Touch of Rain

by Teyla Branton

  A private eye should know how to jump start a car, but would a math teacher? Probably. Engines worked logically, right? Not like imprints. Though maybe I could find a science behind those if I did more research.

  “Aren’t you late already? Why don’t I give you a ride? We can take care of this later. I’d like to take you to lunch, if you’re free. I mean, after you talk to the Harmony Farms people, of course.”

  Right. I still had to sign up for recruitment. “Sure, but I pick the place, okay?” I never passed up free food, as long as I could get it somewhere I trusted. “There’s a restaurant across from my store that you’ll love.” I slammed my car door shut.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it?”

  “It’s not going anywhere. The radio doesn’t work, either, so there’s not much attraction to thieves.” I locked it anyway. Jake had told me a million times that I should be more careful about my car. I’d told him that worrying about locking the store and my apartment was trouble enough.

  “You’d be surprised at what I’ve seen.”

  “As a private eye?”

  “No, on campus. College students are more desperate than criminals these days. The only difference is that the students cannibalize their own cars for parts to sell instead of the cars of others.”

  I laughed. The man had a sense of humor. Maybe I could learn to like math as long as he didn’t try to force me to wear shoes.

  Ethan’s car was a red BMW, which floored me. Normally I wouldn’t notice the make, but this was remarkable. “I didn’t know teachers drove cars like this. Maybe I should become a teacher.”

  He laughed. “This didn’t come from teaching. I do other work on the side.” His smile faded. “Well, I did until Marcie disappeared. I’ve been occupied since then.”

  “I’m really sorry.” I touched his arm, feeling the warmth of him through the thin material of his shirt. Before I could draw away, he laid a hand over mine, pinning it in place. My heart thumped a little harder.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you at your shop yesterday. Part of me wanted to believe what Mrs. Fullmer said about you, but it’s just, well, you run into a lot of people willing to take advantage when someone’s vulnerable.”

  I laughed. “You were easier to convince than most. Believe me. There’s a detective down at the police station who probably still suspects I was in league with a kidnapper I helped them catch. Fortunately, I was in Kansas with Tawnia visiting her parents when the little girl went missing.”

  “That’s good.” He released my hand and started the engine. “I take it you and your sister are close?”

  “Very. There’s a strong connection between us. It’s hard to explain.” I pushed a button to roll down the window a few inches. I don’t know if it was Ethan’s presence or my memories, but I was feeling warm.

  “What time will you go to the river?” he asked. My apartment was close to my shop, and already we had turned onto the right street.

  “Before noon. Maybe eleven-thirty. I’d like to catch them before lunchtime. A lot of people are buying stuff from them then.”

  “I’ll drive you there.”

  “Better not. If they see you, the game’s over.”

  He made a face. “I guess that’s true, but don’t take any chances. Don’t get into any cars with them. We’ll need to get you outfitted with all the recent technology first. That’s what I’ll work on this morning—getting all that ready.”

  I nodded, my hand going to the door handle as he came to a stop.

  “Autumn,” he said.

  I looked at him.

  “I think we have a connection, too.”

  What do you say to that? I mean, there was a certain level of attraction between us, but until you experienced the sort of connection I felt with Tawnia or had felt with Winter and Summer—well, it wasn’t the same thing at all. But that didn’t mean a connection couldn’t happen.

  I smiled. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  “Good.” My tone was probably a little too flippant, but in that moment I felt confident and hopeful for the future. Maybe it was time to get over Jake.

  I scooted out of the car, the cold cement of the sidewalk a momentary shock on the soles of my feet. I waved at Ethan, turning before he drove away. Jake had already opened the Herb Shoppe and disarmed the alarms in both stores. All I had to do was open my outer door. No one was in my shop, but Jake was at his checkout desk helping a burly man with a tattoo on his huge upper arm. Jake glanced up at me as I passed the open double doors connecting our stores. I kept my expression steady. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry where he was concerned.

  He came to find me when the burly man had gone. I was in my back room filling my teapot with water. “Autumn?”

  I turned. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  He hugged me, spilling some of the water from my pot down his sleeve. I set down the teapot, still hugging him, letting myself breathe in his familiarity. He felt so good. I wished the moment would never end.

  He held me back from him so he could look into my face, his gaze darkening as it dropped to the bruises on my throat. “You should have called me. I would have come.”

  “I wasn’t trying to have anyone come over. I’m a big girl.”

  His eyes wandered over my face, down to my bare toes and back again. “I’m aware of that.”

  Zing! That’s the only word I knew to describe the funny way my heart reacted to his statement. Are you really? I wanted to ask him. Look into my eyes and tell me what you see.

  I didn’t say any of that, which was odd for me because I’d spoken my mind all my life. Regardless, Jake did continue to look at me, his gaze working to penetrate the walls I’d been building to keep my feelings out of his sight.

  Not good. I dropped my eyes.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Please call me if anything like this ever happens again, okay?”

  I nodded and backed away, tossing him a hand towel so he could blot the water from his sleeve. Normally, I’d have helped him, and we’d have laughed together about our clumsiness, but sometimes a woman has to protect her heart. I busied myself putting the teapot on the stove. “Want some?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe you ought to stay with Tawnia for a while. Until they catch this guy.”

  I shook my head. “It’s too tiny there now that she and Bret are married.”

  “Then stay with me.”

  Right. That was exactly what I needed. In the old days I wouldn’t have thought twice about bunking on his couch, but the way I felt now made it a lousy idea. “I’ll be fine, really. He’s just a nutcase. I think he actually wanted to help, giving me the map and the key.”

  “Key?”

  “There was a key too.” I pulled it from my purse and opened the envelope to show him. He took it out, hefted it, and started to hand it back. I gestured toward the envelope. “It’s got weird imprints. Like the confessional booth.”

  “You mean the one where you fainted?”

  Of course that was the one. The only one. I was a fast learner. I’d gone to the church to thank the priest for coming to Winter’s home funeral at my apartment. He’d offered a few words to the friends who had gathered to show their last respects. He even joined in writing messages on the cardboard coffin, sang a few old hippy songs, and ate homemade organic food to celebrate Winter Rain’s passing. It was the second home funeral I’d had for a parent, and it was no easier at thirty-two years of age than it had been at eleven. The priest’s words had comforted me.

  I wanted him to know what his presence had meant, but when I arrived at the church, he was occupied with a parishioner. During my wait I’d entered the booth out of curiosity, leaving the door open behind me to stave off the claustrophobia I often felt in tight spaces. The moment I entered, images assailed my senses, horrific and comforting, repulsive and beckoning, inf
lexible and tender, mocking and sincere, shameful and innocent and it was all I could do to stagger out the door and collapse onto the floor. That was where the priest had found me, passed out on the hard marble, a lump forming on the back of my head. I didn’t tell him what had happened. That had been in the early stages of discovering my ability, when I hadn’t even admitted it to myself.

  “Autumn?” Jake studied me with concern.

  What had we been talking about? “Yeah. The one where I fainted.”

  “The police will need to question him about the key. Did you tell them about it?”

  “I didn’t call the police. Didn’t Ethan tell you? Besides, I don’t want to tell the police about the key. If they take it into evidence, I might not be able to free Marcie or whoever might be locked up. The police don’t need the key unless they’re going to raid the commune.”

  Jake considered that a moment. “Maybe you’re right, but you still have to call the police. You should have called them last night. I would have.”

  “Maybe that’s why I didn’t call you.” I wished I could take the words back, but it was too late.

  Hurt filled his face a moment before it hardened. “Maybe we’d better call Tawnia and ask her opinion.”

  I threw up my hands. “Okay. I’ll call the police. After I’ve had my tea.”

  “Good.” Jake handed me the key, and even through the envelope I could feel the call of the imprints. Hurriedly, I pushed it back inside my bag. Jake turned and left without another word—and not because he’d heard the jingling from the bells tied to his shop door. He’d already ignored that jingling twice during our conversation.

  I sighed and picked up my tea.

  Jake was right. Regardless of Inclar’s original purpose in going to my apartment, he could have killed me.

  Or maybe killing me had been his intention all along. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for leaving the key. But who else knew where I lived?

  Everyone, apparently. Inclar and Ethan had certainly found me without trouble. I was probably in the phone book under Women Who Live Alone. Maybe I should rethink Tawnia’s offer to stay in her spare bedroom once they moved into their new house.

  No. That was out of the question. I wouldn’t allow fear to eliminate my independence. That was no way to live. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to talking to the police. The way my luck was going, I’d end up in jail for stalking Inclar.

  Sighing, I picked up the phone.

  Chapter 8

  While other officers in Portland might have heard of me after the bicycle case, Detective Shannon Martin was the only one who really seemed to have it out for me. So of course he was the one who showed up at my shop, less than half an hour after I called. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Maybe he just sat at his desk, waiting for me to call.

  He walked through the door, his confident bearing immediately attracting the attention of my three customers. Shannon wasn’t tall for a man—only a few inches taller than I was. He had rugged features, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors, the sun prematurely crinkling the skin around his eyes and giving him a healthy, wholesome glow. He was sturdily built and compact, each movement efficient and undeniably graceful. His hair was that color between brown and blond, with naturally lighter streaks from his time in the sun. It was slightly longer than when I’d spent so much time with him in May, showing a bit of curl at the ends that surprised me. He was clean-shaven now, a complete contrast to the rugged, sleepless, grouchy look he’d fostered when we worked together on the missing girl and bicycle case. Back then he hadn’t made it home in three days to shave or rest.

  I didn’t want to think about the case now, or about little Alice, whose last moments had been so frightening. It still made me utterly and desperately sad.

  Shannon wasn’t in uniform, and for that I was glad. I didn’t want him to run off my customers. One woman was ready to be rung up, so I helped her while the detective watched and waited. Not impatiently but intently.

  His eyes weren’t like other men’s. There was something about them, something perhaps in their green-blue color that illuminated his face. Or maybe it was the heavy frame of light brown lashes that made them so compelling. I didn’t know, really, except that his were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen in a man. It was almost unsettling.

  There was something else different about Shannon, something besides his girly name, bestowed upon him because of a man who’d saved his grandfather’s life: Shannon was attracted to me. He didn’t approve of me as a person, but he couldn’t help that he was fascinated by me. Whether because of my so-called good looks, my strange eyes, my often sarcastic personality, or my cursed talent, I couldn’t say. Because his suspicions ran so deep, he hated his attraction, but he felt it all the same. At times when we’d work together on the bicycle case, I’d caught him staring at me, or for a moment he’d forget to add that cool, unconcerned note in his voice. If he ever allowed himself to shake my hand, he either dropped it quickly or held on a tad too long.

  I’d never gone out of my way to encourage Shannon’s fascination. Quite the opposite. Early in our relationship, I’d spotted his disdain for me under that placid exterior, flashes of disbelief and anger that he tried to hide. Repulsion. How you could be attracted to someone you suspected of a scam was beyond my understanding. Perhaps if we’d met under other circumstances, things might have been different, but because he couldn’t seem to give up his convictions, and I couldn’t like anyone who suspected me, none of that mattered.

  I thanked my customer and turned casually in Shannon’s direction. “Slow morning? Or did you drop everything to come and harass me again?”

  “We always take it seriously when someone claims to be attacked.” He gave me a smile that didn’t match those eyes. “Let’s have the story.”

  Before I could begin, the shop door opened again and a woman entered, looking trim and professional in a navy skirt suit and heels. She was in her mid-twenties, with straight blond hair that looked as if it had been ironed. I was glad that at least her makeup was sensible and she looked sturdy enough to do okay in a fight, despite the snug skirt. Every cop deserved decent backup, even ones as annoying as Shannon.

  “Your partner?” I asked.

  An almost imperceptible nod. “She was parking the car. She’s new.”

  Definitely an attractive woman—if you liked boring and predictable, which I was sure Shannon did. I knew without his saying that he was training her. She seemed young for a detective, but she’d probably been on the force for five years, or more if I’d misjudged her age. Maybe she came from a family of policemen.

  We waited until she reached us. “Autumn, this is Detective Paige Duncan,” Shannon said.

  “I’m so pleased to finally meet you.” Paige offered me her hand. “Everyone’s been talking about what you did last month.” We shook hands, and I found myself warming toward her. Unlike Shannon, who would rather pull out all his fingernails than ask me out, she hadn’t come thinking of me as a fraud.

  Shannon frowned. “We were going over what happened last night.”

  Paige nodded. “Go ahead.”

  I briefly recounted the events of the previous day, avoiding mention of Harmony Farms, except to say that I’d seen Inclar earlier when I’d been talking to the group by the river. Shannon’s skepticism turned to annoyance when I admitted to calling the police only at Jake’s insistence.

  “Can you give me a description of this guy?”

  Easy enough. “Short, skinny. Graying brown hair. His right eye has something wrong with it. It sort of rolls around in his head. Not all the time, though. Sometimes it looks okay.”

  “Age?”

  “Around thirty, I think. But he looks older, wrinkled. You know, kind of falling in on himself.”

  “Small and skinny, you say, and he attacked you?” Shannon’s voice dripped sarcasm.

  I touched my throat. “He did this.” Several heartbeats passed as he focused on the marks that by my think
ing he should have already noticed.

  “I thought he was going to kill me,” I added, unable to stop the tremor in my voice or the sudden difficulty I had in swallowing. No matter how I’d shoved the emotions aside in the light of day, last night during the attack I’d been terrified.

  A flash of concern chased across Shannon’s face, breaking through his stern professionalism. “We’ll need to get a picture of that.” He nodded to Paige, who I hadn’t noticed was carrying a camera case over her shoulder.

  At least I was wearing clean clothes. But after a couple of head shots, Paige focused up close on the bruises, so it hardly made a difference.

  “You said he pushed you against the wall?” Shannon asked. “Did you hit your head?” His voice was gentle now, and it threw me off balance.

  I felt my skull where a large knot had formed in the back. “Maybe that’s why I have a headache.”

  He smiled—the first he’d given me today.

  “It’s huge. Want to feel?” Too late, I realized that wasn’t something you asked an officer who both liked and suspected you. He’d have to reject the offer for propriety’s sake, and besides, it wasn’t as though he had medical training.

  To my surprise, he reached out and placed his hands on either side of my head, his palms over my ears as his fingers gently explored the area on the back of my head. I could feel the warmth of his flesh, the rough patches of calluses that scattered over his palms. Were those from working on the acre of land I’d heard he owned on the outskirts of Portland?

  I was beginning to feel decidedly uncomfortable when he pulled away, his face unchanged. “Good inch and a half long,” he said to Paige. “And still raised at least a half inch. Remember that for the report.” To me, he added, “You say he left a map? Can I see it?”

  “Ethan has it. He’s the private eye I was telling you about.”

  He gave me a look that was both reproachful and questioning. “The guy you called when you should have called me.”