Days ago Sadie had added Jerry Tinsdale to the list of suspects, at Lucky’s insistence, but she’d quickly cleared him. “He’s cute,” she’d observed unnecessarily, an observation that set Lucky’s teeth on edge. How could he be jealous of a manbo who’d dated Annie twice?
One by one his unofficial list of suspects had dwindled to a few, and even then, he couldn’t be sure the man he was looking for was on the list. Anyone and everyone was a potential danger.
For now, Lucky was planning to take Annie and the Bentleys to his house near Nashville. He had a decent security system, and Benning agents were already on their way there, ready to take on twenty-four hour guard duty until the danger was past.
Sadie was filling him in on some of the suspects they’d cleared, and how, when a buzzing filled his head. Words followed the buzzing.
Lucky. Save me.
Annie’s voice filled his head, and he quickly ended the phone call with Sadie, promising to call her back and disconnecting before she could say anything more.
Lucky drew his gun and turned toward the back room, where Annie was preparing for a few days away from her business, and Kristie watched. The back door at the end of the hallway was dead bolted. There were no windows. There was no way anyone else could be back there.
The voice persisted. Lucky. Save me.
He started to call her name as he made his way toward the narrow hallway that led to her office, but something stopped him. Instinct, maybe. Fear, certainly.
He’d always been a big believer in the power of gut instinct. Was that much different from Annie’s abilities? Maybe not so much. As he moved toward the employees only section of Annie’s Closet, he smelled something sweet. Something lemony. Something bitter. Like the words in his head, they were real and yet more than real.
Maybe he’d lost his mind.
No. It’s true. It’s me. Trust me, Lucky.
Those words were not as clear as those of the first message. They were messy. Disjointed.
Drugged.
At the entrance to the hallway, he stopped. Soft voices reached him from halfway down the long hallway, where Annie’s office was located. Instead of hearing Annie’s and Kristie’s voices, as he should, he caught the tail end of a man’s soft sentence. He recognized that voice.
Nance. The fudge guy.
The voices came from Annie’s office, and Lucky made his way there without making a sound, back to the wall, eyes sharp. He didn’t have much time. Since his phone conversation had ended, Nance would wonder about his whereabouts, if he hadn’t already. No, for now he was safe. Nance had dismissed Lucky’s presence, and was focusing on Annie. He was making her eat…something. He was making her explain how she knew what he’d done. As Lucky himself had in the beginning, Nance wanted logical explanations.
There were none.
Annie’s voice had begun to slur. What had Nance given her? How much? Was it too late?
No. Not too late. Not yet. Save me, Lucky.
Lucky spun into the room, took aim and fired a single shot into Nance’s knee. The knife the candy maker held dropped from his hand and landed on the floor, and he howled in pain and outrage as he fell down and clutched at his wounded leg.
Realizing what had happened, Nance regained control for a moment and lunged for the knife, but Lucky was faster. He stomped down on Nance’s pudgy, soft hand. The hand of a killer?
Yes.
Annie sighed and rested her head on the desk. “It’s about time, Santana,” she said, her words slurring slightly. “I thought you would never get here. “She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you.” Lucky snatched the knife from the floor, checked Nance quickly for other weapons and found none, and then he dropped down to his haunches beside Annie and took her face in his hands. “Kristie?”
“Bathroom,” Annie whispered. “Tied up. She’s fine.”
Lucky lifted the office phone and dialed 911. He asked for—demanded—the sheriff and an ambulance, and then ended the call in spite of the operator’s insistence that he remain on the line.
“What did he give you?” Lucky asked, studying what remained of a chunk of lemon fudge on Annie’s messy desk.
“Rat poison, on the walnuts.” Annie wrinkled her nose. “That’s just not right, poisoning a woman’s fudge.” She sounded indignant, just enough to convince Lucky that she was going to be all right.
He cradled her in his arms, for the moment. They didn’t have a lot of time. He needed to unlock the front door for the sheriff and the paramedics, release Kristie from the bathroom and make a few phone calls.
But not right now.
“You, ah, spoke to me.”
“Yeah.” Annie gave him a gentle smile.
“Is that…normal?”
“No, it’s not at all normal. It’s just you, Lucky. Only you.” She looked him in the eye. “I love you.”
“You’re under the influence,” he argued. “You can’t be held accountable for anything you say.”
“Fine, ask me later, when I’m not under the influence of…walnuts soaked in rat poison. Poison wine I could understand, but candy? Have I said that’s just wrong?”
“Yeah, you have.”
He liked that “ask me later.” It comforted him, in an unexpected way. If Annie saw a later, then that meant she was going to be all right. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.
She closed her eyes, and he took that moment to study her face. The curve of her cheek, the shape of her eyes, the perfectly shaped eyebrows, the perfectly shaped nose and lips.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Even now, with everything that’s happening, I look at you and…you’re beautiful.”
Eyes remaining closed, Annie smiled. “See? You do love me.”
He could argue with her, but why argue with a psychic? It would be a losing battle. “Maybe I do,” Lucky whispered.
A moment later he glanced at Nance, to make sure the wounded man hadn’t moved. He found the man who’d tried to kill Annie sitting on the floor propped against the doorjamb, watching and smiling.
Chapter 16
Annie came awake and opened her eyes to bright light. Was it Monday morning already? No, judging by the direction of the sun, it was Monday afternoon. She’d slept all night and into the day, thanks to the drugs the doctors had given her.
So much of her arrival at the small county hospital was a blur, and given her drugged state she imagined she’d never remember any more clearly what had happened. Well, she’d been more sick than technically drugged. Poisoned, more precisely. She’d been sleeping in a plain, unfashionable hospital gown, which was apparently opened down the back. Lovely.
Her small private room was filled with flowers. Barely thinking about the how or why, she could look at them and tell who’d sent or brought which arrangement. The pink roses were from Kristie and Stu. The unique arrangement of wildflowers had been sent by the girls at the Mercerville shop, and the autumn-colored arrangement was from the employees at her Wears Valley store. There was a small collection of carnations from Jerry, who’d chosen the least expensive arrangement in the florist shop—but she supposed it was the thought that counted.
Of course, Jerry’s thought had been that maybe he had a chance, now that the annoying Santana was gone.
Gone. Annie reached for Lucky, in that way she had learned to do, and she knew he wasn’t close. Physical proximity was necessary for her ability to work, he’d suggested. If that was the case, then he was nowhere near her or Mercerville, because she couldn’t feel him at all.
She did know that he’d left her Drama Queen T-shirt and a pair of cotton pajama bottoms in the closet just a few feet away, in case she woke and wanted to put on something besides what the hospital had provided. Lucky had known she’d hate the shapeless gown, but maybe she shouldn’t make too much of that. Who wouldn’t?
The man who’d killed the Huffs had been captured, so why could she still see some things? Knowing who’d
sent the flowers without looking at the cards, knowing that Lucky had collected her favorite pajamas and then left Mercerville—even though she didn’t doubt that he loved her—that shouldn’t be possible if the psychic ability she didn’t want was asleep once again.
Just great. Maybe she’d exercised her power too often in the past couple of weeks, and like Grams had promised, it was working more powerfully than it had when she’d ignored and denied what she could do. Maybe if she refused to play anymore, it would go away again. Maybe she could push it deep, as she had for so many years.
The door swung in and she held her breath, refusing to hope that her abilities had failed her and Lucky really was close. A handsome man walked into her room…but it wasn’t Lucky. Not even close.
“Hi, Jerry.”
“How are you feeling?” he asked, flashing a smile.
“Fine, I guess.”
Annie tried to reach past the smile to see more of Jerry. Was he really a manbo or had she misjudged him? Did she really want or need a man as complicated and difficult as Lucky Santana in her life? She sighed, as the undeniable truth came to her. Jerry was just as he seemed. He said exactly what he was thinking, always. He had no ulterior motives, no agenda, no deeply seeded demons. He was a simple man, who would one day make some lucky woman a very good husband.
But not her. Dammit, apparently she needed complicated in a man. She needed a man with demons to battle.
She needed Lucky, and he wasn’t here.
Jerry pulled a chair to her bedside, twirled it around and sat down backward, his thighs spread wide and his feet planted on the floor. Had he practiced that move, too? Probably.
“Before he left, that Santana guy asked me to keep an eye on you.”
Annie’s heart lurched. “He did?”
“Yeah. He said he’d feel better if someone stuck around until the doc sent you home.”
Annie managed a tight smile of her own. “How thoughtful of him. What happened to Wade Nance?”
Jerry nodded his head in a thoughtful manner, even though there weren’t many actual thoughts involved. “He was here at the hospital last night, but they moved him to the infirmary at the jail. Nance is confessing to everything. Well, Nance isn’t his real name, but he hasn’t given anyone his real name yet so that’s what we’re calling him for now. Sheriff Buhl called in someone from the FBI, since the murders Nance committed were all over the place and jurisdiction is a problem.”
And Lucky hadn’t stuck around for any of it. This was his case, his victory, and yet he’d left as soon as possible—probably so he wouldn’t have to deal with her any longer. He’d stayed as long as Nance was in the hospital, but once the murderer who’d threatened Annie—and Kristie—was behind bars, Lucky had split.
And why not? He’d done his job. Save the girl, take what you can get, walk away before things get out of hand. Wasn’t that it? Close enough.
“I sent you some flowers.” Jerry nodded to the carnations. “I was going to check out your cabin and find your mama’s number and call her, but Santana said I should wait and let you make that decision.” He looked vaguely confused. “Don’t you want your mama here while you’re sick?”
Good heavens, no. “I’ll call her in a little while. I should be able to go home soon, so there’s no reason for her to make the trip. I’m fine.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
Jerry nodded his head and relaxed. “How about I take you out to supper when you’re feeling better? It’s been a while since we, you know, spent some time together.”
In a relationship with Jerry she’d always have the upper hand. She would be in control, and he’d likely do anything she told him to do, without ever questioning her motives.
And he wouldn’t be able to break her heart, because she’d never love him the way she loved Lucky.
“Thanks, but I’d better not.”
Jerry looked disappointed. He was disappointed, but he’d get over it. Soon, if she knew him at all.
“I’m still kinda tired,” she said, pulling the sheet that covered her up to her chin. “Do you mind?”
It took Jerry a moment to realize that she was asking him to leave, but when he did he jumped up and slid the chair back to its place. “Sure. You get your rest, and we’ll talk later.”
Annie wasn’t really tired, but she did eventually fall asleep. She didn’t dream.
Lucky let loose a stream of profanity that had the new recruits blushing. He’d been here training for a week, and he was beginning to feel like a babysitter.
Building four housed a shooting range, and today they were familiarizing themselves with weapons and shooting at paper targets. A few of the new guys could shoot, but a couple…not so much. He leaned in until his face was very close to that of one of the younger recruits. Miller looked about twelve, but was actually past twenty-one. Not by much. He was a baby, and if Lucky had his way Miller would not make the cut. “If I was being chased by an elephant and you were my backup, I’d be royally screwed, because there’s no way in hell you could actually hit it with a bullet!”
The kid went pale. One eyelid twitched. “Um, sir, I don’t think a single bullet will stop an elephant….”
“That’s not the point!”
Lucky took the kid by the collar. Cal said Miller was great with computers and gadgets, but that wasn’t enough. There was no way they could send a kid who couldn’t shoot straight into the field. Might as well just line him up now and give him a last meal, a blindfold and a cigarette.
“Sir,” Miller said when they were halfway to the tech building, “I can learn to shoot. I do have other qualifications that make me suitable for this job. If you just give me a chance—”
“Why should I?” Lucky snapped. “So you’re good with computers. We have Murphy, and there are plenty of geeks out there who—”
Lucky didn’t get a chance to say anything else. Miller twisted, dipped and then—with great ease—flipped Lucky over his shoulder and to the ground. The ground came up hard.
For a long moment, Lucky remained on the ground, looking up at trees. Some were evergreens. Others were in the process of changing color. Red, yellow, orange…In his blurred vision they were actually pretty. He felt like he was about a hundred years old.
Miller offered a hand. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t want to get kicked out. I want to work here, and I can learn to shoot.”
Lucky didn’t move. “Who taught you to do that?”
“Mr. Mangino was here last week.”
Dante. Figures. Still lying on the ground, Lucky waved a dismissive hand. “Go practice your marksmanship.”
“Man, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to—”
“Now!”
The kid ran back toward building four, and Lucky remained on his back. Just as he was about to rise, his cell phone rang. He recognized the number on the caller ID.
“Everything okay?” he asked, instead of saying hello.
“Yeah.” Jerry’s voice was always the same. A touch excited, a touch dull. How did he manage that? “That’s why I called. Annie’s really doing well. In the week you’ve been gone she’s made a ton of new purses. Holiday ones, mostly. Lots of red and green and shiny stuff. And lace. And—”
“I don’t care about the purses,” Lucky said as he moved into a sitting position. “How is she?”
Is she smiling, is she happy, is she still wearing those ugly brown boots? Is she having bad dreams?
“She’s…fine. I can’t tell that she’s any different than she was before,” Jerry said.
The dreams had probably stopped, if Annie was happy and back at work, as usual. With the stalking fudge maker—whose real name was Peter Clifford—behind bars and confessing to everything, she was safe, the danger was over and there was no reason for her to continue to suffer with the visions she didn’t want.
Clifford had started killing when his wife had left him. He hadn’t always used fudge as
his method of delivery, but he did have a fondness for a particular brand of rat poison that would leave those who ingested it disoriented and weak. With that commonality in mind, and Clifford’s confessions, they were tying together all his murders.
And if not for Annie, he would’ve gotten away with it all.
“Call me if anything unusual happens,” Lucky said.
“Like what?”
Asking Jerry to keep him informed had seemed logical at the time he’d asked. Kristie would read too much into Lucky’s inquiries, and she’d likely tell Annie all about the phone calls. The deputy would follow orders. He wouldn’t ask too many questions. But man, he was dumb as a rock, and like it or not, Lucky wanted more.
Annie was safe. She didn’t need to be saved, not anymore. And yet, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He hadn’t been able to turn his attentions to another case or another woman.
“Never mind. Obviously, Annie’s fine, and I don’t need to be checking up on her.”
“So, you don’t want me to call you anymore?”
What he wanted and what was best for everyone involved were two different things, apparently. “No. No need to call.”
When the phone call with Jerry was done, Lucky lay back on the ground to look up at the trees and take a few deep breaths. The kid had caught him off guard, but that was no excuse. His mind was elsewhere, and in this business he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
While he was reclining on the ground, Kelly Calhoun—Cal’s little sister—approached with a long white envelope in her hands. She stood over him for a moment, then cocked her head and smiled. “Miller?”
“Yeah.”
Kelly had been with Benning’s since she and her brother had been reunited, four years ago. She’d had a tough life, and it had taken her a while…but she was coming into her own. She was more confident these days, and she smiled more. Now and then, he even caught her watching Murphy in a way that needed no explanation.
She did work in the field, now and then, but lately she’d been in charge of the Benning Agency’s bookkeeping. The job agreed with her.
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