“Evan’s on the Navajo reservation covering the religious apparitions happening in Monument Valley.”
“He was supposed to be, but at the last minute they sent him to the UN to cover the Dalai Lama’s address,” Bridget insisted, her alarm transmitting like a shriek to Rory.
Rory looked back at Gaia for confirmation, but the apparition disappeared, taking the fog with her.
“Call Evan now ,” Bridget said. “Get him out of there.”
Rory reached into the pocket of her hoodie, but her phone wasn’t there. She had left it on her nightstand.
“Now, Rory!”
“Crap.” Rory took off at a hard run toward the house.
Hurry , her mother’s voice whispered in the wind.
Rory’s mind tuned into Evan and she realized her mother had been right. He was at the UN . She tried to reach out to him with a message, but couldn’t get through. Death danced in the shadows gathering around Rory, her legs tangled with its dark feet, and she went sprawling. She screamed with rage.
“Hey, you okay?” The voice that pierced Rory’s inner tempest wasn’t familiar, but when she glanced up she recognized his face.
The veterinarian who took care of the horses ran to her and knelt by her side. “You okay?”
“I need a phone. It’s an emergency.”
“Sure.” He patted down his pockets until he located his cell.
She snatched it from him and dialed Evan’s number.
A distracted voice answered. “Evan Killian. Not good timing, whoever you are.”
“Evan, it’s Rory. Get out of the building. It’s going to blow.”
“Rory? What?”
“Evan, the UN ’s going to blow up any second. Get out now .”
He hesitated. “If that’s going to happen, I have to try to evacuate—”
“There’s no time! Get. Out. Now.”
Rory heard muffled voices. She heard Evan trying to hustle his camera crew out an emergency exit. She heard a roar. Then the line went dead.
Rory dropped the phone and flopped onto her back. “Holy crap.” She tried to feel Evan’s energy. Had he gotten out in time?
“Honey, are you okay?” An edge of panic sharpened the veterinarian’s voice as he went into doctor mode and tried to examine her.
She shoved him away and scrambled to her feet. “Stop trying to feel me up, you perv. Where’s your truck?”
Picking his phone off the ground, he laughed. “My, you’re a feisty filly.” Pointing to the barn, he said, “Parked on the other side.”
Rory raced to the truck, opened the door, but didn’t see his keys in the ignition. She spun on her heels, saw him sauntering in her direction, and threw her hands onto her hips. “Keys. I need the keys now.”
Maddeningly, he didn’t come with any sense of urgency, but did throw his keys to her as soon as he was in range. “You gonna steal it?”
“Radio. I need the radio.”
Trembling, she shoved keys into the ignition until one fit. Country music blared from the speakers. She had reached out to hit the control buttons when a voice interrupted Luke Bryan’s song.
“This just in to our newsroom: moments ago a massive explosion rocked the United Nations Building in New York City where the Dalai Lama was scheduled to address world leaders about the recent global wave of religious-based violence. There is no word on the fate of the Dalai Lama or any of those gathered—”
Heartsick, Rory turned off the radio.
“How did you know?” the vet asked.
Fighting rebellious tears, she snatched the phone from his hand and hit redial. After an eternity, Evan answered. “I’m good. Can’t talk now.” He disconnected, and her knees gave out.
The man buoyed Rory up and lifted her to the driver’s seat. “Your friend?”
“He made it.”
“How did you know?” he asked again.
“I see things sometimes.” She expected at least a derisive snort, but instead he took her hand.
“I’m Doc Jerry.”
“Rory Devlin.”
His hand jerked in hers and then he squeezed. “Related to Bridget Devlin?”
Rory’s eyes met his. “You knew my