Something to Curse About Read Online Free Page B

clients to handle their cases in a timely manner. The only current cases I actually had were a lost dog and a wealthy grandmother who suspected her grandson of stealing things from her home to sell for drugs. I can’t take more than two or three cases at a time, because my relevant abilities don’t play the logic game. Concentrating on one case doesn’t mean any psychic “hits” I have are related to that case.
    Wells didn’t like it, but after he and Stannett stepped outside for a private conference, he agreed.
    “Certainly stuck it to them,” Nick said while we watched the two men cross the parking lot to their vehicles.
    I shrugged. “I was going to help anyway, but the mayor and his buddies obviously thought I was guilty just because I’m a psychic. That’s insulting, and against the law anyway. We’re supposed to be innocent until proven guilty, damn it.”
    He stroked a hand down my back, ending it with a pat between my shoulder blades. “Welcome to the real world.”
    “The real world sucks.”
    “You get used to it.”
    I stepped away, turning to face him. “But I don’t have to like it.”
    “No,” Nick agreed. “You don’t, but being angry over it is a waste of energy.”
    “Maybe not. Wells thinks I’m dangerous, and he pissed me off, but I didn’t do anything to him.”
    Nick raised his eyebrows. “And…?”
    “He thought I was making people kill themselves all over town, so it should occur to him that I could’ve done something to him, and was angry enough to, but didn’t.”
    “Considering both you and the boss made it clear you can’t control people the way he thought, I doubt the possibility will cross his mind.”
    “Gah.” I threw my hands up and stalked to my office. Nick was probably right, which sucked. So much for my attempt at making lemonade from lemons. I started a pot of coffee, not having much else to do until after lunch, which is when I agreed to go to the station and begin helping by handling the clothing worn by the victims.
    There were a million things I’d rather do, up to driving to the sea park in San Antonio and subjecting myself to the misery and anger of its aquatic residents. Or maybe the city pound. You haven’t really visited that sort of place until you’ve walked through and felt dogs afraid of being beaten or begging like hell for you to take them home before it’s their turn to visit the “Bad Room” no one ever returns from.
    Becoming a psychic makes life a thousand times more difficult.
    The only upside is using your abilities to make a difference, and that’s limited for two reasons. First, you can’t stay unshielded all the time, looking for opportunities to help people, because you’d go bonkers. Second, there are a lot of things you can’t change without crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
    Only people with major issues crossed those lines. Maybe I have some major issues, but megalomania isn’t one of them.
    I pulled out the file on the lost dog, and poured and doctored a cup of coffee before sitting down to stare at the dog’s photo again. Princess was a registered Chihuahua with an “excellent pedigree” who’d gone missing, or had been stolen, five days prior.
    Her owner, Vera Headley, was a nice lady whose reddened eyes made it clear she missed her little Princess. The Chihuahua looked like a tiny white doe, with her long legs, slender body, round skull and large, dark eyes. Precious, in a slightly freakish way.
    So far, I’d had two flashes I knew were related to the case, unless my other client’s thief was less than a foot tall and had a hobby of hiding under bushes. I wouldn’t rule out the possibility, what with the variety of small folk living in Santo Trueno.
    Closing my eyes, I checked my mental folder to make certain the golden shimmer that represented Princess hadn’t disappeared. It was still present, which meant the tiny dog was alive.
    Miss Headley had a dog walker who picked up Princess around noon