What she needed was a little clarity. Some time to sort things out. She’d hoped it would happen at the houseboat last weekend, but then Nate had come…
Heat curled through her body at the memory, and she let it warm all the dark, cold places that she didn’t even know she had, until she’d met Nate Darling. He’d been so loving and tender with her after she’d told him about Ellie. It was at that moment when she realized she’d fallen thoroughly in love with him. He’d held her while she’d cried, and rocked her, and said soft, soothing words while he stroked her hair.
Oh, Nate. I do love you, but I can’t risk having you walk out the way Daddy and Cal did. I just…can’t. How can I make you understand?
Not to mention the fact that he was a cop and she was a psychic. Oh, yeah. Like that was a compatible mix.
Her briefcase in her hand, her mouth tight in concentration, she entered the classroom and forced herself to relax. While she wrote the lesson plan on the whiteboard, a few more people trickled in behind her and took their seats. When she turned around, her heart skipped three beats and her tongue went numb.
There he sat, front-row center, wearing boots, faded jeans, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that stretched across his muscled chest and flat abs like a second skin. He was sprawled in his chair, his long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his brown eyes blatantly raked her body, then locked with hers. Steely-eyed and serious, he surveyed her like a gunslinger preparing for a showdown.
And she knew exactly who he was gunning for.
Chapter 22
It is bad luck to sleep with your feet pointed toward the door.
FOLKLORE
Tabitha forced her mouth into a smile. “Welcome to class, everyone.” She glanced at Nate. Not too sure about you, though, cowboy.
He pursed his lips and crossed his arms high over his chest—which only served to emphasize the width of his shoulders and show off his bulging biceps, which in turn only served to make her nerves do the jitterbug.
Instead of her usual casual dress, Tabitha had chosen a pair of jeans and a jade knit top. If she’d known Nate was going to show up, she’d have worn a suit of armor and a chastity belt.
But she could and would rise above her hormones, her hesitation, memories, regrets. Clearing her throat, she said, “As usual, we’ll begin with a discussion and analysis of a student dream. Anybody have a dream they’d like to—”
Nate’s hand shot up.
“—share?” she finished. Ignoring Nate and his long, perfect arm, she glanced around the classroom. “Anyone? Anyone at all?”
But his was the only hand raised. He wiggled his fingers, then stretched his arm higher.
“Anyone,” she stated. “Any…one…at…all. Hmm.” Looking over his head, past his shoulder, out the window, she let her gaze roam everywhere but over Nate Darling.
Because she was bent on ignoring him, all eyes turned to Nate and his childish bid for attention. Kismet, sitting just behind him, snorted a little laugh.
Sliding her hands into her back pockets, Tabitha plastered a cheery smile on her face. “Okay, well, if nobody has anything to share—”
“Scaredy-cat,” he mumbled, loud enough for the class to hear.
Her eyes narrowed on him and her jaw tightened.
With a smirky curl to his lip, he lowered his hand. “I had a dream I’d like to share with the class, Miss March.”
Tapping her toe, she said, “I find that surprising, Nate, since you once informed me that you don’t remember your dreams. Unless, of course, you plan on making one up. Again.” Heh. Gotcha.
“No,” he drawled, lengthening the word to five syllables. “It’s a real dream, and I remember every detail. Vividly.” His voice was low, throaty, and a warning bell chimed inside Tabitha’s head.
The other students watched the exchange with growing interest. Most of the women kept their gazes on Nate, the look in their eyes one of undisguised longing.
If they only knew what a pill he is.
There was obviously no getting around this situation. She had no choice but to cave. “All right, Nate,” she said on a long, labored breath. “Make it snappy. Tell us your dream so we can get on with the class.”
A look of wry satisfaction shone in his eyes as he straightened in his chair.
“I guess I should warn everyone,” he began. “It’s sort of R-rated.”
Titters and sighs emanated from the women in the class.
“In that case,” she began, “perhaps you shouldn’t—”
“Oh, let him tell it, Ms. March,” Lois Sherwood begged. “We’re all adults here. I’m sure we can handle whatever Nate has to say with…maturity, and an open mind.” Then she blushed and grinned at him like a lovesick seventh-grader.
Several other women nodded in agreement.
“Fine,” Tabitha said in a tone of irritated capitulation. “Nate, you’re on.”
Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and looked into her eyes. She steeled herself for what she was sure was coming.
“I dreamed I was in my car with my girlfriend.”
Tabitha’s foot ceased to tap. Her heart ceased to beat. Her brain ceased to function.
“Yeah, and it was cold and windy and raining.”
She swallowed.
His lids looked sleepy. Softly, he said, “But we were in the passenger seat of my car, having absolutely phenomenal sex.”
Her blood froze, but her cheeks burned. She crossed her arms under her breasts.
“Actually, it was her idea,” he continued. “It was raining hard, and the windows got all steamed up. A little soft jazz on the radio.”
There was not! Not unless you consider the occasional SFPD ten-code melodic.
“She was so hot and seductive, I went for it. Who wouldn’t?”
He looked around the classroom. Heads nodded, throats cleared, students swallowed and murmured affirmative responses. Tabitha was mute, but kept her eyes glued on Nate.
“It was a very passionate encounter,” he insisted, “and when it was over and we were relaxed and having a nice little conversation, I, well, I told her that I loved her.”
A couple of the women actually sighed out loud. Tabitha glared at Nate, her cheeks like living flames, her throat tight in embarrassed fury.
He cocked his head and tented his fingers in front of him. Her gaze dropped to his hands. He had such great hands, and he knew just what to do with them, the bastard.
“But she just stared at me like I had two heads, and didn’t say it back. That was when I woke up. What do you think it means, Ms. March?” he asked with an innocent lilt to his voice. “Why do you think she didn’t tell me she loves me?”
The whole class stopped breathing while all eyes turned to Tabitha.
Licking her lips, she paced in front of the class for a moment, then swiveled to face him. “What do you think it means, Nate?”
His gaze narrowed on her. “You’re the expert. You tell me.”
“But it was your dream.”
“But you’re a woman. When a man tells a woman he loves her, why wouldn’t she say it back?”
“Class,” Tabitha rasped, ignoring his challenge, “what type of dream did Nate just describe—prophetic, release, wish, or problem-solving?”
Elderly Mr. Franklin mumbled, “Erotic.” For a moment he looked like he wanted to cry.
Curly-haired Beverly Adams piped up. “I think it was a classic wish dream,” she said, then looked at Nate as though that’s exactly what she was doing.
“Seems like a classic release dream to me,” Nate muttered, running his gaze over Tabitha’s body.
Everyone but Tabitha giggled. “Perhaps,” she began, “in your dream, your girlfriend was, maybe, caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. Your getting angry and sullen certainly didn’t open the lines of communication, which is, I assume, what you did—get angry and sullen, that is?”
“Yeah, I was pisse
d. But not at her.” He tilted his head and relaxed back in his chair. “Don’t women want to hear a man tell them he loves them, especially after she’s given her body to him so many times in so many ways?”
Beverly Adams choked.
“S-sometimes,” Tabitha stumbled. “But maybe, in your dream, your girlfriend had some trust issues she’s dealing with and simply didn’t know how to respond.”
“Trust issues?” He snorted. “I’m a decent guy. I’ve never intentionally hurt—”
“Yeah, trust issues, buster.” She balled her fists at her hips. “With men. Like a father who just up and walked out one day, or an ex-husband she caught in bed with two women and who now wants to sue her for about a million dollars that she doesn’t have. And maybe your girlfriend, in your dream, is a teensy-weensy bit upset because you deny part of what she is, who she is, and it hurts her feelings.”
His brows shot up. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt her feelings, but—”
“Well, you did! Um, probably. In your dream. And maybe if you hadn’t let your ego get all bent and taken off in a huff, and maybe slowed down a little and asked her what she was thinking and feeling, and maybe held her in your arms and made her feel safe, and let her know that, even though you’re not sure you believe her about her special gifts, it’s okay, you’re willing to keep an open mind, you might have come to understand that the real reason she didn’t tell you she loves you is because…because…”
As a unit, the students leaned forward, their eyes wide with curiosity. Nobody moved; nobody even breathed.
Smacking her forehead with her open palm, she laughed. “Oh, shoot. I left your corrected homework assignments in my car. I’ll be right back.”
She grabbed her keys from her open briefcase and bolted for the door. When it looked like Nate might follow her, she said, “Nate, while I’m gone, please lead the class in a discussion about the importance of penalty flags in dream relationships.”
With that, she hurried down the hall and out the double doors that led to the parking lot.
Tears burned her eyes and her throat ached. Her cheeks felt hot and she wanted to throw something or kick something…or someone.
Her head down, her emotions a jumbled mess, she reached her car and jammed the key into the lock, flinging open the door.
Damn him, damn him, damn him! Did he have to be so public about their private affairs? Did he think this little stunt was going to get her to reveal her innermost feelings to him—in front of a classroom full of students?
Grumbling under her breath, she reached for the stack of papers she’d tossed onto the front seat of her car. When she heard the footsteps behind her, she realized that, instead of doing as she’d asked, he’d followed her.
Damn him again. This was neither the time nor the place to hash out their relationship problems. When she finally decided to tell him how she felt about him, she wanted it to be special and meaningful, not part of some angry battle of wills in a high school parking lot.
Turning, she watched him approach, but, thanks to the track lighting over the locker rooms behind him, all she could see was his silhouette. As he moved closer, he emerged from the shadows and into the light, and she realized that it wasn’t Nate at all.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said, as her heart stammered over its next beat. “What are you doing here?”
Just as Tabitha’s delectable little ass disappeared out the door, Nate’s cell phone vibrated. Trying to bring his frayed emotions back in check, he yanked it from its holster on his belt and flipped it open. “Darling.”
“Nate?”
“Yes, ma’am?” He recognized Tabby’s mother’s voice. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach Tabitha, but she must have her cell phone turned off. Do you know if she’s all right?”
“I’m here at class with her. She’s just gone out to her car to get some papers.”
Victoria made a sound of obvious relief. “When she gets back, would you please tell her to call me? It’s an emergency.”
He glanced at the empty classroom doorway. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, here’s the thing. You know Cal, her rat-bastard son-of-a-bitch creep of an ex-husband?”
“I’ve met the rodent in question, ma’am.”
“Yes, well, apparently three days ago somebody shot him! He’s in stable condition now, and they’re pretty sure he’s going to make it. He didn’t have any ID on him, though, and it took a couple of days for the authorities to figure out who he is and contact his mother. Now the police want to question Tabby about the shooting.”
“Bullshit,” Nate snapped. “Tabby’s not capable of that kind of thing.”
“Well, this Inspector Nakamura came to the house, and he was cordial, but I got the feeling they think that Cal’s suing Tabby over the house is a pretty good motive for killing him.”
“Where was he shot?”
“Geographical location or body part?”
He half grinned. Now he knew where Tabby got her sense of the absurd.
“The first one.”
“They said he was in a parking garage downtown, the Montecito Building. Somebody shot him in the back as he stepped off the elevator, but a maintenance guy just happened to show up for work right after it happened, and they got him to the hospital.”
“Was he able to identify the shooter?”
“He’s in a coma,” she said. “He’d lost a lot of blood and was unconscious, and then went into surgery for hours. His mother lives in Daly City, and she’s at the hospital with him now.”
“I don’t know Nakamura,” he said, glancing again at the doorway, “but I’ll get in touch with him. See what he’s got to say. I wouldn’t worry about Tabby, Ms. Jones. There’s no way she’s involved in this.”
Victoria choked a little, and Nate realized she’d been crying. “Just have her call me when she comes back, okay? I’ll feel better when I can talk to her.”
As he flipped the phone closed, he began walking toward the door. Where was she? It had been five minutes. Where in the hell had she parked? Maybe she’d taken the opportunity to stop by the rest room to piddle. Women and their itty-bitty bladders. That and she was upset about his little dream stunt, so she was probably cooling off.
Still…
Moving out into the hall, as he walked toward the rest rooms, his cell vibrated in his hand.
“Yeah. Darling.”
“Good news. Your hunch paid off, boy-o,” Bob said. “I just picked up the computer printout and with the search criteria you came up with, we have a hit. One perfect hit. Everything fits, from the recently deceased father to the money to the fact he lives in Marin.”
The back of Nate’s neck began to itch. “His name?”
“Peter O’Hara. Pulled up his photo ID, and it matches the description your lady gave us. I just sent it to you, so you should be able to see it on your LCD screen.”
“Hang on.” Nate pressed the appropriate buttons on his phone, and there, staring back at him, was the man he’d struggled with in the park that night; the man who’d gotten clean away. Slick bastard.
“Affirmative for a positive ID,” he said. “Listen, do you know an Inspector Nakamura?” Quickly he explained about the attempt on Cal March’s life.
“Yeah, I know Stan,” Bob said. “Good cop. He’s not going to jump to any conclusions, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Rapping his knuckles on the door of the women’s rest room, Nate waited for a reply, but none came. Pushing it open, he peeked inside. All three stalls were empty. He let the door swing closed. She really should have been back by now.
He picked up his pace as he rammed through the doors that led to the parking lot.
“Listen, Bob,” he said as he scanned the area, looking for her car. “I’m at Merced High School. Can you meet me here ASAP?”
Whatever Bob said was lost on Nate as he spotted Tabby’s white Civic. The passenger door
was open and the overhead light was on. Checking inside, he saw the stack of papers—the papers she’d come out to retrieve—sitting on the seat. As he shifted position, he stepped on something and looked down.
Her car keys lay in a heap at his feet.
As he straightened, he yelled her name, frantically taking in every inch of the large parking lot. He spun on his heel, did a three-sixty, and continued calling for her. In his ear, he could hear Bob’s voice asking what was wrong.
“She’s gone,” Nate panted. “The SOB’s got her.”
“Listen,” Bob said. “I got a handle on that partial on the diary—”
True panic thickened Nate’s brain, numbed him, paralyzed his muscles. In his ear, he heard Bob yell, “Did you hear what I said? Nate?”
As he lowered the phone from his ear he felt a breeze blow in from the bay, chilling him to the bone. Along the busy street, cars moved at a steady pace. Behind him, students finished with their classes began meandering out to get into their cars, chatting and laughing, looking forward to going home to their loved ones.
He barely heard them. The words in O’Hara’s journal came back to him with haunting clarity…
It’s easy. She’s so surprised, she doesn’t even struggle. The knife slides between her ribs like an oar through quiet water. Blood gushes from the wound…
He narrowed his eyes and gazed into the night.
“It’s not going to happen,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll find you, Tabby. Hang on for me, baby. Hang on.”
Chapter 23
To ensure dreams of a future lover, place a blade-bone under your pillow.
FOLKLORE
The moment she came to, Tabitha realized where she was. Exactly…where she was.
Pressing her lips tightly together, she swallowed the scream that wanted to form, the tears she wanted to cry, the panic that had begun rising in her throat.
She fought down hysteria, fought it with everything she had. She wasn’t five years old anymore. She was a grown woman, and if she kept her head, she could handle this. She could.
Arousing Suspicions Page 22
