by Hanna Noble
She finally nodded. “Ok.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears. “I should unpack.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” He glanced at his watch. “I was thinking of making pasta for dinner. That work for you?”
She paused. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We should keep our distance, keep this strictly professional. I can do my own cooking.” She looked up at him. “I’m only interested in solving this case and getting on with my life.”
“We’re going to have to work together. How will we be able to catch this guy if we can’t even tolerate each other’s presence long enough to share a meal?” Cole knew it was up to him to rebuild trust. “We don’t have to be friends, but hostility will hurt the case. We have to find a balance somewhere in between.”
“I’m not sure that’s going to be possible.”
“Why don’t we at least try?”
“Stop sounding so reasonable, it’s annoying.” She glared at him and then sighed. “Fine.”
“Truce?”
“Truce.” Satisfied at her nod, he turned and made his way to the kitchen.
He liked to cook. It put him at ease. It was soothing following a recipe and ending up with something delicious. It was predictable. He appreciated that, considering his days were usually filled with unpleasant surprises, the kinds that exposed the rotten part of human nature.
He gathered the vegetables needed to make the marinara sauce. Chopping was an outlet for his stress. When he didn’t have the energy to pound a punching bag or help Owen knock down a wall, taking out his frustration on a few carrots or potatoes was a nice alternative.
He could hear Naomi moving around upstairs. It was strange having her so close. They’d be working together. Eating together. Living together. It was an intimacy Cole had never afforded to a woman, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t a little unsettled by it.
“Shit,” he said, nearly cutting his own finger off. “Not the best time to get distracted,” he muttered as he finished with more care.
He was putting the final touches on the sauce when she entered the kitchen.
“Hey.” Naomi paused, sniffing with appreciation. “Smells good. Can I help?” She still sounded a bit stiff, but Cole recognized her effort in trying to be cordial.
“No, it’s all good. It’s just about ready.” He wanted to offer her wine, but figured it belonged in the same category as the music he’d forgone—too date-like—and he was already hyperaware of her presence as it was, without introducing alcohol into the mix. “I have fizzy water and soda in the fridge.”
She grabbed the bottle of water and placed it on the table, taking a seat.
Loading their plates with generous portions, he followed her to the table, sitting across from her.
“This is delicious,” she said after a bite, raising her eyebrows.
His lips quirked.
“Don’t sound so shocked. I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I decided to stick with the basics.” He didn’t mention that he’d wandered the grocery store for an hour trying to figure out what to make. “It’s nothing fancy.”
She nodded, but her smile was a little forced, her expression wary. He knew it would be up to him to maintain the conversation.
“I’ve lived here for the past three years,” he told her, wanting to put her at ease. “I inherited this place after my grandmother died. I’ve been restoring it, bit by bit, whenever I have the time. There’s a lot to be done, but it’s coming along. I’ve tried to incorporate some of her furniture into my design.”
He glanced at the leather armchair, his grandmother’s favorite. Some of his best childhood memories were the times they’d sat in the chair together, reading his favorite books. He’d had to replace the leather—it had been torn and discolored in a few places. It had taken him months to find a craftsman who could restore it. It wasn’t the exact right shade, but it was as close as he could get to the original. He hoped his grandmother would have approved.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have cared if the leather wasn’t right,” Naomi said, interrupting his thoughts, her voice quiet. “She would have been glad that when you looked at it you were reminded of the happy times you spent together.”
Cole stared at her in shock, unable to say anything for a long minute. She seemed to realize what had happened. “Naomi—”
“Shit. I’m sorry, Cole, I didn’t mean to.” She stood up, her abrupt movements almost knocking the chair over. “I’m sorry.” She turned and bolted out of the room.
Chapter Seven
Coming here was a mistake. Naomi rushed into her bedroom and closed the door, mortified. There was no doubt now, the Knowing was coming back. After eight months of psychic silence, her abilities were reawakening. She still felt a little fuzzy, a side-effect from the sleeping pills, but some impressions were getting through.
How else could you explain sauntering into Cole’s head and sensing one of his private memories? She hadn’t meant to do it, it had simply happened. Her head jerked up at the soft knock on the door.
“Naomi?” Cole’s voice sounded worried, and she didn’t blame him. She had fled the table in a rush.
“Go away, Cole.” Not the most mature of responses, but it was all she could come up with. How could she face him now? Maybe she should pack up her things and get on the first flight to San Diego.
She didn’t bother looking up when she heard the door open. She knew he wouldn’t go away so easily. He wasn’t the type to take no for an answer.
“You’re violating our roommate treaty and it hasn’t even been two hours,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the dark blue bedspread.
“You can take me to roommate court,” he retorted, and she felt his presence as he came to stand in front of her. “Are you ok?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” As if an apology would be enough to fix breaching his privacy.
“You don’t have to apologize.” His voice was gentle. “Can you come back downstairs? I’d really like to talk to you, and based on our treaty, I feel that we should do so in the agreed-upon neutral zone.”
She couldn’t believe he was making jokes, and looked up, not sure what to expect. When their eyes met, he smiled, and she felt a flutter in her stomach that had nothing to do with her psychic faux pas.
He didn’t look disgusted or angry. He looked like he wanted to understand. Though she still felt unsure, she felt her own lips curve in return. He was right; she couldn’t very well hide in her room like a scared rabbit.
“Ok.” She followed him downstairs and they sat at the table. Naomi toyed with her food, avoiding his eyes . Her mouth felt dry, and the thought of eating was impossible. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Apologizing seemed like the safest bet, and she couldn’t seem to stop doing it.
“Naomi.” Cole’s voice was quiet. “Look at me.”
Her eyes met his, and somehow his calm and patient gaze steadied her nerves.
“Can you tell me what just happened?” He picked up his fork and started eating once more as though the last few minutes had never taken place. As though they were talking about the weather, not her strange ability to pop inside his mind without warning.
“I saw it.” She reached for her glass of water and took a sip, letting the cool liquid soothe her parched throat. “The chair, I mean. I saw what the chair used to look like. I saw your grandmother. I saw you two together, reading. I felt your worry that she wouldn’t approve of the fact that the leather didn’t exactly match.” She forced herself to look at him. “I didn’t mean to invade your privacy, but it jumped into my head. I don’t even know why.” He seemed to be thinking things over. “Cole, I’m really—”
“Sorry,” he finished for her. “I get it.” He held up a hand. “Your gifts are why you’re here Naomi, so it’s natural that we’re going to have these types of paranormal run-ins. Let’s expand our treaty. I promise I’ll tell you if you do anything you need to apologize for, ok?”
She nodded, relieved. The
knot in her stomach was loosening and she chanced another bite of food. He did the same, and they resumed their dinner.
“This is new territory for me, too. I’d like to understand your abilities.” Cole placed his knife and fork on the table. “Will you tell me more about what you can do?”
It was complicated. How do you explain to a blind person what it means to see? The Knowing had been a part of her for as long as she could remember. It had always been there.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said, picking her words carefully, wanting to help him understand, wanting to build this bridge between them.
If she had taken the time to do this the last time around maybe there wouldn’t be a predator still on the loose.
“Sometimes I pick up impressions, or thoughts. Like what just happened.” She winced. “I’m usually able to filter better, not let on that I know anything—it took me by surprise that’s all. It’s been a while since I’ve, um, been around people.”
That was an understatement. She’d been holed up in Great Barrington for almost eight months, avoided most in-person interactions. Thank God for the Internet.
“You haven’t had any company since you left Boston? Not even Michelle?”
She tried not to take offense at his incredulous tone. “You know, it’s funny, I wasn’t in the mood for socializing. Can’t really say why.” The sarcasm was her only defense against admitting that she’d been a hermit. It was his turn to wince as he realized what he’d said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I’m an idiot.”
She reminded herself that she had to make an effort to be civilized if they were going to be able to work together. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Ok, so I understand the impressions. What else is there?”
“Impressions vary in degrees. Sometimes it’s as simple as picking up a thought or an emotional vibe. Other times, it can be much stronger, like I’m watching a scene from a movie through someone else’s eyes. Sometimes,” she said, preparing herself to reveal one of the weirdest part of her abilities, “I have strange dreams. That’s how Lily could talk to me from the other side.” She had to give him credit; he was trying, though he couldn’t stop the look of incredulity that flashed across his face. “I know how that sounds.”
He cleared his expression. “It’s a little out there,” he said. “I’m trying to make sense of it all.”
“You can’t, not really.” Seeing that they were both done eating, she rose and started to clear the table. She needed something to keep her hands busy while she figured out how to explain such an intimate part of herself. “It’s not something I can predict.”
“What do you think it is?” Cole placed the leftovers in the fridge and picked up a pad of paper and a pen from the counter. He moved to the living room and Naomi followed, taking a seat on the large beige couch, watching as he settled into his grandmother’s reading chair and waited for her answer.
She curled her legs under her, considering his question. “I think that there’s energy all around us, in our thoughts, our actions, the things we touch,” she said, giving him her best theory. “We all broadcast. I happen to be a little more sensitive to that energy than a lot of other people, so I can pick up on it.” She shrugged. “Who knows, maybe one day science will be able to pinpoint how I can do the things I do.”
“So, you can’t tell the future?”
She shook her head. “No. My abilities are rooted in the present. Not as exciting as being able to predict lottery numbers.”
He chuckled. “That would be a nice perk. Can you control it?”
She shook her head, bemused at this situation. She was in Cole’s house, they were alone, and not only was he asking her questions about her abilities, but he seemed interested in her answers, focused on her every word. She hated that she found him handsome. Why couldn’t he be overweight and bald?
She realized he was waiting for her answer. “No, I can’t control it. To be honest, I haven’t spent much time trying, with the exception of building up mental shields.” She saw his confused look. “Mental exercises that help my brain filter out a lot of the noise, so I don’t get overwhelmed,” she explained. “It’s not always so clear. Things come to me in pieces sometimes, through symbols.” She looked at him, feeling a familiar sadness come over her. “I’m not always sure what they mean. Like what happened with Lily.”
“That’s why you keep what you can do hidden.”
“Knowing things that you’re not meant to know. Seeing things that could change lives, for better or for worse. Deciding if you should speak up or stay quiet, the ramifications of whatever you decide to do. It’s a hard responsibility to bear.”
“I never thought of it that way.” He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “Something pretty big must have happened to make you go to Owen that day.”
She wasn’t surprised his quick detective mind would put together the pieces of what she had told him, that he’d realize something terrible would have had to happen to push her to break one of her cardinal rules and risk revealing herself.
She dropped her gaze, her pulse jumping at the memory of the first vision that had ripped through her. One minute she’d been brushing her teeth, the next she’d been inside the head of a monster, helpless to do anything but experience the sick pleasure he had in violating another in the most brutal of ways.
He liked it when they hurt, when they struggled. He liked it when they awoke, that first moment when they realized they weren’t alone, that there was someone else in the room. Their fear was intoxicating, delightful, the power of it made him feel like a God. They were all so stupid, so weak, and he enjoyed proving it to them. Knowing he could do anything without ever being caught. This city was his playground. He would never stop.
“Naomi?” A tentative hand touched her shoulder. She snapped back to reality, finding Cole next to her, concerned. She jerked, startled that he was so close, and he dropped his hand, moving back to give her some space. “Are you ok?”
She nodded.
“Sorry,” she said, trying to distance herself from that awful memory. She could still feel his emotions, even eight months later. He had enjoyed it. She’d felt the power, the glee in overpowering someone who was weaker, knowing his ecstasy as he reveled in the ultimate control he had over another. She’d awakened on her bathroom floor, tears streaming down her face, her stomach roiling with such intensity that she’d barely managed to crawl to the toilet to throw up. “I had a vision that day,” she said, skirting over the details. “I thought I could help. That maybe I had seen something, heard something that had been missed.”
Remembering that day still made her skin crawl.
“I think that’s the first time we met,” she said, changing the subject back to more neutral ground.
“I remember.” Cole settled on the couch next to her. “Owen told me you were someone he trusted, someone I needed to listen to.”
Being on the receiving end of such masculine undivided attention was making Naomi acutely aware of his presence. He had such a physicality to him, his height and the broadness of his shoulders only added to his imposing aura. He was the type of man who anchored others to him naturally, in every space that he occupied.
“Owen told me the same thing,” she said, smiling. “He said you were a good detective and that I should tell you what I saw. I didn’t want to.” She’d resisted, not wanting a stranger to know about her abilities. Owen only knew because she’d trusted Michelle.
“What made you change your mind?”
Naomi was finding it hard to concentrate; his proximity was toying with her senses. Had his eyes always been that piercing shade of slate grey? They were having a serious conversation, she reminded herself. She should be paying attention to what he was saying, not how good he smelled.
Where had that thought come from? She steeled her resolve: she was here for justice, to right a wrong, and to fix herself. She would not be distracted by the potent mix of soap an
d aftershave. She wasn’t here to feel things for a detective who asked all the right questions and had piercing grey eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
“I didn’t want him to get away with it,” she said, forcing herself to sound normal. “So, I agreed and told you what I knew, and how I knew it.” She’d skipped over the part where she’d been inside the guy’s head, had focused instead on other details, like the fact that he tied his victims’ hands behind their backs with plastic zip ties. The more questions she answered the colder he’d gotten. The flicker of male interest she’d seen in his eyes had hardened into suspicion.
“You made me repeat what I’d seen over and over,” she said, remembering how he’d picked apart her every word. “If I remember correctly, wasn’t that when you called me a lying, sociopathic fraud?”
Chapter Eight
Cole groaned and put his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this.
“We’re going to relive every stupid thing I said and did, aren’t we?” He closed his eyes. “I’m going to record a clip of myself saying ‘I’m sorry’ on my phone and play it every time you mention what an ass I was. My vocal cords will be spared the strain.” He lifted his head and was gratified to see that she was indeed amused.
“Being able to joke about this now is a good sign, right?” Maybe laughter would help them heal the pain that lived between them. “Tonight’s dinner wasn’t so bad.”
“It wasn’t horrible,” she admitted. “The universe seems to have a sick sense of humor. Laughter might be the only thing that keeps my sanity intact.” She stifled a yawn.
He glanced at his watch: it was close to midnight. They’d had a long day, one packed with emotional punches. “You should get some rest. Owen will come by tomorrow and we can go over what we know so far. I brought Lily’s case files and some of the old task force files as well. Figured maybe you could take a look and see if anything jumps out at you.”
