Blazing Nights (A Night Games Novel)

by Linda Barlow

  "So now, when you go around threatening to burn women at the stake, you have the right name for it!"

  "You're the first woman," he said in a low, sexy voice, "whom I have ever threatened to burn." He said it in a manner that stripped the word entirely of all its painful connotations and imbued it instead with blood-tingling sensuality. She sucked in her breath thinking, damn, I'm not going to be able to resist this guy much longer.

  He called her at least once every day, usually at night before she went to bed. He texted her occasionally, too. After convincing her to give him her email, which did not include her last name, he started sending her short but engaging emails that she soon found herself looking forward to and cheerfully answering. One day he sent her a box of chocolate truffles, addressed to Kate Mystery Witch. Since he'd driven her home, he knew her address, and she was certain he could have used it–or her phone number—to discover her last name and everything else about her. But he was apparently serious about not wanting to know.

  She happily devoured his truffles even as she complained to him that night on the phone that he was ruining her waistline. But she continued to refuse his requests for an in-person meeting.

  He didn’t let this bother him. No matter how many times she told him to forget it, he always came back with another suggestion: dinner, a movie, a basketball game, an exhibition at the Museum of Fine Arts, and so on. Sooner or later, he said, he was going to find an activity that would tempt her. In her heart, she knew he was right. Because of the calls and emails, she was getting to know Daniel Haggarty, and the better she knew him, the more she liked him.

  "Hello, Daniel," she said as her cell chimed at midnight toward the end of the following week. "Doesn't it ever worry you that I might be asleep at this hour?"

  "Kate?" said a puzzled female voice on the other end.

  Oops! "Mom? Is everything okay?"

  "Who's Daniel?" asked Iris Carter. "Is there a new man in your life, dear?"

  In this respect, at least, Kate reflected wryly, her mother was as normal as anybody else's. Her patience with her daughter's widowhood had begun to wear thin.

  "Nobody special. Why are you calling so late?"

  "Oh, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to the hour. I just needed to hear your sweet voice. Tell me about this Daniel."

  "There’s nothing to tell. He’s just a guy I met who keeps calling me."

  "You know, dear, the time is ripe for you to fall in love. In fact, this development could well explain the slight difference in your aura that I commented on when you came over last Sunday. There was a distinct rose-colored glow."

  Whoa. Another person who thought she was glowing? And unlike the guys, her mother could actually see these things. "Don’t get too excited, Mom. I don't intend to see the man again, much less fall in love with him." She drew a quick breath and tried to change the subject. Once her mother got started on her love life, she was liable to go on about it all night. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

  "No, not really. I was just having a long talk with Angelique, and when she mentioned her daughter, I remembered there was something I wanted to ask you about. What was it now? Poor Angelique is having such trouble with that child of hers, you know."

  "Hmm," Kate knew better than to ask for details, particularly since Angelique was an eighteenth-century French ghost. Kate vaguely remembered that she'd been guillotined in the Reign of Terror.

  "Something about television. Poor Angelique didn't know what I was talking about, of course. A box where you can see people walking about and speaking as if in life. I haven’t even tried to explain the internet to her. She absolutely couldn't understand when I told her that I was actually going to be on television. She was concerned that it might affect my health."

  Kate snapped to attention. "What do you mean, you're going to be on television?"

  "Why, darling, I had the most fascinating conversation today with such a nice man who wants to do some sort of documentary about my 'illustrious career,' as he put it. Can you imagine? And I was convinced that everybody had forgotten about me."

  "You didn't agree, I hope?" Kate said on a rising note of panic.

  "There, dear, you sound so concerned. I appreciate it, but you really mustn't be so protective. It sounds like such fun. He said I might even be on YouTube, and that people from all over the world would be able to see the broadcast."

  "Was this 'nice man' named D. B. Haggarty by any chance?"

  "Why, yes. Mr. Haggarty, I believe. But by the end of the conversation he was telling me to call him Daniel." There was an intake of breath, and Kate could feel her mother's intuitive powers flashing across the cellular network. She might be flaky, but she wasn't thick. "Your Daniel?"

  "He's not my Daniel," Kate said grimly. "He's the producer responsible for a program called Facts and Fantasies, and he's a very dangerous man. Not to mention unscrupulous. I can't believe he called you up and pretended to be pleasant. He hates psychics and mediums."

  "Really?" Iris sounded a bit disconcerted. "And I'm usually such a good judge of character."

  That was a laugh and a half. Her mother could look into a person's palm and read every nuance of his or her personality, but no matter how reprehensible the faults she uncovered, she seemed to forget about them the moment she dropped the subject's hand. "I look for the good in people," she had frequently told her daughter. "Never once have I failed to find it."

  As a result, Iris Carter was routinely cheated by everyone from car mechanics to financial advisers.

  "What did you agree to?"

  "Well, nothing yet. I explained to him that although I was flattered by the invitation to appear on this YouTube thing, I'd have to discuss it with my daughter first."

  "Thank goodness, Mom. I'll talk to him and convey your regrets. He'll have to be made to understand that you're retired and don't do interviews anymore." Her voice tightened as she added, "I'll make sure he doesn't bother you again."

  "But Kate—"

  "No buts. Do you remember a medium called Myra Kelley?"

  "Of course. A pleasant woman, and quite talented," Iris said a little uncertainly.

  "She was a fake, Mom, and you know it. One of Haggarty's interviewers exposed her on his program a few months ago. They reduced her to tears and blasted what was left of her credibility. That was only the beginning as far as Daniel is concerned. He doesn't believe in supernatural phenomena, and he means to prove that all psychics are either charlatans or nutcases."

  "Good heavens!" Her mother sounded shocked. "He sounded like such a charming young man on the phone."

  "He's charming all right," Kate said, remembering the way he had nearly seduced her. "He'd charm the fish out of the sea and then grill them over an open fire."

  It wasn't until she'd hung up that she remembered her birth sign–Pisces–and Daniel's threats, and she shivered at the aptness of her metaphor.

  Kate stared at her phone for a few moments after the talk with her mother. Daniel hadn't called her today, which was a little unusual. She decided, for once, to take the initiative. She sent him a text saying:

  Leave my mom alone. No way is she going on your show.

  Almost instantly, she got a response. She prepared herself to be angered, but all it said was:

  Heard & understood.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Saturday, Kate stepped out of her swim club into the chill of biting autumn wind to find Daniel leaning against his Porsche, waiting for her. He was casually dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket, and his hair was agreeably ruffled by the stiff breeze. He looked rough and tough and sexy as hell.

  Kate couldn't contain a smile as he came up to her and took her gym bag out of her hands. She was glad to see him; how could she deny it? Her body had reacted instantly with a surprisingly intense flash of lust. "What are you doing here?" She tried to sound severe and disapproving, but she suspected it wasn't working. "I don't remember telling you the name of my gym."

  "Go
od morning to you, too," his amused voice returned. "Are you always so perky at this ungodly hour?"

  She glanced at her watch. It was nine o'clock. "It's not that ungodly."

  "Spare me," he groaned.

  "Go away, Daniel. I am not going to let myself be ambushed by you."

  He grinned and stayed put. "You've been doing your best to avoid me, but admit it—your emails have been friendly. As for how I knew it was your gym, I didn’t, but this is the closest exercise club to your house, and it’s the only one nearby that has a pool. You told me you were a swimmer."

  "Why are you being so persistent?"

  "I don’t know. Personality flaw? Come on, I’ll take you out to breakfast. After all that swimming you must be starving."

  "Breakfast!"

  "You keep turning down my invitations to assorted evening activities."

  "I work in the evenings."

  "Ah, yes." As always, his voice turned severe at the reminder of her work. "I keep forgetting—night is the best time for casting spells."

  A puckish grin came over Kate's face. He couldn’t be too heavily into stalking, or he would have Googled her by now and discovered her actual profession. He still thought of her as a professional psychic. It was remarkable, under the circumstances, that he continued to demonstrate such an interest in her. He seemed to take perverse pleasure in pursuing a woman of whom he thoroughly disapproved.

  "Breakfast, huh?" Now that he mentioned it, her stomach was growling. The clever devil knew how to prey on her weaknesses. First the truffles, now this. And even yummier than the thought of breakfast was that long, strong body of his, close enough now to her to exert the full force of his sexual magnetism. She felt her resolution falter, and knew she was going to cave. Damn hormones! "Can we have pancakes?"

  "I was thinking of something sophisticated and continental, like croissants and light, fluffy omelets."

  "Blueberry pancakes. With maple syrup and great dollops of butter."

  "With a side of bacon and a side of hash browns, and a bottomless pot of coffee." He was obviously warming to the idea.

  "Sounds divine. I know a good place for that in Harvard Square, just a few minutes from here."

  "Okay, but it's up to you to find me a place to park."

  Thirty minutes later, after three fruitless tours of the Square, Daniel finally shelled out for a parking place in an expensive underground garage, muttering darkly about the problems of owning a car in the city, and led his captive into her favorite local pancake and waffle house. Sitting down opposite him, Kate felt the heat of his eyes. As it had before, his gaze seemed to touch her with fire. But she didn't let that stop her from digging into a huge helping of blueberry pancakes slathered with syrup.

  "One of my favorite things about you is the obvious pleasure you take in appeasing your appetite," he said with a wicked grin. "Do you gratify your other desires with the same enthusiasm?"

  "What other desires? Good food, in my opinion, is the only pleasure that counts."

  "I could introduce you to some others."

  "I knew you were going to say that." She took a slow swallow of coffee and smiled at him. He looked a trifle less dangerous by day than he had by night. His complexion was not as dark as she'd thought, and the midnight blue of his eyes seemed lighter, too. In fact, his skin was quite fair against his dark hair and thick eyebrows. His face was still scruffy, as if he used a blunt razor when he shaved and always left a disreputable shadow. There was something very sexy about that look. She wanted to stroke those rough cheeks. She folded her hands in her lap to stifle the temptation.

  He'd taken off the black leather jacket, revealing a long-sleeved flannel hanging open over a grey T-shirt. Casual weekend attire, clearly. All in all, he looked somewhat less satanic than she remembered.

  "And?"

  "And the answer is still no."

  To her surprise, he didn't pursue it. Instead, he said, "How can you eat so much and still stay so thin?"

  "I'm not thin."

  "Slender, then," he corrected himself, letting his eyes roam over her. She, too, was dressed casually this morning in a mauve sweater, jeans, and soft leather boots. Her brown hair, still damp from the pool, was loosely tied back with a ribbon.

  "I work out, as you know. Swimming, running, lifting weights."

  "You lift, too?"

  "Sure. Lots of women do it, particularly in my line of work." Indeed, she didn't know a single performer who didn't work like hell to keep in shape.

  But Daniel misinterpreted. "You have to be strong, I suppose, to tip tables at séances without getting caught. Everything I've researched about the history of spiritualism suggests that mediums have always been athletic. Some of them were even able to perform remarkable feats of contortionism."

  Kate rolled her eyes at the ceiling in a here-we-go-again gesture.

  "There was a famous nineteenth-century medium who had herself bound with cords around the neck, waist, wrists, and ankles in her cabinet before every performance. Strange figures used to materialize in her séance rooms when she went into a trance, and she had been accused of impersonating these ‘spirits’ herself. Her bindings were always double-checked to make sure she couldn't free herself when all the lights went out."

  "But she could free herself, I take it?"

  "Let me put it this way: The spirits’ features were extraordinarily similar to the medium's, and spirits and medium were never seen together." He took a swallow of coffee, and his eyes glinted at her over the rim of his cup as he added, "Did your mother teach you that trick? Shall I take you home and tie you up and see if you can twist free?"

  Kate nearly choked on her pancakes. His voice was so starkly sensual that it made heat wash through her. She clutched her fork tightly for a moment, and then put it down carefully on the side of her plate. This had to stop.

  "Look, I don't know how to get it through to you that I'm not interested in the hot bunny sex you're offering."

  "Hot bunny sex?" He was laughing at her.

  "Or whatever. You don't even like or approve of me. There's no way I'm going to get mixed up with a man who regards me as an object of derision."

  His hand reached out and folded over hers. She felt a rush of warmth. Why was she was so susceptible to his touch?

  "Forgive me if I've given you that impression. I like you very much."

  "I think you're just after me for the thrill of the chase or something." She slid her hand out from under his.

  "Come on," he said a little impatiently. "If sex were all I wanted, I could get it elsewhere."

  No doubt. With his looks, his charm, and his confidence, he'd probably been getting it regularly since puberty.

  "What do you want then?"

  "A chance," he said simply.

  "A chance for what?"

  He held up his hand, palm toward her. "A chance to channel my energy into the one deep line that comes after the ragged false starts."

  She blinked at him, surprised. "I thought you didn't believe in palmistry."

  "As a science I don't. As a metaphor for looking at one's life, though, it's rather intriguing." His eyes were serious for once. "I'm almost thirty-one, and I split last spring from a girlfriend who left me for some extreme sports dude who jumps out of airplanes and skis on virgin cliffs in the Himalayas. Since then I’ve done some random dating, but I'm disenchanted with the hook-up, hang out for a few weeks, then wave goodbye routine. I'd like to get to know someone on a deeper, less superficial level, and I sense that possibility between us. Don't you?"

  Okay, so maybe he wasn’t just proposing quick, wild, no-complications sex. She frowned, thinking about it. Every night that week, as she lay curled up in her lonely bed trying to sleep, she'd been fantasizing about him. She remembered the warmth of his mouth on hers, the exciting hardness of his body. She fell asleep each night imagining that he was with her in bed, pressing her down with his weight and loving her all over.

  But that wasn't all she thought abo
ut. They had had some interesting conversations on the phone during the past few days, and several witty email exchanges. There was a lot more to Daniel than the erotic side of things. Most of what she had learned about him, she liked.

  And yet…he was so different from Arthur—much more domineering, much more dynamic. His charisma added an extra charge to the sensual attraction between them, but there was a great deal more to a relationship than that. Life had been sunny and tranquil with Arthur; with Daniel it would be turbulent and maybe even dark.

  "Well? Am I gonna get my chance?"

  She stopped brooding and ate the last mouthful of her breakfast. "I don't know, Daniel. I'm a little frightened of you, if you want to know the truth."

  He frowned, but she sensed he wasn't entirely displeased by her admission. He probably enjoyed frightening people.

  "Are you worried I might make good on my threat to include you in my program on psychic fraud?" he inquired, his blue eyes gleaming.

  "Oh, dear God, no," she laughed. "I really think we ought to clear that up before—"

  "Or your mother? You're afraid for your mother? Is that it? Do you think I'm trying to get close to you in hopes of prying all sorts of anecdotes out of you about one of the best-known ghost-whisperers in the country?"

  She glared at him over the rim of the coffee cup she had lifted to her lips. "That possibility has occurred to me, yes. I was pretty upset to hear that you had phoned her and tried to charm her into an interview."

  "It was worth a try."

  "As I told you last night, the answer is no. She doesn't do interviews."

  His eyelids flickered. "In that case, maybe you could be persuaded to provide me with the intriguing details of how she rigs the room before a séance?"

  "So that really is what you want from me?" Her coffee cup slammed down onto its saucer. "If I possessed any such knowledge—which I don't, because my mother's not a fake—there's no way I would ever divulge it to you."

  "Of course she's a fake," Daniel said in a voice that was low but intense. "Even if I never get the chance to interview her, I mean to discredit her along with all the others. I want to be completely straightforward with you about that. I despise mediums, spiritualists, trance channelers, ghost whisperers, or whatever they’re calling themselves these days. No matter what happens between you and me, I'll be moving ahead with my plan to show the world what frauds they all are."