The Edge of Recall Read Free

think that’s possible? I have a very full schedule.”
    “I spoke with your secretary—”
    “My assistant.”
    “Right. She said that you’d finished up a major landscape and had some downtime.”
    “I use downtime for design and research. I contribute to several publications and can’t take off on a whim.”
    “Whim?” Smith ran a hand through his hair. “This is a serious offer. And you’re so close, just a short trip north.”
    “How do you know where I am?”
    “Again your sec—assistant, I’m afraid.”
    She sighed. “I haven’t been home in two months. You can’t call me up after six years and expect me to drop everything.”
    Smith looked at the contract he had laid out and ready. “You won’t be disappointed.”
    “Oh no. You could never disappoint me.”
    Smith took the phone from his ear and stared, then replaced it. “Have I . . . missed something insulting in this offer?”
    “Yes. It’s insulting to think I’d run up there simply because you read about me in a magazine and think you can capitalize on it.”
    He rubbed his forehead. “It’s not becau—”
    “I suppose I’m flattered you now find my work useful to your project, but I actually remember you laughing with your friends. So no, I’m not really interested in working with you.” The connection ended.
    Smith stared at his phone. Laughing with his friends? Well, he had been angry and disappointed when she’d switched majors and gone a direction he’d seen no future in. He had felt compelled to dissuade her after all his mentoring. But that was ancient history. They had the chance now to combine their talents, yet she’d refused. Without even hearing him out.
    She hadn’t changed at all. Still an eggshell, cracking at every slight, imagining affronts where no affronts were intended. He hit his palm on his thigh. He had to get her on board. Aside from the fact that he truly did like and respect her, she was the perfect person for the project. Not because he meant to capitalize on her reputation—though he had yet to catch the notice she had—but because only Tessa could properly appreciate and take charge of what he’d found.
    “Well?” Bair came into the office. “Got the labyrinth specialist?”
    “Almost. We’re talking again tomorrow.” If she’d even take his call.

    Gripping her shoulders with her hands, she presses into the thorny foliage, trying to be small, invisible. Lightning splits the sky. Thunder cracks. She runs. Needles slide beneath her feet. She falls, sinking, sliding. Her mouth forms a silent scream as she hears him coming. . . .
    Tessa shot up, gasping in the darkness, her heart pounding the pulse in her neck. She held her face between her clammy hands, then, needing to see, fumbled for the lamp switch and searched the corners of the hotel room. Nothing lurking. She threw the comforter off and swung her feet to the solid, dry floor. She was safe.
    She drew a deep breath to still the terror and dragged her briefcase onto the bed. She knew the drill. Doing something productive, something creative would take her mind off the dream. Don’t search it for meaning. Get outside the emotions and stay there. She opened the briefcase. Her cell phone slipped out and lay on the comforter. Heart still pounding, she picked it up, tempted to call Dr. Brenner, who would talk her through this nightmare as he had so many others. No.
    She had not disturbed him in the middle of the night for more than four years. Doing so now would indicate a deeper dependence than there was. Besides, if she called, what would she say, that Smith had caused a nightmare, reopened a wound? Dr. Brenner would tell her she was not a little girl anymore, that some monsters could be faced.
    She could hear his placid voice as though he sat across the room from her. She couldn’t confront her missing father or her dead mother for answers or explanations. But Smith’s offer presented a chance to face someone who had hurt her. It might