by Linda Turner
“No, that’s not what I’m saying!”
With a muttered curse he slapped both hands on the table and leaned toward her intimidatingly. “Dammit, we know there’s a man involved! Who is he? Your lover? Some piece of trash who had you scout out rich little old ladies at the mall and follow them home? Did he threaten you? Is that how he got you to go along with him? Give us his name and I swear he’ll never come near you again.”
“How can I give you a name when I don’t know who did this? There’s no lover. No man, period!”
“Oh, c’mon,” he scoffed. “There’s got to be somebody. You’re a good-looking woman. You probably meet a lot of men in that café of yours.”
“There’s no one, damn you!” Pushed to the limit, she surged to her feet and leaned across the table to stand nose to nose with him, her green eyes flashing fire, every line of her body stiff with defiance. “I’m not seeing anyone, dating anyone, sleeping with anyone! How many times do I have to say it to get it through your thick head, Detective? There is no man!”
Caught in the heat of her eyes, Sam found that hard to believe. He hadn’t been stringing her along when he’d said she was a good-looking woman. She was damn easy on the eyes. Even when those green eyes of hers were snapping with fury and she appeared to want to slug him. Her chin up, she faced him unflinchingly, in spite of the fact that he was a hell of a lot bigger than she was, and suddenly all he could think about was tasting the fire in her. With all her pent-up passion, she’d burn a man up in bed.
The unwanted thought brought him up short as nothing else could. What the hell was he doing? he wondered angrily, jerking back like he’d been stung. She was a suspect, and he’d damn well better remember that. What she did in bed was none of his business. Uncomfortable, he glanced up to find Tanner watching him with narrowed eyes. With a subtle jerk of his head toward the door, he suggested they talk outside.
“Sit down and cool your jets,” he told Jennifer coldly, then followed Tanner out into the hall.
The door had hardly shut behind them when his friend turned on him. “You want to tell me what the hell you’re doing in there?” he demanded in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the other room. “We brought the girl in to question her about the jewelry, not rake her over the coals about her love life. If you keep going the way you are, she’ll either call her lawyer or refuse to cooperate, and then where’ll we be?”
“Dammit, I’m just trying to get the truth out of her!”
“Has it crossed your mind that maybe you already have?”
Caught off guard, Sam blinked. “What are you saying? You think she’s really psychic? C’mon! Next, you’ll be telling me you believe in Santa and the tooth fairy.”
He expected a denial. He didn’t get it. “There’s a lot of things in the world that can’t be explained,” Tanner said simply. “In your world there’s no such thing as St. Nick, but my three-year-old would swear by all that’s holy that he exists. Jennifer Hart thinks she can see things days before they happen. If she believes strongly enough...who knows?” he said with a shrug. “Maybe she can.”
“Like hell,” Sam growled. “She’s scamming us, and I’m going to prove it. All I have to do is push her hard enough and she’ll crack.”
His jaw set at a rigid angle, he stormed back into the interrogation room determined to break her. He asked her about Benny and his pawnshop and the man who hocked the jewelry and gave the name John Donovan for the claim ticket. She didn’t know any of them. Frustrated, he had her go over her story again, then again, picking it apart each time, but the lady, despite her air of fragility, proved as tough as an old boot. She stood strong, never wavering, not even when she was so close to tears he could see them clinging to her lashes. Without a single word of reproach, she managed to make him feel lower than dirt. Riddled with guilt and furious with himself because of it, he finally had no choice but to let her go. She’d been there three hours.
Exhausted, angry, her feelings hurt and bruised, she wouldn’t even let them take her home. “No, thank you. I don’t need your help.”
“Don’t be that way, Ms. Hart,” Detective Bennigan said soothingly. “It’s getting late and you really shouldn’t be walking the streets by yourself. After everything we’ve put you through, at least let us take you home.”
She would have rather taken her chances with a stranger on the street than accept a single favor from Sam Kelly, but she couldn’t bring herself to say that to his partner, not when he had tried to be civil to her. “I appreciate the offer, Detective Bennigan, but it’s only six blocks. I’d rather walk, thank you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sam snapped. “A woman walking the streets alone is just a mugging waiting to happen. We can have you home in five minutes.”
Standing proudly before him, the tilt of her head disdainful, she managed to look down her nose at him even though he towered over her by a foot or more. “I’m not going to get mugged—I’m a psychic, remember?” Giving him a faint smile that was guaranteed to set his teeth on edge, she turned and sailed regally out the door.
She’d thought that would end it—it should have—but she hadn’t counted on Sam Kelly’s persistence. Obviously the man couldn’t take no for an answer. Muttering and swearing under his breath, he followed her downstairs and out the front door of the police station, chastising her all the way. “You’re being ridiculous. You may not give a damn about your personal safety, but it happens to be my job. Dammit, woman, wait up!”
He was right behind her, practically breathing down her neck. She felt her heart lurch and told herself it was only because she’d never been angrier with a man in her life. Stubbornly staring straight ahead, she kept walking. “Go away, Detective. I’ve seen how you do your job and I don’t care for it.”
“You would if you were the one who’d lost thousands of dollars of jewelry,” he retorted. “Sometimes the only way to get to the truth is to ask hard questions.”
“You heard the truth,” she tossed back. “You weren’t willing to accept it.”
“What I heard was a fairy tale—”
“Why? Because you can’t explain it?” Stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, she whirled to face him and grabbed him by the tie. “If the only things you believe in are the things you can explain, then explain this. Up until a week ago, I’d never seen you before in my life. But I know you’re divorced, your first car was a 1964 Ford Falcon, and you were born in a little town south of here. If I’m not psychic, how do I know all that?”
He couldn’t answer because there was no answer. Smiling mockingly, she released his tie and stepped back. “I rest my case. Good night, Detective.”
Turning her back on him, she started down the street again, but this time he didn’t follow her. She didn’t have to turn around to know that he still stood where she’d left him, staring after her, and she took no small measure of satisfaction in knowing that she’d left him speechless.
“Hey, Hart!”
His call caught her two steps away from the corner. Half-tempted to ignore him and continue on her way, she made the mistake of looking over her shoulder. He still stood right where she’d left him, but he suddenly looked mighty pleased with himself. Suspicious, she hesitated. “What?”
“You really had me going there for a minute,” he yelled. “You’re sharp, lady. Real sharp. But next time you want to convince someone you’re psychic, try telling them something that’s not a matter of public record.”
He was so smug she would have thrown something at that handsome head of his if she’d had anything at hand. Instead, she had to be content with a rude hand gesture, which only drew a laugh from him. Fuming, she turned and disappeared around the corner.
At three in the morning she was still thinking about him. Disgusted with herself, she punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape and told herself the man didn’t deserve a second thought. He was suspicious, quick to judge and positively infuriating. How did his partner put up with him
?
But even as she closed her eyes and courted sleep, honesty forced her to admit she was condemning the man unfairly. He might be maddening, but her instincts told her he was an excellent cop who took his responsibilities seriously. If he had a problem with her special talents, well, so did most of the rest of the world. People instinctively distrusted what they couldn’t explain; it was human nature. She couldn’t fault him for that when she didn’t anyone else.
If she didn’t like him, she decided, it had nothing to do with the fact that he thought she was a flake who didn’t make a move without consulting her crystal ball. There was just something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. Every time their eyes met, her hackles rose and she didn’t know why. She just knew she wanted nothing further to do with the man.
But even as she tried to banish him from her thoughts, the memory of his rare smile flashed before her closed eyes, and a restlessness she couldn’t explain stirred in her. Muttering curses, she flipped her pillow over and willed her too-active brain to shut down for the night. But an hour later, when she was finally able to fall back asleep, Sam Kelly was there, waiting for her in her dreams.
When the alarm went off at four-thirty, she felt as if she’d hardly slept at all. Her head thick, her eyes sandy, she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t. It was Saturday, and the café was closed except for supper so that she could bake bread and pastries for several of the homeless shelters around town. Her grandparents had instilled in her the importance of giving something back to the community, and she’d started the practice the first week she’d opened the café. The day always reminded her of her childhood and she loved it.
With no customers to worry about facing until much later in the afternoon, she didn’t bother with her appearance, but simply dragged on jeans and an old T-shirt and stumbled downstairs to the cafe kitchen. Switching on the lights, she’d just tied on an apron when there was a soft knock at the back door and Rosa swept in like a small whirlwind.
“Good morning!” she said breathlessly. “I’m sorry I’m late. The car was stubborn this morning and wouldn’t start. I think it needs a new starter.”
Just sixteen and always seeming to move at the speed of light, the teenager had come into the café six weeks ago in search of a full-time job. She’d been desperate and defiant, and when Jennifer asked about her age, she’d lied through her teeth and claimed she was twenty-three. Anyone with eyes could see she was little more than a child. Afraid she was a runaway, Jennifer finally got her to admit that her widowed father had been hurt in a car accident and lost his job. Unless she could find work to help support him and her three younger brothers and sisters, they would all be out on the street by the end of the month.
Instantly sympathetic, Jennifer sat her down, fed her and learned that the girl had quit high school earlier that week because she didn’t think she had any other choice. She’d spent every day since looking for work, but she had no skills or training, and no one had been willing to take a chance on a dropout. She’d been at the end of her rope and near tears when she’d seen the Help Wanted sign in the café’s front window.
Jennifer hadn’t had the heart to tell her she was a far cry from the type of help she was looking for. She’d expected to hire someone older and more responsible, another senior citizen like Molly who wanted to work instead of sit around and wait to die. But fate had sent her Rosa, and she knew what it was like to feel you had nowhere to turn. If her grandparents hadn’t taken her after her mother died, there was no telling where she would have ended up.
So she’d struck a deal with Rosa. She would hire her to work three afternoons a week and all day Saturday, and in the process, teach her how to bake—with one stipulation. She had to go back to school. Tears welling in her eyes, Rosa had thrown herself into her arms and promised her she’d never regret it. Hiring her had turned out to be one of the best decisions Jennifer had ever made.
“You didn’t walk, did you?” she asked in alarm as the girl shrugged out of her jacket and tied on an apron. “At this hour of the morning! You should have called me. You know I would have come for you.”
“But that would have put you behind with the morning baking and we’d have been playing catch-up all day,” Rosa replied with a logic she couldn’t argue with. “Anyway, I’d already promised Carlos I’d call him the next time the car gave me trouble. You know how he worries about me. He really doesn’t even like the idea of me driving by myself, so he was happy to give me a ride.”
Jennifer just bet he was. Carlos Santos, Rosa’s nineteen-year-old boyfriend, was a subject they would never agree on. An arrogant macho thug as far as Jennifer was concerned, he treated Rosa like a little girl who couldn’t cross the street without his help. Not only did he discourage her from driving, he didn’t care for the idea of her working, either. He pretended to be concerned and protective, but the first time Jennifer had met him, she’d seen the way he manipulated the girl, and she hadn’t liked it at all. She’d tried to drop a hint in Rosa’s ear by suggesting that any man who tried to wrap a woman in cotton and make her dependent on him might have a controlling personality; but so far, where Carlos was concerned, Rosa wore blinders.
Knowing better than to criticize him outright, Jennifer said, “That was very thoughtful of him. But I thought he worked the night shift somewhere. Did he have to take off early to come and get you?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.” Rosa hesitated. “He was working as a security guard at a nursing home, but he couldn’t handle being around sick people all the time.”
“So he quit.”
Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Rosa nodded. “But he’s looking for something else,” she added quickly. “A day job so we can spend more time together. Before, we hardly ever got to see each other.”
That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but Jennifer wisely kept the thought to herself as she began to assemble ingredients for the day’s first batch of bread. “I’m sure he’ll find something,” she said dryly. “He always does.”
Carlos had, in fact, had three jobs in the past six weeks, proving that finding work wasn’t the problem. Keeping it was. According to Rosa, he always found some reason to quit—either the boss was a SOB who didn’t pay him what he was worth, or he needed something more challenging. And every time he was out of work, he convinced Rosa to lend him money. He rarely paid her back.
“He has a lot of talents,” the girl agreed seriously. “Last night we watched this show on TV about how to build a house yourself from the ground up, and Carlos already knew how to do it. If he had the money, he could start his own construction company.”
Helping Jennifer without having to be told what to do next, she rattled happily on, too infatuated to notice that the only hopes and dreams she talked about were Carlos’s. He was going to do something great one day. He was going to make a lot of money. It was all Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. Just listening to her made Jennifer want to grab her by the ears and shake some sense into her. The jerk was nothing but a big talker who didn’t like to work and would probably never amount to anything unless he found a smart, hardworking woman to support him. But she couldn’t tell Rosa that, not without putting her in the position of defending him. So she bit her tongue and prayed that one day soon the girl would see the light on her own.
They’d punched down the first batch of bread and set it aside for a second rising when Rosa thought to ask her about her own evening. “I’m sorry! I’ve been rambling and forgot to ask you about last night. You and Molly went to the movies, didn’t you? What’d you go see?”
The last thing Jennifer wanted to talk about was last night, but Rosa would find out about it soon enough, and it would be better if she heard the story from her. “Actually we never made it to the theater,” she admitted reluctantly. “I spent the evening at the police station, instead.”
“Is that detective bothering you again?” Rosa demanded indignantly. “The one who doesn’t believe you’re psychic?”
>
Surprised, Jennifer sank onto a nearby stool. “You know about that?”
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Molly told me. She thought I should know in case the cops come back asking questions. What’s this Kelly dude’s problem, anyway? Is he blind or what? You’d never do anything to hurt anyone. Especially a senior citizen. You gave Molly a job when nobody else would, and the only reason old lady Winston around the corner is still kicking is that you make sure she gets a hot meal delivered to her doorstep three times a day. Does that sound like someone who’s going to have anything to do with choking an old lady?”
Wound up, Rosa spent the rest of the morning working herself into a lather about the detective, making Jennifer laugh at her indignation. Then, just after lunch, when they were bagging the dozens of loaves of French bread they’d baked for the homeless, the devil himself knocked at the back door.
He was the last person in the world Jennifer expected. After his heated three-hour interrogation of her, she’d thought they had nothing more to say to each other. But there he was, dressed in jeans and a faded navy blue sweatshirt that had SAPD boldly printed across the front, looking far too good for her peace of mind. When her heart lurched at the sight of him, she told herself it was a natural enough reaction to a cop who seemed determined to pin a crime on her she hadn’t committed. If her pulse had a tendency to skip, too, well, that was nobody’s business but her own.
Frowning, she stopped him in the doorway with just a look. “What are you doing here, Detective?”
It was a legitimate question. One he wished like hell he had an answer for. It was his day off, and he’d have sworn Jennifer Hart was the furthest thing from his mind. But when he’d gone out for a walk, his feet had led him straight to her, and he didn’t for the life of him know why.
