Free Into the Light by Sommer Marsden Page B

equipment. I am the equipment.
    Mikey gathered several duffel bags while Missy grabbed what looked like an oversized briefcase. Liz followed suit and wheeled two suitcases up the crooked front walk.
    Trip settled his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “You sure you're okay, darlin'?"
    I allowed myself to relax against him for a moment, breathing deeply to steal a whiff of his own personal scent. I forced myself to back off and gave him a smile.
    "I'm fine. Really. I think I just need some R-and-R."
    "You were thinking about us, weren't you?” Trip always cuts to the chase. He's a no bullshit kind of guy. It's one of his most redeeming qualities.
    "Nope.” I didn't even convince myself.
    "You broke up with me, Martee. I'm always here if you change your mind."
    I didn't get to answer because Mr. Richards opened the door. As soon as it was open, the flood of information started. I sagged and felt grateful when Trip steadied me.
    "A lot?” he muttered.
    "Tons. All strong, too."
    David Richards looked a little worse for wear as he silently ushered us into the house. His face was pale and drawn, denoting lack of sleep. His hazel eyes were bloodshot, and his short, dark hair stood on end.
    "Sorry I'm such a mess,” he said. “I just got up. I was awake till the wee hours listening to what sounded like an orgy. Couldn't see a damn thing, but I could hear every last giggle."
    "You're not crazy,” I said quietly as I absorbed his frantic energy. He was fearing for his sanity, and rightfully so. Most people aren't used to being privy to so much spiritual activity.
    "And you are?” he asked, smiling just a bit.
    "Sorry. Mr. Richards, this is Martee. She's the resident psychic. I'm Trip Ericson. We spoke on the phone."
    Richards shook hands all around as Trip went on to introduce the rest of the group.
    "So I'm not crazy?” he asked. His eyes told me my answer was important.
    "Not at all. They're everywhere."
    "Good. I feel better already. I have hot coffee if anyone's interested. It's all set up in the kitchen with a box of donuts. Do you need anything from me? Because I'm late for work already."
    "Just a few questions,” Trip said. Mikey had already wandered off with his equipment bag, presumably to set up. Liz and Missy stood there looking antsy.
    "Any rooms we should focus on? Any place where there's been repeated contact?"
    In my mind's eye I saw an ornate, masculine bedroom. My guides also showed me a large room stuffed with sofas and wingback chairs. I saw a huge glass chandelier and a stone fireplace.
    "The master suite and the sitting room,” Richards said without hesitation. “I've had an encounter or two throughout the entire house but those two rooms are the most active. I've actually moved into the guest room. I try to avoid the master suite if I can."
    "Did you buy all this furniture?” I blurted.
    "No. It came with the house. The original owner died about ten years ago and his family inherited."
    "And they sat on the house forever and let it be. Then they needed the money, so it was auctioned off—lock, stock, and barrel,” I finished, receiving the information on my own.
    "Yes.” He looked startled and comforted at the same time. “I really have to go."
    Trip grabbed his bag. “We'll call the cell phone number you provided if we have any more questions."
    "Good.” Davidson left without combing his hair.
    "He's frazzled,” I said, meeting Trip's eyes.
    "I'd think he was nuts if he weren't."
    "Let's get started.” I moved toward the master staircase while taking in the richly upholstered, antique furniture that peppered the foyer. Probably worth a fortune.
    Trip gently touched my arm. “I meant what I said out there, Martee. I know he saved you from answering, and that's fine. I am, however, not over you, even a little. Not by a long shot."
    "We've got work to do,” I said around the growing lump in my throat. I missed the solid feel of him. Missed his chin resting in my hair. I missed the