Maksim's phrasing about his sister instantly caught Jo's notice, tugging at her. "You said was? Did something happen to your sister?"
Maksim waited to answer as the waiter in crisp white and black came to the table to take drink orders. Jo stuck with just ice water, while Maksim ordered wine.
When the waiter left, Maksim continued, "My sister disappeared about six months ago. I don't believe she's dead. I don't want to believe that—but all leads have gone nowhere. It's like she just vanished."
Jo's heart went out to him, understanding the quiet despair in his voice better than most. But along with her sympathy was the apprehension she'd been feeling, seeing, for the past two days.
"Have the police offered you any suggestions? Are they still looking?"
Maksim's lips thinned, making his beautiful features appear grim even a little harsh. "They haven't been any help."
"So what are you doing now?"
He shook his head. "Following any lead I can find. Waiting."
Jo nodded, understanding that feeling, too. Waiting, and waiting. Before she realized what she was going to say, it was out. "I had a sister, too. She died when she was ten. I was thirteen."
Maksim met her eyes, his own darkening to a verdant green. "I'm sorry. That must have been hard."
"It was."
The waiter reappeared with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He placed one in front of each of them, then turned to Maksim and uncorked the bottle. The waiter made a big show of pouring the red wine for Maksim's approval.
Maksim nearly grabbed the wineglass from his hand, his impatience not hidden. He took a sip.
"Fine."
The waiter filled his glass, then turned to Jo. "For you?"
Jo held up a hand. "No, thank you."
The waiter set the bottle on the table and hurried away, finally sense—from Maksim stern glare, no doubt—when he wasn't wanted.
"How did your sister die?" Maksim asked, finally getting to continue this conversation.
Jo hesitated, momentarily wishing for the waiter to return. "She drowned."
Maksim shook his head. "That must have been awful."
"It was. It was really awful." And all those horrible feelings were back in full force. The strange hallucinations, last night's dream, they had brought all that terror and all the pain of the event right back to the foreground. And she'd spent a lifetime trying to forget, trying to stay ahead of her memories.
"Were you there?"
Jo knew Maksim was just asking out of concern, but she heard censure that wasn't there. Not from him. But she still heard it, felt it. Just as she did every time she thought about Kara. Every time someone mentioned her. She had been there. She should have saved Kara.
"Yes." That was all she could manage.
"That must have been frightening and traumatic."
Jo nodded. It still was. The events of her childhood were never far from her—and closer than ever of late.
"Yes, I always blamed myself for her death. For not saving her."
"But how could you? You were just a kid yourself."
Jo nodded, having heard and told herself that very thing dozens and dozens of times.
"It's just…" She couldn't believe she was even thinking about going there. She'd never told anyone what she'd nearly admitted to this man. Why? Maybe because he'd lost a sister and understood helplessness. Or maybe because of the strange events of the past few days.
Maybe because she was just cracking up.
"It's just what?"
Jo started to shake her head, to keep her secret where she always had. Close to her chest. Unknown by anyone else. Even Maggie and Erika didn't know. But then the words just blurted out as if she couldn't contain them any longer. Her guilt, her shame, her confusion had finally, after all these years, boiled over.
"I knew she was going to die."
CHAPTER 13
Maksim stared at her. He hadn't expected that. "You knew? How?"
She shook her head, and he didn't think she was going to continue.
The waiter, who looked more than a little tentative, edged up to the table. Maksim almost sent him away, but Jo informed him she was ready to order.
She asked for the salmon. Maksim ordered the filet mignon. The waiter scurried away, obviously uncomfortable with Maksim and his impatience. Maksim didn't care.
"How did you know?" Maksim asked Jo softly, not willing to let this get brushed aside. She'd started to tell him, and he got the feeling she needed to talk about it.
Jo shook her head again, fixing her attention on straightening and restraightening the cloth napkin on her lap.
Finally when he thought he was just going to have to drop the subject totally—and struggle to find something innocuous to get her to interact, period, she met his eyes.
"I saw it happen. I–I had a premonition."
Her eyes looked pained, as if she was already preparing for his disbelief, his ridicule.
"That must have scared you."
She studied him, her gaze roaming his face, still trying to decide if he was being sincere.
"Yes."
"How did you see it?"
She frowned. "I just saw it. Like a vision, I guess."
"Well, I get that, but was it like you were seeing it, and you were there, too, and you could have stopped it. Or was it like you just watching it like a show on television? Removed from it."
"Is there really a difference? I saw it. I could have stopped it."
Maksim shook his head, even before she finished speaking. "No. That isn't true. Some premonitions are designed to prepare us for the inevitable. While there are few premonitions that are shown to us so we can stop the events before they unfold."
Jo frowned, puzzled. "I still don't see the difference."
"Well there is. Like I said, if you saw the event with you in it, then maybe, and only maybe," he added, because premonitions were always dicey at best, and she had to know that for her own piece of mind, "you could have helped."
She was silent for a moment. "I don't know. But I know that I didn't tell anyone. I didn't tell my parents. I didn't tell Kara. And that might have saved her."
"Maybe. But there could have been a reason you didn't tell anyone."
Jo laughed at that, the sound sharp and bitter. "Yeah. Because I didn't take it seriously. I didn't believe it."
"Or you were just a kid and it scared the crap out of you."
Jo stared at him, then shrugged. "I don't know. But I should have done something."
"And who's to say anyone would have believed you, anyway?"
Jo nodded, but still looked as if she didn't believe him. She straightened her napkin again.
"Just like no one would believe me now," she muttered.
"What?"
She shook her head and waved her hand as if to brush the murmured words away. "I shouldn't have said anything."
A strange sense of disappointment filled his chest. He wanted her to tell him things that worried her. Things that made her happy. Things that just needed to be said.
Then he promptly told himself those feelings were ridiculous, and not what he was actually feeling. He was horny and mistaking a major case of lust for something more. He had been the whole time.
But he couldn't help himself from asking again, "What are you talking about, Jo?"
She shook her head again, waving off what she'd said as if the words had never passed her lips. Instead she asked him, "How do you know so much about premonitions?"
He considered pressuring her further, but then decided against it. Pushing didn't seem to work well with Jo, and he could understand that.
So he let the line of questioning go, setting his attention back to the food the waiter placed before him. He cut into his filet, noting how juicy and tender the meat was. He took a bite, fully preparing to enjoy the expensive cut of meat, but the flavor didn't satisfy as it should.