Faith Wilding stared at her computer monitor in frustration, the screen empty except for the annoying cursor winking at her. The first three chapters of her latest political thriller were due to her agent by the end of the month and she hadn't even written the first word. Not once since she'd sold her first manuscript had she ever been stricken with writer's block. Today, however, it seemed as if something had swept her mind bare, knocking out every word or phrase that might be taking root.

She looked around her den, usually a place of comfort and inspiration. The warm earth tones on the rug that had been her grandmother's were an accent on the polished hardwood floor. The couch and chair, covered in navy denim, showed traces of wear from all the times she'd lain or sat there reading manuscript drafts. The walls were lined with family pictures, faces smiling down on her with encouragement and support.

Usually this room unlocked her mind and opened the gates for her thoughts to flow freely. Not tonight. She could have been sitting in a sterile room for all the good it was doing her.

She rotated her head, easing the tension in her neck and shoulders. Maybe she should fix another cup of her favorite Chai teas. Its energy might kick-start her brain.

I need you.

The familiar voice blasted through her mind.

Mark! Oh God, Mark.

Stunned, she tried to focus her thoughts but a white-hot pain pierced her body, stealing her breath. She clenched her fists against it and as it faded an image of Mark's face, bruised and lined with pain, flashed briefly and was gone.

Faith leaned back in her chair, using the skills she'd been taught to control her breathing and slow her racing pulse. Running her hands up and down her arms she discovered a fine sheen of perspiration on her skin.

Mark!

She tried to recapture the image but it was gone.

Need you...captured...