by Deborah Camp
He tipped his head to one side and eyed her with caution. “What?”
“That I’m a big fan of his.” She grinned and got a grin back from him.
“You like him now, huh?”
“I’m nuts about him.”
His mouth settled comfortably on hers, tasting, rubbing, stroking. “Speaking of which, have you seen Ethel since Key West?”
She leaned back a little. “Ethel has appeared a couple of times.”
“Really?” His brows shot up. “Was she helpful?”
“Yes. I guess it’s sort of like what Gregory does. When I get out of sorts and feel like I’m not getting anywhere with a case, Ethel drops by to give me that sweet smile of hers. She has a melodic voice. Soft, high, like a flute. She tells me she has faith in me and that she’s sure I’m on the right track. Confirmations like that and . . . I don’t know. It helps me to focus.”
He lifted his hands, gliding them over her hair and cupping the back of her neck. “You remind me of myself ten years ago.”
“I do? How?”
“I was scared of what I could do, so I doubted myself, second-guessed myself, worried that I couldn’t handle everything going on inside me.”
Wonder floated through her as she gazed at him, her heart filling with it. He’s my kindred spirit, she thought, finding it a sweet relief to have him in her life. He could understand what she was going through and how utterly frightening it could be at times.
“You’ve scared yourself, too?”
“You bet.” He folded her into his embrace. “One time when I was at Duke University, a team of researchers and scientists ran some tests on me.”
“What kind of tests? Medical?”
“No. Psychic. They took me to places where traumas had occurred and asked me what had happened. I told them the impressions I received from the places. I was correct, but I could tell that some of them were skeptical.” He frowned and his arms tightened around her, pulling her against him as if he needed her warmth. “Then they tested to see if I had telekinetic abilities. They placed a square of paper onto a spindle and told me to concentrate on moving the paper.”
Trudy’s heart sped up as she waited for him to continue. She’d read about telekinesis, but didn’t believe in it. Just like she hadn’t believed in spirit guides . . . until Levi and Ethel had blown her denial to smithereens.
“Did you move it?” she asked, unable to wait another second for him to continue. She glanced up and saw that his eyes were unfocused. He was totally into a memory and had forgotten that she was pressed against him, her breath fanning across his breastbone.
“Hmmm?” He blinked and focused his attention on her again. “Oh. Ummm. Yes. It moved.” He shrugged and scoffed. “I concentrated so fucking hard that I gave myself a nose bleed! Did I make it move? Hell, who knows? Could have been a breeze or a trick of the eyes.” He let go of her abruptly and turned his back. His hand swiped through his hair in a swift, angry gesture. “It barely moved.”
“But the paper moved,” Trudy said, staring at his back and realizing that the memory had freaked him out just as the event must have done back at Duke.
“They said it did.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Fuck this.” Sending her a glance over his shoulder, his scowl softened to a begrudging grin. “Come on, Tru baby. Let’s go back to bed. It’ll be morning soon, and if I don’t want to feel like a zombie at work all day, I should try to get a little more sleep.”
She nestled against his side and they walked slowly back to the bedroom. Without another word, they got back into bed and spooned. Levi fell asleep before she did. Her head was full of images of a screaming boy in a root cellar . . . and a square of paper moving ever so slightly on a spindle. Was that possible? For a man who could somehow give your brain a sharp poke when he wanted you to pay attention to him, a trick he claimed to have learned at Findlay, yes! Yes, it was. Dawn colored the sky before she could quiet her mind enough to doze.
Chapter 8
Trudy hung up the last shirt and shook her head. Even with another suitcase full of clothes, the closet was nearly empty. Because she’d missed Mouse and had a limited wardrobe with her, Levi had sent a driver to Tulsa for the dog and more clothes. Her parents hadn’t been pleased with her new living arrangement and had let her know that they expected her home for Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving! Trudy hadn’t been able to promise she’d be there, giving her parents even more to worry about. But what else could she do? Her life was in flux or in limbo – or both. She’d call her sister later and ask Sadie to talk to their parents and reassure them that there was nothing for them to worry about.
Glancing around for Mouse and not finding her, Trudy ambled through the master bathroom and bedroom. No Mouse. She finally located the gray Chihuahua planted on the back of the sectional in the living room. The TV positioned above the fireplace was on, tuned to a football game. Levi lay sprawled on the sectional, a bowl of potato chips and a bottle of beer occupying space with him. He frowned at the TV and muttered a curse. Mouse spotted Trudy and yipped.
“That’s right,” Levi said, reaching out blindly to pat Mouse. “You tell ’em, shorty. If the defense doesn’t get their heads out of their asses, we’re not only going to lose this game, we’re going to lose our quarterback, too. He’s had his bell rung twice already.”
Seeing him like this . . . relaxed in a pair of faded blue jeans and a “Walking Dead” t-shirt, bare feet propped on the coffee table, she smiled in wonderment. It was all so normal. Watching football on a Sunday afternoon after a lazy morning in bed reading the newspaper. After ten days, they were slipping into a comfortable routine. Mornings they had breakfast together. He liked cereal and fruit or sometimes eggs, bacon, and toast. She liked croissants, poached eggs, and sometimes waffles. He went to work. She went to work — or what work she could do under the circumstances. Sometimes he came home for lunch, but most of the time he didn’t and she had lunch with Wes.
Levi texted her throughout the day and called her every so often to growl dirty words into the phone that made her blush and writhe with anticipation. Then he’d come home around six, sometimes as late as seven or eight, and they would be alone. They would have dinner, take long baths or showers, lounge on the sectional and watch TV, and have sex in every room and on every flat surface.
Her gaze moved lovingly over Levi’s rumpled hair and the dark stubble on the lower half of his face. If she wasn’t here, would he have invited his guy friends over to watch the game? Was she cramping his style?
This penthouse and this man were beginning to feel like home. She missed her own house less often. What she did still miss every day was her family. Being completely out of the Tucker family loop sent melancholy drifting through her. However, she could get used to this, she mused, looking around at the sunny room. No housecleaning or cooking, thanks to the highly efficient Wes. The biggest irritation was the ever-present threat of Heather Asher, the stalker. Because of her, Trudy and Levi couldn’t go anywhere without an entourage of dark-suited men.
“What the hell was that?” Levi threw a potato chip in the direction of the TV. It missed its mark by a yard, falling onto the coffee table. Like a furry Ninja, Mouse leapt from the back of the sofa, onto Levi’s chest, and then sprang from there to the coffee table to snatch up the chip. “Hey!” Levi rubbed his chest where Mouse’s nails had dug in. “I think you drew blood!”
“I take it that your team sucks,” Trudy said, sashaying into the room and wagging a finger at Mouse who was scouting for potato chip crumbs. “Get off that table,” she ordered. “You know better. Off!”
Mouse scampered to the floor and then back onto the sectional next to Levi. Trudy sat at the opposite end of it.
“Do you usually invite friends over to watch the game?”
“Usually.” He finished off the beer and set the bottle on a coaster. “We’re down two touchdowns and they’re going for a third one now. It’s the second quarter. This thing is shapi
ng up to be a massacre.”
She looked past him to the bank of windows. “Heather Asher’s husband would let us know if she showed up at home again, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes.” He picked up the remote and switched off the TV. “She’s not in Ohio. We’re fairly certain she’s still hanging around Atlanta.”
“What makes you think so?”
“She was spotted in a downtown restaurant a couple of days ago. She told the staff that she was my girlfriend. One of the waitresses is dating a friend of mine and she told him about it.” He shrugged. “Gonzo and his guys have been canvassing that area, but she hasn’t turned up. She’s like a shadow. There and gone.”
“I kind of feel sorry for her.”
“Don’t.”
She’d been looking at Mouse, but the hard rap of his voice sent her gaze bouncing to him. His frown deepened as she watched. “She’s annoying and she definitely has a screw loose, but I don’t think she’s dangerous, Levi.”
He ran a hand down his face and she heard the rasp of his whiskers on his palm. “You don’t know that. The therapists who worked with her at the clinic said she became agitated when they tried to get her to admit that she was fantasizing. If challenged, she lashes out. I saw that first-hand. She can go off like a rocket.”
Trudy squelched the sliver of fear that tried to work itself into her mind. “Well, I can’t stay hermetically sealed in this penthouse much longer. There is a case here in Atlanta I want to take on. It’s a kidnapping case.” She paused, recognizing reticence in Levi’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
“I want you to work, of course, but wait until Heather Asher is in custody again.”
“That could be next week or next month. I have bills to pay.”
He stared at her and she knew what he was about to say, so she headed him off.
“I don’t want you paying my bills and I need to go back to Tulsa soon. For Thanksgiving.” She reached out and grasped his forearm and gave him a shake. “With you, I hope.”
“Thanksgiving.” He said it as if it were a foreign word. “I want to meet your family and be with you in Tulsa.” His smile was lukewarm, at best. “I simply want to wait until we can go there without Gonzo’s guys traveling with us.”
She sat back from him, hoping that he was joking. He wasn’t. “We can’t go to Tulsa with a security detail. My parents will freak out. I haven’t told them about the stalker being on the loose again.”
The worry wrinkle appeared between his eyes. “Why not?”
“I’ve already given them plenty to go into a spin cycle over by just being here and having someone drive up and collect Mouse and some more of my clothes! That kind of thing doesn’t happen in the Tucker family.”
“What kind of thing?”
She glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. “Living together, Levi. I told you that my parents weren’t going to be thrilled with this situation. So, I didn’t want to add to their worrying about me by telling them how Heather Asher gave everyone the slip. She needs to be in custody before Thanksgiving because my family will expect me to be at the dinner table then.”
His brows dipped in a scowl. “Why would your parents worry about you being with me?”
“It’s not about you,” she said, sighing. “I told you. They will be concerned that I’m headed for heartache. You know . . . why buy the cow when—.”
“No!” He squeezed his eyes shut and flung out his hands to stop the rest of her quaint quotation. “Christ! Really? That’s how they see this? That I’m getting ‘the milk’ for free?”
She shrugged and grinned, finding it adorable that he was so insulted. “They haven’t met you. All they know is what they’ve seen on television and on the Internet. So, you’re a spoiled playboy to them and they’re concerned that I’m headed for Heartbreak Hill. You have a certain unsavory reputation, Levi.”
“And I earned some of it, but they should know you better than anyone. They should know that you’re level-headed and you’re certainly not an easy lay.”
Releasing a scoffing laugh, she blinked at him, “Thanks. I think.”
He grinned. “You’re welcome.” He ran a hand over Mouse from her small head to her thin tail and the grin faded. “You could go back to Tulsa without me.”
“No. I want you to come with me.”
“Then we agree to wait until Heather Asher is back in custody? I know it’s a pain to have a security guard tailing you, but I want to be sure you’re safe. Whoever killed Nicola is also still out there.”
“Are you helping with Nicola’s case?”
His stroking hand froze. “No.”
The abruptness of his answer surprised her. “Do the police have any strong leads yet? I haven’t seen that much on the news about it.”
He picked up Mouse and set her away from him, then he stood up and stretched. His movements were uncharacteristically stiff. “From what I’ve been told, they’ve got squat.”
She studied him and debated whether to ask the questions that burned in her brain. Finally, she drew in a deep breath and let them fly. “Why haven’t you tried to contact her, Levi? Wouldn’t the police let you have something of hers to touch if you asked them? An article of her clothing or maybe an earring?”
He bent over and touched his toes so that his face was hidden from her and his voice was muffled. “I have something of hers. She left a scarf in my car a few months ago and I kept forgetting to return it to her. But I probably wouldn’t be able to contact her. She’s too close to me.” He straightened and headed for the kitchen. “I need another beer.”
Trudy followed him and smiled when he poured himself a glass of milk instead of uncapping a beer. That was something she’d discovered about him – he was a milk and cereal and milk and cookies fanatic, which she found endearing. Sure enough, he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets until he found a package of ginger snaps. She sat on one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“Want some?” he asked, plopping the package of cookies on the granite top.
“No, thanks.” She rested her chin in her hand and watched him dunk and savor the milk drenched cookie. “You can’t contact people you knew? Is that it?”
He nodded and chewed. He dunked again and offered her a bite. She accepted.
The milk-sodden cookie melted in her mouth. “You’ve tried?”
He nodded. “A couple of times with poor results.” He slipped half a cookie into the milk and then devoured it.
Trudy laughed under her breath. That move always made her think of him as boyish – and he rarely seemed boyish to her. “Seeing you like this . . .” She made a sweeping motion. “Jeans, t-shirt, milk and cookies . . . it still seems strange to me. The image I had of you for so long was of dark suits, ties, vests, enigmatic, arrogant, mysterious, moody Levi Wolfe. But right now you’re almost normal. If you weren’t so gorgeous, you’d be like most guys hanging around the house on Sunday afternoon.”
He rubbed his whiskered chin and cheek and then swiped a hand down the front of his zombie t-shirt. “Yeah, I’m gorgeous, all right.” For good measure, he released a loud, juicy burp.
Trudy shoved at his shoulder. “Don’t! God, I had to put up with all those bodily noises growing up with my brother! Derek would invite his friends over and they’d try to out fart each other. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime!”
Chuckling, his eyes dancing with mischief, he leaned in and bussed her cheek. “Sorry, baby. I promise to keep my bodily noises to an absolute minimum.”
Placated, she watched as he relished another soggy cookie. “So, you’ve tried to contact a relative or close friend?”
“Only a couple of times. The last one was my uncle. My mother’s brother. He died before I was born.” He drank some of the milk and pulled another ginger snap from the package. “I’m his namesake. David,” he said, citing his middle name. “Shortly before my mother died, she told me about him. He was four years older than her and she hero-worshipped him. He was a missionary
. My mother was raised a Jehovah’s Witness.” He tipped his head in that inquiring way he had that made her heart skip a beat. “Did I ever tell you that?”
“No. Is that why you didn’t celebrate holidays?”
“Yes, mostly.” His mouth curved into a caustic grin. “In my senior year in high school I was allowed to come home because my mother was terminally ill.” He glanced at her. “I’ve told you about that, right?”
She nodded, remembering that his mother died of ovarian cancer and that his father partially blamed him in a sick, convoluted way.
“Mother was too weak to go anywhere. I stayed with her and didn’t have to attend church. I read the Bible to her every Sunday – almost all day long.” His eyes darkened with yesterday’s shadows. “Anyway, one day when a Hospice nurse was attending to my mother, I took a drive and ended up at my father’s church. I didn’t go inside, but from the outside I could see a huge decorated Christmas tree in the front windows. There were twinkle lights and big red bows and boughs of holly everywhere and, of course, a lighted nativity scene on the front lawn. Santa and his reindeer were on the roof of the church, outlined in lights. I was stunned.” He chuckled without humor. “We didn’t even have a potted poinsettia at the house, but my father’s church looked like Santa’s fucking workshop.”
“It’s all about the big show,” Trudy said, then wondered if she’d overstepped. She knew nothing about this father other than what she’d read and what Levi had told her – which was precious little. Her gaze collided with his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—.”
“You’re right,” he said, cutting her off. “Everything he does is a façade. It was so obvious to me that Christmas. Part of why there were no celebrations in our house was because of my mother’s religious leanings, but mostly it was because my father didn’t give a good goddamn. He was only interested in making sure ‘his people’ saw him as a good provider, a sweet savior, the answer to their prayers. They wanted to celebrate Christmas and have a visit from Santa, so by God, he gave it to them in spades!” He rubbed the silver ring on his middle finger. “My uncle was a real man of the faith. He dedicated his life to missionary work in impoverished parts of the world. When he was in Africa, a canoe he was in capsized and he drowned. Right before she died, my mother gave me his ring.” He held up his right hand and gazed at the ring with the big square of black onyx.
