by Linda Turner
He was just being nice.
She cringed at the word and the sour taste it left in her mouth. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them as he pulled their burgers from the bag and handed her one. “I really am fine, and I know you need to get back to work. You don’t need to stay and baby-sit me.”
“Are you throwing me out?”
A crooked smile curled one corner of his mouth, but it never quite reached his eyes. Dark and intense, they seemed to see all the way to her soul. “No, of course not,” she said quickly, blushing. “But I heard on the radio you’ve been flooded with phone calls from people who think they know who the robber is. You must have things to do.”
He didn’t deny it. “I’ve been hunting down leads ever since I clocked in this morning. A man’s got to eat, but I’d just as soon not do it in the car. I do enough of that as it is.” Suiting his actions to his words, he took a satisfying bite of his burger.
Her appetite nonexistent, Jennifer only nibbled at hers. “So how’s the case coming? Are any of the leads panning out?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, but we’re not giving up. And we may have gotten a break last night. We found a scrap of paper with Mr. Stubbings’s security code on it on the floor near the safe. It turns out he usually carries that in his wallet, but he lost the wallet a week ago.”
“You think the thief found it?”
“Stole it more likely, but we found some prints on the paper and we’re checking to see if they belong to Stubbings.”
Hardly tasting his own food, he watched her pick at hers and knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t keep his mind on the case. Last night he’d come up with some good solid reasons to keep his distance, and not a damn thing had changed since then. He needed to get back to work, yet here he was, unable to stay away from her. She was too thin. Too pale. The shadows under her eyes too dark. And like it or not, he was worried about her. Until he was sure she’d eaten something and taken a few minutes to relax, he wasn’t going anywhere.
Shifting to face her, he said casually, “Speaking of leads, you should have been with me this morning when I checked out a tip on the south side. There was this old lady who was sure her next-door neighbor’s son was the one who shot Mr. Stubbings. Evidently he’s been the neighborhood terror all his life, and just this week bought himself a brand-new sports car and paid cash for it.”
“That had to set him back a pretty penny. He didn’t use Mr. Stubbings’s coin collection, did he?”
“Not hardly.” He chuckled. “It seems he had a major crack operation going in the barrio.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. The DEA had been watching him, and when they heard we’d gotten a complaint on him, they decided to come in and shut the whole thing down. All the neighbors were standing outside cheering when they hauled him and his new Corvette away.”
Laughing, Jennifer took another bite of her burger without even realizing it. “The old lady must have been thrilled. Will she get a reward for turning him in?”
He nodded. “‘CrimeStoppers’ had something out on the kid, but when I told her she was going to get some money for placing the call, she said she’d rather meet you.”
“Me?” Jennifer was startled. “Good Lord, why?”
Grinning, he said, “There’s this old geezer—her words, not mine—she met at church who’s been hounding her to go out with him. She wanted you to look into your crystal ball and tell her if he’s just after her body or really interested in her.”
Jennifer wanted to laugh—he could see laughter in her dancing eyes—but she clamped down on her bottom lip until it was steady, then said primly, “I told you before I don’t have a crystal ball. I don’t need one.”
“I know, but the old lady wanted all the bells and whistles and I didn’t have the heart to set her straight. So will you talk to her or not?”
“Just how old a lady is she?”
Struggling to keep a straight face, he said, “I believe she’s eighty-one.”
“Eighty-one! And she’s still interested in sex?”
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. She sounded so shocked. “Her exact words were, ‘I would never get married again and give up my husband’s pension, but I think it would be nice to have a lover again, don’t you?’”
Her eyes wide, hot color tinging her cheeks, Jennifer had no idea how appealing she looked. She leaned toward him as if they were sharing a secret. “What did you say?”
His voice as hushed as hers, he said, “I agreed with her. It would be nice to have a lover again.”
The husky words caught on a whispering breeze and swirled around them, teasing and enticing and seducing. Her heart skipping a beat, Jennifer told herself he was still talking about the old lady. But his eyes held Jennifer’s with a heat that stole all the moisture from her mouth, and there was something in his tone that made her breath lodge in her throat and her body go weak all over.
“Sam—”
“Her name is Margaret De La Garza,” he continued easily as he pulled a business card from his wallet. “Here’s her number. I wrote it on the back. She’d be thrilled if you could find the time to call her.”
Dazed, Jennifer took the card he held out to her, her eyes searching his in confusion. His tone was normal, the warmth in his gaze nothing more than friendly. Blinking, she rubbed at her temples, sure she was losing it. Had she imagined his suggestive remark, or was she more tired than she’d thought?
Shaking her head at her imaginings, she forced a smile. “Sure, I’ll give her a call. Though I can’t promise I’ll be able to advise her on whether she should take a lover or not.”
“She’d probably be just as happy if you could give her some input on Saturday’s lottery numbers. The jackpot’s twenty-eight million.”
She laughed, and the inexplicable tension that had sparked to life between them instantly drained away. Her appetite returning in a rush, Jennifer turned her attention back to her burger and never saw the satisfaction that gleamed in his eyes as she proceeded to finish it.
Jennifer couldn’t remember ever laughing so much during a meal, and given the chance, she could have sat there for hours and just enjoyed his company. But they both had jobs to get back to, and all too soon, the burgers were history and there was no longer any reason to linger on the landing. An awkward silence fell between them. Without a word they descended the stairs to the delivery area behind the café.
Somber, her heart thumping painfully, Jennifer stared up at the set lines of his rugged face and wondered what had changed his mood, but she never got the chance to ask. Holding out his hand, he said stiffly, “Goodbye, Jennifer.”
That was all he said, just goodbye, but the single word went through her like a lance, cutting straight to her heart. Stricken, she looked from his hand to his face and saw the end of anything else between them there in his eyes. And it hurt. She’d always known this day would come, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon, especially after the way he’d kissed her. For the life of her, she couldn’t bring herself to place her hand in his.
“Goodbye?” she repeated faintly.
“We won’t be seeing too much of each other unless you have another vision or remember something from the previous ones,” he said flatly, dropping his hand back to his side. “All my time’s going to be taken up with the case.”
And when this case was solved, there’d be another. Then another. She knew that, accepted it, didn’t have a problem with that. It was his job to catch bad guys, and they didn’t always make themselves available for arrest from nine to five. But he had days off. He went home at night. He had time to eat, time for a social life. If he wanted to see her, there was time.
Obviously he didn’t.
He’d kissed her and held her and made her want him in a way she’d never wanted a man before, and now he was going to turn his back and walk away as if he’d never been the least attracted to her. Why? Because she w
as psychic? Because he still couldn’t accept who and what she was?
The thought struck a nerve right in her very vulnerable self-esteem. All her life she’d had to fight for acceptance and understanding, usually without success. She couldn’t do it anymore. Not with Sam. She didn’t know how it had happened, but he’d come to mean too much to her. If he didn’t know by now that he had nothing to fear from her, then he didn’t know her at all. And that infuriated her. How could he be so dense? What did she have to do to get past that damn guard of his?
Angry, she stepped toward him, her green eyes blazing. “So this is a kiss-off? Is that what you’re saying? Then at least do it properly.”
And with no more warning than that, she grabbed him by the tie and pulled his mouth down to hers for a hot blistering kiss.
Chapter 7
In her fury she would have given anything to drive him to his knees and make him beg, but from past experience, she knew her bones were more likely to melt than his. So she had to be content with giving him just a taste of what he was walking away from. It lasted all of ten seconds. And when it was over, she found little satisfaction in the taking of something he had once given so freely. She hurt. And it was all his fault.
Resentment shoring up her chin and keeping her eyes dry of the tears clogging her throat, she abruptly released him. “That’s the way you say goodbye,” she said coldly, then turned and stormed through the café’s delivery entrance, slamming the door behind her before he could even think about following her.
His head reeling, Sam stared after her like a man who’d just had his feet knocked out from under him by a two-year-old. What the hell had just happened here? He’d kissed the lady senseless more times than he cared to remember, and he’d known she was going to be hurt by his withdrawal. He’d hated the idea of hurting her, but in the long run, he’d known it was for the best. He’d braced himself for tears and, yes, even anger. But what had lashed out at him from her green eyes had been sharp with betrayal and a hell of a lot stronger than mere anger. And he bad a right to know why.
Hurrying after her, he tried to pull the back door open, only to find it locked. That was when his own temper ignited. Pounding on the steel door with the side of his clenched fist, he roared, “Dammit, Jennifer, let me in!”
“Go away!” she yelled. “I have nothing else to say to you.”
“The hell you don’t! Are you going to tell me what that was all about or do I have to guess?”
“You’re the detective,” she retorted. “Figure it out.”
The sound of the dead bolt hitting home scraped his nerve endings like a rusty knife, and for all of two seconds he considered going around to the front of the restaurant and demanding an explanation in front of all of her customers. But considering the mood she was in, he wouldn’t put it past her to call the station and file a complaint against him.
Muttering curses, he strode angrily down the alley and around the corner, but to his car, instead of the café. Women! he thought furiously. Who the hell understood them?
The man sat in the gathering shadows of his darkened living room and watched the five-o’clock news with a snort of disbelief. Jonathan Lake was interviewing the psychic everyone was talking about. He didn’t believe in that kind of garbage—it was just a hoax, a trick to increase ratings. He didn’t know who the hell she thought she was, but there was no way the little blonde knew anything about him. He’d been too careful, too smart. He’d left no prints, no clues to his identity, and he’d taken steps to change his appearance for each job. Hell, he’d only hocked two pieces in San Antonio because he’d been desperate for cash, and the clerk at the pawnshop hadn’t even looked him in the eye, let alone asked for ID. He’d given a fake name and gotten the hell out of there, and there was no way the police could trace the deal to him. They didn’t have a damn thing on him, and he was laughing all the way to the bank.
But as he congratulated himself on his cleverness, the woman on the screen looked him right in the eye and described a man who was not only clever, but smooth and charming and diabolical. A man who had never had the things in life he thought he deserved and for some reason blamed the elderly. An angry resentful man who had finally decided to go after what he wanted and to hell with the consequences. A man who sounded an awful lot like him.
His blood turning to ice, he listened in mounting rage as she speculated about him. She couldn’t give his name or even guess what part of the city he lived in, but she was close enough to the mark to scare him spitless. There were people who knew him, people who had no love for him and saw past the facade he presented to the world, who might, upon hearing her profile of the robber, put it all together and come up with his name. All they’d need was a few more details from the little psychic, and his butt would be fried.
He had to do something, had to find a way to shut her up or scare her into backing off. It was the only way. He’d come too far, made too many plans, to let some freaky little busybody mess everything up now. But how could he get rid of her, dammit? She was psychic! She’d told that nosy bastard Lake she had no control over the information she was given, but what if she knew things she wasn’t telling? What if she knew even now what he was planning and she’d already gone to the police? The second he tried to get close to her, he could be walking right into a trap.
But his mama hadn’t raised any dumb kids, and as he watched Jonathan Lake wind up his interview at the Heavenly Scents Café, a sinister smile of anticipation slowly curled his thin mouth. He knew where the lady lived and worked, thanks to Lake’s exclusive, and there was only one way to find out what she knew. He’d have to pay her a little visit.
Not taking a chance that she might recognize him, he completely shaved his head and eyebrows, then glued on a black beard that made him look like one of those missionaries who was always trying to save lost souls. Colored contacts changed his eyes from pale blue to dark brown, and a long black coat covered him from his neck to below his knees. There was nothing he could do about his size, but with a low-slung hat on his head and a Bible in his hand, hopefully no one would notice.
His own mother wouldn’t have recognized him in the getup, but when he approached the café on foot the next morning, he did so cautiously. Working both sides of the street, pretending he was looking for people to share his message with, he kept an eagle eye out for the cops. There were no uniforms in sight, however, or anyone else that seemed particularly interested in what was going on at the Heavenly Scents Café. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry to get to work, and those he was able to stop and talk to couldn’t get away from him fast enough. If there was a trap anywhere within the vicinity, he couldn’t smell it.
Pleased, his hard eyes bright with expectation, he crossed the street and walked into the café as if he’d been a valued customer for years. The little bell attached to the front door jingled, and almost immediately he found himself face-to-face with Jennifer Hart. It was almost as if she’d been waiting for him.
If he hadn’t been a man who was quick on his feet, his shock would have registered right there in his eyes. But he instantly dragged on a stiff smile and ducked his head. “Mornin’,” he mumbled. “Something sure smells good in here.”
“Homemade cinnamon rolls and fresh coffee,” she said promptly with a smile. “Would you like a seat at the counter or a table?”
He had no desire to sit out in full view of everyone while he watched her, so he took a table off to one side, against the wall, and ordered coffee and a cinnamon roll. He wasn’t hungry, but he couldn’t just sit there and stare at her without making her uneasy. And that wasn’t what he wanted. Not yet.
He’d hardly settled into his chair when she was back with his order, but the bell tinkled over the door again, so she didn’t have time to linger. She hurried off to greet the new arrivals and seat them, then refill coffee cups all around the room and chat. She dispensed smiles as easily as she did coffee, and when customers who obviously knew her well asked her about the interview
with Jonathan Lake they’d seen on TV last night, she answered freely. When she finally got back to his table to refill his cup, he was ready for her.
“Hey, you were on TV last night, weren’t you?” he said with forced cheerfulness. “You’re one of those psychics, huh?”
She nodded and gave him a faint smile. “I guess there’s no point in trying to keep it a secret now. Apparently everyone in town watched Channel Seven last night.”
“Yeah. It was pretty interesting. If I was that dude you were talking about,” he dared, “I’d be fighting mad. Don’t you know he could come after you, girl? ’Course, I guess you would know what he was going to do, wouldn’t you? You could call the police and have a trap all set up for him.”
“Well, no, actually I don’t see things very clearly for myself. Not that I think I have anything to worry about,” she added. “Why would I? I’m not a threat to the perpetrator. All I gave Mr. Lake were some generalities. Just a psychological profile. The police might use it to narrow their search, but by itself, it’s not enough to identify anyone. Not when there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of men in San Antonio who fit the profile.”
She sounded confident enough, but when she drifted away to another table, he didn’t miss the troubled shadows in her eyes. Smiling to himself, he threw a couple of bucks on the table and pushed to his feet. Now he could make some plans.
Three nights later, lying in bed in the darkness, Jennifer accepted with a tired sigh that she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Just as she hadn’t been able to the night before or the night before that. Her mind was too active, the images that flashed against the screen of her closed eyelids too vivid. Sam. He was like a burr under her skin, an itch that couldn’t be scratched. He nagged and pressured and tormented, and he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He was there in her head every time she closed her eyes.
If she could have gotten her hands on him, she would have strung him up by his thumbs and left him to twist in the wind.
