by Julie Miller
He took her hands and stilled them against the eager beat of his heart. “May I?”
She nodded.
He tugged at one turquoise fingertip, then another. When he was done, he set her gloves beside his badge and gathered her back into his arms. She clasped her hands in the space between them. T kissed her fingers, then pulled them apart and pressed a kiss to each palm. Her eyes widened in surprise, darted back and forth, searching his face. Then her lids dropped to half mast and he had a feeling that whatever she was reading had something to do with the burning need that was about to bust through his pores.
“Touch me,” he whispered, begging for her trust, offering his own.
With the gentlest of sighs, Kelsey lay her hands against his chest and closed her eyes. T gritted his teeth and savored her timid exploration that grew bolder with each catch of heated breath, each moan of frustrated pleasure.
“Ah, sweetheart.” She teased his nipples to attention and his groin danced in response against her hip. “Like that.” She slicked her palms along his flanks and his skin tingled with greedy delight. “Yeah,” he gasped, loving the confidence he could feel growing with each stroke. “Just like that.”
“You want me.” It was a silly statement, only slightly less amazing than the fact that she wanted him. She snuggled closer to kiss his neck and her breasts pillowed against his chest, branding him with their lush femininity. “You want me,” she repeated.
He rolled her onto her back and nudged her apart with his knee, letting his thighs settle between hers and letting himself dance against her weeping heat. He smiled. She smiled. He slid inside her. “You don’t have to be a psychic to know that.”
Chapter Ten
Kelsey awoke to the dawning light of the new year, completely naked and deliciously warm.
It might be winter outside, but she felt cocooned in perpetual springtime, snuggled up to the hard wall of T’s broad chest.
As her eyes drifted slowly open, she took note of the snow blowing outside the window. Even her drowsy brain could grasp the symbolism of the cold, harsh world outside, lying in wait for her to leave the warmth and security of T’s bed.
Blinking aside the troublesome thought, she smiled at the details of the room she hadn’t seen last night. T’s bedroom was decorated in a gung-ho mix of black and gold and tiger prints, reflecting the spirit of a University of Missouri graduate. Apparently, Moira Banning had preserved her son’s room from the last time he’d lived here. Though the detective had a boyish streak running through him, he had definitely matured beyond the collegiate obsession stage.
“Hey. You awake down there?”
T’s teasing question made her realize that he sat half-propped up on several pillows stacked behind him against the headboard. “You’re up early.”
His hand rubbed slow, frictional circles against her bare back. “I got up while you were still sleeping and retrieved our clothes, some breakfast and some reading material.”
Reading material? That would explain the glasses he wore. Though she was quite sure they were the only thing he was wearing this morning.
He must have felt the blush coloring her from tip to toe. “I guess wet clothes don’t dry when they’re left in clumps on the floor.” Her blush intensified. He hugged his arm around her shoulders and didn’t let her scoot away. “I hung things up since I didn’t know what could go into the dryer. So we’ll just have to tough it out for a few hours.”
“If you insist.” Impractical as it was, she didn’t mind if he didn’t.
Kelsey stretched against him, reliving every tender moment and thrilling release they’d shared the night before. Her body was unused to such strenuous activity—be it snowball fights or making love.
“I do.” T dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Happy New Year.”
“Haven’t we already celebrated?”
“Yeah, we did. Twice.”
His green-eyed grin was wicked behind the glasses. Kelsey reached up and let the covers fall away, exposing the top half of her body as she stroked his lips and remembered his kisses. She loved the freedom of touching him, knowing she wasn’t going to get zapped with anything unpleasant.
“It’ll be three times if you don’t stop that.” T pulled her hand away and laced their fingers together, holding her against the wiry curls of golden chest hair and the warm skin underneath. “And I’m out of protection.”
“Oh?” Kelsey sat up, fully awake, and dragged the comforter up to a more modest position. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Try to sound a little disappointed.”
“I do. I mean, I am.” She combed her fingers through her hair, no doubt leaving a spiky mess in their wake. “I mean, I’m glad you thought of that. I sort of got carried away and forgot to even consider—”
“That’s me. Always thinking.” He grinned.
“But it’s sexy when you do it.”
“You don’t think the glasses and the reading make me more nerdy than sexy?”
Kelsey turned herself to sit beside him, clutching the covers up over her breasts with both hands now. “T, I think Atticus Finch is sexy. You’ve got all his qualities, plus a little Dirty Harry mixed in. So you’re downright hot.”
Now it was his turn to blush.
Marveling at the confidence and security she felt around this man, Kelsey reached across and picked up one of the doughnuts he’d brought upstairs to nibble on. She took a bite and savored the sweet flavors of glaze and cake. “What are you reading?”
“Your notes. We need to talk.”
The bite in her mouth turned bitter. She swallowed it past the self-conscious lump in her throat, her appetite instantly erased. “You shouldn’t be reading that. It’s private.”
“It was sitting out beside your purse downstairs. You’ve seen all this?” A succinct tinge of investigative questioning colored the awed concern in his voice.
Kelsey felt a chill shimmy down her spine as she tried to withdraw to that sheltered place inside her. “They’re the pertinent details of my impressions from Jezebel and Delilah.”
T thumbed through several pages. “There are a lot of pertinent details here. I’ve read official police reports that weren’t this thorough.”
She put the unfinished doughnut back on the plate and reached for the notepad. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to compliment my composition professor.”
But the sarcasm didn’t put him off any more than her outstretched hand.
“Explain this.” He turned to the third page and pointed to the phrase she’d written over and over.
She clutched the covers in tight fists now and curled her knees up to her chest. She’d moved farther away from T and the winter was working its way into her bones now. “They’re the words I heard, both times, with Jezebel and Delilah’s murders.” Somehow, while she slept, she’d lost a lover and regained a homicide detective. “I spelled them phonetically, then tried different variations to see if anything made sense.”
“This one.” He pointed to one version halfway down the page. “It’s Latin.”
“Let me guess, smarty-pants. You aced Latin class.”
She made the effort to distract him from the topic, but he didn’t bite. “All four years of high school.” He read the words out loud. “The closest I can make out is matrona. That’s ‘wife.’ Then abi in malam rem.”
Kelsey shivered at the eerie accuracy of his pronunciation. She turned her head to face him. “That’s it. He said that over and over while he was strangling them. Like a ceremonial chant.” Her fingers slid to her throat, reliving the awful memory of silk drawing tight around her neck. “What does it mean?”
“Go to the devil.”
“He’s telling his wife to go to hell?” Kelsey sank back into the pillows and huddled beneath the covers. Any lingering sense of warmth had fully dissipated. “And I thought I’d been verbally abused.”
T squeezed her knee through the covers. “From what you told me about your ex, you were.” He held up the no
tepad. “Ed Watkins might have been on to something. This crazy SOB thinks he’s killing his wife.”
“Every year for the holidays. What a lovely family tradition.”
T slipped out of bed and picked up his slacks and boxer briefs. “I need you to do another reading for me today.”
A reading? He was actually recruiting her help? It hadn’t been that many days ago he’d been a skeptic. “I thought you needed facts to send a man to prison, not my hocus-pocus.”
If he caught the derogatory quote from Ed Watkins, he didn’t comment. He had his phone out now, checking messages. “Josh. A. J. Captain Taylor. Ginny. That’s a lot of people working on a holiday.” He turned on the phone and dropped it back into his pocket. He wasn’t even looking at her. “The pieces are all there—I can feel it. But I need a name or a face from you to make them all fall into place.”
His bold nudity in the bracing morning air gave her a clear view of his trim, muscular figure—reminding her clearly of the intimacy they’d shared last night. It also gave her a glimpse of the scars from bullet holes and surgeries that sliced across his knee and chest—broadcasting in graphic detail that he was a cop on a case. A man on a mission who needed her grim expertise more than he needed her.
She turned away instead of watching him dress and latched on to her grandmother’s pendant. “I don’t remember any names. And I couldn’t see any faces.”
When she felt his weight on the side of the bed, she knew he wasn’t going to let her walk away from the nightmares. He reached for her hand, but Kelsey tugged it away, not ready to process any images beyond her own turbulent, self-doubting thoughts. But those probing green eyes demanded her attention, so she turned to face him.
“At the university psych lab, you told me that if you dropped your internal guards—if you really concentrated—you could see more, you could read deeper into an object or a person.” He eyed the silver chain around her neck. “You said the crystal could help you focus your perception.”
She shook her head, hating this. “I’ve already felt what the victims suffered through. I don’t really want to see inside the killer’s mind.”
“You don’t have to go that far.” He closed his hand around her fist and the pendant inside. Kelsey tried to ignore the image of a dead woman’s beaten body, lying in a pile of garbage bags. A life thrown away as if it was so much trash. But that was what T had seen, that was the life he was trying to find justice for. “I want you to hold that doll again. The newspaper wrapped around it puts it at the time of Jezebel’s murder. And Ginny has a list of owners for me.”
Ginny, huh? She could bet Ginny dealt in facts and figures. The stab of jealousy she felt toward that pretty, normal woman he thought so highly of embarrassed her. Lucy Belle would have been embarrassed, too. But Lucy Belle was gone, and Kelsey had to deal with life and loneliness all on her own. “I already told you what I know.”
“Not according to your notes. I had no idea of the complexity of your impressions. The subtle nuances of observation that a good crime-scene investigator would envy.”
“You didn’t want to listen to the subtle nuances.”
“I’m listening now. If you can match a name or recognize a face on that list, I can open records, get warrants, find those facts that I need.” He slipped his fingers inside hers and touched the pendant, intensifying the images of death he dealt with. “Your grandmother’s spirit will be with you. I’ll be with you. Will you do it?”
Tears burned in her eyes at the violence he’d seen—at the violence she saw through him.
But Kelsey blinked before they could fall and climbed out of bed, taking a pillow with her to keep herself modestly covered as she searched for her underwear. “That was some pretty heady persuasion you used last night. You know, you could have just asked me. I would have helped. I want to solve this case and get on with my life as much as you do.”
She plucked up her bra, panties and camisole and headed down the hall toward the bathroom.
“What?” He snatched her by the wrist and hauled her around to face him. “What happened between us last night had nothing to do with this case.”
That defensive sarcasm burned in her brain and leaked out her pores. “Cheering me up? Keeping me company? Clearing my head so I could finish the job for you today?”
“That’s not fair. There were two of us in that bed last night.” His eyes searched her face, looking for an explanation.
“Yeah, well one of us apparently had a hidden agenda.”
He released her, stepped back and splayed his fingers at the waist of his navy slacks. “And one of us is scared we’re moving too fast or we went too far. I know I over-stepped the boundaries of a partner relationship last night. I know that can make it a hell of a lot trickier to work together in the cold light of day. But I didn’t step over that line all by myself, sweetie.”
“No, you didn’t.” The tension eased beside his eyes as she admitted that much. “But you have to understand, I’ve only had one relationship with a man before in my life, T. One. And Jeb Adams wasn’t a real smart choice for me. With men, I’m discovering it’s always about my talent. They either abhor it, like Jeb. Or they make fun of it, like Randy at the psych lab. Or—”
“—they use it. Like me.” Long moments of silence passed before he continued. “I wasn’t thinking about the case when I made love to you last night. Not once. And the only time I worried about your talent was when you were holding back. I didn’t want you to be afraid of me. Of us. But there is no us, is there?” A deep sigh set his stern, rueful expression into place. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you. And just so you’ll understand—I’m tired of having to prove myself to every damn person in my life.” He shook his head. “With you, I didn’t think I had to.”
At that moment, T looked ancient. Older and tougher and harder than a man twice his age.
Okay. So she’d succeeded in inflicting as much pain and mistrust as she’d been feeling herself. Not her goal. But he didn’t look as if an I’m sorry would make any difference right now.
Kelsey held on to her pillow as if it were a life preserver. “Look. I’ll do the reading. You can set up the sideshow and let anyone watch who wants to come.” She slowly backed toward the bathroom, sticking to business since, with her insecurities, she’d royally screwed up anything personal between them. “But I have to go home first. Frosty’s a good dog, but he’s been in the house by himself all night. I need to check on him, get myself some warm, dry clothes, and then I’ll meet you back at the precinct office.”
He’d already pulled his phone from his pocket and opened it. “I’ll drive you home.”
“You obviously have phone calls to make, things to take care of. I’ve got your twenty dollars. I’ll call a cab.”
“But that money was for…” They locked stares, hers aching, his hard. “I will drive you home.”
FREAK.
“Oh, my God.”
T’s response was decidedly more choice when he saw the bright red paint splattered across the snow in front of Kelsey’s house.
He’d spotted the black-and-white police cruiser, cars and a van, along with A. J. Rodriguez’s familiar black Trans Am, in front of her house the second he’d turned the corner. Suspicions flared. His hackles had kinked up. They’d gotten to somebody with all the questions they’d been asking.
What he didn’t like was somebody getting to Kelsey.
Even if she had been safely tucked in at his mother’s house last night, that somebody knew where she lived.
And that somebody knew her talent.
He parked his Jeep a house away, taking note of the neighbors standing at their windows, the open front door—the death grip Kelsey had on the dashboard and armrest.
The instant the Jeep stopped, she shot out her door and ran across her yard. “Frosty? Frosty!”
“Kels!” T killed the engine and hurried after her. “It’s a crime scene. Don’t—”
“Ma’am, you’ll h
ave to wait here.” A. J. had slipped out of his car and wrapped a solid arm around her waist, stopping her. Josh Taylor was there to back him up in case she squirmed free.
She yanked at A. J.’s leather jacket. “My dog. Where is he? Is he hurt?”
Forgetting their argument and the raw gulf of past history and current fears looming between them, T wrapped his hands around Kelsey’s shoulders to still her shaking. “Frosty’s her pet and companion,” he explained to A. J., whose golden eyes apologized for procedure taking precedence over compassion at the moment. “Do you know if he’s still in the house?”
Lights flashed in their eyes, momentarily blinding T. The questions started even before the brunette woman came into focus. “Detective Banning, does this vandalism attack mean you’re making progress on the prostitute Delilah’s murder? Has anyone else on the investigative team been targeted? Do you have any facts to report, or is it all psychic conjecture at—”
“Not now, Ms. Page,” T growled. He hugged his arm around Kelsey’s shoulders and sandwiched her between himself and A. J., who’d also turned to block the next camera shot. “Somebody get rid of her.”
“My pleasure.” Josh Taylor stepped in. “Ms. Page. Rebecca, is it?” Using a lethal mix of charm and brawn, he moved the reporter back to the street, allowing Kelsey a chance to cope with the violation of her home. “It’s my understanding you’ve written a whole series of…”
“T.” Kelsey tugged at his coat. “What if somebody hurt him? He’d try to guard the place if somebody broke in. I’ve heard about burglars just shooting a dog who gives them trouble or makes too much noise.”
“There were no reports of gunshots, ma’am,” A. J. reassured her.
The fear T read in her eyes nearly made him forgo procedure himself to ease her concern. He hugged her tight against his chest, wishing she’d take more than comfort from him. “C’mon. He’s built like a little bear. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Her fingers clutched the back of his coat. This was killing her, not knowing the fate of her pet. “Oh, God, T, this is my fault. If anything’s happened to him…”
