10
Okay, I am officially sick of guns being pointed at me. Even guns pointed by a beautiful girl I just saw naked in someone’s mind.
“Mira, put the gun down,” Eugene says. “This is Darren. I just texted you his picture. You didn’t get it?”
She frowns, still holding the gun trained on me. “No, I haven’t checked my phone. Does your text explain how this creep stalked me all the way here from Atlantic City?”
“No, not exactly,” Eugene admits. “But you have to cut the guy some slack. He tracked you down, but he has a good reason to be persistent. You’re the first other Reader he’s ever met.”
I can tell that this knowledge surprises her. “How can I be the first Reader he’s met?” she asks skeptically. “What about his parents? What about the other Readers from wherever his home is?”
“Manhatt
