Not that he was anxious to leave Mercerville and Annie behind, but he did want her to be out of danger. As long as she was having the dreams that pointed her toward the killer, she wasn’t safe. She didn’t want anyone to know of her ability because she didn’t want her neighbors to know she was different. Lucky knew that if the killer realized she had reached into his head, she’d be next on his list.
As they approached Annie’s Closet, the woman at his side came to an unexpected halt. She held her breath, and when she breathed again she muttered a vile word.
“What’s wrong?” A vision, a prophesy, heartburn…anything was possible.
Annie pointed, and Lucky looked at the man who was leaning against the brick wall beside the front door to her shop. The man in question looked to be under thirty. His pale hair was cut too short, and he wore tight blue jeans and a gray T-shirt.
“Who’s that?” It would be too much to ask for that she’d tell him that man who’d made her stop their progress was the murderer he was looking for.
“Um, that’s Jerry.”
“The sheriff’s deputy you dated?” Somehow he’d expected a Barney Fife type, not a freakin’ pretty boy.
“Yeah.”
They resumed the trek, more slowly than before. “So, what’s the problem? You said it wasn’t serious.”
Annie sighed. “I wasn’t serious.” She glanced over and up to catch Lucky’s eye for a split second. “He was.”
In outward appearance alone, Jerry Tinsdale was perfect. Physically, there wasn’t a man in Mercerville who could hold a candle to the handsome deputy—or there hadn’t been until Lucky had arrived.
Beyond the pretty, high-cheekboned face that could grace the cover of a romance novel or a Chippendales calendar, and killer blue eyes that could stop a woman in her tracks, there lurked…not much. Jerry wasn’t overly smart, he wasn’t witty. He certainly wasn’t a great conversationalist. Their two dates had been sheer torture.
He had insisted all along that they looked great together. Annie was pretty sure that midway through the second date, he had their three blond-haired, blue-eyed children named.
“Hi, Annie,” Jerry said. He had a smile for her, and then a glare for Lucky. How obvious could he be?
“Jerry, hi. What are you doing here?”
“It’s, you know, my day off.”
“I figured,” she said. “No uniform.”
Jerry rocked back on his boot heels. “I’ve been hearing about you and this guy, and I, you know, wanted to check him out.” This statement was followed by another glare cast Lucky’s way. In a flash, Annie knew that Jerry had practiced this glare in front of the mirror of his pristine bathroom, and she had to work very hard to withhold a laugh.
“Lucky Santana,” Annie said with a wave of her hand, “this is Jerry Tinsdale.”
“We dated,” Jerry said as he reluctantly offered his hand to Lucky.
“I heard,” Lucky responded.
Testosterone filled the air as they shook hands. With her senses on high alert, she could almost taste the testosterone. It was electric. Powerful. Since she’d never had two gorgeous men vying for her attention before, Annie savored the moment. She allowed herself to forget that Jerry was a male bimbo—a manbo, as it were—and that Lucky wouldn’t be around any longer than it took to catch the killer. For now, at this moment, they both wanted her. She liked it. What woman wouldn’t?
Her enjoyment didn’t last long. Something unexpected stole her breath. A chill walked up her spine, and as an unexpected pain sliced through her back, she dropped.
Alerted to the problem by her gasp, Lucky caught her before she collapsed to the sidewalk. She tried to look around to see who had hurt her, but no one was there. No one was even close to her but Lucky and a very bewildered Jerry. Still, she knew he was close. Too close. And somehow…somehow he realized she was a threat to him. Why else would that pain slice into her?
Jerry took a step back and said, “Uh, are you okay?”
“I think I sprained my ankle.”
Jerry’s expression was one of sheer confusion. Manbo, indeed. “But you weren’t even moving. How’d you do that?”
“Just one of those freak accidents, I guess.”
“Oh.”
Lucky put his arm around her, uttered a crisp and dismissive “See you later” to Jerry and guided her toward his car. At first Annie forgot to limp for Jerry’s benefit, but halfway to the car she thought to add a gentle shift in her walk, for his benefit. Her back still hurt, but the pain was subsiding. Right now, she was more afraid than in pain.
When they were well away from Jerry, Lucky asked softly, “What the hell happened?”
Annie shuddered and leaned in as close to Lucky as was possible. “I think he’s going to stab me in the back.”
Chapter 12
Lucky’s grip on the steering wheel was too tight as he turned into Annie’s driveway. It had been that way since he’d pulled out of the parking spot on Main Street.
Annie had suffered a muscle spasm, and her imagination had run away with her. She was sensing the killer’s attack on someone else. She was stressed-out, thanks to the situation, and that was to blame for her strange back spasm and vision. He was willing to believe anything but what Annie had told him.
His plan to turn the killer’s eyes their way had seemed like a good one at the time. He wasn’t naive, like the others had been. He would be on constant guard. There was no way the man who’d murdered the Huffs, and perhaps many others, could sneak up on Annie’s cabin. He and Murphy had seen to that. Besides, from what he’d learned, stabbing someone in the back wasn’t this guy’s style.
So Annie must be wrong.
Unless, of course, the killer learned what she could do, and he veered from his usual MO to take her out in the sneakiest and most cowardly way possible—with a knife in the back.
Since they’d turned onto the mountain road, Annie had been very quiet. It wasn’t normal for her to be so silent and still. Normally she fidgeted; she chattered. She changed the subject without warning. Since he lived alone and often worked alone, Lucky liked silence. He enjoyed being alone. But right now he wanted to hear Annie chatter.
She waited until they were in the cabin, with the door locked behind them, before she looked at him and began to speak.
“My mother always hated the fact that I inherited some psychic ability from her mother. When I was little and I said something odd, she’d get this expression of horror on her face. No, it was more than horror. It was repulsion. No little girl wants her mother to look at her that way, and I can still remember that look as if she was standing here now.”
Annie sat on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. She quickly adopted a withdrawn pose.
Lucky sat beside her. He didn’t know why she’d chosen this moment to tell him that her mother wasn’t wild about her ability. Maybe she just wanted him to know, the way he’d wanted her to know about his father. “She was probably scared because she didn’t understand.”
“Who can understand?” Annie laid her head on his shoulder, but still she remained somehow distant, with her body drawn into itself. “In Nashville, when I went to the police with what I knew and ended up having to explain myself to the people in my life, I saw that same expression from my fiancé. He looked at me like I was a monster who was about to eat him up. I was the boogeyman jumping out of the closet, the guy with a chainsaw and a hockey mask. He hated me for not being the simple, ordinary girl he’d fallen in love with.”
“That’s all history,” Lucky said. He wasn’t accustomed to comforting people, but that was obviously what Annie needed. Comfort. A friend. Someone who understood what she was going through. He didn’t exactly understand, but maybe he could comfort.
“I wish it was history,” she said softly as she turned her head so she could look him in the eye. “You looked at me that way today, when I said he was going to stab me in the back. Did it just become real to you? Did it
take that moment on the street for you to finally realize that I’m for real?”
He didn’t want to hurt her, not this way. He didn’t want to add his name to the long list of people who had disappointed her by not accepting who and what she was. “No. I accepted your ability days ago. I’m not revolted because you had a vision, not at all. I’m terrified at the idea of this guy getting close enough to you to hurt you.”
“I know that,” she whispered. “But still…you are a little freaked, and you might as well not try to hide it from me.”
“Maybe a little freaked,” he admitted.
“Maybe a little,” she repeated, and then she laid her head on his shoulder again.
Did she understand that she had rocked his reality with her visions? Did she know that until he’d met her, he’d only believed in what he could hold in his hands? She did scare him, a little, but only because she touched him in a way no other woman ever had. He really hoped she couldn’t see that, because getting too close to Annie was a weakness he couldn’t afford.
Annie buried her face against Lucky’s chest, taking in his strength, his solidness, his warmth. If he knew how well she could see into him now, he wouldn’t be here. He’d run away, send another agent to watch over her, never look back. She wasn’t ready for him to go.
Even though the pain was gone—and in truth, it hadn’t lasted more than a split second—Annie could still feel the sharp agony of the knife slicing into her flesh. More, she felt the very real fear of knowing a killer was right behind her, and that she was alone with no one to help her.
Right now she wasn’t alone, so she closed her eyes and let the fear go.
“What if we’re wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong about what?” Lucky brushed his fingers through her hair, in an absent fashion.
“Everything. The killer, the suspects, the other crimes Sheriff McCain found, the people he’s watching…everything.”
“Between your dreams and the factual evidence, we should be on track.”
Her heart hitched. “What if the dreams are wrong? I haven’t honed this skill. Instead I’ve done my best to shut it down. I’ve fought it and denied it and dismissed it. If I’d listened to Grams instead of my mother, if I’d practiced and grown stronger instead of purposely weakening my gift, then I could be sure. Right now I’m not sure of anything.”
She wasn’t sure of anything at all, except the crazy and inescapable notion that she was falling in love with Lucky Santana. Was he another gift she would willingly throw away? If she told him how she felt, would he immediately draw away from her, physically and emotionally? As well as she could see into his mind, she still wasn’t sure.
So she kissed him. Physically, there were no doubts in her mind, or his. She couldn’t get enough of Lucky, and he was mystified by the strength of his need for her. For now, that was enough.
They kissed and touched for a while, gratefully forgetting the sad events that had brought him here, her violent visions, his promise that this relationship was temporary. Then they began to undress one another—without haste or even a touch of urgency. They had all afternoon and all night, and nothing else mattered, for a while.
When she uncovered the scar on his shoulder, she kissed it. She kissed it, and then she traced the scar with the tip of her tongue. She wanted to draw out the pain of this old scar, take it into herself for him. There was no actual physical pain for Lucky, but to be stabbed by the woman he loved, his own wife…how horrible for him. It was much more horrible than the fear-filled glances of loved ones that still haunted her.
Lucky bared her breasts and teased the nipples much as she had teased his scar. Annie gratefully and completely forgot everything but his touch and the warm promise of what was to come—pleasure, a soul-deep bond, peace.
Love?
More undressed than not, they could’ve kept going without pause and made love on the couch—but of course that couldn’t happen. The condoms Lucky had bought were in the spare bedroom, and a man who didn’t plan to stick around once the job was done didn’t take chances where the possibility of procreation was concerned.
It would be nice if she could tell Lucky that she wouldn’t get pregnant, but she didn’t see that clearly into herself. Some segments of her future were crystal clear, but most were foggy—or dark.
“Your room or mine?” Lucky asked as he rose from the couch and took Annie’s hand to assist her to her feet.
She fell gently against him so her bare chest rested against his. “Yours.”
As long as that image of Lucky in her bed persisted, she knew the opportunity hadn’t passed. She wasn’t ready for this relationship, temporary as it might be, to be over.
Lucky lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her legs around his hips as he carried her to his bed. Annie buried her face against his neck and kissed, and she allowed everything else to fade away. Like a fog on the mountain burned away by the sun, all her fears and uncertainties faded away.
He laid her on the bed, finished undressing himself and her, and then he lowered his body to rest on hers. Lucky never rushed, no matter how ready he was to be inside her. He never entered her until she was on the edge of hurtling out of control, and then…
This afternoon was no different. He aroused her until her breath wouldn’t come and her body trembled with need, and then he pushed inside her. He made love to her, slow at first and then fast. Everything went away while he loved her. Every worry, every fear, every bad memory. There was nothing but her body and his, perfectly linked and reaching for fulfillment.
They came together, clutching one another with a combination of ferocity and tenderness. And in the trembling haze that followed Annie had one moment of clarity.
She loved him.
They knew. He didn’t know how, but…they knew.
It was well dark once again, but instead of watching the Bentleys’ house tonight, he watched Annie Lockhart’s cabin. He remained at a distance, with his binoculars trained on the warmly lit windows. He couldn’t see anything beyond those windows, since the curtains were closed.
Word had gotten around quickly enough that Lucky Santana was looking into the Huffs’ deaths, but most people didn’t give that news much credence. After all, officially it was a cut-and-dried murder/suicide, and no one questioned those findings. Well, the victims’ families had had lots of questions in the beginning, but even they had grown quiet lately. He assumed that someone from the Huff family had hired Santana to investigate the incident, but he wasn’t certain.
Why was Annie with Santana, as he poked his nose where it did not belong? Yes, they were romantically involved, but why on earth would she accompany him as he questioned people around town? Maybe she was serving as a sort of cover. Did Annie even know what her lover was up to, or was she an innocent pawn in his inconvenient investigation? Somehow, he thought she did know.
They both knew too much.
They hadn’t uncovered his identity, but if they kept asking questions and digging where they should not, would they? In four years, no one had unraveled one of his carefully constructed scenes. How could they? He made sure there were no red flags at the scenes of his victims’ deaths, nothing suspicious to raise unwanted questions. And since all the killings took place in rural communities where there were minimal facilities for investigation, no one looked beyond the obvious.
If Annie and Santana continued to ask questions, they might find something he’d missed. He couldn’t think of anything that might point the investigation toward murder by someone other than Trey Huff, but it was possible. Worse, what if they got others asking questions? What if other investigators in other states began to look more closely at suspicious cases from the past? Then where would he be?
His grip on the binoculars tightened. He could move on to another town and forget about the Bentleys, but if he vanished now, would their investigation turn to him? If that happened they’d surely go back and find evidence of other crimes. He couldn’t afford to display su
spicious behavior. Not now.
He also couldn’t allow those two to keep poking their noses where they didn’t belong, but what was he supposed to do? Panic was never the answer. He had to remain calm in the face of this new challenge. Maybe they were looking…but they had nothing. Nothing at all
Still, Annie and Santana did bear watching, and if by some miracle they got too close, he’d know. He’d know.
“You know about the scar, don’t you?” Lucky felt Annie’s body, which was bare and resting against his as if it had been made to fit there, stiffen.
“Would you feel better if I lied to you and said no?”
He knew Annie wouldn’t lie to him. It wasn’t her style. “Not really.”
She rose up slightly, propping herself on his chest so she could look him in the eye. The only light came from the hallway, but it was enough. It was enough to make his heart do strange things when he looked into Annie’s eyes.
“She was scared.”
“Of me.”
“I didn’t say she had reason to be scared, just that she was. Her fear was irrational, but to her it was real.” Annie cocked her head.
When his wife had found out about his father, she’d freaked. She’d accused him of lying about who he was, of hiding his past. Of course he’d hidden facts about his past. Who wants to brag to the woman he plans to spend his life with that his father was a hired killer? He’d convinced himself that it wasn’t important, but Cherie had thought differently. She’d always been emotionally fragile, unable to handle even the smallest upset. Still, Lucky had been so sure she could handle this crisis. He’d been wrong. When he’d tried to convince her that there was no reason to turn on him because of something his father had done, she’d panicked and defended herself with a kitchen knife.
He’d been so surprised when the knife had pierced skin.
Looking back, he understood more clearly what had happened. Cherie’s home life before their marriage had been less than wonderful. It was no wonder that she was fragile. Perhaps even a little unstable. Her father had been an abusive drunk, and marrying a man she’d thought to be a complete straight arrow had been her escape. Finding out he was not precisely who he’d claimed to be had torn her neat world apart.
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