Free The First Prophet by Kay Hooper

her.
    Sarah was a bit slow getting it, maybe because of her pounding head or because her
     mind was filled with fears for Margo. But, slowly, the possibility he offered came
     into focus. “You mean, me? Somebody could be trying to kill me, and got—gets—Margo
     by mistake?”
    “She’s a redhead too. Hard to mistake one of you for the other close up, but at a
     distance it wouldn’t be so unlikely. Especially if you’re likely to be down in the
     shop and Margo is supposed to be out of town. Maybe that
bizarre accident
you saw was a deliberate act intended to look accidental.”
    Sarah didn’t bother to ask him whether he actually believed she had seen the future;
     he was, as he’d said, suspending his disbelief, but only time and proof would convince
     Tucker that she could predict events that had not yet occurred. In any case, she was
     thinking more painful thoughts.
    “I told you—there’s no reason anybody would want to hurt me.”
    “And yet you predict your own death—at the hands of some mysterious
them
you can’t identify.” His voice was not in the least sarcastic.
    It had not occurred to Sarah either to connect Margo’s death with her own future or
     to consider her shadowy enemies apart from the ending she felt sure they planned for
     her. But now, thinking about it, she had to admit that Tucker had made a number of
     points. Looked at objectively, as he clearly could, it was obvious that Sarah was
     the target of whatever was happening.
    “But why?” Like any human being, she found it extremely difficult to even imagine
     that someone else might want to put a period to her existence, despite her own predictions.
     “I don’t understand why anyone would want me dead.”
    “The reasons people kill are usually simple,” Tucker offered. “Desperation. Greed.
     Jealousy. Rage. Fear.”
    Sarah shook her head, unable to connect any of those powerful emotions to her life.
     “I’m not…I’m not even close enough to anyone to inspire anything like that. My friends
     are casual—except for Margo; I have no family to speak of, just cousins who aren’t
     even a part of my life. How could I have roused those kinds of emotions in someone
     without knowing it?”
    “Even fear?” He looked at her steadily. “Sarah, your life changed dramatically six
     months ago. You became psychic. And as you said yourself, there are people out there
     who are terrified of the very idea of precognition. People very afraid of psychics—maybe
     even to the point of trying to start a witch hunt.”
    They burned my house. Witches were burned.
    “It wouldn’t be the first time someone perceived as different became a target of intimidation
     tactics,” he reminded her, and echoed her own thoughts when he added, “Suspected witches
     were burned; nearly the first thing you said to me was that you were the neighborhood
     witch.”
    “But there would have been warnings, wouldn’t there? Nasty phone calls, notes—or something
     worse—left in my mailbox. Isn’t that how it works? They wouldn’t have
started
by setting my house on fire. Would they?”
    Tucker shrugged. “I wouldn’t have said so. But in these days of stalkers and serial
     killers, the extreme gets more common every day.”
    Sarah accepted that reluctantly. “So it’s possible somebody wants me dead because
     I’m psychic.” She shied away from anyone hating and fearing that much to focus on
     her friend’s safety. “Then…then if I’m the target, Margo should be out of danger if
     I send her away. Right? If she’s nowhere near me, she won’t be an accidental target.”
    “That seems reasonable to suppose,” Tucker agreed.
    Sarah looked at her watch. “It’s after ten. I should go downstairs and try to talk
     her into leaving Richmond before lunch. Will…will you help me convince her?”
    “I’ll try.” He hesitated, then added, “If you’ll take my advice, I think you should
     tell her the truth. She knows you’ve seen