open doorway of Aaron’s apartment. “I owe you,” he said quietly. “You need anything—want anything I have—it’s yours.”
That took Aaron aback, and he laughed nervously. “Well, I’ve always had an eye on that Lexus of yours…”
Jacob dug into his pocket, holding out the key.
“I was kidding,” Aaron said, shaken. “Does this case really mean that much to you, then?”
“She means everything to me.”
The vehement way that Jacob made the statement only made Aaron more worried. But at the same time, he saw a passion…a life that his reserved brother had never shown before. He was making a sort of breakthrough.
He might also be having a psychotic episode, the professional part of Aaron’s brain commented caustically.
Right now, Aaron wasn’t acting as a doctor, though. He was acting as a brother.
After Jacob left, Aaron poured himself a large glass of scotch, taking a few manful sips of the stuff. Like the rest of his family, he was too enamored with control to indulge overly in any kind of mind-altering substance, but the prospect of facing Mahjani, even over the phone, was something that needed a little liquid courage.
He dialed her number from memory—even after a year, his fingers still traced the familiar pattern easily. He realized his heart rate had accelerated, and he swallowed nervously as he listened to the phone ring.
After the fourth ring, he realized that she probably wasn’t going to pick up—that he was going to get an answering machine. He felt a combination of regret and relief, trying to mentally prepare the message he was going to leave: Mahjani, this is Aaron White. I need to talk to you. Could you please—
“Hello?”
Caught off guard, Aaron cleared his throat. “Mahjani?”
There was a long pause. “Aaron.” There was no questioning in her voice.
“You don’t sound surprised,” Aaron noted inanely.
“I’m not.”
She didn’t elaborate. Considering how long it had been since he’d so unceremoniously dumped her, he wondered why she was expecting to hear from him.
Probably something creepy and “hoodoo” and superstitious told her that you were going to call.
“Still the same old Aaron,” she added. “What do you want?”
He had the disquieting feeling that she had read his mind, and he immediately felt guilty—and irritated. “I need your help.”
“My help?” Now she did sound surprised. “With what?”
“With…your background. I need someone who’s an expert in your field. I need you.” The minute he said the words, he flinched.
I need you.
How often had he said that…usually when they were entwined, naked, writhing in his bed?
“You can’t even say it,” she scoffed. “Why in the world would you need help with voodoo, Aaron? Got an enemy who’s giving you trouble? Need to win some pretty, suitable woman’s heart?”
The bitterness dripped from her words like acid.
“My brother is working with a coma patient. He thinks she’s been cursed. He needs to speak to you.” The words came out clipped, hard as diamonds. “If you want to help, fine. Otherwise, I’ll find someone else.”
Another long pause. Then a sigh.
“I see. Fine, then.”
He felt a little victory…until her next statement.
“Find someone else.”
The click was followed by the long blare of the dial tone.
“Shit.” He dialed back. The phone kept ringing…she’d obviously unplugged it.
He found himself getting up, putting on his coat. He’d mishandled this, as he’d mishandled so many other things. But his brother, the emotionally closed, super neurologist, needed help from his kid brother, the “touchy-feely” shrink. If he could get through to Mahjani, he might have a solution to his brother’s problem—and potentially help him stop Jacob’s imminent breakdown.
He walked out the door at a fast clip.
If Aaron knew Mahjani’s number by heart, he also knew it took exactly thirty minutes to get to her apartment.
Chapter Six
Mahjani Rafallo sat in her apartment in Brooklyn, sipping a cup of kava tea, trying to steady her nerves. She had known that Aaron was going to call: the loas, her spirits, had told her that he was going to reenter her life. But she hadn’t known how or why. To have him call was startling. To have him ask for help was mind-blowing.
To have him issue an ultimatum in that cold, clinical voice was more than she could stand.
There was a banging knock on her door. She jumped, spilling some of the hot tea on her hand. Hissing in pain, she put the cup down, looking out the fish-eye lens of her peephole.
“Mahjani, open up. It’s Aaron.”
Her heart clenched in her chest. “Go away.” To her relief, her voice barely shook.
“I have to talk to you.”
“We don’t