Sarah needed his certainty. She didn’t want to die. There were things she hadn’t done yet, places she hadn’t seen, experiences that eluded her. She was not ready to leave life, at least not willingly. But she had no hope of her own left, no certainty that her path could be chosen by her.

All she saw was darkness.

If he was right—if there was even a small chance he was right—then Sarah needed his help to attempt to change her destiny. She needed his certainty to keep her going, his hope to replace the hope she had lost.

It was thoughts such as these that kept Sarah awake long into the night, but when she heard Margo’s buoyant voice in the other room, thoughts of her own dim future were cast aside.

Margo was home. In Richmond.

The last place on earth she needed to be today.

When Sarah came out of the bedroom to greet the other two, her first glance and tentative smile at Tucker met a somewhat guarded response. She knew why, of course. Even a brief glimpse into someone else’s soul left that soul feeling disturbingly naked.

Psychic eyes aren’t so fascinating when they’re aimed at your soul, are they, Tucker?

It hurt, though.

“Good morning,” she said, impartially to both but shifting her gaze immediately to Margo. “You didn’t have to come running back here, Margo. You shouldn’t have.”

“I was worried about you, kid. I didn’t want you to be alone.” Margo grinned suddenly, a pleased look that belied the anxiety in her expressive eyes. “Didn’t know about Tucker, obviously, or I wouldn’t have barreled back here to be a sixth wheel.”

“Third,” Sarah corrected automatically. She looked at Tucker, caught the flicker of a laugh in his green eyes, and they shared a brief moment of silent amusement.

“Oh, right, third.” As always, Margo accepted the correction amiably. “Breakfast, Sarah?”

“Just coffee.” The pot was almost empty, and Sarah used that as an excuse to make fresh. Margo made the worst coffee in creation, and repeated instructions had done nothing to change that.

“You should eat,” Margo protested. “Look, at least some toast, and maybe the bacon Tucker didn’t finish—”

“All right, toast.” Her head was pounding, and Sarah really didn’t feel like arguing. Conscious of Tucker’s silent scrutiny as she moved past him on the other side of the breakfast bar, she tried not to think about him, something that required a disturbing amount of effort. Instead, she tried to think of a way to get Margo to leave as soon as possible. She didn’t want to frighten her friend, but even less did she want to lose her. For good.

Unbidden, the image that had haunted her for weeks rose starkly in her mind, all too clear and without ambiguity. Tomorrow’s newspaper, with a headline that turned Sarah’s blood to ice…

“Are you all right?” Tucker asked quietly.

Sarah looked blankly at him for a moment before she realized she had been standing immobile with one hand on the breadbox for just that instant too long. “I’m fine.” She wondered idly what her expression looked like to make him look so doubtful. “Really.”

She busied herself making toast, while Margo leaned back against the counter sipping her coffee and Tucker sat at the bar drinking his, and both watched her. She had no idea what they had discussed before she had gotten up, no idea whether either had confided in the other.

Some psychic I am! I can’t even get this cursed thing to work for me when I need it to!

Before she could think of something casual to say, the silence was broken by the distant sound of a bell ringing below in the shop.

“I forgot to turn the bell on up here,” Sarah said. “It’s past opening time. I’ll—”

“No, I’ll go down and see who it is.” Margo set her cup on the counter and headed for the door. “Whether we stay open today—well, we’ll see. In the meantime, you relax and eat your breakfast. Talk to Tucker. See you two later.”

Sarah actually opened her mouth to warn her friend, then closed it even as the door closed behind Margo. What should I do? She had tried to warn David and had only gotten him killed. None of her other warnings had made the slightest difference. But this, this was so damned specific, maybe it was different…

“Sarah?”

She looked at him.

“What did you see in Margo’s future?”

She didn’t mean to tell him but heard her own frightened voice respond without hesitation. “Death.”

Tucker didn’t look surprised, and his voice remained quiet. “Are you sure?”

Sarah drew a breath. “I saw a Richmond newspaper with tomorrow’s date. The front page. Below the headline, there was a picture of Margo. The headline read, Local Antiques Dealer Killed. The first line began, Local businesswoman Margo James was killed yesterday afternoon in a bizarre accident that took place in her antiques shop.”

Drawing another breath to steady a voice that shook uncontrollably, Sarah added bitterly, “Now you tell me if there’s any way to misinterpret that.”

He was silent for a moment. “Which is why she’s supposed to be out of town now?”

Sarah nodded. “I shouldn’t even have let her go down to the shop just now, but…I don’t know what to do. If I try to keep her out of the shop, if I warn her, I’m afraid I’ll bring about the accident I want to prevent. Like I did with David.”

“You don’t know that you brought that about. He might have been killed at a railroad crossing if he had stayed here.”

“Yes—or he might not have. And Margo…I made sure she’d be away, didn’t call her about the house burning hoping to keep her away, but now she’s come back. As if she’s fated to be here, today. It was very clear, what I saw. An accident, this afternoon, in the shop. But I don’t know exactly when it’s supposed to happen, or what happens.”

“A bizarre accident,” Tucker mused.

“I couldn’t see what that meant, what actually happened.” Sarah went to pour herself a cup of the fresh coffee, absently noting that the toast had popped up without her awareness and was now undoubtedly cold. Leaving it, she fixed her coffee and then turned back to face Tucker. “It isn’t afternoon yet, and newspapers try to be precise…but it could happen at any time.”

Tucker frowned. “Wait a minute. Margo is supposed to be out of town, which means you’re supposed to be the one in the shop. Right?”

She nodded. “It’s just her and me, no other full-time staff. A couple of guys from the health club nearby help us out moving large pieces of furniture when we need to, but we do all the rest. Why?”

“Maybe it’s my writer’s imagination at work, but think about this, Sarah. Somebody’s been watching you recently. You, not Margo. Yesterday your house burns down, probably due to arson. Today, you’re here—which is where you’d logically be after losing your house. It’s even logical that you’d probably be downstairs working, to occupy your mind if nothing else. I mean, if Margo hadn’t showed up, wouldn’t you be down there now, in answer to that bell?”

“Of course.”

He waited, watching her.

Sarah was a bit slow getting it, maybe because of her pounding head or because her mind was filled with fears for Margo. But, slowly, the possibility he offered came into focus. “You mean, me? Somebody could be trying to kill me, and got—gets—Margo by mistake?”

“She’s a redhead too. Hard to mistake one of you for the other close up, but at a distance it wouldn’t be so unlikely. Especially if you’re likely to be down in the shop and Margo is supposed to be out of town. Maybe that bizarre accident you saw was a deliberate act intended to look accidental.”

Sarah didn’t bother to ask him whether he actually believed she had seen the future; he was, as he’d said, suspending his disbelief, but only time and proof would convince Tucker that she could predict events that had not yet occurred. In any case, she was thinking more painful thoughts.