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“Sidra, it’s me. SLIman.”

She froze in her tracks, her blood turning icy. No, impossible. He had said he was forty, a little heavy and balding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sidra heard the quiver in her own voice.

“Please allow me to introduce myself properly. My name is Donovan Barlowe. We made an appointment last night to meet here to discuss our shared interests and experiences.”

Turning back toward him, Sidra reached for the back of the booth to steady herself as she slowly sat, clutching her purse to her chest with trembling hands.

We’ve written to each other every night. I told him so much. All the time this man, this god, listened, consoled and counseled me?

He nodded as if he had heard her thoughts. “Please call me Van. Before you ask, you have some explaining to do yourself. I really didn’t think a disabled grandmother would want to meet in a SoHo bar at midnight. Not such a sophisticated cover, SLIgirl.”

“I suppose not. It’s only that…”

“A girl can’t be too careful. Especially one who looks like…you.” Van ran his gaze slowly down her body again and settled on her eyes, shaking his head slightly.

“Like what? What do I look like?” Sidra cursed silently for asking, for hungering to know what he thought of her. “There you go again,” she heard her mother’s voice.

“Ah, you’re on a fishing expedition, then? Surely you’re used to stopping traffic with that face and body? Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are, love. Very pleasantly surprised.”

I hardly think so.

Sidra sipped at the martini and concentrated on the beads of moisture running down the sides of the glass. Look at anything but him. Don’t do anything stupid.

Don’t say a word.

“Of course, you’ve been on the site, in the chatroom, seen the nonsense the others write. Half of them are nuts, don’t have the power at all.”

“The power?”

Van extended his hand, and Sidra shook it as forcefully as she could. “I’m happy to finally meet you in person, Sidra. It’s probably best if we discuss things at my place.”

“At your place? You’re out of your mind. I agreed to meet to talk about problems I thought we shared, not to hook up for a quickie. How many women fall for this, Mr. Barlowe?” Sidra wondered if it were possible Van stalked women on the Internet to lure them into meeting him. Why would a guy who looked like him need to do that? For kicks? Then he really was a deviant.

“We do share those problems, as you call them. I prefer to think of our powers as gifts. Of course, one person’s gift may be another’s curse.”

“It’s clear you prey on vulnerable women searching for help with their…issues. I find that revolting. I’m not vulnerable, and you’ll have to find another sucker.”

Van reached across the table and cupped both her hands in his. A jolt of energy shot up her arms and she flinched, but he clutched more tightly, leaned close to her, and lowered his voice to a sensuous whisper.

“When you leave, what will be different? Where will you go? Who will help you?” His voice wound into her chest and squeezed until she was breathless.

“I don’t need your help,” she muttered.

“There are more of them all the time, aren’t there? You see them more clearly with each appearance. You’re frightened, and it’s not easy to frighten you. It’s your choice, Sidra, but I can help you.”

Sidra closed her eyes to steady herself. The electricity from his hands made her feel slightly faint and the flutter of butterflies in her stomach turned to a wave of nausea as she thought of them—the spirits. More of them all the time, yes. At home, on the street, in the park, even in daylight now. The shapes, the horrifying, threatening, grey phantoms. Sidra fought back tears as she met his eyes. He looked so sympathetic, so concerned. Perhaps she could trust him? She had been ready to trust an aging researcher, but not someone young, sexy and confident.

He ran his thumb along her wrist before letting go of her hands. Don’t fall for this Sidra. It’s not safe. He’s not safe.

“Yes I am.”

Her eyes shot open in disbelief to find him smirking, full lips pulled to one side in amusement. How could he have read her mind?