“I never guessed.”
“No one did.”
Her mind whirred with the information Tom had shared with her... and the disturbing knowledge that it hadn’t been a man at all, but a young boy who had helped detectives with those crimes.
“The police protected me from publicity so I’d have a ‘normal’ childhood,” he went on with unveiled sarcasm.
Shaine allowed the new data to sink in.
He turned to her, “You’ve used my shower and eaten my food, and you haven’t even told me your name.”
“Shaine,” she said, forcing her brain to switch gears. “Shaine Richards.”
His face had relaxed some, though his dark eyes were masked and grave. His lips were stern, but sensual. He was probably the most striking man she’d ever met, not only physically, but in another, more elemental way. She’d never met him before tonight, but something about him was so...deeply familiar.
A niggle of discomfort scratched at her thoughts. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”
One side of his arresting mouth actually turned up in what could have been a grin if he’d let it happen. “I’m not a mind reader. Your thoughts are safe.”
“But the hot chocolate...” .
“I make it for myself every night.”
“Realty?”
“Really.” He led her back to the seating area before the fire and hunkered down to adjust a log with the poker. “My ability is more like psychometry.”
“Which is?”
“Sensing impressions stored in inanimate objects.”
“But you’re telepathic.”
“In as much as I could sense the thought patterns of victims and killers. I never read minds.”
“You say it all in the past tense.”
“Because that’s where it is.”
“You can’t do it anymore?”
“I won’t do it anymore.”
“Why not?”
He perched on the stone hearth again, the position stretching his jeans taut around his thighs, and Shaine forced her attention away. “Did you pick up on the Deets boy’s mother?” he asked.
She could still remember the sound of the woman’s voice and the expression in her eyes from the television broadcast. “No.”
“Be grateful. If you had, you would have felt her pain as if it had been your own, just like you did the boy’s. The families of the victims suffer as much or more than the victims themselves, and the suffering would have been yours. Did you feel what the boy felt?”
“Some of it. I don’t think I had a handle on it, though. It was like a radio channel not quite tuned in.”
“Be glad you didn’t have to experience either person’s suffering. You never want to have to go through that.”
Maybe she had a shred of understanding now. A faint glimpse of why he was so unwilling to talk with her, to help her, why he had placed the experiences in his past like a best forgotten memory.
“You can just shut it all off?”
Thunder clapped, but neither of them moved.
“It took years to perfect the ability to use the gift,” he said. “It took years to learn to turn it off, too.”
Compelled by the all-consuming need within her to understand and use her dreams, Shaine moved to sit on the hearth only a few feet from him. The fire heated her back and the side of her face. “You said I don’t want to feel those things, but in a way I am... with Toby. I need someone to show me how to use the dreams. Will you teach me?”
“I’ll teach you,” he said calmly.
Her heart dared to lift on those promising words.
“I’ll teach you how to shut it out.”
Disappointment knifed through her chest. Shut it out! Shut it out? Slowly she stood.
From her position on a braided rug, Daisy raised her head and studied Shaine expectantly.
Austin pushed himself to his feet. “Wanna go out, girl?” After he and Daisy left the cabin, Shaine paced the floor, distractedly studying the masculine surroundings. Some sort of animal’s horns hung over the front door. A yawning bear’s head stared at her from a furry hide on the floor.
He wanted to show her how to shut out her dreams of Toby. Why on earth would she want to do that? She needed to learn how to access them, not turn them off. She was Toby’s only hope!
She stared without really seeing floor-to-ceiling bookcases shelving leather-bound classics and paperback fiction, all arranged with no attention to size or subject.
Austin returned. Daisy bounded in behind him and sat, her tail thumping the floor. Shaine stroked the dog’s furry neck, slightly damp from her hurried trip in the rain.
Austin’s idea was out of the question. She’d gotten this far, she’d just have to get him to change his mind.
“I’ll carry your things upstairs,” he offered.
“I can get them.” She found her bags where she’d left them in the hallway. She glanced up at the loft, suddenly embarrassed. All along in her imaginings, Austin Allen had been a gray-haired old man. Whether he’d been married or widowed, the situation wouldn’t have been as awkward as this.
He led the way up the log-banistered staircase set against the wall, and she followed. Reaching the loft, he flipped on muted track lighting above a massive oak headboard. The king-size bed occupied only a fourth of the room.
Shaine set her bags on the floor and moved to the open rail, peering at the room below. The pungent smell of the burning logs was strong up here.
The sound of rain drew her attention up to an enormous skylight. Water ran down the glass in silvery sheets.
With deft movements, Austin tugged a quilted hunter green comforter from the bed and stripped the sheets, then took a clean set from a huge oak armoire.
“You’re giving me your bed,” she said, and her face warmed.
He nodded and pointed for her to help with fitting the corners over the edges. “I have a sofa in my office. I sleep there half the time anyway.”
Together they smoothed and tucked, changed the pillowcases and replaced the comforter. Finished, Shaine stood and met his eyes uncomfortably. He didn’t look like a man whose mind would be easily changed. But she’d come this far. If he thought she could be diverted from her goal, he didn’t understand the immediacy of the situation.
His gaze dropped to her sweatshirt and back to her face. “There’s a half bath in there,” he gestured.
“Okay.”
He took clothing from the drawers inside the armoire and headed down the stairs.
“Thank you.”
He nodded without turning back.
Shaine found the pair of flannel pajamas in her bag and undressed, feeling exposed in the open-aired loft. She pulled the pajamas on quickly and refolded the rest of her clothing, glancing around the room. Like everything else in the house, it screamed man. Only the bare essentials were visible, a ball cap and a jacket hanging on a peg near the bathroom door, a clock on a table beside the bed.
The long trip, her dealings with the man downstairs and her fight with the tent in the rain had caught up with her. She switched off the lights and crawled between the fresh sheets.
And stared at the rain running down the panes overhead.
On a clear night the skylight would provide a breathtaking view of the heavens. She glanced over to the wide vertical blinds that held the night out. Climbing out of the bed, she searched for a cord of some kind, her fingers finally brushing a doorbell-like button. She pressed it, and the blinds glided open until she could see the silver rain glistening on the trees and the mountain ridges above.
This house, this situation, this man was nothing like she’d anticipated. But then, what had she anticipated?
She needed his help. She’d set out with tunnel vision, and now here she was. Not exactly as she’d planned. Not anything like she’d hoped, but closer to her goal than she’d been the day before.
Hoped.
The word clung tenaciously to her mental vocabulary. Just as she clung te
naciously to its precept.
Sleepily, she studied the rain-laden heavens, wondering if there was an answer up there, if inspiration and insight and intuition came from the vast expanse of the universe and settled upon those open or willing or just gifted.
Exhausted, she climbed back into bed and snuggled into the downy covers. He had let her stay. He would work with her. She’d gratefully accept whatever shred of skill he would share with her. And—Shaine’s eyes drifted shut— she hoped she’d be able to change his mind about what he was willing to teach her.
Toby’s welfare depended on it.
Chapter 4
Austin blew across the surface of his steaming coffee. He placed the mug beside one of the terminals, sat in his chair and logged on.
Last night he’d been unable to concentrate enough to get any work done, not after entering his bathroom and smelling the flowery fragrances of soap and shampoo and whatever all else the woman used to make the whole place smell like her.
There’d never been a guest in his home. Least of all a woman. Austin hadn’t been very good company for a while. Twenty years maybe. He’d had enough of people to last him a lifetime. When he desired human company, which wasn’t often, he drove to Gunnison to shop and eat.
Occasionally he took a trip and met with clients he normally only spoke with over the phone.
Once or twice a year he attended computer fairs where he checked out the latest developments and upgraded his equipment. And from time to time he met women who didn’t require involvement or intimacy to have a mutually satisfying time.
And none of them knew him. Or knew of him. He’d made sure of that.
He slid a disk into the drive and pulled up a program he’d been working on for one of his clients. They’d been developing software for a major insurance company and thought it was finally perfected. Now his job was to make sure there were no glitches that could show up later down the line and cause an expensive recall or even open them to a lawsuit.
He was good at it. He’d found enough hidden errors and saved enough clients from potential disaster that he’d earned himself a name and the ability to demand high fees. And he didn’t have to deal with people. Or their possessions. He clicked on an icon and sipped his coffee.
A couple of hours later, he got up to let Daisy out and nearly ran into his houseguest in the hallway.
“Oh, sorry,” she murmured. She smelled like spring flowers, and he resented the fact that he’d noticed.
“That’s okay. I didn’t hear you get up.” He’d been too engrossed in his work to hear her moving around. The sight of her in a slim pair of jeans and a little sweater thing that barely came to her waist gave him a restless feeling that didn’t sit comfortably. The outfit accentuated her flat stomach and shapely hips, and gave him the urge to see if his hands could span that tiny waist.
“I didn’t want to bother you. I didn’t know if you were still sleeping or not.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and the sleeve of her white sweater slid back, exposing her pale wrist.
His insides knotted. She touched nerves he’d shielded for years. Austin looked away as if she’d revealed more than just the soft-looking skin of her arm. “I was working.”
“Sorry.”
Maybe that peculiar feeling in his stomach was because he needed food. Right. “Are you hungry?”
She shrugged.
“You must be by now. I’ve worked up an appetite.”
“I don’t want to be an imposition.”
“Why don’t we have leftover sandwiches?”
She slanted him a skeptical glance to see if he was serious. “For breakfast?”
“I’m not much of a cook. I eat what’s easiest.”
“Well, I’m a pretty fair cook.”
“Knock yourself out.” He let Daisy out and returned to show Shaine where everything was.
She dropped a knife, cast him a glance and washed the blade. Did his presence make her nervous? After several minutes, she relaxed and went about the chore efficiently.
Within no time she’d prepared pancakes with spiced apples cooked in the microwave. She set his plate before him and passed him the pitcher of hot syrup.
The smell of cinnamon reached his nostrils. “How’d you do that so fast?”
“I do it nearly every day. For sometimes as many as twelve people.”
His fork paused above the steaming pancakes. He hadn’t considered her family. Other people had families. Why did the thought disturb him? “Are you married?”
She shook her head and sat across from him.
“Kids?”
“No.”
He poured them each a glass of orange juice. He hadn’t cared one way or another, he was just making conversation.
“I’m co-owner of a bed and breakfast,” she said. “I do most of the cooking.”
“Where is this place? Omaha?”
Shaine nodded and watched him enjoy his breakfast. “Just far enough outside the city to be quaint.”
She sipped her juice and tasted her pancakes.
“So Tom Stempson told you where to find me?” he asked.
Shaine laid down her fork. “He’s been working with me for several months. My part’s been rather halfhearted, I must confess. He wanted me to come back to the institute, but I wouldn’t do it.”
He didn’t say anything.
“After the thing with the Deets boy, he told me about you. Said you’d had experiences like mine.”
“Tom’s never given me away,” he said. “We only talk every few months, but he knows I don’t want any part of this.”
“I hope you’re not angry with him.”
“I value my privacy. He knows that.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d invaded his solitude and, considering that, he’d treated her quite decently. She ate, wondering what had made him draw into himself and avoid people.
She had to change his mind about working with her, but she had to go about it delicately. He wanted to show her how to turn her dreams off. Her hope was that in the process, he’d change his mind—or that she’d learn what she needed, in spite of him.
“I don’t want to be in your way,” she began. “And I know you’re a busy man. But how long do you think it will take to teach me?”
He finished his breakfast and pushed the plate back with a thumb. Placing both elbows on the table, he looked at her over his laced knuckles. “It’s not something you can plan out, like a drive to Miami. There’s no scale to work by, no directions or blueprint. We’ll just have to see what happens.”
He held her gaze.
“Okay,” she said finally.
“I have a job to finish up today. Let me get the work finished, and then we’ll get to it.”
“I know I’m an imposition, but...”
“But?”
“But I want to learn whatever you’ll teach me, as soon as I can. I need to make you understand how urgent it is for me to find my nephew.”
“We’ll work together this evening,” he said.
“Okay.”
“There’s a television downstairs. There are weights...a treadmill...”
“I’ll take care of my things, dry out the tent.”
He nodded and headed for his office.
Meanwhile, Shaine finished assembling the tent so it could dry, then borrowed towels from his bathroom and dried her equipment.
By afternoon the sun grew blissfully warm. She pulled one of the wooden chairs into its heat and sat dozing, the melting rays soaking through her clothing and skin.
Later, she went in, acquainted herself with the downstairs and tested Austin’s treadmill and weights. She quickly decided exercising was way too much work, flipped on the wide-screen TV and channel-surfed for an hour or so, until she figured she could go up and find something to fix for dinner.
Just as she headed up the stairs, his tennis shoes and muscular legs appeared, coming down. A sweatshirt with the neck and sleeves cut out revealed his broad chest,
shoulders and well-defined biceps. Slowing down as he got closer, his face came into view.
“I—uh—was just going up to start some dinner.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do you mind? You do eat, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I eat. I’ll be down here for about an hour. After that I run and shower.”
She moved to the right in the stairwell and turned sideways, allowing him to pass. From above, his shoulders appeared even wider. “I’ll find something that takes a while to fix then.”
He slid open a cabinet housing a stereo system, and vintage rock filled the room. Self-consciously she hurried up the stairs.
For someone who claimed to eat whatever was easy, his kitchen was well stocked. Humming along with the Rolling Stones, Frankie Valli, and The Drifters, she scrubbed potatoes and thawed steaks. Daisy kept her company. The music stopped. Daisy’s nails scrambled on the kitchen floor, and she shot toward the front door. Shaine looked up in time to see Austin head outside.
Supper was nearly ready when he returned, his hair and shirt damp with sweat like they’d been the day before.
Austin paused awkwardly on his way to the shower. The appealing smells of food cooking had hit him as soon as he’d reached the porch. So foreign. So unexpected and out of his realm of experience. Like the woman standing in his kitchen. His stomach growled.
She looked up from behind the counter that divided the room, and smiled, an uncertain little lift of her lips that changed the focus of his appetite. Her mouth was a turn-on. He wondered if she knew that. Her mouth, that soft-looking pale skin, those legs. He frowned to himself. “I bagged up your tent and stuff and stored them in my garage.”
“But—”
“But what?”
“But what about tonight?”
“You’ll stay here.”
She looked at him curiously, but she didn’t argue. He’d never sleep if he had to worry about a helpless female exposed to the elements while he was tucked snugly in this house that had room for both of them.
She had salad plates on the table and wine poured when he returned from his shower and sat.
“I assume you like this dressing since it’s all there was.” She sprinkled a little on his lettuce. “I was surprised at how much food you had for someone who doesn’t cook.”
The Truth About Toby Page 4
