But he’d know. How would he ever approach any other investigation without wondering what she was thinking? What she might know that he couldn’t see? The fact that one person might actually be able to glimpse into the mind of another was intriguing. Impossible, improbable, but intriguing. If nothing else, her brain was great at working puzzles. Maybe he could use Annie in the future, when a mystery presented itself. It wasn’t necessary that anyone else know, but how could something so powerful and useful be ignored?
There was only one other possible explanation for her knowledge. She was somehow involved in the murders. He immediately dismissed that idea. Annie Lockhart annoyed him to no end. She was fascinating and maddening. And she was no killer.
Again he told himself that she was not his type, but now and then when he looked at her she was beyond pretty. Not gorgeous, not eye-popping, but beautiful all the same. Of course, she also looked like she might walk out the door at any time and hug a tree, or pick wildflowers and start to dance and skip with the animals.
It was in his basic makeup to wonder what she’d look like naked, and he pondered the possibilities as he fiddled needlessly with his notes. Leggy, curvy, soft, delicate. She was all those things, he could see that well enough even when she was dressed.
But what would she taste like? Did she kiss with the trepidation he so often saw from her, or with the ferocity she displayed when she lost her temper? He was guessing a bit of both. Annie was a complicated woman, and every man alive knew that complicated women were nothing but trouble. Brainless bimbos were easier to handle. A man never had to wonder what she was thinking, because she usually wasn’t.
Complicated or not, he did wonder—again—what Annie Lockhart would taste like. It was in his nature to wonder about such things, and a man who fought his own nature was fighting a losing battle.
He didn’t hear her move, but suddenly there was a soft, warm hand on his back and a gentle voice said, “There’s only one way to find out.”
They skipped past all the steps most men and women covered before getting to the kissing part. No flirty smiles, no awkward date, no touch of one hand to another, no not-so-accidental brushes of one body against another. No, she and Lucky went straight to the mouth-to-mouth stage.
He turned to face her, she went up on her toes and their mouths came together.
His thoughts had drawn her to him, in an undeniable way. Unlike the jarring and unwanted images she’d been suffering of late, Lucky’s reflections on how she might taste had seemed almost like her own thoughts. They were mingled with her own, not intrusive and strange. In the shop, the thoughts of others had come to her in a jarring and unpleasant way, almost as if they were shouting into her brain, and reaching for a killer had been draining and unpleasant. Lucky’s contemplations were mellow and easy. They were pleasant, and she needed that right now.
It had been a long time since she’d kissed a man. Years, in fact. And still, kissing Lucky seemed very natural. It was a kiss she felt throughout her body. Warm, arousing, comforting, dangerous—it was everything a kiss could and should be.
She liked it.
Rain pattered on the roof and the windows, isolating them. Outside this cabin the world was wet and windy, but inside there was safety and warmth.
For a few precious seconds Annie forgot all the unpleasantness that had brought them together, and just enjoyed the kiss. She leaned into Lucky; one of his arms encircled her, but not too tightly. He tasted of warmth and masculinity and security, and she loved the feel of his solid body against hers. It had been too long….
How did she taste to him? Even though they were touching, kissing, joined in a very primal way, she didn’t know. That was very nice. Something in her life should be normal, even if it was just a kiss.
And then without warning something of Lucky did speak to her, and it was so real she had no doubts about her interpretation. Save the girl, take what you can get, walk away before she gets too close. It wasn’t a plan, exactly. He wasn’t even aware the thought had passed through his mind—he was totally engrossed in the kiss, and he wasn’t thinking of anything else.
But what she saw, what she felt…it was the way he lived his life. At least she’d know what to expect, if this went any further than a kiss. She couldn’t let herself love Lucky Santana, not ever, because he didn’t know how to love her or any other woman.
She barely knew the man, so the word love shouldn’t even come into play. But there it was, dancing just out of reach. Lucky didn’t know what love was. To him the word was related to trust, or sex, or commitment. He’d never combined the first two, and he’d never truly experienced the third.
Did she know what love was? In the past she’d thought so, but it had ended badly…. She wasn’t so sure now.
She ended the kiss, and placed one palm against Lucky’s solid, warm chest. He would like to appear unaffected, but his heart beat too fast, just as hers did. “I needed that,” she said softly.
Lucky would never admit to as much, but he’d needed the kiss, too. And he’d liked it. As she returned to her chair he said, “You are the oddest woman I’ve ever met.”
Normally she wouldn’t take that comment as a compliment, but there was some flattery intended, she knew. “Thank you,” she said as she sank back into the chair and closed her eyes, not to relive the pain of reaching for a killer, but to commit to memory the beauty and wonder of a first kiss.
Chapter 4
Lucky’s usual professional attire—a good suit and a crisp white dress shirt—made him stand out like a sore thumb in Mercerville. It was a casual little town, filled with laid-back tourists and homey citizens. Fortunately, he’d packed more casual clothes, and when he headed into town on Wednesday morning he was wearing khaki pants and a dark green golf shirt. Maybe today people wouldn’t stare, as they had yesterday when he’d visited the small but well-stocked library.
Downtown Mercerville gave him the creeps. With those homey citizens who all seemed to know one another well—perhaps too well—and the too-quaint-to-be-real appearance of the downtown area, he pretty much expected blank-eyed children or toothless men bearing pitchforks to bear down on him at any moment. He was very much a city boy. He enjoyed the quiet solitude of the house he’d bought three years ago, but downtown Nashville wasn’t all that far away, and he spent more than his share of time there.
This…this was practically archaic.
Annie’s Closet was located in a prime downtown Mercerville spot, on a corner that looked to be the intersection. The other three corners were occupied by a pharmacy, a quaint café, and what looked to be an upscale restaurant. The rest of the area was populated with other small shops that would attract tourists. Antiques, souvenirs, Tshirts, fudge. An entire business devoted to making and selling fudge.
As he passed by Annie’s Closet, he saw some of Annie’s personality in the window display. Even though she had several employees, she’d probably arranged it herself. The contents of the display were colorful, bright and decidedly odd. Scarves were draped this way and that, and women’s purses and hats were arranged in a haphazard way that was somehow not at all haphazard. Annie was apparently fond of sparkly stuff, since there was plenty of it on display.
The woman who’d hired him kissed the same way she did everything else. With abandon. It had been a long time since any woman had been able to surprise him, but yesterday Annie had done just that.
Not that there was necessarily anything paranormal about her knowledge that he’d been thinking of kissing her. He was a man; she was a woman. It was absolutely natural that he might be thinking about what she might taste like.
Well, now he knew. She tasted damn good. From here on out their relationship would be entirely professional.
Three short blocks down the road, the courthouse, library and post office comprised the official presence of Mercerville. The sheriff’s office was located on the second floor of the courthouse—which looked as if it had been standing since the nineteenth centu
ry. It was architecturally impressive, and as creepy as the rest of the small town.
His mother had come from a small town much like this one. It had been located in Mississippi, not Tennessee, but that didn’t matter much. In places like this one everyone knew everyone else’s business, and once you were out of the loop, you were completely out. Small-town people could be unforgiving and cruel, in the worst sort of way.
No wonder Mercerville gave him the creeps.
Lucky walked from his parking space just outside Annie’s Closet to the courthouse, passing tourists and locals on the way. They still studied him as he passed, but not as fiercely as they had yesterday. Maybe if he stepped into that shop that had garden flags and rakes in the window and purchased a pair of overalls and a wide-brimmed straw hat…
He almost smiled. That would be the day.
In the courthouse, Lucky bypassed the ancient elevator and bounded up the stairs to the second floor. Annie insisted that he not tell the sheriff that her dreams had brought him here, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let the man and his people know that the Huffs’ deaths were currently under investigation by the Benning Agency.
Annie found herself busy in the kitchen again. It was nice to have someone to cook for, and Lucky looked as if he could use the food. He probably ate in restaurants all the time, and lived on cereal and frozen meals when he did eat at home. The man definitely needed some domestic care and attention.
Once again last night she’d managed to sleep without disturbing dreams, a fact that was responsible for her chipper mood. If she’d dreamed at all she’d already forgotten the details, which was wonderful. Normal and average and absolutely wonderful.
She recognized Lucky’s knock, and all but bounded to the door to answer. He looked decidedly sour.
“Don’t you ever comb your hair?” he asked as he stepped into her home. “Or wear shoes?”
She turned her back on him and headed for the kitchen, a soft smile on her face. “Do you always dress like my father?”
“Cute,” he mumbled beneath his breath. He followed her to the kitchen and made himself comfortable against the doorjamb, leaning there and watching her as she returned to her domestic chores. For a few minutes he was silent. He was watching her; she knew without turning about to face him.
“Your Sheriff Buhl is not a cooperative man.”
Her heart skipped a beat at his mention of the sheriff, even though he had promised that her name would not be mentioned in relation to the investigation. “Did you think he would be?” She cast a glance in Lucky’s direction.
“I thought he might at least talk to me,” Lucky grumbled. “Instead he warned me to steer clear of the Huff case, which he declared closed without question.”
“I don’t think he’s a bad sheriff,” Annie said as she stirred the chicken and dumplings. “He’s just tired. A little lazy. It causes him to take shortcuts when they present themselves. Besides, you’re a stranger here. Sheriff Buhl doesn’t trust strangers.”
“Is this another psychic observation?” Lucky asked caustically.
“No. I’ve lived here for over four years. People talk.”
Even in what he considered casual wear, he looked stiff and overly conservative. Annie couldn’t help but wonder, as she set the table and poured two tall glasses of sweet iced tea, what he’d look like in worn jeans that would hug those strong thighs, a black T-shirt that would mold to his muscles and maybe well-used work boots that would clomp across her wooden floor with authority. If his hair grew a little long, and he didn’t shave for a day or two…She glanced at him as she wondered. With those eyes, he’d look dangerous no matter what he wore. Besides, he likely didn’t own a pair of worn jeans or a too-small black T-shirt.
Too bad.
Didn’t the woman ever wear a bra? It wasn’t that she actually needed one. Annie was firm and not exactly huge in the breast department. Still, there was something about the knowledge that she wasn’t wearing one that crept into his brain and wouldn’t go away.
He really, really hoped she wasn’t able to read his mind.
“So, what do you think?” She plopped down into the chair that he thought of as hers, the old yellow armchair she usually sat in, tucking one bare foot beneath her. Tonight’s jeans were even more worn than the first pair he’d seen her wear. There was even a small, frayed hole high on the right leg that offered a tiny glimpse of skin.
Lucky turned his mind as completely as possible away from Annie, her breasts and her bed, and concentrated on the case. “There’s not much more I can do here, if the sheriff won’t cooperate.”
Her small smile died, and her eyes flashed. Not with anger, but with fear. “You’re leaving?”
“In the morning,” he said calmly. “But I’m not giving up. I have a friend who’s a sheriff in Alabama.” Well, technically Truman was married to a friend, but that was close enough to the truth. “I’ll have him make some official inquiries. Maybe he can get Sheriff Buhl to let loose of the official case file.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll think of something else.” He intended to sound reassuring, but to Annie it probably sounded more like a cop-out. “Trust me,” he added.
A sly, uncertain smile crept across her face. “When a man says those words, it’s usually time to take cover.”
“Not this time,” he said, and her smile disappeared.
“I don’t know how you did it,” he continued. “I’m not yet ready to say that I believe in psychic ability or prophetic dreams or any of that woo woo, but you have stumbled into something. The case is wrong. I won’t walk away from it.”
“Thank you,” she said, less than enthusiastically.
There was no need to go over notes again tonight, and he didn’t want to ask her to try to see anything new about the killer. It had drained her last time, putting her very firmly in the damsel-in-distress category. He had all he needed, for now.
Annie looked good, sitting in a relaxed pose, staring at him with those big blue eyes. Like it or not, she was tempting. He really didn’t have time for tempting.
Lucky said good night. There was no kiss this time; he didn’t even shake her hand. He thanked Annie for supper, and told her he’d call if…when…he found anything. She remained in her chair and offered a poor attempt at a smile.
On her front porch, with the door closed behind him, Lucky stopped and looked out over the mountains. They were everything mountains should be. Majestic and awe inspiring. While he stood there, he took his phone from the pocket of his khakis and flipped it open, keying in a familiar number from memory.
Cal answered with a gruff hello.
“Did anyone but you talk to Annie Lockhart?” he asked without preamble.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. What’s this about? Murphy said you were going to stay and look into the kook’s case for a couple of days. Are you that desperate not to train the new guys? They’re not all that bad….”
“Did you tell Lockhart anything personal about me? Anything at all that she shouldn’t know?”
There was a long moment of silence before Cal answered. “No. Man, don’t tell me she’s pulling some fortune-teller con on you. They can do that, you know. If anyone’s too smart to fall for that crap, it’s you.”
“No con,” Lucky replied. “I think maybe she’s the real deal.”
After another long moment of silence, Cal began to laugh. “Very funny. Ha-ha. You had me going there, for a minute. When are you headed back?”
“In the morning,” Lucky said as he walked down the front steps of Annie’s cabin and headed for his car. He didn’t bother to tell Cal that the job wasn’t over yet. That could wait until he was looking the man in the eye. Somebody had told Annie about Sadie. But who?
Lucky wasn’t going to be here long enough to follow through with any of the personal images she caught from him on occasion. Annie knew she should be relieved, but instead she felt cheated
and deeply disappointed.
She dressed for bed—in blue-and-white-striped pajama bottoms and a cropped white shirt—and checked to make sure all her doors and windows were locked. She knew they were, and still she tested each one. The front door, which Lucky had locked as he’d left. The kitchen door, which opened onto the deck that ran the length of the back of the cabin. The windows throughout the cabin. The sliding glass door in her bedroom that also opened onto the deck.
Only when that was done did she slip beneath the covers. Over her head, the fan whirred, slow and silent and unobstructed. So much for her vision of Lucky in this bed, with that fan rotating beyond his scarred shoulder. Maybe that hadn’t been a vision after all, but was nothing more than wishful thinking.
She really had been too long without a man.
It wasn’t as if she’d never thought about finding that right man, falling in love, getting married and having two or three kids. That was the all-American dream, right?
But not only did she have her parents’ disaster of a marriage to consider, she also had her experience in Nashville. She’d thought Seth was the right man. They’d dated a few times, and she’d quickly fallen in love. Seth had been sweet and funny and attentive. He’d been wonderfully normal, a rock-solid kind of guy. They’d talked about getting married. She’d been given to daydreams about how many children they might have, and where they’d buy their first house. And then Seth had learned that she was not what he’d thought her to be, and it had all gone away.
During that very bad time in Nashville, most of the people she talked to thought she was nuts. Not Seth. She’d convinced him of what she could do—just as she’d tried to convince Lucky. She’d convinced him, and he’d been terrified of her. Just like that, with a snap of her fingers, it was over. That was when she’d learned that love was very, very fragile.
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