Absolutely, Positively

he could. Slowly, carefully, he allowed himself to consider the flecks of blue enamel in all their tiny, varied aspects.

    He tried to assign only a limited portion of his concentration to the task. He did not want to lose control.Let the information seep in, he cautioned himself. Just a little bit at a time. Think about it. Look for the inconsistencies .

    Harry took a cautious step out onto the glass bridge.

    The wind off the sea sharpened suddenly, whipping at his clothing, threatening to topple him into the abyss.

    He fought to keep his balance. If he lost control, he would fall into the deepest, coldest canyon at the bottom of the darkest part of the sea.

    “Harry?” Molly's voice was soft, gentle, questioning. Concerned.

    The glass shuddered beneath his feet. He lifted his fascinated gaze from the endless darkness beneath him and looked toward the opposite side of the chasm.

    Molly waited there. She held out her arms.

    He regained his balance and started toward her. Each step was steadier, more certain.

    He was wide open to sensation and awareness. The world around him was a thousand times more vivid than it had been a moment ago. The overcast sky was no longer a uniform gray. Instead it was a hundred variegated shades of light and shadow. Molly's smile was brighter than any sun, and her eyes were green jewels.

    The paint beneath his fingers screamed at him.

    Harry sucked in his breath.

    “Take it easy, Harry. I'm here.”

    He lurched the last few steps across the glass bridge. Reached for Molly with desperate hands. She came into his arms, warm and comforting and alive. He was not alone out here in the darkness.

    Harry closed his eyes and held Molly with all the strength that was in him.

    The world steadied swiftly, returning to its natural shades and intensities. The force of the sea wind lessened. The bridge and the abyss beneath it vanished.

    Harry opened his eyes. Molly peered anxiously up at him from within the circle of his arms.

    “Are you okay?” she asked gently.

    “Yes.” He focused on her concerned expression as he fought for breath. “Yes, I'm okay.”

    “You look terrible.”

    “I'm all right.”

    “You were burning up a minute ago.” She put a hand on his forehead. “You feel a little cooler now. I wonder if men have hot flashes.”

    Harry gave a choked groan, caught between old fear and fresh laughter. His mixed emotions warned him that he was not yet back in full control.

    She studied him closely. “What did you see there on the fender?”

    “I told you, blue paint.” Harry crouched beside the front wheel. “But not from this car.”

    “What?” Molly's mouth fell open. She hunkered down beside him. “Blue paint from another car?”

    “I think so.” He looked at her. “Blue on blue. The differences in the two colors is so slight that the investigating officers would never have noticed it. But there is a difference.”

    “So there was another car involved.”

    “Yes.” Harry rose to his feet. “What's really interesting is that it was probably from the same blue Ford that tried to force us off the road. Because this is not the same car that we encountered outside of Icy Crest.”

    “Oh, my God. Two blue Fords.”

    “I told you, this guy is very good at setting up the scenery for his little plays. He's had plenty of experience in that department.”

    “This isn't just one of your logical insights, is it?” Deep curiosity burned in Molly's eyes. “You can actuallyfeel that there's something wrong with that streak of blue paint on the fender, can't you?”

    “I cansee the small differences in it. I've trained myself to observe tiny details. It's one of the reasons I'm good at what I do.”

    “Don't play games with me,” Molly said quietly. “Or yourself. You knew something was wrong with this car the instant you took a close look at it. Why not admit it?”

    Under normal circumstances, he would have reacted to her insistent prodding with cool sarcasm or a show of irritation. But even though he was feeling more or less back in control, he was still raw around the edges.

    The result was that Molly's questioning ignited the dark fear in him. He fought the dread with the only weapon he had, a firestorm of rage.

    “Damn it, what the hell do you want me to say?” The anger, fed by the fear, beat in his veins. “That I really do think I've got some kind of sixth sense? I might as well announce to the world that I'm crazy.”

    “You