by SUE FINEMAN
Staring at him, Ginny asked, “Are you sure? Did you have a vision.”
“The night I did the reading for the husband, I didn’t sense he was dangerous. Upset, yes. Dangerous, no.” He twisted to face Ginny. “Look, the man came to me because he was worried about his wife, not because he wanted to kill her for leaving him.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“If I’d seen that kind of anger the night of the reading, I would have been more vague. When I told him his wife was with another man, the husband was upset, but I didn’t sense danger. I felt no anger at all toward me.”
“Maybe he wasn’t angry at the time,” said Ginny. “Maybe he wasn’t thinking of killing her then. But if he did kill them, he would have wanted to eliminate witnesses, and that includes you. Were his wife and this other man lovers?”
“Yes, but I didn’t tell him that, and I didn’t tell him where they were.”
Ginny cocked her head. “Was the other man married?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“For a psychic, you don’t know a lot.”
Steffen threw down his slice of pizza. Did she think he was responsible for the murder of those two people? Did she also think he was responsible for his own shooting?
“I can’t tune in to everything that’s going on in the world or it would drive me crazy. Even if I could see it all, I’m not God. I can’t stop bad things from happening, and I refuse to take responsibility for the two people who were murdered. I didn’t kill them, Ginny. If you’re looking for someone to blame, look elsewhere.”
He walked into the bathroom and closed the door, shaking with anger. He thought she understood, but she didn’t understand anything.
The first time he’d seen someone murdered, he blamed himself for not seeing those people before they were killed, when he might have been able to warn them and stop it from happening. His grandmother told him a psychic wasn’t responsible for all the things that happened in the world. “We can’t stop bad things from happening,” she’d said. “We can sometimes see what took place, or what will take place, but we don’t control the world. That’s God’s business, not ours. You have to distance yourself from what you see, Steffen. Pretend you’re a fly on the wall. You can see the crazy humans doing things to each other, but you’re only a fly, and you can’t do anything about it.”
Steffen closed his eyes and breathed deeply to clear his mind. Focusing on the vision he’d had that night, he saw again the woman laughing and kissing the man with the snake tattoo on his arm. They both looked happy. As he watched them, a dark shadow entered the room and they turned toward the door. A second later, something popped and the woman flew back into the man. Blood bloomed over her shirt just above her waist. Another pop and the man’s forehead exploded in a blast of red and gray. The woman, still alive but badly wounded, moaned, and a second shot into her breast ended her life. The shadow backed out of the room. Steffen didn’t see the face of the killer.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the vision, the first one he’d had since the night he was shot. The gory scene turned his stomach.
“Come and finish your pizza,” Ginny called.
“I can’t eat any more.” After seeing two happy, vital people murdered, he wasn’t sure he could keep down what he’d already eaten.
Why hadn’t he seen the rest of the vision that night at the motel?
The light went out in the bathroom, and Steffen opened the door. Aside from a flickering glow coming from the living room fireplace, the house was dark.
They’d lost power.
Chapter Nine
The snow was coming down thick and heavy when Roland pulled up in front of his home. It was nearly midnight, and Phoebe slept peacefully in the front seat beside him. He hated to wake her, but they couldn’t sit in the car all night. As soon as he turned the engine off, the windshield turned white, enclosing them in a chilly cocoon. He shook her arm gently. “Phoebe, darling, wake up.”
She yawned and stretched. “Where are we?”
“My house in River Valley. I didn’t want to take you home this late. Is this all right for tonight?”
“It’s fine, Roland.”
Roland carried their bags inside and turned up the thermostat. This would be their last night together. Tomorrow he’d deliver Phoebe to her mother, and he’d probably never see her again.
While Phoebe walked through the house, he realized how shabby it looked. Mother never threw anything away, and the house was filled with worthless junk. Even the furniture was old and worn. “The only room I’ve redone since Mother died is my bedroom.” He’d stripped the wallpaper off the walls and painted them a color that reminded him of egg custard. He’d bought new oak furniture in a dark finish that he loved, and the drapes and bedspread were a deep mossy green. He’d chosen throw pillows in various shades of gold and cream and green to coordinate with the rug on the hardwood floor. No clutter, no knickknacks, and no mess. Unlike his mother, Roland valued order and neatness.
“I love it, Roland. Are you going to redo the rest of the house?”
“I’d like to, but I don’t know much about decorating.”
“I’ll be glad to help, if you want.”
He smiled. “That would be wonderful, Phoebe. Would you like to sleep with me or in Mother’s room?”
“With you, of course,” she said, blushing.
They still hadn’t made love, and now that they were back in River Valley, that possibility seemed even more remote.
“I’ll take you home in the morning.” How he hated for this to end, but end it must. Tomorrow she’d move back to her home, and next week, he’d return to his routine of working long hours and going to the singles bars now and then, hoping to meet a woman who liked small men.
But he didn’t want another woman.
He wanted this one.
<>
Steffen sat in the corner of the sofa and stretched his legs out beside him. He motioned to Ginny. “C’mon, honey. It’s cuddle time.”
She sat between his legs and leaned back into him, her head on his left shoulder. They’d shared some incredible kisses, but tonight he wanted more. He wanted to feel her naked body pressed against his, touch her intimately and feel her respond, and have her hands and lips on his body. Injured shoulder or not, he yearned to make love to this incredible woman.
Ginny moved her bottom against his growing erection, and he knew this beautiful detective would be a passionate lover. Running his hands around her waist under her sweatshirt, he unsnapped her jeans and put his hand over her warm tummy. He rubbed her belly button, and she squirmed around to unhook her bra.
“Ginny, I don’t have any condoms with me.” Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
“I don’t care,” she whispered, as she twisted around to face him. “I want you.”
The moment her lips touched his, heat sparked between them, releasing the passion they’d both been holding back. With the flickering fire blazing nearby, he slowly removed her shirt and bra, then she unfastened her jeans and pushed them off. His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they caressed her silky skin and his mouth and rough whiskers worried her sensitive nipples. Seeing her magnificent body in the flickering glow of the fire, he knew he’d never forget this sexy lady.
She helped him pull his clothes off and he lay on the sofa, his erection long and thick and hard, and knew his arm wasn’t strong enough to hold him. “Honey, my arm—”
“Not a problem.” She kissed his erection, licked the tip, then climbed on top and slid down over him, taking him inside her wet, slippery sheath.
It was the first time he’d ever had sex without a condom. It felt so much nicer this way, more sensual and erotic, with her warm, moist skin against his. Or maybe it felt nicer because he was with Ginny instead of another woman. He moved with her, pushing into her as she slid down over him, until she stopped moving and tightened around him. She buried her face in his neck and moaned until the
spasms stopped, then he let himself go in a magnificent explosion he wouldn’t likely forget. His seed spilled into her womb, and he halfway hoped he’d gotten her pregnant, so he could keep this vibrant woman in his life forever. But she didn’t want children and wouldn’t want a happily ever after with an unemployed psychic.
She went into his bathroom to clean up, and he stayed in front of the warm fire, his hot skin cooling quickly without the warmth of Ginny’s body on top of him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling more satisfied. He wondered if she felt the same way.
Ginny’s body still tingled from making love with the most exciting man she’d ever been with. As a lover, Steffen exceeded her expectations.
Still naked, she walked back to the living room and on upstairs to get her robe. She hadn’t planned for that to happen, and she certainly hadn’t planned to have unprotected sex. With so many diseases going around, that wasn’t a smart thing to do. But sex with Steffen was everything she expected and more. Knowing he couldn’t manipulate her with his mind made it that much better. What would it be like when his psychic powers returned? If they returned. He seemed a little lost without his radar, but he knew how to play a woman’s body.
She walked downstairs wearing her robe and a pair of floppy socks, wishing she’d thought to buy condoms the last time she was in town. Her last lover always brought an adequate supply. Scott didn’t want to be a father any more than she wanted to be a mother. It wasn’t that she didn’t like children. She loved her nieces and nephews, but she didn’t want to be responsible for bringing a child into the world. Her parents would be disappointed if they knew, but they already had plenty of grandchildren to spoil.
<>
At ten the next morning, Roland cleaned the snow off his car and drove Phoebe to her mother’s home, a rather large brick house in a nice neighborhood. She didn’t get out of the car.
“Phoebe, do you want me to come in with you?”
“Would you? I feel a little apprehensive, and I want you to meet my mother.”
He walked her up to the front door and she rang the bell.
A nurse opened the door. “You must be Phoebe,” she said. “Your mother has been expecting you.”
“How is she?”
“She’s in constant pain. We’re doing our best, but she won’t let us give her enough morphine to manage the pain.”
Roland followed Phoebe to the master bedroom, which was on the main floor. The large room had a hospital bed in the middle, with an IV in the arm of the patient in the bed. She looked yellowish and bloated, and her eyes were closed. Phoebe hung back and grabbed Roland’s hand.
He walked with her to the bed. There were two nurses in the room. One rubbed the sleeping patient’s arm. “Jill, Phoebe is here.”
“My Phoebe?”
“Yes, your beautiful daughter is here.”
Jill’s eyes opened and she turned her head toward Phoebe. “Oh, Phoebe, honey. I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”
“I’m here, Mama. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you needed me.”
“It doesn’t matter, baby. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“Mama, this is my good friend Roland Bickley.”
“Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter, Mr. Bickley.”
“Please, it’s Roland, and it’s been my pleasure to have Phoebe with me the past few days.”
Roland stood quietly while Jill and Phoebe reconnected. By the time the nurse put more medicine in Jill’s IV, Phoebe’s eyes were filled with tears. He hugged and held her while she sobbed. Seeing her mother in this condition had to hurt deeply, but from the looks of the woman, there wasn’t much anyone could do for her now except try to ease her pain.
While Jill slept, Roland walked into the other room with Phoebe. The house was magnificent, richly decorated as he’d expected. “Where’s your room?” he asked.
“Upstairs. I had my own apartment in a building downtown until last year, when my father…” She sobbed. “I remember him now. He died so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye.”
“He knew you loved him, Phoebe.”
“Now she’s dying, too. I can’t stay here and watch her die, Roland. I just can’t.”
“I know, sweetheart, but you need to say the things you didn’t have a chance to say to your father. Tell her you love her and your father will be waiting for her on the other side. They’ll be together in death as they were in life.” He kissed her hand. “You don’t ever have to be alone again, Phoebe. I’ll be here for you, if you want me.”
“Of course I want you. I’ve wanted you from the first moment I set eyes on you in the bar.”
But she didn’t want him in the library. He’d asked her out, her co-workers laughed, and she said no.
<>
After four days of living without power, the lights came on at Ginny’s house. She and Steffen dug her car out of the snow drift, and she drove into the city to buy groceries, condoms, and gas for the generator. Her last stop was to pick up the mail from the post office. Mixed in with her bills were several big envelopes Carson had sent Steffen.
Minutes later, she walked into the house carrying the groceries. Steffen had abandoned his sling, but he wasn’t supposed to carry anything heavy with his right arm until his shoulder healed. He brought in the mail Ginny had piled on the front seat and dropped it on the desk under the living room window, then helped Ginny put the groceries away.
“Ginny, your mother called while you were gone. Apparently Phoebe and Roland are back. Phoebe visited her mother, then returned to Roland’s house.”
Ginny’s eyebrows shot up. “They’re living together?”
“Something wrong with that? We’re living together.”
“Yes, but this is Phoebe. She’s never… I mean…”
“Never been in love?”
“Never been with a man.”
Steffen walked into the living room and flipped through the mail. “Looks like Carson sent my mail.”
“Do you get fan mail?”
“Some.” Most of the fan mail was from women who thought he’d look at their pictures and fall madly in love. Other letters were from people desperate for help. The ones from parents looking for lost children were especially hard to read. Too many of their children were dead, killed by child molesters.
He dumped the first big brown envelope out on the coffee table.
Ginny picked up one letter. “This one is from an attorney.”
“Probably someone suing me for giving them a bad reading.” The last person who tried to sue him didn’t get far. The judge threw the case out, saying no one should depend on the word of a psychic for anything.
Steffen sorted through the envelopes, looking for bills. Their house-sitter was supposed to take care of those, but she always managed to miss something. The only bills he found were from the doctor, anesthesiologist, and hospital in River Valley. He put them aside without opening them. Then he opened the letter from the attorney.
“It says I’ve been mentioned in the will of Joseph Robert Marchand, who recently passed away.” Steffen read, “Please call at your earliest convenience.”
Ginny sat on the sofa beside him. “Who’s Joseph Robert Marchand?”
“My grandfather. My natural father’s father. My mother took me to see him once, when I was seven or eight years old. I told him his other grandchildren would die before him, and the old man stared at me like I was some kind of freak. That’s the only time I ever saw him.”
“But he left you something in his will.”
“Maybe. The letter says I was mentioned in the will, not that he left me something.”
“Did his other grandchildren die?”
Steffen shrugged. “I don’t know. I tuned out that whole side of my family. And Carson. I tuned him out years ago.”
He read the letter again, then put it back in the envelope. “The letter says he’s sending a package.” He picked up another thick envelope. “This mu
st be it.” He poured out a pile of pictures and newspaper clippings. Some of the pictures were so old the edges were curled and the images faded.
Ginny picked up one picture and turned it over. “Look at the backs. They’re labeled.”
He turned one black and white picture over and read, “Joseph Robert Marchand, Chicago, May, 1944.” The man stood beside what looked like a vintage Buick coupe. This was the grandfather who’d died recently, the one Steffen met when he was a little boy. He saw a definitely family resemblance.
Another picture was of a young family – father, mother, and two boys. “This one is more recent. It’s from 1983. R. J. Marchand, Lila, Rich, Rob.”
The back of Steffen’s neck itched, as it often did when he had a feeling about something. This man, R. J. Marchand, was the father who didn’t want him, the father who already had a wife and children when he got Natalee Dubois pregnant. The two little boys in the picture were his half-brothers, but Steffen had never met them. He couldn’t remember meeting his father either, only his grandfather. And only that one time.
There were several newspaper clippings included with the pictures. Steffen read one about Joseph Marchand and handed it to Ginny, then unfolded a second clipping about a plane crash that killed R. J. Marchand, his wife, Lila, and their two boys, Richard and Robert. It was dated January, 1985.
The last clipping was an obituary for Joseph Marchand. He handed the clipping to Ginny.
She scanned the clipping. “Steffen, listen to this. Joseph Marchand was preceded in death by his wife, Carolyn, his only son, Richard Joseph Marchand, and two grandsons, Richard John Marchand and Robert James Marchand. He’s survived by another grandson, Steffen Dubois Marchand, of Chicago.”
“I can’t believe they put my name in his obituary. Those people never claimed me as part of their family. They didn’t have anything to do with me.”
She picked up the phone and handed it to him. “Call the attorney.”
He punched in the phone number on the letter. When a woman answered, he asked to speak with the attorney, Charles Hamilton.
“Mr. Hamilton is with a client. Would you like him to return your call?”
