LITMIR.BIZ

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idea how wacko she sounded? “Look, I’m sure this is interesting to a lot of people. I just happen to put my faith in things that are more objective. Like the size of bullets, the patterns of fingerprints and the results of DNA testing.”

      “Okay. Fine. Forget it. Clearly you haven’t evolved to this level yet.”

      Evolved. Right. That was one way of putting it. Still, nutty as he thought this numerology stuff was, he didn’t want to insult her.

      He inhaled deeply. “Look, I realize lots of people check their horoscopes every day. I’m just not one of them. And I don’t base my police work on the stars—or numbers, either.”

      “Maybe so far you haven’t. But later, if it turns out you do need my help, don’t let pride stand in the way of asking for it.”

      He almost laughed. Fat chance of that happening.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      BECAUSE BRIDGET’S DAYS were busy with the dogs, she saw most of her numerology clients during the evening. This worked well for her clients, too, who juggled their timetables around the demands of work and family life.

      Bridget ate a tofu stir-fry for dinner, then went to her office and spent an hour charting. At ten minutes to eight, she put water on to boil. She had tea steeping in an antique pot and two cups at the ready in her office when the doorbell rang.

      Annabel Lang was a beautiful woman in her late thirties. Today she wore a trendy sweat suit, the kind that only looked good if you were a size six or smaller.

      “Hi, Annabel. Come in.”

      Annabel managed only a brief, tense smile. She’d sounded upset on the phone and Bridget led her to the office, concerned that something serious must be wrong.

      “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Would you like tea?”

      “Yes, thank you.”

      Annabel had been coming to Bridget for numerological readings ever since she’d heard Bridget speak at a workshop on goal-setting two years ago. Like many of her clients, Annabel was a planner. Someone who thought about her future and wanted as much information as she could get in order to make the best decisions for herself and her family.

      She was also struggling with a marriage that was far from ideal. With the help of numerology she was trying to see the bigger patterns in her life as a way to guide her through these rough patches.

      “Last night you said you wanted to talk about your daughter.”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay.” Bridget pulled out the cover sheet of the report she’d prepared. “Let’s start with Tara’s life path number. I see your daughter as having an overabundance of nine energy in her life. This would make her somewhat naive for her age, highly emotional and unrealistic.”

      Annabel nodded vehemently. “So true. Can you tell me what might be on her mind right now?”

      “I see her feeling isolated and not necessarily comfortable sharing her feelings.”

      Annabel shielded her eyes for a moment, then sighed. “That’s an understatement. In the past year she’s become so withdrawn. It’s all I can do to get her to the dinner table for a meal. As soon as she’s finished eating, she scurries back to her room.”

      “Yet what she longs for most right now is probably love.”

      Tears shimmered in Annabel’s eyes. “I have plenty of that for her. But she doesn’t let me in.”

      “It’s partly her age, but partly who she is. Tara’s looking for love, Annabel, but I don’t think it’s from her parents. I don’t even think it’s from her peers.”

      As Bridget read through the rest of her analysis, Annabel seemed to become increasingly restless. Finally Bridget had to stop. “Is something wrong?”

      “No. It’s just that I’m so worried about my daughter right now. And what you’re saying…I’m afraid it isn’t very reassuring.”

      “Is there something specific you’d like to talk about?”

      “Yes. But I can’t. I promised my husband.” She stopped to gather her composure. “Bridget, are you free later this week? I may need to talk to you again.”

      “Of course.” Much as she wanted to help right now, Bridget didn’t press for more information. This was Annabel’s life, Annabel’s child. When the time was right, Annabel would let her know what was going on. Perhaps Tara was involved with a boy her parents considered inappropriate. Given her profile, maybe someone older. Certainly the signs pointed in that direction.

      ACCORDING TO Jessica’s schedule, Mandy went to bed at eight o’clock. Tonight, however, Mandy seemed to have other ideas.

      Nick had followed Jessica’s instructions to the letter, feeding Mandy dinner, giving her a bath, putting on her sleepers, then finally offering a bedtime bottle before laying her into the crib in the spare room.

      Mandy had slept in that crib before she and Jessica had moved out.

      But tonight, every time he tried to settle her there, she started to cry. Was she missing her mother and her familiar bedroom? Nick had no idea. As ten o’clock approached and Mandy’s blue eyes remained wide open and alert, he started to feel desperate.

      Whenever he picked her up, she’d start to relax. Her breathing would slow and her eyes would droop. But put her down in the crib? No way.

      “Daddy can’t hold you all night long, honey. Daddy needs to go to work tomorrow.”

      Mandy just stared at him.

      Nick paced for another half hour. Finally, when he was certain Mandy was sound asleep, he eased her into her bed. Yes! She was still sleeping. He covered her with the flannel blankets, then tiptoed for the door…

      Before he’d made it to the hall, Mandy was crying again. He pressed his head to the door frame and froze in place. Maybe if he gave her a few minutes…

      But she only cried harder and, after five minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

      “Okay, baby, it’s okay.” He rescued her from the crib and held her to his chest. Immediately she calmed.

      It was almost eleven now and he was more tired than usual for some reason. He needed to hit the sack. Maybe one of his brothers could help. They’d both been through this before.

      Nick grabbed the phone and hit Gavin’s speed dial number. His brother sounded as if he’d been sleeping.

      “Sorry to call so late, but I’m desperate.” He explained the situation. “Do you think she’s sick or something?”

      “If she’s eating okay and it doesn’t feel like she’s running a fever, probably not.” Gavin yawned audibly, then added, “Most babies like routine. It’s probably going to take Mandy a while to get used to sleeping at your place again. If I was you, I’d expect a few restless nights.”

      “That’s it? That’s the best you can offer me?”

      “Just make her feel safe, bro. Comfort her. Hold her close and sing to her.”

      “I’ve been doing that, man.” And it wasn’t working. He’d thought his brother would be more helpful than that.

      Around midnight, Mandy started fussing, even when he was holding her, even when he tried singing one of the songs on her lullaby CD.

      Nothing he said, or did, seemed to soothe her. He tried warming another bottle. She wanted nothing to do with it. Her fussing turned into sobbing.

      Finally, when it was almost one in the morning, Nick decided to try the one thing that hadn’t let him down so far. He bundled his daughter into her snowsuit, strapped her into the stroller, swaddled a bunch of blankets around her, then wheeled her outside.

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