It was the most glorious Easter ever. A brilliant sun was shining down through cotton ball clouds. The slightest breeze blew in from the lough, carrying the sweet smell of clover. Every person on the narrow street wore a smile of greeting. The little red haired girl stared around like Alice in Wonderland.

She was only six years old, and this was the high point of her young life. Her mother had made her a lovely new pastel blue dress. Father had bought her white shoes and gloves and a darling hat to wear to church. Her deep green eyes sparkled with delight when she looked in the mirror.

They were simple country folk, and the girl couldn't remember going to the city before. Belfast was a teeming metropolis in her eyes. The buildings fascinated her, huddled so close together that they rubbed shoulders. She marveled at the doors, each a different bright color with fan shaped transoms over them. The street was cobblestone, but it had a sidewalk. And it looked like a street lamp stood on every corner. And surely everyone here owned an automobile, there were so many.

The little girl was skipping along, clutching a parent's hand on each side. Every once in a while she tried to swing between them. Father told her she was much too old for that. He wore a new tweed suit and smelled of good wool. Mama smelled like wild flowers.

It was going to be a joyous day. She could imagine everything--the priest greeting them and telling her what a pretty girl she was, her own blushing, and Father telling the priest not to turn her head. It was all just a few minutes away. She could see the tall steeple ahead.

That was when it hit her for the first time. The fear that seemed to crawl out of the ground and up her spine to the nape of her neck. It was the horror she felt when she knew Father was on his way to give her a spanking, but worse. She had no idea what caused it, she only knew she was terrified.

Hair danced all over as she shook her head back and forth. She dragged her feet, trying to pull her parents back. Father asked, "What's gotten into you child?" but she could not answer. Mama said "Felicity Kathleen, you behave like a lady." With a violent wrenching she pulled her hands free from the two holding them.

Father sat down on the hood of a blue Buick with big fins standing at the curb. The girl ran to the nearest shop doorway, flattening herself against the door. She could smell the sweet scent of the baked goods from behind her. Pressing her back against the door put her parents out of sight around the edge of the doorway. She heard mother stamp in her direction. She heard the springs groan as her father pushed to rise from the auto he was leaning on.

Then the world exploded in a deafening blast. There was the sound of shattering glass and metal twisted out of shape. It was so loud she could not hear her own screams. The stench of burning wool and roasting flesh replaced the smell of pies and cakes.

The girl screamed and screamed. The concussion forced her tears back along the sides of her head, into her ears. The horror rose into her throat and she tried to scream it out.

* * *

Felicity O'Brien sat bolt upright, terror stretching her eyes wide. Most of the bulky comforter hung off the side of the bed. Her hair was heavy with the weight of perspiration. Sweat glistened on her taut breasts. A vein pulsed hard in her neck and she gasped for breath.

That dream, that God damned dream was back again. How many times would she have to relive that tragic day? How many times would she have to watch, helpless and powerless, as her parents died? Must she spend the rest of her life wondering why it had to be them? Why them and not her? If only she had understood the meaning of that awful feeling. If only she had known it was her mysterious ability to sense danger, activated for the first time. It had saved her life many times since then. If only she had recognized it for what it was that day, it could have saved theirs.

Fighting to keep from retching, Felicity stumbled into the bathroom. She got into the shower and turned on the water as hot as she could stand it. Leaning against the wall, she fell into wracking sobs.

If only the nightmare had happened the night before. Raoul had been there, and soothed her with his continental attentions. It would help to have someone to hold onto when the dream came, she thought. But he let himself out before dawn, leaving her to face the terror alone.

She had to pull herself together. She lathered herself with chamomile soap while she administered her self-oriented pep talk. How could she let a dream ravage her mind like this? Everyone knew she had nerves of steel. Was this any way for an infamous, international jewel thief to act?

Ex-jewel thief, she reminded herself, as she toweled herself dry after her shower. Last year this time she was at the height of her trade. Now she was a respectable business woman with a thriving enterprise to run. After a near brush with death, she and her new partner used their savings to set up a corporation on the outskirts of Los Angeles. She retired from crime as he retired from an even more dangerous life.

By seven forty-two a.m. Felicity was dressed for business. She knew the time exactly, despite the fact that she didn't own a watch and not one clock ticked in her penthouse apartment. She was born with the special gift of perfect time sense. Her internal timepiece matched the reliability of any man made chronometer.

Felicity wasn't at all concerned about reaching her eight-thirty appointment on time. She just stepped out the front door, across the central plaza and into an elevator. Five stories below, the doors slid open revealing a wide glass wall. Centered in that wall was a glass door bearing two lines of simple lettering. At about eye level it read, "STARK & O'BRIEN" and below that, in smaller letters, "Security and Crisis Management Consultants." As she opened the door, those words made her smile. In the months since she had ordered the lettering for that door she had taken care of the security side of the business with ease. After all, she had made a career of defeating security measures. Who could know better how to keep people from getting in where they were not wanted?

"Good morning, Ms. O'Brien. Mister Stark is out of town today, and you have an eight-thirty."

"And good morning to you, Miss Fox," Felicity returned as she walked in. She and Morgan hired Sandy Fox away from a big name detective agency, at the very start of "Stark & O'Brien", to be their receptionist and secretary. Despite ash blonde hair and blue eyes behind her high fashion glasses, Fox was not glamorous. Felicity would have described her as cute, of average height and medium build. She wore a neat dark suit. Sandy's look was always appropriate to a business office, something Felicity was not at all confident about herself.

"So Sandy, do I look all right today?"

"You are truly beautiful, ma'am," Sandy said. Felicity was tall, with long, full red hair, piercing green eyes and a perfect body, but that was not what she was asking about.

"Come on. I mean the outfit." Felicity had long since mastered the perfect look to travel in high society or the criminal underground. She also knew how to be nondescript, invisible to passersby. The professional world was still new to her. This day she wore a simple black wool skirt, plain black pumps and a white silk blouse. A gray and green mohair shawl hung...