by Bonnie Dee
“Are you a close friend of Danny’s?”
He paused, uncertain how to answer. “We used to be very good friends. The past couple of years I haven’t been close to anybody.”
“Why not?” Her arched eyebrow lifted a fraction higher.
Jordan wondered if the questions were all part of the investigation or if she was honestly curious. “I don’t… It’s hard to say. Basically, I had a really bad day and never got over it.”
“What happened?”
“Well, the story kind of hinges on whether you believe in what I can do or not. Do you?”
The delicate eyebrows knit in a frown. “I’m not sure what I saw but, yes, I guess I believe you have some kind of ability, for lack of a better word.”
He quickly told her about the case with the serial killer, the car accident and his decision to move from the city. “But it wasn’t only that one day. I was exhausted from the constant barrage of the city—sensory overload. Now I work from home where it’s quiet and I don’t have to interact with too many people.” Someplace I don’t have to feel.
She nodded. “In my line of work I deal with a lot of emotional drama. People are really fucked up.”
“Don’t you like your job?”
She looked away from him, back out at the mowed lawns, the dappled leaf shadows on the sidewalks. “I didn’t say I don’t like what I do. Besides, I’m good at it.”
He weighed what she said against her inner doubts. It never ceased to amaze him how the words people said rarely matched what they felt inside. “Besides, somebody has to do it,” he added.
“That’s right.” Her voice was tight and she distanced herself by returning to a more formal interrogation. She asked about Jordan’s history with Danny and his family, and questioned him about his assessment of Mike’s mental state.
“Tell me honestly what you think. Did the boy actually witness the killing or just walk in on the aftermath? Or do you believe he might have accidentally shot his father? Is there a sense of guilt along with his fear?”
Jordan moved from his lounging position against the post and sat beside Lauren on the railing. “I only felt fear. Perhaps Mike’s unable to connect to his action enough to feel guilt, but I’m getting more of a sense of…” he paused, trying to explain an intangible feeling, “…fear of an outside source—like a monster in the closet.”
She nodded accepting his evaluation.
They both sat silently for several moments. Lauren’s thoughtful expression and the way the light illuminated its angles and curves gave her the ethereal air of a saint contemplating the cosmos rather than a detective examining possible motives for murder. Jordan longed to reach out and touch her cheek just to feel the texture of her translucent skin.
Suddenly she broke from her reverie to look at him again. The pale hazel of her eyes pierced him through, making his mouth go dry and his heart race.
“What’s it like? What does it feel like to be that close to a person, to be inside his head?”
Jordan was taken aback. He’d rarely discussed his ability, even with Danny. Asked point blank, he was forced to examine what he usually tried to ignore. “There’s not one answer to that. It depends on the circumstance, but overall…uncomfortable. No one should know that much about another person. I feel like a voyeur, but I can’t turn it off. I can raise a buffer to dim the feelings, but they’re always there.”
“Every time you touch someone.”
“Yes.”
A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “Must be strange when you’re intimate with someone, knowing what they’re feeling.”
Jordan’s stomach flipped at the suggestive turn of conversation. Was she flirting with him or merely curious? “Yeah, it is.”
He angled his body a little more toward hers. “How about you, Detective? You’ve gotten all my personal information. What makes you tick?”
She shook her head. “Wouldn’t be professional to say. Besides I’m not that interesting.”
“I think you are.” He leaned toward her, his blood coursing and his cock stiffening. He wanted her with a sudden, unreasonable surge of longing and had to know if she felt anything in return.
Her lips trembled as the ghost smile fought to reappear and she tried to stifle it. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Do you want me to be?” He grinned, the first time he’d felt like smiling in a long time. She was easy to smile with.
“I don’t think it’s appropriate given the circumstances.” Her tone was carefully neutral, but it wasn’t a flat denial so he pressed his luck, extending a hand and touching her knee lightly.
The yearning he felt for her was reflected back at him. Want. Need. Want. The basic human desire for sex pulsed through her, but was directed very specifically at him.
“I, uh…” His head buzzing with sensation, he couldn’t squeeze out a coherent thought. Want, need, want filled him, too. His heart hammered and his cock was rock-hard, pressing painfully into the fly of his jeans.
His eyes zeroed in on her lush lips and the pink tongue darting across them. The air vibrated with tension and for one long moment they both froze, arrested by the power playing between them. He inclined his head slowly toward her until he could feel the puff of her warm breath against his mouth.
Then, suddenly, Lauren became aware of him sharing her emotions. He felt her shock as she realized what was happening. Her eyes widened and she pulled her leg away from his touch.
At the same moment, Danny’s voice called from the yard, “Hey. What’s up?”
Jordan looked toward the sidewalk where Danny was walking toward the house with a grocery sack in each arm.
Adrenaline was still coursing through him, his skin tingling, his heart pumping, but Jordan took a deep breath and stood. He pulled his T-shirt down to cover the bulge in his jeans and went to take one of the bags from Danny.
“How’s Celia today?” he asked.
“Wrecked.” Danny passed a bag to Jordan. “And afraid whoever did this will come after Mike.” He cast a glance at Lauren. “Although we have our own personal bodyguard so I guess we’re safe.”
She met his stare. “I’m doing everything I can.”
“Instead of focusing on our family you should be talking to Robert’s business connections, customers, neighbors and friends.”
“My partner is interviewing the neighbors right now, and I’ll be going to Robert’s work as soon as I’m finished here. I know how to conduct an investigation, Detective.”
Jordan enjoyed her irritated tone and the rigid set of her shoulders as she turned to open the door for them. How pathetic was it that he barely knew her and was already entranced by every little thing she did? The way she kept tucking that stray lock of hair behind her ear, the cadence of her speech, her looks, her walk, everything about her attracted him. And knowing she was just as hot for him only added fuel to the fire. How had this happened so quickly, and with a stranger?
After putting groceries away, Jordan followed Danny to the living room where Mike sat on the floor, staring at cartoons on TV. The moment the boy noticed Jordan, he got up and ran to him, throwing his arms around his waist.
The rush of warmth that poured into him overwhelmed Jordan. He’d never been around little kids much, and the return of affection he felt for Mike surprised him. The boy was easy to like, uncomplicated and simple inside—not like adults with all their hidden agendas and secret passions.
“Hey, buddy. How are you?”
Celia sat on the couch, gazing blank-faced at the colorful images on the TV. Danny handed her a glass of orange juice, which she held but didn’t drink.
“Mrs. McKenzie.” Lauren crouched in front of her. “I’m going to ask Mike a few more questions, all right?”
She nodded dully, either doped up or overcome with emotion as the reality of her husband’s death sunk in.
At the kitchen table, they gave Mike paper and markers, which he immediately began to arrange in rows.
Jordan sat beside him, resting a hand on his back, feeling his thin frame, the warmth of his body, and the light rise and fall of his breathing. Beneath that was swirling anxiety—nothing like the paralyzing fear of last night, but constant. There were other emotions too. Like fabric patches sewn into a quilt, people carried many different shades of feelings at any given time. Mike’s emotions were generally happy. Only pervasive fear cast a gloom over his light.
He rubbed the boy’s back, offering comfort, as Lauren began her questioning.
“Hi, Mike. Remember me? I’m Detective Sadler. I’m here to help you.” She paused, giving him a moment to digest the words. The boy gave no outward sign that he’d heard her, but inside registered recognition. Jordan nodded at Lauren.
“I want to find out what happened to your dad. I want to find the person who hurt him and make sure they don’t hurt anyone else.”
Mike tensed at the mention of his father. He took the pile of cross-hatched pages from his binder and laid them neatly on the table, building his wall again.
“You’re safe.” Lauren’s voice was as soothing and fluid as water. “I’ll make sure you’re safe even if you tell me what you saw. It’s all right to talk about it.”
As she continued reassuring Mike, Jordan felt his tension ease. He opened his tablet to a fresh sheet of paper and began to draw—circles this time, as perfectly round as if he’d used a compass in different sizes and colors. Inside each circle he wrote a number. Different emotions rose to the surface along with each number.
Something clicked and Jordan understood subliminally the significance of the numbers. They represented people in Mike’s life. This was how he related to them emotionally. A pink one with a large three inside might be his mother from the strong love it engendered. Green number four must be Danny because Mike glanced at him after he wrote it. Other numbers raised weaker feelings. Perhaps they were teachers or playmates, anyone who impacted on his life in some way. Soon the page was filled with colorful number bubbles.
“What’s he thinking?” Lauren asked.
“I think the numbers are people in his life. Each one expresses a different emotion, a connection.” Jordan patted Mike’s shoulder, encouraging him to go on.
The boy bent farther over the paper, his sandy bangs falling over his forehead. His tension increased as he scribbled furiously near the bottom of the paper—a number eight in deep red with no bubble around it.
Anxiety washed over Jordan and his stomach lurched. “Something bad. I think this is his father.”
The boy muttered as he picked up a thick black marker and brought the tip to the paper. Inside, Jordan felt Mike’s fear break loose and race through him. The tension ratcheted tighter as the boy drew a circle and wrote a number in bold strokes inside it. This was it, the scary person who killed.
“Seventeen, seventeen.” Mike’s mutter grew louder as he capped the marker and looked up at Lauren. It was the first time he’d made eye contact with her. “Seventeen.”
“My God, it’s someone you know,” she murmured.
Chapter Four
“So, what’d you get out of the kid?” Court asked. “Something I hope, because this day’s been a big waste of time for me. None of the neighbors saw anything. They didn’t even hear the shot. Not surprising the way the place is laid out and landscaped. Rich people and their country estates in the ’burbs.” He shook his head and took another bite of his burger.
“Mike’s still not talking, but he’s communicating in his own way,” Lauren hedged. She wasn’t about to explain the method she’d used to try to reach him. “It appears the killer is someone he knows.”
“That cuts down our search. How many people can a little kid know?”
“Relatives, friends, neighbors. Hell, it could be a delivery or repair person who’s come to the house, but I think it’s someone more significant to him.” She sucked on her straw as she considered the options. “I talked to Arthur Brandt, McKenzie’s business partner, also McKenzie’s secretary and other people at his business, but I want to talk to Brandt more. Guy seemed nervous to me. I’ve got a feeling he’s hiding something.”
“Okay.” Her partner balled up his fast-food sack in a meaty fist and tossed it into the backseat of the car. “Let’s talk motive. Money and jealousy always top the list. Who gains from his death? And is there a mistress? Jealous wife stands to inherit—covers both bases.”
Lauren’s soda was gone so she began chewing her straw. “Not Celia. I’m not feeling that.”
“Hold the wheel?” Court tugged off his jacket while Lauren steered. His paunch made the move difficult and his arms got stuck in the jacket sleeves before he finally peeled it off and threw it back with the fast-food bag. The smell of sweat and cologne radiated through the car.
Lauren rolled down her window and breathed in gas fumes instead. They were driving past row houses with peeling facades and sagging porches on their way to interview the McKenzie’s housekeeper, Camilla Santiago. Lauren had tried to call, but the woman’s phone went to voice mail every time. So they were showing up just hoping to catch her at home.
“What makes you so sure it’s not the kid? An accidental shooting like we talked about?” Brad Court cast a sideways glance at Lauren as he took the steering wheel back.
“Instinct,” she answered vaguely. Because a psychic guy told me so, that’s why. “Anyway, there’s not even a partial fingerprint to connect either Mike or Celia.”
“Because the weapon was wiped clean before placing it by McKenzie’s hand. The boy wouldn’t do that. But the mother would.”
“Could be,” she conceded although she still didn’t believe in either McKenzie’s involvement. Lauren gestured to the apartment building they were passing. “I think this is it.”
Brad found a parking spot about a block away and they walked toward the generic brick building. It was pretty well maintained despite the rundown neighborhood surrounding it. They took the stairs to the third floor, since Brad had a problem with elevators and avoided them whenever possible. He was puffing and red-faced by the time they reached Camilla Santiago’s apartment and rang the bell.
A petite, dark-haired, brown-eyed woman answered the door. She kept the chain in place while Court flashed his badge and introduced himself and Lauren.
Santiago began babbling before she’d finished opening the door for them. “My God, what happened? I went to work today and there was crime tape at the foot of the McKenzies’ driveway! I lost my cell phone so I couldn’t reach Celia. Is everything all right?”
“Robert McKenzie was shot.” Lauren watched the woman for any sign she already knew.
Her shock appeared genuine, eyes widening and her hand covering her mouth. “Shot! Is he all right?”
“He’s dead. Celia got home from her exercise class last night and found Robert’s body in his study and Michael hiding in his bedroom. May we come in for a moment, Ms. Santiago?”
“Of course.” She led them into her small living room. The furnishings were new and the entertainment center contained a flat-screen TV. The McKenzies clearly paid her well enough to live in comfort even in the ghetto. “How are Celia and little Mike, pobre hijo? Do you have any idea what happened?”
Lauren sat on a chair across from Camilla, but Brad wandered the room, looking at photos and trinkets. “Celia and Mike are fine, but naturally upset. We don’t have any suspects this early in the investigation. The scene was set to look like a suicide, but facts indicate it wasn’t.”
The woman shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. “This is terrible. Terrible! Do you think someone broke in? A burglar?”
“We’re not discounting any scenario at this time. How long have you worked for the McKenzies?”
“Almost five years now.”
“What do you do there?”
“Cleaning, cooking and looking after Mike sometimes when Mrs. McKenzie is busy.”
“Have you ever noticed any strain in the couple’s relationship?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Just trying to learn more about the family. You never know what information might be useful.”
Camilla frowned, then she gave a small nod as if coming to a decision. “There were arguments, but no more than in any family. With the difficulties of having a child like that, things get stressful sometimes. I didn’t think either of them was unhappy, but who knows what goes on in a person’s heart.”
Lauren asked a few more questions and learned that Camilla had finished cooking the family’s dinner by six, then gone home. She’d spent the rest of the evening watching TV and was in bed by eleven.
They thanked her for her time and Court gave her a card. “Call us if anything else occurs to you, Ms. Santiago.”
When they got out of the stuffy apartment and into the sunshine, Lauren breathed deeply. She had to suck in as much oxygen as she could before climbing back into the car with her smelly partner.
“What do we think of Camilla?” Brad asked as he took his place in the passenger seat this time.
“No motive.”
“No alibi either. Did she really spend the evening alone in her apartment?”
Lauren shrugged. “I’m feeling stronger about the business partner, Brandt. There was a weird vibe when he answered my questions about the company. Import-export business—a great cover for drugs, guns, whatever. The kind of business connections that could get a man killed. It’s worth looking into.”
“All right then,” Court said. “We’ll go there tomorrow. I’m finished for today. Got my kid’s school play.”
After she’d dropped Brad off at his car, Lauren drove toward home. It would feel good to take a shower then fall into bed and sleep for a good fourteen hours.
That was the plan. But her body seemed to have an idea of its own. She found herself heading toward the highway and soon was outside the city, past the suburbs and into the country.
Nervous anticipation made her pulse flutter like a girl waiting for her prom date. It was crazy how she’d allowed that almost-kiss earlier to affect her so much. While her right brain had fully concentrated on her work, an elemental part of her relived the brief moment over and over—the tension and unfurling of something dark and deep between them. What the hell was that?
