Intuition

by Carol Ericson

The scream ripped through the house and tore into Matt’s chest, just like the scream from that drug bust in the club.

  Focus, Conner. You’re hundreds of miles away from that club and someone else needs you right now.

  He turned his flashlight to the denim-clad legs pumping for purchase against thin air.

  “It’s okay. I’m going to help you. Stop struggling.”

  A woman sobbed. “Oh, my God. Please, hurry. I’m slipping.”

  He pressed against the balustrade, leaned over and cranked his head to the side. The woman was holding on to a piece of broken railing from the third-floor landing, her body suspended over nothing but a long drop to the hard tile floor.

  Judging by the scream, she didn’t have time for him to search for a phone or a ladder. He had to act now. He was good at that—acting first, thinking later.

  “Can you swing your legs toward me?”

  “Y-yes, but what are you going to do, grab my feet? That’s not going to help. You’ll probably be left holding a pair of sandals.”

  Was she trying to tell him how to execute the rescue? Matt straightened his six-foot-four-inch frame. “You get your legs as close as you can, and I’ll grab you around the thighs. I have a good view of your hips from here. I’ll yank you toward me, and even if you don’t clear the railing I can hold on to you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Matt blew out a breath. Did she want to be rescued or crack her head open on some old tiles?

  “Do you want me to call the Coral Cove Fire Department? I left my cell in my hotel room. Or I can go to the basement and find a ladder.”

  “No! I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “That’s what I thought. Start swinging.”

  The legs in the skinny jeans swayed like reeds in the wind. The woman grunted and the legs began to swing back and forth.

  Matt bellied up to the balustrade, stretching out both arms. “On the count of three, let go and propel yourself forward.”

  The voice came back, strong and sure. “Okay.”

  “One…two…three.”

  The legs hurtled toward him and he cinched his arms around her thighs. As she let go of the railing above, her body jerked but he yanked her toward his chest, stumbling backward. Something smacked the railing. He hugged the body tighter and threw himself back against the wall.

  He crashed into the plaster and fell sideways, all the while clutching the soft body to his solid frame. His back hit the floor and still he clung to the woman, taking her down with him.

  The back of his head thumped against the hard wood floor. He sucked in a breath, a heady perfume flooding his nostrils, and realized his nose was buried between a pair of luscious breasts in a soft cotton T-shirt.

  The woman on top of him gurgled once, scooped in a deep breath and rolled from his body. They lay on their backs, side by side, chests rising and falling.

  Matt sat up, wincing as his ribs expanded. He flexed his fingers and glanced at the woman panting next to him, a swath of dark hair across her face. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  His gaze traveled the length of her body. Her black T-shirt molded to her upper torso, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her tight jeans. Blue polished toenails peaked from a pair of glittery sandals. And that hair.

  A sense of familiarity jolted him. Long, black hair whipping through the elevator doors, a flash of green eyes. He bent over the prone form and brushed the hair from her face.

  Sculpted black brows snapped to attention over a long, narrow nose. Nostrils flared.

  “You!”

  Kylie Grant struggled to a sitting position, nearly clipping his chin with her head. He jerked back, his jaw hardening.

  “So you do recognize me. At the hotel, you acted like you’d never seen me before in your life.”

  Her cat eyes narrowed. “Who says I recognize you from anywhere other than the hotel?”

  “Cut it out, Kylie. We were in the same class at Coral Cove High.”

  “Same class, different universe.”

  “You and your goth friends occupied a universe all to yourselves.” Dread pumped through his veins, and he pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Were you trying to off yourself up there and then changed your mind?”

  Her jaw dropped and she scooted away from him. “Absolutely not. I was…I was…”

  Matt smacked his forehead. Leave it to Mr. Sensitivity to stick his size-thirteen shoe in his mouth. Kylie’s mom had committed suicide in this very house. “I’m sorry.”

  She huffed out a breath and scooted farther away, pinning her back to the wall. “Just because you probably saved my life, it doesn’t give you license to act like a jerk—although you never needed a license before.”

  He let that zinger zap him right between the eyes. He deserved it. “What were you doing up there? Did the railing break away?”

  “Yeah.” She hunched her shoulders, her gaze darting to the ceiling. “I was leaning over the railing and it snapped. Luckily, I was able to grab on to a stationary piece of wood, or at least mostly stationary.”

  He rose to his haunches and gripped the railing. “A lot of wood in this place is worm-eaten. I didn’t know the house was this bad. Where’s Mia St. Regis?”

  “I have no clue, probably running a major fashion house.” She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “What are you doing here?”

  He raised his brows at her accusatory tone. “Uh, it’s a good thing I was here…to save you.”

  Her eyes, resembling a pair of emeralds, glittered in the flashlight’s beam. Kylie had always seemed remote and untouchable in high school. Not that he’d wanted to touch her…then. She’d hung out with a weirdo artsy crowd, and he was enough of an outcast himself that he didn’t need to court any of his own kind.

  He stood up, stretching to his full height. “I was exploring.”

  Kylie Grant didn’t need to know his business in town. Once he started his investigation, his purpose in Coral Cove would come out soon enough. But by that time, maybe Kylie would be on her way. Her presence at the hotel meant she didn’t live in town…unless she was visiting someone at the hotel.

  She scrambled to her feet, her shiny sandals catching the light and winking in the gloom. Leave it to Kylie Grant to treat a visit to a haunted house like it was some kind of prom.

  “Looks like exploring this house can be hazardous to your health.” She flicked her long black hair behind her shoulders and it rippled down her back.

  She glided past him and he caught a whiff of her musky perfume. She’d left the same scent in the hotel elevator and he’d gotten a strong dose of it when he’d planted his face between her breasts.

  “I’m going upstairs to get my purse and flashlight.”

  He swung the flashlight forward, waving it back and forth. “You’re going to need this to make your way up there.”

  She held out her hand, and he rested the flashlight against his chest. “I’ll come with you.”

  He clumped up the stairs behind her, his motorcycle boots thumping against each step. How had she not heard him from the third floor? When she crashed through the balustrade, she didn’t even call out for help. Matt hadn’t been sure what had caused the ruckus until he saw her dangling in midair. He hadn’t realized anyone else was in the house.

  As he followed her up the stairs, he aimed his flashlight right at her sexy behind encased in those tight jeans. Who knew Kylie Grant had a derriere like that? All through high school she’d worn long, black skirts and silver-studded boots, which probably made her look chubbier than she really was.

  Kylie spun around when she reached the third-floor landing, and Matt shifted the light to her face.

  Her lips formed a thin line as she wedged a hand on her hip. How did she know he’d been checking out her assets?

  “Maybe you’d better go first.” She tilted her chin toward the dark landing. “You know, rotten wood and all.”

 
He skimmed the light along the floor. “Didn’t you say you had a flashlight?”

  “Must’ve burned out. I left it on the floor next to my purse.”

  He squeezed past her on the top step and inhaled her perfume again—made him think of dark, mysterious ladies.

  She stiffened.

  Maybe those stories about Kylie being a mind reader were all true. Matt took two steps toward the broken banister and hunched his shoulders. “It’s cold up here.”

  Kylie drew up beside him and nodded. Then she dipped and scooped up her purse and flashlight. She flicked the switch and another beam of light zigzagged across the jagged wood of the balustrade.

  “It does work.” Matt didn’t recall seeing any light from the third floor as he’d made his way up to the second earlier tonight. He hadn’t seen or heard a thing until that crash.

  “So, what do you think?” Kylie nudged a piece of wood hanging on by a few splinters. “Rotten?”

  He broke off the piece and examined it beneath the light. “It doesn’t look that bad, but you never know with old houses.”

  “You never know.”

  Matt didn’t know if it was the damp chill seeping into his bones or the almost feral look in the lady’s eyes, but he wanted out of here.

  He placed a hand on Kylie’s arm to draw her back from the abyss. “I didn’t even ask if you were okay. How’s your shoulder?”

  She rotated it. “Fine, a little sore.”

  “Bet you could use a drink. I know I could.” Actually, he could use a few, but he never overindulged…ever. At least not with alcohol. But other pleasures? Kylie’s skin felt smooth and warm to his touch, and she hadn’t even jerked away from him. Maybe saving her life had given him some stature in her eyes. God knows, he hadn’t had any before. She’d whipped right past him in the elevator, barely turning when she’d muttered her apology for bumping his shoulder.

  “A—a drink?” She’d pivoted on her toes to face him and with her eyes wide, she looked ready for flight.

  “Yeah, you know, that wet stuff we pour down our throats?”

  Her long lashes dropped over her eyes and she finally shook him off. “I wouldn’t have guessed drinking was high on your list of fun activities, given your background.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. She remembered more about him than she let on, but if she thought that shot was enough to deter his sudden fascination with her, she was as loony as her mom was reported to be.

  “One drink. Our hotel even has a bar in the lobby. So we can have a drink and go to bed.”

  Her lashes flew open.

  He kept the smile on his face and shoved one hand in the pocket of his jeans. “You in your bed. Me in mine.”

  She glanced up at the railing where both her and her mother’s bodies had dangled and shrugged. “I could use a drink.”

  Matt followed the taillights of Kylie’s car back to the Coast Highway and then through the downtown streets of Coral Cove. He was probably way out of line renewing his acquaintance with Kylie. He had a job to do and couldn’t afford the distraction.

  His hands tightened on the handlebar of his Harley. The last time he’d mixed pleasure with work, it had ended badly. But he had no intention of even telling Kylie about his business in Coral Cove. For all he knew, she’d be on her way out of town tomorrow.

  He could enjoy a drink with a pretty girl, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to tell her his life story. Or listen to hers. Or bed her. Not that he’d get that lucky with Kylie.

  He didn’t know why she’d agreed to a drink since half the time at Columbella she looked like she wanted to do him bodily harm. Must’ve been shaken by that fall. And who could blame her? If she hadn’t cracked her skull on that floor, she would’ve at least broken a leg or two.

  Fate brought him to Columbella tonight. She must’ve been on her way here when he ran into her on the elevator. He’d practically followed her over. Maybe things were looking up. About damned time.

  While she pulled into the guest parking lot, Matt parked his motorcycle in front of the hotel and kicked down the stand. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as she strolled toward him.

  She leveled a finger at his bike. “Still riding motorcycles.”

  “For disliking me in high school, you sure do remember a lot about me.”

  “You were kind of hard to miss. I think you reached your full height in ninth grade, didn’t you?”

  He opened the hotel door for her. “Nah, I was probably about six two in ninth grade—still had a few inches to go. You were hardly inconspicuous yourself.”

  “Me?” She smiled for the first time that night, a slow, sultry lift of one side of her mouth. “I always thought I flew under the radar.”

  Kylie weaved through the tables in the hotel lobby bar and made a beeline for the grinning bartender. Matt would’ve preferred one of those little tables with the nuts in a plastic cup, but Kylie settled on a bar stool and planted her elbows on the shiny mahogany.

  “I’ll have a glass of chardonnay, anything from California, and he’ll have…” She raised one eyebrow in his direction without much interest.

  “I’d like a beer. What do you have on tap?”

  “We have a good microbrew from Avila Beach.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Matt perched on the edge of the bar stool next to Kylie’s. “Do you want to sit at a table?”

  “I’m good here.”

  She’d been the one hanging from a banister, so he let it go. But he didn’t plan on letting her off easy. “What brings you back to Coral Cove and what were you doing at Columbella House?”

  She smiled her thanks at the bartender and took a sip of the light gold liquid from her glass. She considered Matt over the rim of that glass. “Isn’t it obvious what I was doing at Columbella?”

  Matt took a swig of beer and wrapped his hands around the mug. Was this a trick question? Any ideas he’d had about this encounter being an easy, sexy flirtation just fell flat. Kylie didn’t do easy…but she had the sexy part down to a T.

  “Uh, were you exploring like me?”

  She snorted into her wine and he found it oddly appealing. “Come on, Matt. You know my mom killed herself in that house, hung herself from that very landing.”

  “So were you paying your respects? Putting old demons to rest?”

  “Old demons.” Her nostrils flared and she flung back her long, black hair looking…witchy.

  Like a totally hot, sexy witch.

  “I guess you could say that.” She tossed back half the wine and turned toward him, her knees bumping his thigh. “You know I’m a psychic, don’t you?”

  He choked on his beer, and it came fizzing out his nose. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and hid behind it. Had he known that? The kids in high school used to say Kylie could read minds or tell fortunes, but he just figured they’d said that because Kylie’s mom was some kind of gypsy fortune-teller. He just thought the mom was nuts. That’s what Matt’s dad used to say anyway—not that you could ever trust anything that came out of the old man’s mouth.

  “You didn’t know?” Kylie hunched forward, her hands on her knees, the tips of her long hair brushing his thighs.

  To hell with the fortune-telling. He wanted to kiss her right now.

  She backed off and took another sip of her wine. Must’ve read his thoughts on that one, but it wouldn’t take much of a psychic to figure out his intentions since the crotch of his jeans had suddenly tightened and he was pretty sure he’d been staring at her luscious pink lips.

  He cleared his throat. “I guess I knew that, sort of. So that’s why you’re back in Coral Cove?” He waved his arm toward the lobby. “Because if you’re staying here, I figure you’re just visiting.”

  “It’s not exactly a visit, not social anyway.” She ran a fingertip along the rim of her glass. “And the stuff with my mom…it’s not my primary purpose for being here.”

  He waiting politely, taking another sip of his beer, but she
didn’t finish her thought, and he was left wondering about her primary purpose for being in Coral Cove. Instead, she wiggled her fingers in the air, signaling the bartender. “We’ll close out now, unless…” She threw a glance his way.

  “No, I’m good, and I’ll get this.”

  “That’s not necessary. In fact, I owe you.”

  As she reached for her purse, her cell phone rang. She checked the display and said, “Excuse me a minute. I have to take this.”

  She swiveled away from him and hunched over the bar.

  Boyfriend? Husband? He hadn’t even asked. Didn’t want to know.

  He lifted his hip from the bar stool to retrieve the card to his room and leaned toward Kylie, not that he was trying to eavesdrop or anything.

  Her low, musical voice reached his ears. “Nothing yet, Mrs. Harris. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

  A muscle ticked in Matt’s jaw. Mrs. Harris?

  Kylie clicked her phone off and dropped it back into her purse. “Sorry. I was supposed to call that person earlier and got completely sidetracked.”

  “By your mother.”

  “Uh-huh.” She made a grab for the check. “I really didn’t take that call to avoid paying the bill.”

  He scribbled his signature and room number on the bill and shoved it toward the bartender. Harris, common name. There were lots of Harrises in the world, right?

  The man on the bar stool next to Kylie’s spun around, a fake smile claiming half his face.

  “Kylie Grant, right?”

  Kylie jerked back from the man’s eager-puppy-dog enthusiasm. “That’s right. Oh, you’re Tyler Davis.”

  “Correct.” The man’s teeth gleamed in the low light of the bar. “Mayor Davis now.”

  “Mayor of Coral Cove? That’s—” she turned to Matt and rolled her eyes “—impressive.”

  “I heard a rumor about your presence in town, Kylie. Is it true?”

  “Depends on the rumor.” She narrowed her eyes and Matt almost felt sorry for Mayor Davis as a chill settled on the bar.

  “Not a good idea, Kylie.” Davis wagged his finger in Kylie’s face and Matt felt like breaking it off. “We should let sleeping dogs lie.”

  “And murdered dogs? Should we let those lie, as well, Mr. Mayor?”