? “Where are you getting your money, Blessed?”
He hissed like a snake in her ear, “Ain’t none of your business,” he said again. “I can see your brain squirreling around, trying to figure out how to take me, but there’s nothing you can do. Don’t forget, I can shoot you right here, mow down a good dozen folk. That what you want?”
“No, I don’t want that. Why do you want to kill me, Blessed?”
“My ma didn’t like you, said you had no respect. Now shut your trap and keep walking.”
“I can’t believe Shepherd said that. Why, I told her how beautiful her house was, and I meant it. So why?”
She heard his scratchy old breath, then he said, “Ma was smart. She said you had to be killed first. She said once you were gone, Savich would freak out and I’d be able to get him easier.”
She thought she’d choke on her fear. Shepherd was right, Dillon would freak. But she was also wrong. Dillon would hunt Blessed down like a rabid dog. She felt him turning slightly, one way and then the other. He was looking at the people around them. He laughed, a raw, low sound that was hardly a laugh, really. “I can’t wait to kill that man of yours. Mano a mano, hand to hand, that’s how it will be, but on my terms. It won’t be nice and quick like that bum.”
What bum?
Blessed said, “Autumn’s my niece. When she gets older, I’ll make her understand that.”
“You remember Ethan Merriweather, the Titusville sheriff? He and Joanna married. The three of them are a family now. I believe they’re expecting another child. You need to forget about Autumn, or I promise, you’ll end up dead this time.”