Gifted: Empath

by Bonnie Dee

  Lauren waited for Mike to jerk away. He hadn’t accepted anyone’s touch, not even his mother’s, batting at her hands when she tried to console him, but now he went perfectly still. The rocking stopped. The murmured numbers stopped. Time seemed to stop. The room became so silent Lauren could hear quiet breaths hitching in and out of the boy’s chest.

  Langley’s long, angular face was pale beneath the shock of dark hair that fell across his forehead. His eyes were partially closed and a frown drew his thick brows together. His mouth was grim and his jaw flexed. Tension radiated from his body.

  What the hell is going on here? Lauren’s gaze darted to Detective Stipe, whose gaze was riveted on the pair, and to Celia McKenzie. The woman’s eyes widened as she witnessed the transformation in her son.

  The boy’s fingers, ticking off patterns only he understood, slowed and stilled. His unfocused stare sharpened and he turned to look at Langley, as if the man were the only other person in the room.

  The silent communication passing between them made Lauren’s skin prickle. She neither believed in nor dismissed the idea of psychic powers, but it was clear something beyond the realm of normal was happening.

  Stipe’s voice broke the quiet. “Talk to me, Jordan.”

  The other man shook his head. “All I feel is fear and confusion. I can’t tell you anything more. He’s just terrified.”

  Lauren was uncomfortable at this twist in the investigation, but ready to take advantage of the boy’s sudden calm using the method psychologists practiced with child witnesses. “Mrs. McKenzie, could you give Mike some paper and encourage him to draw or write?”

  Celia got a tablet of paper and handful of markers from her son’s desk and laid them in front of Michael. The child’s eyes caught her movement. He leaned forward to pick up the pile of drawing tools.

  Langley let go of the boy’s arm and sat back to watch as he laid the markers in a ruler-straight row from fattest to thinnest, aligning the notebook beside them.

  “Sweetheart, can you draw me a picture? Show me…” Celia’s voice caught on a sob and she suppressed it. “Show me what happened.”

  Lauren watched her carefully. The woman’s grief seemed genuine, but just because Celia seemed grief-stricken, it didn’t mean she hadn’t shot her husband. It was standard to regard the spouse as the number-one suspect and often the suspicion proved true. Lauren was sick of doubting people, but her job entailed a healthy dose of distrust and a strong wall between logic and emotions.

  Mike continued to rearrange the markers, by color this time, from darkest to lightest. Finally, he picked up a purple thin-tip marker and uncapped it. He drew a series of parallel lines on the paper, rows and rows of them, all ending as perfectly as if he’d used a ruler. Then he chose a green marker and drew another series in the opposite direction in a cross-hatching effect. The point of drawing was to allow the child to release his fears on paper and jump-start talking. But usually kids depicted stick figures doing something. This precise, repetitive pattern was useless and meaningless.

  Still Lauren remained silent, watching and waiting to see what would happen next. She studied the rangy man sitting on the floor, his deep-set brown eyes focused intently on the boy. The tilt of his eyebrows and down-turned corners of his mouth gave his face a melancholy aspect. His prominent nose and long jaw added to the basset-hound demeanor and made her want to pet him to see if he’d perk up.

  She looked at his big hands, resting on his legs, and wondered what had happened when he’d touched the McKenzie boy. For just a moment, she imagined those hands on her. What would they feel like on her skin, cupping a breast or spanning her waist? They’d be very warm, even if they weren’t magical. But when he’d shaken her hand, she could’ve sworn something like a low-grade electrical charge had passed between them.

  Christ! Lauren pulled her gaze away from the raw-boned stranger and returned it to the boy, his mother and Detective Stipe, who was going to be trouble if she didn’t lay down the law about whose case this was. She couldn’t have him going maverick, trying to solve it on his own, for the same reason a doctor shouldn’t treat a family member—he was too close.

  For several more minutes, Lauren watched Mike fill his paper with various colors of evenly spaced lines. When the page was filled, he ripped it out, laid it aside, then started on another one.

  “Detective Stipe, may I speak to you?” She gestured toward the hall.

  He frowned but rose to his feet.

  Lauren stole a last glance at Langley before leaving the room. He was looking back at her. The intensity of those brown eyes was like a touch. Warmth blossomed in her belly and rippled through her body. She quickly turned away.

  Closing the door partially behind them, Lauren addressed Stipe. “Okay. You want to tell me who that guy is and what just happened in there? The truth, not some bullshit about child psychology.”

  A ghost of a smile curved his lips. “Not really. You won’t believe it. Hell, I don’t even talk to Jordan about what he can do and we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

  “And what exactly can he do?”

  Stipe’s round face flushed. “It sounds crazy, but he can feel people’s emotions. I’ve used his help on a few cases.” He checked her reaction.

  Lauren kept her face neutral but inclined her head, encouraging him to continue.

  “Jordan thinks he’s only an antenna receiving incoming signals, but he can do more than he realizes. When my dad died, he gave me a hug at the funeral home that…” His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “God, this sounds so stupid, but I felt pain lifting off me like a dead weight.”

  She waited for the detective to compose himself. There was no doubt he believed in his friend’s ability, whether it was real or not.

  “So tonight, when Mike couldn’t calm down, the only thing I could think of was to get Jordan to help.”

  “Well, whatever he did, it worked,” Lauren said. “I’m glad your nephew is more relaxed, but I’m going to have to bring in a psychologist to help with the questioning. How much can Mike communicate when he’s not in shock?”

  “He’s usually pretty functional. You can carry on a conversation with him, even if it goes off on some odd tangents, but when he feels threatened or faces a new situation, he regresses.”

  “I understand.” She hesitated, trying to find the best way to broach the next subject. “I’m going to pursue every lead, but you know, at some point, I’m going to have to take your nephew and sister’s fingerprints.” Stipe’s fingerprints would be on file.

  Thankfully, he was a professional and knew as well as she did that family members were prime suspects. “Can you have a tech do it at my house? Taking Mike to the station would be too stressful. It’ll be hard enough getting them moved in with me.”

  “Sure.” The family couldn’t stay at the crime scene, and Lauren wanted to be as accommodating as possible to their needs. She didn’t really suspect Stipe, who had no obvious motive for killing his brother-in-law. An accidental shooting involving the boy was her top guess at this point, along with the possibility that his mother had covered for him by attempting to set the scene as a suicide.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and take them home right now,” she said. “They could both use a night’s sleep. Maybe I can get more from Mike tomorrow.”

  They returned to the room to find the boy now had three pages of cross-hatching lined up horizontally in front of him. Celia glanced up at them, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. “I think he’s building a fence—for protection.”

  Lauren noted that Mike was fencing himself in with a stranger while blocking his family members out. Maybe there was some need for her to worry about his safety with them after all, but she didn’t want to take the boy into protective custody without good reason. With his disability, it would drive him even further into his shell. The situation was delicate.

  Don’t fuck up again. It’s all on you if this kid gets hurt. Ignoring the inner voice, she co
nsidered her options. She could send a couple of cops to guard the entire family, but she’d feel more comfortable if she stayed with the boy herself. Hell, it wasn’t like there was any pressing need for her to go home. She didn’t even have a damn cat anymore since Mark had taken Ginger with him when he moved out.

  “Mrs. McKenzie, if you want to pack a few things you can go with your brother now. I’ll see that you get settled in and stick around just in case something develops.”

  Lauren glanced at Langley, who’d risen and loomed like a sad-eyed scarecrow beside the boy. Mike still crouched on the floor, bent over his notebook, feverishly drawing.

  Celia packed a bag for Mike and then went to her own room to pack.

  After she’d gone, Lauren turned to Langley. She was embarrassed at what she was about to ask him to do. “Mr. Langley, could you tell me what Mike is feeling while I ask him a few questions?”

  “Jordan,” he corrected. His velvet brown eyes searched hers as though looking for answers. “So, Danny told you about me. Do you believe him?”

  “I’m not sure. Won’t hurt to try, though.” She offered a small smile and was rewarded by one from him in return. But even with a smile curving his wide mouth, the droop of his eyelids added a note of melancholy.

  Once more, Jordan sat on his heels near the boy, watching the repetitive movement of his hand on the paper before reaching out to touch his shoulder. Mike didn’t stop what he was doing or look at the man, but kept drawing lines.

  “He feels calmer now, but there’s still a lot of fear.”

  Lauren, crouched on the floor on the far side of the growing fence of paper. Danny stood in the corner of the room, quietly observing.

  “What are you afraid of, Mike?” she asked. “Of what happened to your dad? Or are you afraid someone might hurt you?”

  “Too many questions,” Jordan murmured. “Confusing.”

  Lauren stopped and thought. “Did you see what happened to your dad?” That required a concrete, yes-or-no answer.

  There was a pause. She looked from the boy’s thin face to Jordan, whose glazed eyes had turned a darker shade of brown. “His fear is stronger when you mention his father.” The husky timbre raised the hair on her nape and sent a flash of heat through her. Damn, a man shouldn’t be allowed to have such a sexy voice.

  “Mike,” she spoke clearly and slowly, watching the boy’s eyes, which remained focused on the paper. “Did you see who shot your dad?”

  He blinked. She was sure he understood her. But he wouldn’t look up and his hand moved faster, filling a page with lines, ripping it out and starting another. There were five papers lined in a neat row insulating him from the dangerous outside world. Lauren didn’t need Jordan to tell her Mike’s answer to her question was “yes”.

  “Who was it?”

  His hand moved faster, fingers clenched so tightly around the marker that his knuckles were white.

  “Enough.” Jordan’s command was soft but firm. “He’s too frightened. Give him time.”

  Lauren released the breath she’d been holding and sat back, relaxing her tensed muscles. “All right. Tomorrow we’ll try again.” She faced Jordan. “Do you think you could be there?”

  He let go of the boy’s arm. At the loss of contact, Mike looked up from his drawing and laid his own small hand on top of Jordan’s. The man glanced down at their joined hands then back to Lauren. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  Chapter Three

  Jordan felt her although he couldn’t see her: a brush of silky hair against his chest, wet tongue flicking his nipple, a hand sliding down his belly. He moaned and shifted. His cock ached, rigid with desire and straining toward her touch. When would she stop teasing and take him in her hand? This subtle torture of whispers and kisses and mere brushes of lips and tongue had been going on for what felt like hours. Her intangible presence wasn’t enough. He needed her solid body in his arms.

  He jerked awake. His eyes shot open and he stared at the ceiling. No Lauren Sadler in his bed, only himself and his throbbing hard-on. Fucking pitiful.

  Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he rolled over to look at the clock. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all, although it was nearly noon. He reached for his cell phone to see if there’d been a call from Danny or the detective who’d invaded his dreams. No missed calls. They must have slept late too, or decided they didn’t need his help after all.

  Jordan rose and padded to the bathroom, his bleary eyes half-closed. His mind flipped through the events of last night and the unexpected interruption to his life. For nearly two years, he’d been living in a little bubble, isolated and untouched by anyone else’s emotions. He’d almost forgotten what it was to feel. In one evening, he’d experienced the heart-thumping terror of a little boy and his own pulse racing because of a woman. It was a wonder he didn’t have a heart attack from the sudden stress.

  Mike hadn’t let go of his hand until Jordan put him in Danny’s car, and even then, Celia had to peel the kid off him. They’d connected on an elemental level and the boy felt safe with him. For the first time ever, Jordan experienced an internal exchange with someone.

  It had startled him when Mike looked into his eyes and broadcast a question mark. Jordan had automatically responded by sending a friendly vibe and was amazed when he saw comprehension in the boy’s eyes followed by a sensation of trust. The rapid relay of emotions between them was subtle but real. If the boy felt it too, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to let go.

  After finishing in the bathroom, Jordan went to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He leaned against the counter and stared at a cupboard door, thinking about the other connection he’d made last night. He’d caught the detective watching him several times. Maybe she was simply interested in his weirdo ability or was considering him as a suspect. But he hadn’t imagined her surge of sexual interest when they touched, so perhaps the idea she was attracted to him wasn’t a fantasy on his part.

  Well, he could find out today when he went over to Danny’s. He’d see Lauren again and they could talk about more than the case this time. He might ask her out, find out if they had anything in common. She could—

  He pulled the reins on his daydream, stopping it short. What the hell was he thinking of spinning nonsense in which he and Lauren Sadler hooked up? That wasn’t going to happen for many good reasons, primary being a detective couldn’t get involved with someone on a case. Besides, Jordan never got close enough to anyone to have a relationship and casual sex was too depressing. He didn’t want that.

  The problem was he couldn’t make love to a woman without knowing exactly what she was feeling. In the midst of passion, it was impossible to maintain the barrier shielding his mind from his partner’s emotions. Everything she felt washed over him, and it was too intense to experience someone stripped to her essence.

  The awareness of a woman’s pleasure couldn’t help but escalate his arousal and he always came, but at the same time felt dirty and perverted—a voyeur to very private emotions. Inevitably he’d pull away from whatever woman he was seeing when he sensed her growing knowledge that there was something strange about him. He ended it before they could. That had been his pattern up until the day of the accident, when the little girl had died in his arms and he’d dropped out of the world. Since then, he hadn’t dated anyone and most of his interactions with other people were online.

  But after last night, he felt he might break his self-imposed celibacy if the chance arose. Lauren Sadler intrigued him. The vulnerability and doubt beneath her confident exterior begged exploring and, if he was going to be honest, her gorgeous eyes and hot body awoke needs he’d kept buried for too long.

  As soon as he had his morning coffee and a shower, he’d go to Danny’s to help his new buddy, Mike. And if he happened to check out the exact shade of Lauren’s eyes, it was nobody’s business but his own.

  • • •

  “Mr. Langley.” She held out her hand and Jordan only hesitated a second before taking
it. Her palm fit neatly into his like their hands were meant to link together. Her skin was cool and smooth, but beneath it there was heat—not just the warmth of human flesh and rushing blood, but turbulent emotions boiling below the surface. He drew his mind tight, but the essence spilled over, like wine tasted merely from inhaling its bouquet. Frustration, sadness, excitement, uncertainty and attraction drawn from all facets of her life shifted like kaleidoscope colors.

  Lauren frowned and pulled her hand away, as though she’d felt him probing into her privacy. “Before you talk to Mike, I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.”

  He walked with her outside, to stand on Danny’s front porch where the midday sun warmed the worn board floor. Jordan glanced at the swing, wanting to sit with her there side by side, but Lauren remained standing. Arms folded, the fingers of one hand drumming her upper arm, she stared at the tree-shaded houses across the street.

  After a moment, she brought her mind back to him. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night so I’m a little unfocused.” She smiled slightly, and his gaze was drawn to the bow in her upper lip and the fullness of her lower one.

  Jordan shifted his attention to her eyes. “I didn’t sleep well either. The evening was very intense.” She’d never know that erotic dreams featuring her were a large part of what had troubled his night.

  She perched on the edge of the porch railing, one foot anchoring her to the floor. “Danny said you’ve known the Stipes since you were young. So you had some history with Celia too?”

  “Not really. She was just Danny’s older sister. I didn’t pay much attention to her.” Jordan leaned against one of the posts facing her.

  “Had you ever met Robert McKenzie?”

  “No. I haven’t seen Celia since Danny and I were in high school. When I heard the name McKenzie mentioned on the news last night, it rang a bell, but it wasn’t until Danny showed up that I remembered why.”