Parker And The Gypsy

by Susan Carroll

  Mike took a step closer to the counter and cleared his throat.

  “Yes? May I help you?” Sara asked, looking reluctantly up from her book with a bright smile. Her gaze collided with his and she froze. Her lovely smile faded and Mike was sorry to see it go. But he supposed he could hardly have expected any different.

  “Mr. Parker,” she said after a painful pause. “What—what a surprise.”

  Mike summoned up his most charming smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. I just happened to be passing through Aurora Falls and I noticed the shop and thought what the heck? I might as well look you up.”

  “Really?” she asked politely, but doubt shadowed her porcelain-fine features. The woman was too nice to come right out and call him a liar, but Mike almost wished she would glare at him, shout, order him out of her store. Anything but barrage him with this sad and watchful silence.

  After another of those awkward hesitations, she removed her glasses as though she liked him better out of focus. “After yesterday, I never expected to see you again.”

  “Well,” Mike started to drawl, then stopped. No, breezy and casual clearly wasn’t going to work here. Time to revert to an enchantingly frank and sincere apology.

  “Actually,” he said, straightening a little. “The truth is I wasn’t just passing by. I came here on purpose to find you. Ever since you left my office, I kept thinking that I’d been a little abrupt with you.”

  “A little?” Sara’s lashes drifted down as she toyed with the binding of her book. “You accused me of being a charlatan and a lunatic. You slammed your office door in my face.”

  Her words were very matter of fact, but beneath the calm, he caught the barest threading of hurt. He’d far rather she be ready to smash her crystal ball over his head.

  She sat there with that quietly wistful expression, that sad, sad look in her eyes, until Mike squirmed, feeling like the kind of creep that goes around kicking helpless kittens and telling kids there isn’t a Santa Claus.

  Dropping all pretense and slick moves, Mike stepped straight up to the counter and heaved a gusty sigh. “Look, Sara, I—I’m really sorry. I know I behaved like a total jerk. I guess I was—um—having a bad aura day. But give me another chance, okay?”

  He bent down to peer coaxingly into her face. “My aura’s much better today. Wanna feel?”

  “No, thank you,” she said. Her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, although she whipped her hands off the counter and safely out of his reach.

  She risked a look up at him and he saw that the light was back in her eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and to Mike it seemed as though the air in the shop suddenly changed, becoming closer, warmer, heavier with the weight of something. Auras, incense. Hell, he didn’t know what it was. He just found himself leaning closer, pulled in by the tug of her big blue eyes, overcome by the urge to kiss Sara full on the mouth.

  Their lips were little more than a whisper apart when Sara blinked and took flight, scrambling off her stool like a startled butterfly. Taking a wary step back, she folded her hands, saying, “Well, it—it was very nice of you stop by.”

  Mike jerked upright, wondering once again what the hell had come over him. Sara’s tone sounded nervous, but dismissive. He’d better get his act together and remember what he’d come here for. Time to lay all his cards on the table.

  “Actually,” he confessed, “I didn’t come all the way to Aurora Falls just to apologize.”

  “Oh? Then why are you here, Mr. Parker?”

  “Not Mr. Parker,” he said with a trace of irritation. “I asked you to use my first name, remember?”

  “Alright...Michael.”

  Michael? Alarm bells should have been going off in his head. But somehow he liked the way she said it, as light and silvery as the little chimes that tinkled over her doorway. Then, too, he was distracted as she came out from behind the counter.

  Flowed out would have been a more accurate description. She had to be one of the most graceful women he’d ever known, and he considered himself an expert on the wiggle and jiggle of the feminine form. His ex, Darcy, had moved with a blatantly sultry sway, very earthy, but Sara seemed to float on a cloud, enticing a man with thoughts of more heavenly pleasures.

  A sundress of shimmering blue swirled to midcalf about her shapely legs, the silky pattern bespangled with little stars and half-moons as though Sara had draped her willowy form in a bit of heaven. The bodice was modest and sweet rather than plunging, but the effect was somehow even more tantalizing, thin spaghetti straps keeping the fabric tugged well up and over the gentle swell of her breasts.

  Was she wearing a bra today? Mike caught himself wishing for a blaze of sunlight when the sound of Sara’s voice called his wayward male mind back to order.

  “Michael?” she said in a tone that suggested she’d been forced to repeat herself. “Just why are you here, then?”

  Why was he here? Mike wrenched his eyes from the curve of Sara’s breast. Why was he here? Oh, yeah.

  He paced off a few steps, jingling the change in his pockets if for no other reason than to make sure he kept his hands to himself. “It just so happens,” he said, “that I unexpectedly cleared up some of the things I’d been working on, so now I have a little time available. I’ve reconsidered the case you brought me and decided I can take it after all.”

  “Oh,” Sara said softly.

  Oh? That was it. Just oh? Mike felt unreasonably piqued. He hadn’t expected her to fling herself at him in a fit of gratitude, but it wouldn’t have hurt her to show some enthusiasm. Maybe she hadn’t understood him, so he added, “What I mean is that I can help you find your missing dude. John Patrick, wasn’t it?”

  Sara nodded, showing she understood quite clearly. Then she floored him by demanding, “Why?”

  “Why? Why. what?”

  “Why did you change your mind so suddenly?”

  Mike stifled a grimace. He should have guessed she might ask that, but he was not prepared to tell her that he was out to nail Xavier Storm. That he thought John Patrick might be the key. Somehow Mike couldn’t picture his angel going in for revenge as a good motive, so he hedged, saying, “I told you, I’ve got some time to kill and your case sounded...um, interesting. And I can use the extra work. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Is it?” She gave him one of those looks he didn’t like, soft and clear and searching. He didn’t know if there was really anything to this psychic business, but he did his best to block his thoughts until Sara averted her gaze.

  “Yes, those are my reasons,” he insisted. “Now if you’ve got the time to fill me in on some stuff, I’d like to get started today.”

  Sara didn’t reply immediately. A tiny furrow marred her brow and then she said, “I’m very sorry, Michael. But I’m afraid you’ve driven a long way for nothing. I don’t need your services any longer.”

  “Why? Have you already hired another detective?” Mike was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy tear through him.

  But to his relief, Sara shook her head. “No, I’ve simply decided that I can handle finding John Patrick on my own. I checked this book out of our local library yesterday evening.”

  “Book? What kind of book?”

  Sara turned back to the counter and reluctantly produced for his inspection the book she’d been reading.

  “You Too can Be a Detective: Find Anyone in ten Days or Less. By John L. Geyser.” Mike read the title aloud and snorted with contempt. “Oh, yeah, and I’ll bet it took this Geezer almost a whole week to write this thing.”

  Sara whisked the book out of his sight. “I might have known you’d make fun of it.”

  “Hey, no, I think it’s great. I wish you’d show me where this library is and maybe I can find me a book. How To become a Psychic Overnight.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a trace of annoyance in her voice. “Of course, everyone does have some psychic ability, but it can take years to develop, that is unless you have
a strong natural aptitude for it.”

  “Kind of like the ability to be a good detective, hmm?” Mike drawled.

  She sighed. “Point taken, but that doesn’t change anything. I still don’t think I should hire you.”

  “Why not? You sure were convinced yesterday that I was the man for the job.”

  “But that was before...”

  When she hesitated, Mike supplied flatly, “Before you’d been exposed to the full force of my charming personality.”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Michael,” she continued solemnly. “But you do have a very disturbing aura. You’re such a cynical man and I’m afraid I’ve dealt with too much cynicism. Even when I was a little girl, I remember the whispers. “There goes Sara Holyfield, the goofy kid who thinks she has ESP, the nut who imagines that she can talk to ghosts,” she mimicked bitterly. ”And those were the people who were being kind. You can’t even imagine some of the other remarks.”

  Oh, yes, Mike could. All too well. The world was full of wise asses, just like himself. He recalled some of the quips he’d tossed at Sara. And here she was, worried about hurting his feelings.

  Squirming a little, he rubbed the line of his jaw. “Look, Sara, about some of those things I said to you yesterday. I didn’t mean anything personal. It’s just...you’re right. I am a cynic. I don’t believe in much of anything, not even myself. Hell, I’ve always been that way. Even as a kid.

  “When my foster mom dragged me off to see Peter Pan, there was this part where everyone was supposed to clap to save that fairy, Stinker Bell or whatever her name was. Well, if it had been up to me, I’m afraid the little sprite would have died.”

  Sara laughed, but she gave him one of those looks he was both coming to like and dread, brimful of sympathy and understanding, as though she were seeing things about him he didn’t even see himself.

  “That, I fear, is the great difference between us, Michael,” she said. “I’ve struggled for a very long time to keep my fairies alive. So while I do appreciate your offer to take my case, I think it would probably be better for both of us if I declined. But thank you, anyway, for stopping by.”

  Her rejection was sweet but firm, and Mike should have let it go at that. Hell, she was right. He didn’t believe in any of her psychic or supernatural nonsense and he never would. Even without her cooperation, he could dredge up enough information himself to find this Patrick guy and make him a permanent thorn in Storm’s multimillion-dollar behind.

  But Sara’s refusal to work with him bugged Mike on a level he couldn’t explain. He caught himself trailing after her around the shop while she watered her plants.

  “Listen,” he said, “what if I was able to keep my negative vibes to myself?”

  Sara cast him a doubtful glance.

  “No, really, you said yourself you didn’t need me to handle the—er—ghost hunting part of this case, just to conduct the search for John Patrick. So you take care of the more... spiritual things and I’ll deal with the nitty-gritty realities. It’d be the perfect marriage.” Mike winced as though he’d said a dirty word. “The perfect partnership, I mean.”

  Sara hesitated, her watering can suspended over the next fem. Mike rushed on to press his advantage. “We wouldn’t even have to work that closely. I could give you my reports over the phone.”

  She fretted her lower lip, then conceded, “That might work.”

  “And you really don’t honestly think you can track down Patrick yourself, using that book, do you?”

  “N-o-oo,” Sara answered slowly, setting down her watering can. She was weakening. She was definitely weakening. But Mike was careful not to let any signs of triumph escape him. Like a good hunter, a skilled detective knew how not to spook his quarry.

  “I’d have to know what your rates are,” Sara said.

  “Oh, we don’t need to worry about those just now.”

  “Yes, we do. We never got around to discussing it yesterday, but I have to be certain I can afford you.”

  Mike started to sidestep the question, then shrugged. What the hell difference did it make? She was never going to see a bill from him anyway.

  “Um...” He paused, then rattled off the lowest possible figure he thought she’d believe. “I work for ten dollars a day, plus expenses.”

  “Ten dollars a day?” Sara’s eyes widened. “That’s very reasonable.”

  “I’m a very reasonable fellow. So do we have a deal?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to draw up some kind of contract?” she asked.

  “Nah, I’m not much of a guy for paperwork. A simple verbal agreement will do. And a handshake.”

  He extended his palm toward her. After another brief hesitation, she slipped her small slender hand into his grasp. He felt a burst of strange, warm and wonderful feeling, as though he’d suddenly been doused in sunshine. And then a jolt of pure panic.

  What the hell was he doing? This was still the same sweet, slightly scatty gypsy lady he’d run off yesterday. And yet, here he stood, pumping her hand and grinning like an idiot who’d just won first prize in the lottery.

  It was a soft, silky hand that he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to let go of. Her fingers curled around his, striking off those unexpected sparks of desire he’d experienced yesterday, along with sensations that were far more alarming. Like the urge to look deep into those big blue eyes of hers and raise that delicate hand of hers to his lips.

  Dropping Sara’s hand as though he’d suddenly seized hold of the smoking hot barrel of a pistol, Mike retreated a wary step. He tried to reassure himself that he hadn’t just gone off his rocker. He had a good reason for striking up this bargain with Sara. It was the best way to gain her confidence and to get what he wanted from her. Using her to get the goods on Storm was his only interest in little Miss Blue Eyes.

  Sure it is, Parker and every chump that wanders into Storm’s casino comes away a winner, Mike’s inner voice scoffed.

  But Mike ignored it.

  “So, okay,” he said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “I’d like to get started on the case right away, Sara. Do you have any facts that I can use to begin tracing Patrick? Cold hard facts, evidence, not any crystal ball stuff.”

  “Well, there are some old photographs and things in a jewel box out at the old Pine Top Inn.”

  “Good, let’s go get them.”

  “All right.” Sara nodded, but an uneasy expression crossed her face. “Michael, I know you don’t want to be involved with the more spiritual side of this case. But if you want to take any information away from the Pine Top Inn, there is someone’s approval you’re going to have to get.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Mamie.”

  “No problem. I’m sure I can get around any dame—” Mike froze, his jaw dropping as he suddenly remembered who Sara was talking about.

  Mamie Patrick.

  The ghost.

  Four

  Mike’s red Mustang sped past the outskirts of Aurora Falls, heading down the winding road that led toward Old Pine Lake. The rush of wind through the open top of the convertible tugged strands of Sara’s hair loose from her ponytail and left her feeling slightly breathless.

  Or perhaps that last phenomenon could be more accurately attributed to the man seated behind the wheel, his determined male aura capable of filling the interior of this tiny car and then some.

  There’d been a brief moment when Sara had thought she’d lost him, as soon as the subject of Mamie’s ghost had come up again. But whatever smart-aleck remark had hovered on the tip of his tongue, for once, Mike had been able to swallow it.

  He’d hardly waited long enough for her shop assistant to return from lunch before whisking Sara out the door and into his car.

  As the Mustang raced down the road, the roar of the wind in their ears made conversation difficult and Sara was glad of it. She needed time to think. Unlike Mike, she wasn’t used to rushing into anything. Before she had ever decided to visit his detective
agency, she’d spent a whole afternoon meditating over the rightness of her choice. And last night, she’d convinced herself that she really was not disappointed she’d been unable to hire Mike, that she was better off without ever seeing him again.

  That was why it had been very disconcerting to have him pop up in her shop today, like a genie uncorked from a bottle. And if genies looked the way he did, no woman would bother rubbing the lamp again to wish for anything more.

  Sara’s eyes strayed to where Mike’s tall frame lounged behind the wheel, his attention focused on the road ahead. They were cramped so close together, she couldn’t help being aware of the lean, hard muscle encased in the tight legs of his jeans, the broad reach of shoulders that made him seem all solid male. The rumpled lion of yesterday was gone, his tawny hair obviously freshly trimmed, his rock-hard jaw clean shaven. It should have made him look tamer, but somehow it didn’t.

  Noticing such things was a new and disturbing sensation for Sara. The man exuded enough sensuality to tempt a nun to set aside her veil, and for some reason, Sara found the tune of an old country tune running through her head. Something about the devil and never realizing he’d have blue eyes and blue jeans.

  But Mike’s eyes were a very wicked brown. Sara wished she knew what was going on behind them, but he’d shielded himself behind a pair of dark sunglasses. It made her a little uneasy. It wasn’t her nature to be suspicious, but she wasn’t certain she completely trusted Mike Parker.

  A part of her was glad, even grateful he’d decided to take on her case after all. As much as she pretended, she hadn’t been fully confident about her ability to find John Patrick on her own. It would be a relief to leave that up to Mike, and yet...

  She would have felt better if she knew the real reason behind his sudden change of heart. He was holding something back. She had been able to sense it from the moment he appeared in her shop. But for a man who placed no faith in mind readers, Mike was doing a damned fine job screening his thoughts.

  As though becoming aware of her intense regard, Mike angled his head slightly in her direction and smiled. “I don’t mind you sitting there admiring my manly profile, angel, but I hope you’re paying some attention to the road, because I don’t have a clue where we’re going.”