53

Ashley woke later than usual, cursing herself for missing the best morning light for painting. She shoved out of bed bleary-eyed.

Since visiting the grave hadn’t worked the night before, she’d convinced herself that her “visions” were brought on by anxiety, stress, and exhaustion, so she’d stayed up most of the night, trying to think of all the things she was scared of. A pretty miserable way to spend the time.

And nothing to show for it. She didn’t “see” a thing.

But she had to. She had to figure out a way to get the FBI off her back. She would somehow carve out a normal life, for her and her daughter, no matter what she had to do to get there. She would paint; she would force a vision if it killed her; she would not give up.

At least she no longer had to fight Jack. She was grateful beyond words for that break. He made a bad enemy.

But if they were no longer enemies, what were they?

The way his arms felt around her came back in a rush, unbalancing her a little as she plodded down th