by Linda Turner
What he felt was the hairs rising on the back of his neck again, and he didn’t like it one little bit. Swearing, he switched on the spotlight that was mounted on the driver’s door and turned the bright beam toward the front door. It was standing wide open.
“Damn!”
“Oh, God, I knew it!”
Already on his radio, Sam called for backup and asked the dispatcher to put a call in to Tanner. But when Jennifer urged him to request an ambulance, he couldn’t. “Not until I know for sure someone’s hurt.” Drawing his gun, he pushed open his door. “Stay here.”
“Not on your life,” she retorted. “If you’re not waiting for backup, neither am L Anyway, the intruder’s already gone.”
She was out the passenger door before he could stop her, and short of cuffing her to the car, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. If her friend Mr. Stubbings really had been shot, he didn’t have time to reason with her. “You stay outside until I signal that it’s okay for you to come inside,” he said in a low curt whisper as they slowly approached the front door. “And don’t touch anything! If we’re lucky, the bastard left some fingerprints this time.”
Right on his heels, Jennifer nodded. “I won’t touch a thing, just Mr. Stubbings. Hurry.”
His instinct warning him there was no time to waste, he motioned for Jennifer to wait, then slipped soundlessly through the front door. Engulfed in darkness, he was four steps into the foyer when he suddenly realized that Jennifer was right behind him. Dammit to hell, didn’t the woman have any sense of self-preservation? Swearing softly under his breath, he turned to confront her—and heard a noise somewhere in the back of the house.
“What was that?”
Her startled whisper hardly carried to his ears, but he pressed a finger to her lips anyway, silencing her. Then they both heard it again—a low moan. All his senses on alert, he turned and searched the dark, dangerous shadows before them for some sign of motion. Nothing moved. Reaching back, he found Jennifer’s hand and pulled her behind him as he glided through the darkness toward the moans in the distance.
They found Frank Stubbings in the library just as Jennifer had predicted. He’d been shot in the shoulder and was lying in a pool of blood beside an open door, disguised as a bookcase, that cleverly hid an old Wells Fargo safe. He wasn’t dead, but he’d lost a lot of blood and his pulse was weak. While Jennifer fought to staunch the seeping wound and keep him from going into shock, Sam called for an ambulance. He’d just hung up when the first police backup unit arrived with sirens blazing. Tanner was right behind them. Within seconds, the place was crawling with cops.
Still woozy, the old man cried weakly, “My coins! He took my coins!”
“Please, Mr. Stubbings,” Jennifer pleaded. “You’ve got to lie still until the ambulance gets here, or your shoulder’s going to start bleeding again.”
“But you don’t understand,” he argued, clutching at her hand. “I started collecting those coins when I was a boy! I’ve had them all my life. And now they’re gone. All of them!”
“We’ll do what we can to get them back for you, sir,” Sam said quietly as he went down on a knee behind the old gentleman. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“He was already here when I got home from the Elks Lodge. I go every Wednesday night, and there he was, standing in the damn foyer like he owned the place when I came through the front door.” He coughed, his strength ebbing as he tried to get the words out while he still could. “He was big and tall and dressed all in black. He wore a mask, one of those weird rubber ones that distorts the features. It made him look like he was smiling all the time. And he had a gun. He told me he wouldn’t hurt me if I cooperated. All he wanted was the coins.”
Jotting down notes, Tanner frowned. “He knew you had a coin collection, sir?”
The old man nodded miserably, pain etching his pale, wrinkled face. “It was worth half a million dollars, and he said he was willing to kill me to get it. I believed him, so I opened the safe. When he had what he wanted, he shot me.”
Outside, the ambulance Sam had called for roared up the driveway, the scream of its siren cut off in midwail as it braked to a screeching halt right in front of the mansion. Knowing he was running out of time, Sam asked hurriedly, “Does your house have a security system, Mr. Stubbings? Was it on tonight while you were gone?”
“Yes, of course. I never leave the house without activating it.”
“Then why didn’t it go off when the intruder broke in?”
He could see by the old man’s face that that was a question he’d already worried himself sick over. “I don’t know,” he gasped as the paramedics rushed in. “I don’t know.”
The place was chaos after that. While the paramedics applied emergency first aid and prepared Mr. Stubbings for transport to the hospital, Sam and Tanner went over the entire house with the evidence team. Not wanting to be in the way, Jennifer quietly slipped outside.
It was a cold night, fireplace weather, and the pounding in her head that always followed one of her visions was vicious. Hugging herself, she told herself she could relax now that Mr. Stubbings was in the paramedics’ hands. He was going to be all right. She dragged in a deep breath, hoping the fresh air would ease her headache. It didn’t. Her nerves were strung tight and brittle. The silently flashing light bars on the patrol cars parked haphazardly at the curb brought tears to her eyes, and she could still smell blood on her hands. Her stomach turned over, and it was all she could do not to gag. Home. She just wanted to go home now. But it would probably be at least another hour before Sam would be able to leave.
No one would have said anything if she’d gone back inside and found a bed to lie down on while she waited for Sam. Leaning tiredly against a tree, she was seriously considering doing just that when news crews from the city’s three major television stations arrived. Within seconds they had lights and television cameras up and running and were throwing questions at anyone who would talk to them.
Turning her back on them, Jennifer never saw a reporter conferring with one of the uniformed officers guarding the front door of the mansion. Without warning a light was trained on her, a microphone thrust under her nose, and she found herself confronting a tall, hawk-faced reporter. “Ms. Hart? I’m Jonathan Lake, KSTA TV. I was just told by the police that you’re a psychic who’s been working with them on this case. What can you tell me about it?” he demanded aggressively.
Caught off guard, she never thought to deny it. “I contacted them, yes.”
“And told them what? That Mr. Stubbings was going to be robbed and shot tonight? How did you know that? Did you try to warn him?”
He threw questions at her like darts, not giving her time to even think of an answer for one before he came up with another. Alarmed, hating the idea of her face being plastered across TV screens all over town, Jennifer tried to step back, only to slam into the tree behind her. Trapped, her heart pounding, she said stiffly, “You’ll have to direct your questions to Detective Kelly—he’s in charge of the case.”
She skirted around the reporter and headed for the house at a good clip, but Jonathan Lake wasn’t one to take no for an answer when he smelled a story. Right behind her, his cameraman recording her hasty retreat, he yelled out questions at her and invariably drew the attention of every other reporter scrounging around in the dark for a story. Fifty feet from Mr. Stubbings’s front door, she was surrounded.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t draw a breath without drawing in the scent of her tormentors’ bloodthirst. They were hungry, and she was fresh meat. More microphones were waved in front of her face; the lights that blinded her intensified as frenzied questions were barked at her. Panicking, she tried to fight her way through the crowd, but she was much smaller than the men who towered over her, and no one gave so much as an inch. Cornered, she broke out into a cold sweat. “Please,” she cried, “let me pass!”
“If you knew this was going to happen, why didn’t you stop it beforeh
and?”
“Just how good a psychic are you, anyway?”
“Have you worked on other cases with the police? Why haven’t we ever heard of you before?”
“What the hell’s going on here?”
Sam’s furious roar cut through the barrage of questions, stunning the shouting reporters into instant silence. They fell away, and there in the middle stood Jennifer. Small and pale, she was trapped and outnumbered and her eyes filled with panic, but her chin was lifted defiantly and her hands were knotted into fists. She looked ready to deck somebody, and Sam couldn’t blame her. He felt the same way.
“The lady said to let her pass,” he said silkily. “That means get out of her way. Now.”
“We were just asking her some questions,” Jonathan Lake said belligerently. “We’ve got a job to do, too, Kelly.”
Protectiveness stirring in his gut, he strode forward, forcing Lake to step back or get run over. “Then go do it somewhere else,” he snarled. “She has nothing to say to any of you.”
He didn’t give them time to protest, but simply took Jennifer by the elbow and escorted her out of the circle of reporters. A few of them grumbled and shot him looks that should have killed him on the spot, but no one dared try to stop them.
“Officer Dean will take you home,” he said quietly as he led her over to a patrol car and introduced her to the uniformed officer there. “If those bozos follow you and try to harass you, tell them to get off your property or you’ll call the police. That should get rid of them, at least for tonight. Are you all right?”
She nodded, shivering as a brisk wind swirled around them. “I don’t know where they all came from. One minute I was trying to get away from that awful Mr. Lake, and the next I was surrounded.”
“I should have warned you that the police radio is usually pretty well monitored by the press. Anytime a call for backup and an ambulance is made in this kind of neighborhood, you can guarantee you’re going to get flooded with reporters.”
He hesitated, the apology he owed her for doggedly doubting her psychic abilities hovering on the tip of his tongue. He’d made a whale of a mistake with her—he knew that now and didn’t intend to make excuses for it. But what he had to say would take time, and that was something he didn’t have right now.
Knowing she was going to make him eat crow and it was no more than he deserved didn’t make it any easier to walk away from her. She might have been ready to punch out the lights of every one of those pushy reporters, but there was still something in the shadow of her eyes that made him want to wrap his arms around her and just hold her.
His need a tight painful knot in his gut, he started to reach for her, only to have one of the evidence-team members call his name. Remembering he still had a job to do, he gritted his teeth on an oath and stepped away from the temptation she presented just by breathing. “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “Dean’ll take you home now if you’re ready.” Turning on his heel, he walked away while he still could.
She couldn’t sleep. An hour after Officer Dean had escorted her to her apartment door, she lay flat on her back in bed and stared up at the shadowy ceiling, her head still pounding. She desperately needed to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes the events of the evening came flying at her in a dizzying rush, a bombardment of images and emotions. Mr. Stubbings, the fear that they wouldn’t get to him in time, the relief of knowing that he was going to be okay, the scent of his blood that she couldn’t seem to wash away.
And then there was Sam. And a kiss that felt as though it’d happened in another lifetime. She could still taste it. Her body ached in places it never had before, yearned for something it had no knowledge of, and she didn’t know what to do about it. He had made her feel this way. He had shown her a side of herself she hadn’t even known existed.
Restless, she tossed and turned and couldn’t find a comfortable spot anywhere on the bed. Outside, the rain that had been threatening all evening started to fall. Sighing, she closed her eyes in relief. Maybe now she’d be able to sleep. She loved the sound of rain at night.
At first she didn’t hear the footfall on the outside stairs that led to her apartment. But then a whisper of sound, a mere vibration, disturbed the silence of the night as someone started up the stairs. She should have been alarmed. She lived in the business district of downtown, and the closest neighbor was two blocks away. The police patrolled the area intermittently through the night, but if someone timed a break-in just right and came after her, there’d be no one to hear her screams.
But with a knowledge that came from within, she knew it wasn’t just anyone on the stairs. It was Sam. And she hadn’t been able to sleep because she’d been unconsciously waiting for him. Her heart starting to pound, she didn’t question why he was there, but just grabbed her robe at his quiet knock and hurried to the door, switching on lights as she went. Without even checking the peephole, she flicked on the outside light and pulled open the door.
Standing on the small landing, he looked like something out of one of her dreams. His hair was damp and windswept, his shoulders impossibly broad in his dark brown leather jacket. Rain pelted him from behind, but he didn’t seem to notice. The second he saw her old chenille robe and the faded flannel gown peeking out from beneath, something flared in his eyes, something hot and dangerous that made her achingly aware she was naked beneath her nightclothes.
“You were asleep,” he said roughly. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Actually I was just lying in bed staring at the ceiling,” she admitted with a grimace. “I guess I’m too wired from what happened to Mr. Stubbings to sleep. Would you like to come in?”
A wise man would have stood right where he was, spoken his piece, then gotten the hell out of there. But her feet were bare and the robe and gown she wore did little to protect her against the cold wet night. She shivered, hugging herself, and took the decision out of his hands. He never remembered moving, but suddenly he was inside, with the door at his back and Jennifer standing right in front of him. All he had to do to touch her was reach out.
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket to resist temptation, he said, “I just came by to make sure you got home all right and see that you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him softly. “Or at least I will be after my mind winds down and I get some sleep.”
That was his cue to leave; he should have taken it. But his feet were glued to the floor and his eyes to her. She looked tired—and soft. The kind of touchable womanly soft that a man could sink into and gladly lose himself in after a long hard day. But that wasn’t why he was there.
Squaring his shoulders, he brought his gaze back to hers. “I owe you an apology,” he said stiffly. “I’ve been called a stubborn jackass a few times in my life, but I like to think I’m not a complete fool. The only reason Mr. Stubbings is alive now is because of you, and there’s no way to explain how you knew he was in trouble. Unless you really are psychic.
“I know I should have believed you when you first came to me about Mrs. Elliot,” he said quickly when her eyes widened in surprise. “But I’m a logical man, and there was nothing logical about your story—unless you were somehow involved. I was rough on you. I’m sorry.”
He expected an I told you so or at the very least a grudging acceptance of his apology. After the way he’d treated her, it was no more than he deserved. Instead, she gazed up at him with wide green eyes that filled with tears even as he watched. If she’d. wanted to make him sweat, she couldn’t have found a better way.
Swearing, he had her in his arms in the time it took to blink. “Don’t,” he groaned. “Call me every name in the book if you want to—you can even punch me if it’ll make you feel better—but please don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” She sniffed, swiping at her streaming eyes. “But it’s been such a long day and I didn’t think you were ever going to believe me. I guess I’m just tired.”
The tears still didn’t
stop, and it tore him apart. “I know, honey. I’m sorry. I’ve been a real jerk.”
Murmuring to her soothingly, he trailed slow kisses across her damp face. He only meant to comfort her, to stop her tears and make her smile, but suddenly his mouth was on hers. Memories from earlier in the evening stirred, heating his blood, and all too easily, he could hear her husky whisper in his ear as she told him what he liked a woman to do to him in bed. Hot, already hard for her, he tightened his arms around her and took the kiss deeper.
Her tongue met his eagerly, her womanly curves melted against him, and he was seduced. Wildly, tantalizingly seduced. He wanted her naked, his hands on her breasts, her hips, between her thighs, his mouth tasting her, loving her until she screamed. Now. Right here on the floor of her small entrance hall.
Unable to wait another second, he blindly tore at the tie of her robe and jerked it free. A split second later he found the buttons at the neck of her gown. He had the first two undone and was reaching for the third when sanity hit him like a bolt of lightning.
This was Jennifer he was about to take like a madman. The psychic who could see things he couldn’t, including his future. He didn’t want her in his head, and she was too young to be in his bed, dammit! She probably still believed in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters and making love when he knew damn well there was no such thing. She needed someone her own age, a fresh-faced kid who still thought he could slay dragons for her and love her the rest of his life. That wasn’t him.
His jaw rigid, he put her from him abruptly and tried not to notice the stunned, painful confusion in her eyes. “It’s late,” he rasped. “And I still have paperwork to do at the station. I’ve got to go.”
Turning before she could protest, he shut the apartment door behind him and hurried down the stairs like a man running scared.
Chapter 6
News of the latest robbery and attack of a senior citizen was all over the front page of the newspaper the next morning, not to mention the main topic of conversation on all the local news shows, but Jennifer never noticed. Her every thought focused on Sam’s scorching kisses and the abrupt way he’d left her last night, she walked around in a daze that lasted all the way through the lunch rush. She mixed up orders, forgot the names of customers she saw every week and stared off into space like a smitten teenager when she had people waiting three deep for tables. Molly was ready to kill her, and it was all Sam’s fault.
