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  Brawley shoved a hand in his hip pocket, came out with a five, and slapped it on the counter.

  “You really are thirsty.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man took the money and set a six-pack on the counter. “Volume discount.”

  Brawley nodded thanks and went through the sixer, chugging one after another. He knew he must look a sight, standing there knocking back beer after beer, but he was too thirsty to give a damn.

  The man watched, grinning. “Better?”

  Brawley muffled a belch. “Yes, sir. Somewhat.” Chugging the beers had taken the edge off his thirst, and he had a little buzz going.

  “There’s water over there,” the man said, pointing across the lobby to a bank of glass decanters with slices of fruit floating in the water.

  Brawley thanked him and crossed the room and pounded what felt like a gallon of water. That finally quenched the fire in his throat, but his muscles were twitching like crazy, and one of his eyelids had developed a tic. He staggered back to the counter. “What’s your cheapest room?”

  “234 a night, plus tax.”

  Brawley whistled. “234 a night? What’s it come with, whores and whiskey?”

  The man grinned. “I’m afraid not, sir. Just the beer you already drank.”

  Brawley shrugged and pulled out his billfold. “I’ll take it.” Noticing the rack of pamphlets, he snagged a city map.

  “If you need help finding anything, let me know.”

  “Actually,” Brawley said, slipping the map into his back pocket, “you ever heard of Blue Heaven?”

  The man set the paperwork on the counter and showed him where to sign. “Blue Heaven’s on Petronia Street. Twenty-minute walk from here. Very popular. If you like history, eat inside and your waitress will tell about how the place used to be a brothel. Or if you favor atmosphere, eat outside. It’s the best in town.”

  Brawley thanked him and paid in cash.

  Making change, the man said, “We have free parking on the side. You want to put down a plate number?”

  Brawley shook his head. He’d parked the RV by a Publix on the far side of the island, having heard that the only thing worse than driving in Key West was trying to park. And that was with a car. No way was he driving the Winnebago into Old Towne.

  “How about a cell phone number?”

  “Don’t have one.” Brawley didn’t bother explaining that he hated computers, microphones, and even the walkie-talkies they used on the ranch. Electronics made his brain buzz, and often as not went on the fix when he handled them.

  They finished up the paperwork, and the man said, “Come with me, sir, and I’ll show you to your room.”

  When they reached the stairs, the man offered to carry Brawley’s rucksack.

  Brawley said thanks but no thanks, thinking to hell with that.

  “Need a hand up the stairs?” the man asked.

  Brawley shook his head and grabbed the railing. Cursing this strange weakness, he dug deep and hauled himself to the top.

  They crossed a balcony overlooking a pool where people were swimming and drinking and laughing, Jimmy Buffet playing on the speakers. Some of the women looked pretty good in their bikinis, but Brawley felt so lousy, he couldn’t be bothered to take a second glance.

  The man unlocked the door and handed Brawley the key. “Enjoy your stay,” the man said. “If you go to Blue Heaven, don’t miss their key lime pie. It’s to die for.”

  You owe me pie, cowboy.

  Brawley asked for an eleven o’clock wakeup call. Then he went into the room and closed the door and turned the lock.

  He dropped his ruck and fell into bed without bothering to turn down the covers or take off his boots. He figured he’d lay there for just a second, then grab a shower and maybe catch some shuteye before going back out to meet Nina.

  This had been the craziest damned day ever.

  How had that cat gone flying through the air? It seemed like the assholes had done it, like they were shaking down the Cat Wizard.

  How had Brawley managed to pull Callie out of the water?

  And how had that woman’s phone snapped in half like that?

  Crazy, all of it. Impossible. Like a strange dream.

  Though the burning scratches beneath his tattered shirt begged to differ.

  Nina hadn’t seemed surprised. Just pissed that Brawley had saved the cat. Did that mean…

  The phone rang.

  Brawley jolted up out of bed.

  For an instant, he was confused.

  Slices of illumination fell through the louvered shutters, striping the floor of the otherwise darkened room. He could hear music and laughter out by the pool, softer now.

  The phone rang again.

  He fumbled around the nightstand and picked up the receiver just as the phone rang a third time. It was a woman from the front desk, delivering the wakeup call.

  Brawley didn’t even remember shutting his eyes. Could it be eleven already?

  He thanked her and hung up and turned on some lights. He pulled off his boots, stripped down, and took a hot shower.

  His headache and fatigue were gone. The dizziness and nausea, too. He felt fine. Better than fine, in fact. He felt good. Just a little thirsty.

  By the time he left the room and stepped into that beautiful, tropical night, he had a plan. Go meet Nina, buy her pie, and get the fuck out of Dodge the next morning. Head back to Texas and sell the RV. With his touring days behind him, Brawley needed cash a lot more than he needed a camper. Then he’d figure out what to do with the rest of his life.

  Just settle into cowboying, probably. He loved the life. Only problem was he got bored sometimes. Not when he was working but the times in between, when he’d ride into town. When he got bored, he got stupid. And when he got stupid, he got into trouble.

  The night was warm and peaceful beneath a fat moon blurry with tropical haze. Two girls coasted by on bicycles, soft laughter trailing behind them. Otherwise, Fleming was quiet and empty, save for cats, which peeked and peered from the plentiful porches and palms lining the street.

  As Brawley drew close to the library, a hulking figure rose up within the shadowy foliage beside the front steps and lumbered halfway into the light. Despite the Florida heat, the man wore a raggedy winter jacket smudged with filth. His tangled beard was streaked in dark matter, blood or tobacco juice.

  The man’s bulging eyes gleamed in the light. He raised an arm and pointed a gnarled finger at Brawley.

  Brawley raised one hand reflexively to his brow, forgetting for the thousandth time that he wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat. He hadn’t worn it since breaking his neck. And he’d vowed to never wear it again until he climbed back onto a bull. Which, according to doctors, would be around the same time that pigs flew to hell and went ice skating.

  But then the big crazy-looking bastard started jabbering, and Brawley forgot all about his hat or bull riding or the way doctors could look you in the eyes, tell you matter-of-factly that everything you loved was gone forever, wish you a good day, and vanish from your life, carrying a clipboard under one arm and all of your hopes and dreams under the other.

  “Thunder rider,” the man said, jabbing his finger in Brawley’s direction. “Lightning bringer. The despised messiah.” He clapped his grimy hands together, the sound sharp and loud on this deserted street. “Now the two-headed wolf, order and chaos, fights itself, both jaws setting upon the same throat.”

  Brawley noticed with a twitch of unease that the man’s beard wasn’t stained after all. It was full of bugs. Whole rivers of them streaming up and down the hairs.

  It was a strange thing, getting goosebumps in the tropics.

  Brawley started walking again. He wasn’t in the habit of turning his back on people, but this guy was nuttier than a squirrel turd.

  “Seven, seven, seven,” the man called after Brawley. “Seven minds, seven wives, seven strands. Seek the past to know the future. Beware the albino tiger!”

&n
bsp; 3

  As Brawley approached the wide gate to Blue Heaven, a voice called, “Hey cowboy!” and a heavily stickered pink moped whooshed past.

  Nina parked and came down the sidewalk looking super hot in combat boots, white short-shorts, and a star-spangled bikini top that showed off the tanned perfection of her flat abs, shapely breasts, and sexy collar bones. She strutted toward him with a cocky grin, her purple hair bristling like the comb of a fighting rooster.

  “You survived,” Nina said, her voice full of laughter.

  “I’m hard to kill.”

  “Good,” Nina said, slipping her slender arm through his and heading toward the wide gate of Blue Heaven, “because you owe me pie.”

  Even at midnight, there was a line, but Nina called to the hostess, who gestured for them to skip the wait and come inside.

  Arm-in-arm, they followed the brick walkway past tables packed with people eating and drinking and entered a courtyard with more tables and a live band playing reggae on a canopied stage. A bunch of cats and chickens wandered the cobbles, going table to table and somehow managing to live in peace as they scavenged food and attention.

  Nina bumped him with her hip. “You buying me drinks, too?”

  “Least I can do,” he said, and nodded toward the bar. “Let’s go.”

  They found stools at the end of the outdoor bar.

  The bartender, a heavyset woman with gray hair and a great smile, came over and called Nina by name. “What are we drinking?”

  “Something sweet and strong,” Nina said. “And your biggest slice of key lime pie, please.”

  The bartender nodded and turned to Brawley. “How about you, slim? What’s your poison?”

  Brawley ordered his go-to meal: a beer, a coke, and a bacon cheeseburger, rare, with fries on the side.

  When the bartender left, Brawley turned to Nina. She sat close to him, one tanned leg flopped casually against his thigh.

  She looked fantastic in that bikini top. Vibrant and healthy. Firm yet feminine. Her collarbones drew his eyes, the shadowed hollows within their graceful curves somehow suggestive and intimate.

  “Hey cowboy,” she said, “my badass Skrillex haircut is up here.”

  Brawley managed to drag his eyes, kicking and screaming, from her scantily clad perfection.

  Grinning, Nina gave him a shove. “I thought cowboys were supposed to be gentlemen.”

  “Oh, I’m a gentleman,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m blind.”

  Nina rolled her eyes. She was wearing dark eyeliner that made her eyes seem even brighter.

  One green eye, one bright blue, Brawley noticed.

  “Are those your real eye colors, or are you wearing contacts?”

  “Wow,” Nina said, “you’re straightforward.”

  “Never saw much percentage in beating around the bush.”

  “They’re real,” Nina said. “It’s called heterochromia.”

  “I had a dog with two different colored eyes.”

  “Wow,” Nina said again, “you’re a sweet talker, too.”

  “He was a good dog, if that makes a difference.”

  Nina laughed. She really was very pretty. A tiny diamond stud twinkled on the side of her nose.

  The bartender brought their drinks. “Food will be up soon.”

  “Be warned,” Nina said, after the bartender had left again. “We’re on island time. In Key West, ‘soon’ means sometime before taxes are due. What’s your name, anyway?” She held out her hand to shake. “I’m Nina.”

  Her hand felt small and soft. Then again, most people’s hands felt small and soft to Brawley. Even for his height, he had huge hands—bear paws, his dad called them—and ranch work and riding had hardened them with callouses. “I’m Brawley.”

  “Brawley?” Nina laughed. “Is that even a name?”

  “I sure hope so. It’s the only one I got.”

  “Well then, it’s nice to meet you, Brawley. A lot nicer than our first meeting at Mallory Square.”

  “About that,” he said. “What the hell happened there?”

  “What happened?” She made a face. “Your dumb ass saved a cat and got me in trouble, that’s what happened.”

  “Got you in trouble?”

  Nina nodded. “Nothing I can’t handle but still a pain in my sweet ass.” She leaned closer and whispered, “The asshole with the blond hair, that was Junior Dutchman.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “It is,” she said. “Junior is the son of Mr. Dutchman.”

  “Don’t just sit there staring at me, sweetheart. The only Dutchman I know is RVs.”

  “Mr. Dutchman runs the local psi mob.”

  “Mob? You mean mafia?”

  Nina leaned back, narrowing her eyes and studying his face.

  Reading her expression, Brawley headed her off at the pass. “Yeah, I’m being serious. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  Nina lifted her drink and took a slow sip, still eyeing him and looking thoughtful. “No shit,” she said, sounding incredulous. “You’re a virgin.”

  Brawley snorted. “Not hardly.”

  “That little stunt with the cat,” Nina said. “That was your first time, wasn’t it? But I still don’t understand why you were so rocked. I mean you had to know it was coming soon. What are you, twenty-four, twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-three,” he said, not bothering to add that on a rainy day, he felt eighty-three, thanks to all the injuries he’d sustained over the years. Luckily, they didn’t get many rainy days in West Texas.

  “Didn’t your parents give you the talk?”

  He shook his head. “My folks are country as a clambake, so they didn’t talk about that stuff. But you grow up on a farm, you figure out the birds and the bees pretty quick.”

  “Not the birds and the bees, wiseass,” Nina said. She still seemed to think he was messing with her. “Psionics. The do’s and don’ts, the hangover, all that.”

  He shook his head and took a long pull off the beer.

  Psionics?

  He’d heard the word but couldn’t remember what it meant. “What are psionics?”

  “Psionic powers,” Nina said, keeping her voice low. “You’re Unbound, like me, so in our case, that means telekinetic powers.”

  “Telekinetic powers,” he said, drawing it out. “If you’d told me that yesterday, I would’ve thought you were loopier than a cross-eyed cowboy.”

  “I guess levitating a cat with telekinetic force opened your mind to the possibility?” Nina said.

  Brawley nodded. “I’d be dumber than hell to scoff at this point.”

  “Seriously, though, your parents mentioned none of this?”

  He shook his head.

  “Nothing?”

  “Not. A. Thing.” He polished off his beer, pushed the bottle forward, and caught the bartender’s eye.

  She nodded, flashed that pretty smile, and started their way.

  He asked Nina if she wanted another.

  “Sure, thanks.” She was rolling the little purple umbrella back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, making it spin.

  Watching her, it occurred to Brawley that the little umbrella was the same shade of purple as her hair.

  “You never saw either of them use their abilities?” she asked.

  He laughed, imagining his parents having telekinetic powers. Sure would’ve made putting up hay easier. But then something occurred to him. “These powers, are you saying they’re inherited?”

  “Yeah.”

  Suddenly things made sense.

  Before Brawley could say anything, the bartender brought his beer. Then she went off to make another girly drink for Nina.

  “I’m an orphan,” he said. “My father died before I was born. My mother died shortly thereafter. Never really thought about it much, honestly. My folks adopted me when I was a newborn. They’ve always been Mom and Dad to me.”

  Something in Nina’s face softened th
en. She reached out and laid her hand on his. “I’m sorry, Brawley,” she said, and gave his hand a squeeze.

  “Hell, don’t be. Mom and Dad are great. And the world never saw a better woman than my Grandma Hayes, God rest her soul. I didn’t miss out on anything.”

  “Except the talk,” Nina said. She kept her hand on his, even though the moment had passed. Brawley liked the feel of it. “So, when you woke up this morning, you thought telekinesis was just in comic books and movies?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much.”

  She shook her head and knocked back the rest of her drink just in time to thank the bartender, who brought her another. Nina dropped the cherry from the first on top of the second.

  When the bartender left, Nina said, “Today must’ve been one heck of a shock for you.”

  “Yeah, it sucker punched me pretty good,” he said. He felt strange. According to this woman, he had supernatural abilities, which was so weird that he should’ve been reeling, but for some reason, he wasn’t. It was almost as if a part of him had known about this all along and had been waiting for him to catch up. “Telekinetic powers.”

  She nodded, fishing both cherries from her drink. “Pretty cool, huh?”

  He took another drink. “And you have powers, too?”

  Nina grinned. “I sure do. Want to see a trick?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m talented,” Nina said with a mischievous smile. She popped both cherries into her mouth, started chewing, and held up one finger in a wait-and-see gesture.

  Nina rolled her eyes upward with concentration, half smiling as she moved the cherries inside her pretty mouth. Her tongue slid back and forth inside her cheek.

  She really was gorgeous. So gorgeous that even though Brawley was sitting there waiting for a telekinetic display, he was completely distracted by her full lips, long lashes, and big, mismatched eyes.

  “Ha,” Nina said triumphantly. Beaming, she pulled the cherry stems from her mouth. She’d swallowed the fruit and tied the stems in a knot with her tongue. “How’s that for talent?”

  “You call that a trick?” a sultry voice said from behind them.

  “Oh shit,” Nina said, without even turning around. “I didn’t do anything, Remi.”