by Misty Dietz
He looked down at his scuffed work boots. “No. I’m not blood, but I’m all she’s got.”
One of his elbows brushed her shoulder when he raked a hand through his hair, turned, and started up Ann’s walkway. A blast of negative energy radiated off him, leaving her nerves vibrating in awareness. That kind of damaging aura from anyone else required use of her psychic energy shield. Why not from him? Her nausea had abated as well. “What did you just do?” she asked, trailing after him.
“What?” He halted on the walkway arranged with brimming petunia pots, his hair sticking out at all angles from hand-worrying it.
Her heart slugged away at her chest like it had in high school when she got those sideways glimpses from the teachers. “Nothing. I, uh, I’m gonna head back to the store now. I’m sure Ann’s fine.”
But Zack’s glower told her he didn’t believe it either. Which left them where? Mother had always told her ignoring her gut was equivalent to playing Russian roulette with just one empty chamber. But that didn’t make her any less determined to ignore the compulsion telling her to walk up to Ann’s front door and hold on for the ride.
Crap, crap, crap.
A woman moseyed down the walkway from the condo next door, making poor pretense of waiting for her tiny fur ball to pee while she angled her ear their direction. Zack moved closer to whisper. “If you see Ann first, have her call me.”
She’d never seen such expressive eyes in her life. Right now they were so earnest. What would it be like to have a man that concerned for your welfare? Why couldn’t you affect me differently?
He seemed to storm her defenses without even trying, so he had to be off limits. Just the thought of hurting someone again…
Her teeth grabbed her lower lip. Suddenly his eyes crinkled at the corners and the color lightened to that sparkling green once more. They were saying something entirely different now. Butterflies began a mass migration from the pit of her belly to her chest.
He cleared his throat.
Right. Her turn to speak. “Call you. Sure thing. Bye now.” She turned to walk back to her SUV.
“What about the rhino?”
She stopped mid-stride. Lord, thunder, and Jesus. She hadn’t made such a dolt of herself in front of a guy since the tenth grade when she’d tripped on her prom dress and landed in the punch bowl. She’d sworn off high heels for the most part since then. Besides, towering over your dates didn’t do much for their egos.
But when she turned around to face Zack, she realized this wouldn’t be a problem with him. Standing in her wear-once-in-a-blue-moon three inch espadrilles, she matched up mouth to mouth with him. Her eyes dropped lower. From the contours of his black T-shirt, she discerned powerful shoulders and a solid chest that made her fingers itch.
Yummy.
A dog yipped. She jumped like a teenager caught in the backseat, and Zack’s grin stopped her heart for a split second. Then he turned to catch up to the neighbor lady with the stupid pooch.
Sloane brought her hands to her hot cheeks and watched his spectacular ass jog across the lawn. Ms. Pink Polyester tugged the leash, nearly air walking the dog in her hurry to return inside. Sloane looked at her SUV longingly, but she had to retrieve the rhino first, deal with Benjamin second, and hopefully somewhere down the line launch Project Broken Wings.
Maybe in the process of helping others, she could mend herself, too.
She cut across the lawns to catch up. She’d ask his permission to go inside, get the rhino, then split.
“Excuse me, ma’am. Mrs. Bailey, right? I remember your excellent oatmeal cookies from when I helped Ann move. I’m Zack Goldman.”
The woman stopped abruptly and the dog rammed its nose into her calf. Her faded blue eyes beamed. “Why, thank you, but call me Agnes.”
While Zack and Agnes talked, Sloane couldn’t help looking at Ann’s portico again. All the cheerful flower pots couldn’t dispel the unease emanating from the house. Particularly the door.
Leave now.
Oh, she wanted to, but without Benjamin’s backing, she’d have to put the foundation on hold. Find another sponsor. There was one other possible benefactor, but he didn’t have nearly the resources Benjamin did.
She rubbed her forehead. She’d finally been able to put the past behind her and had been making all the right choices. Because her store was her passion, the people who worked for her were more than overhead. She hired deliberately, carefully, and made an effort to really get to know her people.
People first.
Problem was, this time the ideology seemed to be calling upon her gift.
Why? She couldn’t help anyone. Not like her mother who worked with the FBI. Oh, no. Hers was a broken gift with the power to hurt, not heal
And the closer you are to me, the more you stand to lose.
She peered at Ann’s door once more, then started toward her vehicle. She’d find an excuse for Benjamin and get the rhino later because even if the door handle could tell her where Ann had been going, what would she tell Zack? Hey Zack, Ann went to such-and-such place, and this is how I know…?
The skin on her neck burned. Chest, too. Please no hives this time. Almost to the car.
There was no way she could do this. That door would have to keep its secrets. She closed her eyes as guilt and relief warred within.
“Sloane.”
Startled, she thrust a hand out to steady herself, touching the metal door handle of Zack’s truck. In an instant, her peripheral vision grayed, and she was sucked into another dimension. She tried to hold on to reality, imagining a bright pulse of light rapidly enveloping her body like a white blood cell encasing a virus.
But it was too late. Contact with the door had been made before she could seal the protection shield.
A tsunami roared in her ears. She experienced the blow of residual emotion first. Frustration, anger, and anxiety slammed into her system, forming a tight knot in her belly. Then images rolled through her mind, one after the other so fast she felt nauseous.
A well-muscled man in a suit. Sandy blond hair. Attractive. He speaks to Zack: You can handle this. He has such a nice inflection.
Zack strides past the man and enters a well-appointed conference room with floor to ceiling windows. Two men in sport coats rise and extend soft hands. Zack’s disgust tastes like acid in her mouth. Their conversation swirls through her head, making her so dizzy she can’t keep up with Zack’s cascade of emotion.
Disappointment. Shame. Guilt.
She hears his thoughts. Who left the note? Why? Where, Ann? Where can you be?
Her soul wants to bleed at the agony in his tone.
“Sloane.”
The bright afternoon sunlight punched through the vision. She swayed, heard a moan, and then her stomach heaved, emptying until there was nothing left. Spent, she was on her hands and knees. Something firm braced her ribcage below her breasts. Holding her up. Zack.
Oh, Lord. She’d just puked. In. Front. Of. Him.
She tried to stand.
“Easy.” Zack’s husky drawl stirred the hair by her ear, sending goose bumps on a painful relay across her arms. Her skin, already so sensitized by the vision, tingled at the touch of the hard male curved around her.
“Fine! I’m fine. Can you…I need to sit down.” When he swung her up into his arms, her heart galloped, and her stomach quavered all over again. She wanted to cry. And Sloane Petra Swift didn’t do crying in front of an audience.
“Just put me down! On the ground. Please. In the grass. I want to sit in the grass. Now!”
Her voice cracked on the last word. Zack eased her down beside the rampant red blooms of a weigela bush. She wiped at her mouth and thrust her fingers into the grass until her nails found rich soil. She closed her eyes to imagine a pathway traveling from the center of her body through her fingertip connection to the earth. The sudden discharge of energy made her weak.
She’d avoided this shit for six years. Envisioning the aftermath of a girl’
s murder as she had would probably make anyone averse. And while the results of this vision weren’t nearly as horrific, what good had come of it?
Zero, zilch, zippo. Only a raging headache. And don’t forget about the heaping dose of mortification. You knew it was a pointless “gift.” Now knock it off.
A large shadow fell across her lap. She didn’t have to look up to wonder what he was probably thinking. Weirdo came to mind. How about freak? That had been a crowd favorite during adolescence.
Agnes hurried over to them, water sloshing over the sides of a glass. She thrust it at Sloane, then pressed her hands to her chest, her breathing so labored Sloane wondered who needed the water more.
Zack extended a hand to help her up, his eyes questioning as his hand curled around hers. Once on her feet, she walked to her vehicle to wet-wipe her hands, swill some water, and swallow half a dozen breath mints. She returned to the site of her gutting and poured what remained of her water bottle onto the sloped pavement.
Sucked to have someone you wanted to impress witness your humiliation. Sucked worse when that same someone pulled you through it.
And wasn’t it petty to be pissed about that?
She watched the pair talking on the grass between the two condos when suddenly Agnes pointed at the logo on his tinted truck window. Her words carried all the way over to Ann’s driveway. “Oh would you look at that! Samuel’s Construction. No wonder Ann’s name always niggled at the back of my brain. John was her father, wasn’t he?”
Sloane plucked up her courage and headed their way. Agnes was on a roll now. “That Johnny Samuel was quite the catch in his day. Didn’t he court that high fallutin’ belladonna who was a visiting professor at North Dakota State? Sang opera or something. I met her once at a banquet. Prissy as all get-out. He never did marry her, though. Wait! Ann…was she?” Agnes blinked, then smiled, nodding and posturing like a rooster in a henhouse. “Ah. John and the opera diva ate supper before they said grace. Happens to the best of ‘em. But, don’t you worry, the family secret is safe with me.”
Sloane snorted. And safe with her bridge club, and her knitting cronies and…
Zack elbowed Sloane. “Listen, Mrs. Bailey, have you spoken with Ann today?”
“I haven’t seen her since yesterday when that storm was rolling in. I saw her looking out her front window when my son, Baker, picked me up.”
“So, that would have been about six-thirty? Did you see her later, too, when you got home from your son’s?”
“I’d say more like seven. And no, I didn’t see her later. She wasn’t home. I noticed right away that only the front door light was on. She usually has them all on. And I mean every last light. Real wasteful-like, you know.” Agnes sniffed, and Sloane felt Zack go very still.
“Do you remember what time you got home?” he asked.
“Maybe around ten. What’s this about, anyway?”
“I’m just taking care of a few things for Ann. I appreciate your time,” he said.
After Agnes returned inside, Zack stepped away from Sloane. “I’m sure Ann’ll show up soon.”
She wondered if he was reassuring her or himself. “No you’re not.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets in a gesture she was coming to realize he used when he was disconcerted. “It’s a good thing you own your own business because you’re not only bossy, but nosy as well.”
They observed each other for a few moments. Important moments. See-under-the-skin moments. People often attack when they feel most vulnerable. Funny how so many of her mother’s words were coming back to her today.
He apologized, and though his jaw was still set, his eyes had softened. “I’m used to working alone.”
“Working alone isn’t always good for a person.”
He arched a brow. “Oh, I don’t know. Beats getting tangled up in other people’s BS.”
“That’s not only a lousy attitude, but one guaranteed to make you lonely.”
The warmth seeped from his eyes, leaving her strangely sad.
“Probably.” He turned toward Ann’s front door. “If you want to take a look around for that rhino, now’s your chance.” They had started up the walkway when a thud and shattering glass rang out from the garage.
Chapter Five
Damn cat. Zack wondered how he could have forgotten about Ann’s scrawny tom. He and Sloane had entered Ann’s front door that he’d left unlocked and hurried through her massive kitchen into the garage to find the trash can upended with colored glass, white plastic, and a mish-mash of garbage strewn across the concrete floor. The cat perched on the lone intact bag, staring at Sloane. When Zack shooed him away to chuck the bag in the can, the tom sashayed over to Sloane to rub against her golden legs.
“Naughty kitty, look how dirty you are. Ann’s going to scold you for sure.” She scratched his head as his motor sawed.
“He doesn’t belong to her.”
“Why’s he here then?”
“How should I know? When I broke in earlier, he was just here.”
Sloane’s hand paused on the cat’s back. “Broke in? I thought you had a key.”
“I didn’t stop home to get it.” Which was dumb because he needed to let the dogs out pretty soon.
She frowned. “Oh, look, the poor thing only has two claws in his right front paw.”
“No wonder he’s so scrawny. Can’t hunt.”
She raised an eyebrow. “This is a real drawback if he’s an outside cat and can’t properly defend himself.” She continued petting the cat. “So, when was the last time you spoke with Ann?”
“Last night after the storm. Around seven-thirty.” Had she left with her date after that? And did her date leave this morning’s note? He could take that note to the cops, but what could they do when there was no evidence of foul play?
Sloane came over, standing close enough that he got a whiff of vanilla. He wondered where she applied it—in the valley between her breasts, a spritz across her neck, lathered into her hair? She had really pretty hair. So silky and shiny a man could probably run his fingers through it without snagging on any calluses.
She bent over the garbage on the garage floor, searching for who knew what, but careful not to touch anything. He made himself look away. “This isn’t your problem, you know.”
“You want me to leave?” she asked.
Why couldn’t he say yes? He didn’t want another female to worry about, and he certainly didn’t want any extra complications. The deeper you let someone in, the more opportunity they’d have to deceive you. He managed a slight nod. From the corner of his eye he saw her stand and place her hands on her hips.
“You want to be alone then?”
“I can take care of this myself,” he replied.
“Lose the attitude. I’m concerned about her, too.”
How was he going to make her leave? He kicked at a piece of broken glass. “Ann was upset when I talked to her on the phone last night.”
“Something you did?”
Her tone was neutral. His shoulders unwound. “No. She didn’t talk about it, and I didn’t ask.”
“Then how do you know she was upset?”
He thought about it for a moment. “She had that stuffy-nose, bright-voice combo that doesn’t fool anyone, but everyone plays along because aren’t we all so proud to be stoic? You know how it is.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago never to take things at face value. What someone presents on the outside generally provides no indication of the subtext buried within.
When Ann had returned his call, she’d assured him everything was all right, so he’d taken the easy way out and didn’t press. Now, he wished he would’ve done what was right.
Driven over to her place and found out what had made her cry.
Gotta be present to mine the subtext.
Birds chirped outside. They sounded so content. A long-ago memory of black plastic-covered basement windows chased the warmth from his hands.
He looked back at Sloane, wishing she would just go. She was making him think.
And he was better off not thinking.
Or feeling. Dammit.
“We’ll figure this out,” she said.
Her soft murmur punched a hole in his gut. “Why do you care anyway?”
He saw an intriguing spark of irritation come and go in her eyes. “Because Ann’s more than an employee, she’s a friend.” She watched the cat crash his wiry body into her shins. “And maybe because I get the feeling there aren’t too many others you reach out to.”
“You think I’m reaching out to you?” If she only knew how much, she’d be as surprised as he was.
“Totally. Whether you realize it or not.” She looked around. “Okay, I’m going to look for the rhino, then let’s review what we know about Ann.” Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked through the garage door into the house.
He followed and waited in the kitchen, listening to her poke around until the silence indicated she’d moved on to another room.
He’d hurt her feelings. But when most women would’ve either flipped the bitch switch or subsided into an all-out pout, she hit back with a good dose of reason that made a man tuck his tail between his legs.
The more sides of this woman he saw, the more he was charmed. And that kind of landmine he didn’t want.
“Zack.”
He hurried into Ann’s bedroom where Sloane stood holding a photograph, her face as gray as a corpse’s. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s that on Ann’s sweater?”
Her whisper raised the hair on the back of his neck. He looked at her for a moment before glancing at the picture of Ann, John, and himself. “The pin? John had it custom made with nineteen tiny crystals for her nineteenth birthday last year.”
Sloane visibly swallowed. “So there’s probably only one like it?”
“Yeah. John always said Ann was one of a kind, so her jewelry should be, too. What’s going on?”
“Probably nothing. I thought…wondered if maybe I’d seen it somewhere before.” She chewed on her lower lip and set the frame back on the nightstand with trembling hands.
