MIND READER

by Hinze, Vicki

  shouldn’t have pushed so hard. He wanted her curious, but

  if she got too curious and started checking up on him…

  Hell, done was done. He’d just have to hope she didn’t, and press on as planned. He shoved his keys into his pocket; they jangled, clashing with loose coins.

  Chalmers pulled in and parked. Relief soaked through him, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. She’d come. He hadn’t blown it—this time.

  In the future, he’d be more careful. He’d ruffled her feathers pretty good at Sandy’s, and he’d forgotten a snippet of advice he’d learned on his mother’s knee. Remembering it could save him a lot of heartburn in dealing with Caron Chalmers. “You win more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

  When she’d seen him, Chalmers had done a double take. Her pupils had dilated, and her lips had parted just enough to let him know she was interested. At least she had been, until she’d recognized him from the parking slot incident.

  He shouldn’t have done that, at least not the way he had. But he hadn’t been sure how he’d react to getting his first up-close glimpse of her. He’d had to test himself while he was alone to minimize his risks; she wasn’t a slow woman.

  As it worked out, it was good that he had tested himself privately. Caron Chalmers was more than just not slow; she was extraordinarily fast on the uptake.

  The stunt had cost him. After she’d recognized him, she’d become distant, and from there, things had zoomed downhill.

  Finally she got out of her car, locked the door and started toward the restaurant. The wind caught her hair and blew it back from her face. Harlan had been right; Caron Chalmers was a knockout...and she was a fraud. A missing child, and no report? Get real.

  Harlan had failed. But Parker would take care of it.

  The woman was going down.

  From the corner of her eye, Caron saw the Porsche parked under the streetlamp. She pretended not to, and went on inside Shoney’s. Before she talked with Parker Simms again—his unexplained turnaround still gave her the willies—she had to talk to Sandy.

  In a hallway near the rest rooms, she saw a pay phone, and fished a quarter from her purse.

  Sandy surprised her by answering right away; he hated phones. But he probably thought it was his “hot caller” phoning back. Parker flitted through her mind and, annoyed, she said, “I’m miffed with you. You promised not to tell anyone about me. So why did you tell Parker Simms?”

  “We’ve been through this.”

  Calm and reasonable. How could he twist a knife through her heart and still sound that way? “I trusted you. I knew better than to do it, but I trusted you anyway, and look what—”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know people have made it hard for you. But considering the circumstances, I thought—”

  “Sandy, please.” She didn’t want to hear it again. She didn’t want him to remind her that she’d blown a case. And she didn’t want to visualize Sarah lying there dead. Not again.

  Watching a doodlebug inch across the carpet, Caron forced herself to calm down. The damage was done, and no amount of complaining could undo it. “Parker met me on the street over here. He’s offering to help on the case.”

  “I’m not sure we have a case. I’ve been watching the reports filed all afternoon, and I’ve checked with Gretna, Marrero, Westwego—all of the surrounding cities. There’s nothing on a kidnapping in any of them.”

  So now his doubt was out in the open. It hurt her more than him telling Parker about her gift. And it angered her. Sandy knew how many cases she’d successfully solved.

  She kicked the paneling with the toe of her sneaker. “The girl has been abducted, Sandy. That’s not in dispute or the issue. Parker Simms is the issue.”

  Sandy hesitated.

  Caron prodded. “Well?”

  “Let him help.”

  Sandy didn’t just doubt her, he thought she’d lost it and gone off the deep end. Though she knew she shouldn’t, she felt even angrier and more betrayed. He was trying to protect her, but she didn’t want his protection. She wanted his faith. “You know I work alone. I always have.” Of all people, she should have to explain why to him.

  “What I know is that Simms is sharp and he has connections.” Sandy dropped his voice. “If there is a case, he might give you an edge.”

  “There is a case!” Caron squeezed her eyes shut. A year ago today, she’d thought she didn’t need help. She’d been wrong, and Sarah had paid the ultimate price for Caron’s mistake. “So you’ll vouch for him?”

  Again Sandy hesitated. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll vouch for him. I walked the beat with his father for twenty years, Caron. Charley Simms never crossed anybody. And no son of his could be a demon from hell out to get you. Parker’s one of the good guys. Give him a break.”

  “Give him a break? He doesn’t believe me.” Because she wished he did, she again kicked the paneling with her toe.

  “Most people don’t believe you,” Sandy argued. “That’s never slowed you down before. Why is Simms any different?”

  Parker Simms was different—though she didn’t want to ask herself why. Sandy was half-right, though; most people’s doubts hadn’t slowed her down. But they had bothered her. Like everyone else, she wanted acceptance and approval.

  She glanced down the hallway to make sure she was still alone. It was empty. “Okay. Okay, I’ll give Parker the benefit of doubt. But if he’s a lousy partner, I’m ditching him. I can’t afford the distraction.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  Caron didn’t like Sandy’s tone. Something hid there, but she couldn’t put her finger on what exactly. Still, if he was willing to vouch for Simms... Well, the least she could do was to talk to him. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Keep in touch.” He sounded anxious.

  Caron quirked a brow at the phone. “Three-one-two-two-four,” she said, repeated the code number that let her access his answering machine for messages. That was how they’d always kept tabs on each other during a case.

  “Right.”

  After hanging up, Caron ducked into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her cheeks and wrists, then went out to the dining room.

  Parker stood up at a secluded booth and waved her over. When she’d been in the car and seated in Sandy’s office, she hadn’t realized just how big he was. But standing next to Simms, it was obvious. At least six-three, and as broad-shouldered as a linebacker.

  “Well, did Sandy give you the green light on me?”

  Direct. She liked that. But she didn’t like the gleam in his eyes. He could be a charmer when he wanted to, and she had no use for charmers. “He vouched for you, yes.”

  “Good.” Parker laced his hands together on the scratched tabletop.

  A waitress stepped up. He smiled at her, and the woman nearly drooled. The female in Caron fully understood that; he was a dynamite-looking man. A curl teased his left ear. She wanted to brush it back.

  “Caron?” His tone cued her he’d asked before.

  “Sorry.” What was she doing having fantasies about touching the man? She didn’t even like him. Her face flushed hot. “Excuse me?”

  “What will you have?” the waitress asked.

  “Coffee.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “No. Black.” She saw the corner of Simms’s mouth turn down, and asked the waitress, “Do you have candy bars? Butterfingers?”

  “No.” She pointed with the tip of her pencil through the window. “Seven-Eleven does. Right across the street.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sir?” The waitress shifted toward Parker, her expression softening.

  “Coffee, black,” he said with a smile that could undoubtedly twist an unsuspecting woman right around his pinky.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Caron wasn’t unsuspecting. Her leg stung like fire. She grimaced and slapped at it. Nothing was there, but the sting didn’t ease. The little girl? Caron wondered.

  The waitress
returned with the cups. Chilled, Caron wrapped her hands around hers to warm them. “So, Parker Simms, tell me. Why do you want to work with me when you don’t believe there’s been an abduction?”

  His cup stopped in midair. He took his time sipping, then answered. “I don’t.”

  Was he intentionally being ambiguous? “You don’t want to work with me, or you don’t believe there’s been an abduction? Which do you mean?”

  “Both,” he said, without a trace of remorse.

  His ease made her edgy. “So why waste your time?”

  “I prefer working alone.” Steam from his coffee had him squinting. “But I’m not willing to risk being wrong about this.”

  That, she completely understood. But he was still fencing with words. Direct, but cagey. She had the feeling they were discussing two different topics, and she was only privy to one. She was certain he hadn’t disclosed his real reasons for getting involved. So maybe it was time to stop being defensive and take the offensive.

  “Why are you putting your backside on the line in a case you don’t believe exists? And, please, don’t tell me it’s for your father.”

  Parker set the cup down and gave her a look free of guile. It did more to arouse her awareness of him as a man than all the charming rascal smiles in the world heaped together.

  “If you’re wrong, all I’ve lost is time. But if you’re right, the girl’s in trouble. I have a special interest in abduction cases, Caron. If I can, I have to help.”

  Have to, not want to help. Someone he loved had been abducted. The flash of certainty stayed with her and strengthened. She bit her lip to keep from asking who. It wasn’t any of her business; she had no right to pry. But Parker still wasn’t playing straight with her, and dishonesty rankled her more than any other vice known to man.

  She gave him a steady look. “I have imaged the girl.”

  “So you’ve said.” His gaze was equally steady.

  Pulling no punches. She’d give him props for that. He wasn’t convinced she was right, but he wasn’t positive she was wrong, either. It appeared they had stepped onto common ground. They were granting each other the benefit of doubt.

  He again drank from his cup, then motioned to the waitress for a refill.

  The woman nearly knocked herself out getting over to Parker fast enough with the coffeepot. Parker held up his cup and thanked the waitress with another drop-dead smile. Her healthy chest heaved with her indrawn breath. Simms had a definite effect on women. Caron had to give him that.

  He watched the waitress leave. “Is the guy you were talking to at the house your kidnapper?”

  Caron sputtered, nearly spraying out coffee. She’d thought she was alone outside the sagging house; she hadn’t sensed Parker there. “What man?”

  “Forty-five or so. Five-ten or eleven. Black hair, going gray. A slob.” Rubbing the sugar dispenser with his thumb, Parker lifted a black brow. “Shall I go on?”

  “No.” Caron gripped the vinyl seat beneath her and tried to regroup. It was hard to accept that she hadn’t known it, but Parker had been there, all right. He’d described the guy at the sagging house, the first man Caron had imaged, perfectly.

  “I think, for the girl’s sake, we should try to work together, Caron. Two heads are better than one—especially when a third head is at stake.”

  A third head was at stake. A helpless child’s. Caron flinched. She didn’t trust Parker Simms. But she didn’t trust herself to go it alone, either. She couldn’t afford any mistakes. It was the child who would suffer. Caron had to take every precaution to ensure that the little girl didn’t end up like Sarah. Simms was a pro. The best, Sandy had said. One of the good guys. Could she afford to refuse? Could the little girl afford for Caron to refuse?

  “So, do we give it a shot?” His gaze grew intense. “At least see if two loners can work together?”

  Once again, fate had intervened. The risks were too high; she had no choice. And she hoped she’d have no regrets. “We give it a shot.”

  Relieved, Parker slid down in the booth. For the first time since Caron Chalmers had walked over to him, the tension knotting his insides had loosened.

  The woman had slam-dunked him at Sandy’s office, and he still hadn’t recovered. He’d had her under surveillance for a year, but until today he’d never seen her up close. She was tiny, maybe five-seven, and delicate-boned. There was something about her, too, that got under his skin, and he couldn’t shake it loose. She seemed vulnerable, and pain hid in the shadows in her eyes. He hadn’t expected any of that.

  What had he expected? Cold and calculating? Brazen and coming on to him? He knew better than that, too. In the year he’d watched her, she’d been the model of decorum, a prim and proper schoolteacher who played leapfrog with her students and coached the math club. Oh, she’d had dates, but only a few, and never twice with the same guy. Smart, considering her sideline. She couldn’t risk letting anyone get too close. They might see her for what she was.

  He sighed and lifted his cup. “Where do you want to start?”

  “The house.” Caron again rubbed her leg. “Either the girl is still there, or she was there.”

  “Oh?” Had he missed some sign at the house that she’d picked up on?

  She held his gaze. “I saw it.”

  “Saw it?”

  “Saw it.” She smoothed back her hair and pointed to her temple. “Psychic, remember?”

  She didn’t back down. And she didn’t flaunt her “gift,” either. That confused Parker. Human nature would have made it natural for her to capitalize on her gift. Yet she was damn near broke. Half of everything she made she sent to that biddy of a mother of hers over in Mississippi, who lived with Caron’s only aunt, Grace Collins. That, too, bothered Parker. It had ever since Harlan had first mentioned Caron Chalmers. If she was gifted, why didn’t she use the gift to help herself? Financially, the woman was still struggling.

  The answer was easy, of course. She wasn’t gifted. The fact that Harlan was six feet under now proved that.

  Edgy, Parker straightened in the booth. Their knees bumped under the table, and Caron’s hand slid from her calf to his thigh. Their gazes clashed across the table. His throat went dry. No way, he told himself, looking into her lavender eyes. No way would he allow himself to feel attracted to this woman.

  She jerked her hand back. It thudded against the underside of the table. Clearly she felt the sexual tension between them, too. And, just as clearly, she didn’t like it. For some reason, that annoyed Parker. And because it did, he cursed himself as a fool. “What’s wrong with your leg?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Wide-eyed innocence. He wasn’t buying it. Megan had worn out that particular feminine wile years ago. “Your leg. You keep rubbing it.”

  Caron looked away. “It’s nothing.”

  “Then why are you rubbing it again now?”

  Snapping a cold glance his way, she gripped the edge of the table. “I said, it’s fine.”

  Her overreaction bothered him. It was defensive, not evasive. A woman who’d masqueraded for years should be more in control of her responses.

  She gazed up and dropped her shoulders. “Look, Parker, there’s something you’d better understand right up front.”

  He leaned forward. His hands were close enough to feel the heat radiating from hers. He didn’t like that, either. A cold woman should feel cold, and look cold. Chalmers didn’t. “What’s that?”

  She licked her lips. “When I’m working a case, I tune in to the victim. I don’t know why. It just happens. I feel what they feel, when they feel it.”

  Her response had been controlled, after all. She was mixing her signals to knock him off guard. He tested the theory. “Is that what was wrong earlier in the car?” She’d say it was, of course. But it was more likely that she’d scarfed down one Butterfinger too many and been riding out the crash from a sugar high.

  She nodded.

  Naturally. More confident now that he had a fix
on her, he feigned concern, and denied he was feeling any. “And now it’s your leg?”

  “It stings.”

  He narrowed his brows. “Have you checked it?”

  “There’s no sign of anything wrong. It just stings.”

  “So what you’re telling me then, is that it’s the girl. Something’s wrong with her leg.” Chalmers had to be half-nuts if she thought he was going to swallow this.

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” She swept a long lock of hair back over her shoulder and reached for her cup.

  He watched for signs of nervousness, of lying, but she’d looked him straight in the eye and her hand hadn’t trembled—and it still wasn’t trembling. She hadn’t shifted in the booth, or done anything else typical of a liar’s body language. Either Caron Chalmers was telling the truth, or she was well practiced at lying. His money was on the latter.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll check out the tags on the two trucks and call my secretary to get things rolling. We’ll watch the house.”

  “Wait.” Caron blinked, then blinked again. “You’re moving too fast.”

  “If the girl’s been abducted and now something’s wrong with her leg, I think we should move fast.”

  “Fast, yes.” Caron’s eyes clouded. “But with caution.”

  She was afraid. He didn’t like it. And he liked even less that he didn’t know why she was afraid. Was she worried about being exposed as a fraud, or about making a mistake?

  Outside the window, thunder rolled. A cloud split open and dumped a downpour. Heavy drops of rain slashed against the window. Caron watched them for a long minute, then turned that cool, competent gaze back to him.

  “I have to move slower, Parker. I can’t afford to make a mistake. If I fail, the child could die.”

  A shiver shot up Parker’s backbone. Not from what she’d said; a good con could tear your heart right out of your chest. But because he could see the genuine effort that saying it had taken Caron. She was good. The best he’d ever seen. He’d go along—for now. “So how do you want to handle this?”

  “First, I think we should set up a watch on the house.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Hadn’t he just suggested that a moment ago and met with a brick wall?