The Departed

laugh. To Taylor’s ears, it sounded just a little too hearty, a little too practiced, but then again, he’d always been the sort to look for things like that.
    “Now, you can’t call me Mr. Mayor, Taylor. We go too far back. There’s a rule for that sort of thing, I’m sure.” He grinned at Taylor and then shifted his attention to Dez, giving her a wide, easygoing smile. “Hello, Ms. Lincoln. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    Dez lifted a brow. “It sounds like my reputation has preceded me.”
    “It’s a small town.” Joshua shrugged. He stepped aside and gestured for them to come in. “After everything you’ve done, how could anybody here not know your name? Come in, come in…”
    Keeping an eye on Dez, Taylor followed her into the house, watching her. If there was anything here, she’d probably feel it fast, considering how everything here seemed to be affecting her so acutely.
    And it was easier—the coward’s way, he knew, to focus on her, to think about her. Because she could keep his mind occupied. As long as he thought about her, he didn’t have to think about anything else. Right now, he couldn’t think about anything else.
    * * *
     
    IT was all but black.
    Dez had to slam her shields up the second she stepped foot over the threshold; otherwise, she just might have collapsed. Even through her shields, she could feel the ominous, heavy weight of it pressing down on her. Okay…maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t generally a bloodhound, wasn’t one of the empaths. Yeah, they’d be more equipped to handle this, but what if she’d walked into this blind and wide open?
    She didn’t know, but it might have sent her to her knees.
    There was something so fucking wrong in this place.
    Jackpot . She followed along behind the mayor as he led them into a spacious living room and gestured toward a nice little recessed area with chairs gathered around a fireplace. It was flickering brightly, although there wasn’t a sound coming from it and she couldn’t smell any smoke. Electric, she decided, studying the flames. They looked almost real, but not quite. Yep, she was going to analyze the décor while her brain processed everything around her. One small chunk at a time—much less likely to go insane that way.
    As Taylor came to a stop beside her, he rested a hand—possessive, protective, and reassuring all at once—at the small of her back. “I wouldn’t mind some coffee,” he said. “And Dez is a caffeine junkie.”
    She glanced up at him and then at Joshua, realized he was watching them expectantly. He’d said something—shit. And she’d been completely out of it. So completely out of it.
    Dredging up a smile, she met Joshua’s gaze. “Guilty. If you make it as strong as they do at the hospital, I’ll need cream and sugar, though.”
    “Oh, I think I can do a sight better.” He smiled and gestured to the couch. “Sit, please. I wasn’t expecting to have any company. My wife is out with a few of her girlfriends, and my son…” He sighed and the practiced, professional smile faded, replaced by something real, something worried. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, Brendan’s out with his friends. Kid’s having a rough time of it lately. Very rough.”
    Once they were alone, Dez moved farther into the room and gingerly settled on the edge of the couch, braced and ready to leap off in case anything bombarded her. She felt silly, but man, this place felt like a psychic bomb, ready to drop squarely on her head.
    What she wouldn’t give to have better control over this sort of thing. She wasn’t used to this—she talked to ghosts, damn it. She wasn’t supposed to have all these outside stimuli coming at her. It was driving her nuts.
    “You okay?” Taylor asked, his voice low and soft.
    “Yeah.” She glanced up at him. “It’s just…off. Everything in here is off.” She glanced in the direction Joshua Moore had taken and murmured, “The man doesn’t have a lick of psychic talent, though. Or it would drive him nuts just being in here. He’d be a mental case.”
    “That bad?”
    “Worse.” She shivered, wondering just how many years of hatred, of wrong were stored up in here. It wasn’t a recent thing, though. Something recent—a few months, probably even a year or two—wouldn’t hit her like this. She could connect to emotions, but for it to hit her in such a way, the problems here must have pretty much infiltrated the very foundation of