"No, that was just one foot following the other. I'm here. Trying to help is the logical, natural thing to do. I'm not trying to change fate. I'm just doing what I have to do."

"You saw your own death, didn't you?"

"No."

He frowned at her. "You're lying to me."

"No, I'm not. I did not see my own death."

"Then what did you – "

"Ben, I don't want to talk about this. It won't do either of us any good. Just… stop feeling guilty for pressing me to help, all right?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"To me it is. Can we change the subject now?"

He nodded slowly. "All right. Tell me something. When you took my hand outside a little while ago, were you able to read me?"

"No."

"Then it wasn't because you were tired before."

"No, it wasn't. I can't read you. You have walls."

His gaze was intent. "What does that mean?"

Cassie hesitated. "I'm not so sure you want to talk about this."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because… it's been my experience that people have walls for a reason. To protect themselves. To keep other people out. To… reveal as little of themselves as possible."

"Are you saying these walls exist because I deliberately built them?"

"Deliberately – probably. Consciously, probably not. Ben, I'm not making some kind of an accusation. We all have defense mechanisms." She watched him with a slight frown, aware that she had touched a nerve and uncertain whether to continue. But something in his eyes made her go on. "Most of us learn early to hide things about ourselves, to disguise what others see, and only those closest to us ever realize it. It's human nature. But for some people, hiding or disguising what's there is impossible, for one reason or another. Maybe because the inner pain is too great, or maybe just because the personality is particularly sensitive and empathetic. It feels so much and so deeply that it has no defenses. So the mind, if it's strong enough, builds walls to protect itself."

Cassie shook her head. "Just like the defense mechanisms other people use, the walls usually pass unrecognized, even unnoticed except by those closest to you."

"Unless you happen to meet a psychic," Ben said.

"Psychics look beneath the surface. It's what we do."

"And beneath my surface is a wall."

"That bothers you."

"Shouldn't it?"

Slowly Cassie said, "It's there for a reason, Ben. It was put there for a reason. If and when it's no longer needed, it won't be there anymore."

Ben drew a breath. "I see."

Cassie realized she had not in any way reassured him, but she didn't know what else to say.

"I suppose I should be grateful. If not for my walls, you'd still be avoiding my eyes and doing your best not to touch me."

She nodded. "Probably. Your walls mean I don't have to work so hard to keep my own in place. From my point of view, it's a welcome respite. Nice to be able to talk to someone and not have to worry about listening with the wrong sense. So far, it's just you, Abby – and Max."

"You can't read Abby?"

"No."

"She wouldn't have struck me as the kind of person who'd need walls," he mused.

Cassie smiled. "Which only proves that hers work."

"I guess so." He hesitated, then said reluctantly, "I should probably go and let you get back to your sorting."

Old and solitary instincts prompted Cassie to agree hat he should leave, but newer urges got in the way. His eyes were attentive, and that restlessness was back in his voice, and she didn't have to read his mind to know that ic did not want to leave her just yet.

She wondered when it had gotten hard to breathe, and was vaguely surprised her voice sounded normal when she said, "If you don't have other plans, I fixed a huge pot of soup yesterday, far too much for Max and me. You could stay awhile, help us finish it."

In the momentary silence between them, they could hear the whine of the wind as it built outside, and a sudden quiet rattle against the windowpanes announced the arrival of sleet.

"It sounds like a perfect night for soup," Ben said. "What can I do to help?"

He moved very carefully, wary of the dog's keen ears even with the noise of the building storm. Caution told him to stay back, but he wanted to get closer, close enough to see inside.

So cozy in there. A nice fire in the fireplace. Lights and the appetizing aroma of good food making the kitchen warm and snug. Quiet voices that were comfortable with each other and yet aware, the edges of their words blurred with longing.

They were oblivious of his watching eyes.

He stood outside, his collar turned up and hat pulled low to protect his face from the stinging sleet. It was cold. His feet were cold. But he remained where he was for a long time, watching.

She was protected.

Not that it mattered.

"Why didn't you tell me before now?" Matt demanded.

Abby shrugged. "Because I didn't think you'd take it seriously."

"Until a killer started butchering women?"

She winced but nodded.

Matt shoved his plate back and made a rough sound. "You should have told me, dammit."

"So you could do what? A week ago you would have scoffed, told me I was foolish for letting some cockeyed prediction bother me. Since then, what would you have done? Told me to get security installed, get a dog, be careful – all of which I've done."

Matt glanced at the big red dog sprawled near Abby's side of the kitchen table and could hardly help but say, "I wouldn't have told you to get a dog. At least, not one so attached to you."

She smiled. "I like my males possessive. But don't worry. I've had a talk with Bryce. He won't try to get between us in bed again."

Matt wasn't at all sure that "having a talk" with a dog could possibly do much good, and once more turned a jaundiced eye toward the Irish setter. "Yeah, right. Bryce. What kind of name is that for a dog?"

"Blame his former owners, not me."

The beautiful dog lifted his head and looked at each of them briefly, tail thumping against the floor, then stretched out again with a gusty sigh.

Matt returned his gaze to Abby. "He'd damned well better protect you, is all I've got to say."

"I'm sure he'll do his best," she replied, rising to carry her plate to the sink.

Matt followed suit with his own. "You could move in with me. My place has better security – and I'd be there with you every night."

"Not until the divorce is final, Matt."

"What would a few weeks matter?"

"I told you. I want to wait and see how Gary reacts when the divorce is final."

"And what if he reacts violently? Honey, the town's like a powder keg, everybody's tense and jumpy. Gary may not need much to push him over the edge."

She managed a smile. "That's exactly why I don't intend to push him until I absolutely have to."

"And if I have to, I'll lock his ass up in my jail until he learns how to be reasonable."

"And the hell with due process?"

"You could file charges against him."

"No. No, I won't do that. Not unless he forces me to."

Matt put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Abby, I know you say Gary hit you just that once, the night you told him to get out, but I've always been sure you weren't telling me everything."

Her gaze was fixed on his loosened tie. "I told you the truth about that night."

"About that night, yes. But not the truth about it being the first time he hit you."

Despite her best efforts, Abby felt her eyes sting as they filled with tears. Shame crawled inside her. She hadn't wanted Matt to know what a weak creature she was.

"Honey…" He gently tipped her chin up so she'd look at him. "You don't have to tell me about it until you're ready. But I want you to know something. Nobody has to tell me what kind of guts it took for you to throw him out. And nobody has to tell me how scared you were when you did it."