by Susan Shay
“I’m afraid I won’t be much help, but I’ll tell you what I can.” Unable to stifle a deep sigh, she tried to clear her mind. “Last night, I had a dream. A woman in a room without any light at all awakes, confused by where she is. How she got there. She discovers, to her horror, that she’s shackled hand and foot. This woman isn’t young, at least in spirit. And she’s rather...crude. She curses, threatens to take terrible retribution if she can get her hands on whoever put her where she is.”
Phillips nodded as if he recognized the woman she described, but he remained silent, so she continued. “She must be strong, both emotionally and physically, because she found a way to get to her feet, then worked her way around the room, trying to escape. She discovered the room she’s in is made of dirt, and fairly small—like a cellar or a manmade cave. And on one wall of that room, there’s a rough, life-sized cross.”
“Holy God,” Allen whispered, then blinked rapidly as if surprised at his own reaction.
But Phillips only lowered his chin for a moment, then looked up her. “Her name is Twyla Tomball. She works at a bar just outside of town, is thirty-eight years old, and is tough as they come. Whoever took her probably shackled her for their own protection, because if she ever gets her hands on him—”
“She plans to mash off his gonads and shove ‘em up his ass.”
Phillips nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what she’d say. You have been in touch with her.”
Keegan quietly watched the byplay between Cassie and the policeman. Phillips was sure playing into Cassie’s hands. You’ve been in touch with her—as if he truly believed she was a psychic. No suggestion she might have known the woman. Of course, looking at Cassie, it was easy to understand how the men might doubt she could know a woman such as she’d described. Cassie’s blonde hair and sweet face belied any thought of her ever being in the same room with someone who could contemplate an act of dismemberment.
After a few moments passed, allowing the officer to regain some of the color he’d lost while Cassie talked, the pair rose to leave. “Thank you, Miss Cassie,” the younger man said as he shook her hand.
The older, more experienced man merely nodded his thanks. Probably thought she could also read his mind. Together they walked to the front of the store, just as Miriam was unlocking the front door. “Why is this door still locked? Do you two know what time—” When she saw the policemen, she stopped mid-word.
Keegan stepped up to make the introductions. “Hey, Sis. This is Officer Allen and Detective Phillips. They were here to talk to Cassie.”
She nodded silently, then stepped out of the way. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning,” the pair murmured as they left the store.
Quickly, Miriam started past her brother, but he caught her arm. “Where have you been?”
She turned on him, apparently not caring that Cassie was there. “It’s none of your business where I’ve been. I told you, I’m all grown up. Now, let go of me. I’ve got work to get done.”
He frowned as she tried to jerk from his grasp. “Maybe you should make a stop in the restroom before you get started. You’ve got a streak of dirt on your cheek.”
Chapter Nine
Keegan stared after Miriam as she stormed into her office, then slammed the door. “What got her britches in a wad? Where’s she been, anyway?”
A glance at Cassie got him nothing except a blink. Why the hell wouldn’t she answer him? He wasn’t asking her to be disloyal to Miriam. But that didn’t matter. He’d probably have to use a pry bar to get a word out of her. Damn obstinate woman. “You did ride with her this morning, didn’t you?” he asked, then wished he could ask the question another way. His tone had been a shade stronger than he’d intended.
She flinched at his words. “She didn’t say much on the way in—just that I would be closing tonight. Then she said, she’d be right back after she gave Steve what he needed, and you’d be here in a few moments. Maybe the dirt is from his tools or something. Sometimes in the morning she picks up the pastries for the shop rather than waiting for the bakery to deliver.”
“Well, she didn’t get that dirt on her face at the bakery.” Frustration built inside him as he leaned against the checkout counter, contemplating following Miriam into the office to confront her. Then again, he’d already tried to get what was going on out of her by force.
How’d that work for you, Bubba?
Maybe he could quietly stroll into her office and just sit with her a while. It was possible eventually she would start talking, or even cry on his shoulder. Spill her guts—like she did when she was fifteen.
Then again, she might throw something at him. And with his luck, it wouldn’t be a paperback novel. It would be the whole damned dictionary. Unabridged.
He stifled the aggravation threatening to blow the top of his head off—something he’d become surprisingly good at over the years. Forcing provocation away was an action he’d had to take often while debunking his parents’ cult, and then he’d perfected the art while investigating the other con artists he’d gone after in his career.
What they did was so obvious when you stood back and took an objective look. Of course, those caught up in it seemed to voluntarily go blind—and deaf and dumb. Especially dumb.
Something like Miriam?
He didn’t know she was caught up in anything, but she was acting so unlike herself. She should still be mourning the death of her marriage. Crying on his shoulder. Getting a makeover, going on a diet—or a cruise. Something so she could improve what didn’t need improving.
So where is all the secrecy, the hostility, coming from?
The roar of the oversized vacuum cleaner drew his attention. Damn Steve for always having to buy the most expensive. If he’d accepted mediocre at least in sweepers, then the women could have pushed the monster around the store without making him feel guilty. As it was, he now had to hustle over and take the damned thing away from Cassie.
As he strode down the aisle, he pressed his lips together to keep his mouth from turning up at the thought of another encounter. How she could make him feel like a smart-mouthed kid in need of an ass kicking while at the same time making him want to drag her off to the nearest bed, he’d never know. But something about her hair, clamped into that twisty wad, made him wish he could toss the clip in the nearest trash can and bury his hands, wrist deep, in her pale locks. And when he had his fill of that, he’d straighten it to see how far down it would go. Long enough to let the pink crests of her breasts peek through? Long enough to brush the top of her sweet, naked backside? Long enough to wrap around them both while making love?
The idea that she might truly be able to read his emotions flashed through his mind, and he tried to wipe away the vision. But the harder he tried, the more real it became until perspiration broke out on his forehead, and like a damn fool, he hardened until his jeans stretched uncomfortably tight.
She wouldn’t have to be a psychic to read his emotions—just spot the bulge in his zipper, and he was had. Slowing his steps as he neared, he was tempted to find another job to do. But when he saw her gamely wrestling the heavy machine like an ant trying to carry something three times its weight, he couldn’t leave.
As he approached her from behind, he admired her shapely backside—as well as the rest of what he could see. Wishing he could spoon her tight against his aching groin, he slid his hand onto the grip next to hers, then let his lips lightly brush her ear. “Let me take over.”
At the touch of his hand, she blinked, then straightened. Her smile, missing since the police had been there earlier, was tentative at first. But when she shifted her gaze from his and the blush on her cheeks bloomed, her grin grew in strength and warmth.
“Thank you,” she mouthed back.
Pretending he hadn’t understood, he killed the motor. “What?”
She tipped her head and slowly took a long breath. “I said thank you—for taking over for me. But really, I can do it if you
have something else...”
An invisible thread tugged at him, holding him in place. Unable to think or work or walk away, he gripped the handle and stared at her like a dying fish. And like that fish, his insides were flopping all over for her to stomp on if she wanted. Remembering to breathe was about the best he could do under the circumstances.
To be truthful, she didn’t seem to be faring much better. Her lips were parted, as if she needed the space through which to breathe. And her gaze was fixed on him with a kind of startled look. Of course, if she’d been able to see what had been on his mind just seconds earlier, she’d have had reason to be startled. But would she have been upset? From the look in her eyes—and the damned sexy, curve of her mouth—he didn’t think so. “Sorry if I was rude a few minutes ago.”
Lifting a brow, she leveled a cool gaze at him. “If? I’d say there’s no chance of if. Try when.”
Unable to hide his enjoyment of her, he stroked her face with his knuckles, then ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “That’s some sassy mouth you’ve got on you.” And I can think of a much better use for it.
Eyes sparkling as if she’d heard his thoughts, she touched his thumb with her tongue, and for a moment, he thought she was going to suck it into her mouth. The idea of any part of him inside any part of her that was wet and warm and tight caused him to instantly harden, then throb painfully against his zipper. Da-amn.
When she parted her lips farther, lifted both brows, and widened her eyes, his mouth went dry and his brain blitzed. Why did it have to be the beginning of their workday with his sister right in the next room? And why did this have to be the first woman since the beginning of time to attract him with her mind and body? Fire his imagination? Make him want to beg for a touch, a glance, anything? When the front door chimed to let them know someone had entered, he cursed aloud and dropped his hand.
“I’ll take care of them.” Cassie walked past with a light brush of her hip against his. Gazing toward the front, he saw the top of a man’s head. Now he couldn’t start the vacuum. Not until he heard if the man was there for business or pleasure. It sure as hell had better not be pleasure—with Cassie, at least.
Feeling foolish for trying to eavesdrop at that distance, he knelt and checked the sweeper bag. He could hear the deep male rumble, then her melodious response during the conversational tennis match.
Then there was an almost indiscernible double knock and silence. After waiting a few moments on one knee, he stood and flipped the switch. The roar of the machine deafened him to everything. If the roof cracked and fell in he wouldn’t have known until it whacked him in the head—kind of like the way he was when Cassie was around.
After working for several minutes, he knew someone was behind him. Switching the monster off, he turned and found Cassie watching him.
“Why’d you stop?” she asked.
He frowned, trying to find a way to explain.
Cassie waited for his answer, giving him a chance to understand on his own. He couldn’t have seen her come up behind him. After he’d finished the section she’d started sweeping, he’d turned a corner so his back was to her. And he couldn’t have heard her. The monster made too much racket for that. Maybe now she could help him realize he had some psychic ability—that all people did. It had been her strong thoughts about him that made him turn. And while in his heart he had to understand, would he admit it even to himself?
“I don’t know,” he finally answered with a shrug. “A hunch, maybe. You’d been gone about the normal amount of time you spend with a customer.”
“But I wasn’t with a customer. I was with a salesman, who is now closed up with your sister in her office. Then I went into the kitchen to start a fresh pot of coffee.” She waited, giving him time to absorb her words.
He wasn’t about to accept the idea. “Then I must have just been lucky. Who knows about those things? They just happen.”
“They do just happen, but not only by luck,” she said as gently as possible.
He smirked, then shook his head. “You trying to tell me that I’m psychic? About as much as a piece of cheese. Maybe.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she tried to explain. “I’m telling you that everyone has a little psychic ability. Kind of like knowing when a storm is coming, even though the clouds are light and far between.”
“Right.” Obviously he was unconvinced. Unready to continue the conversation. Trouble was, from what she could tell, psychic ability wasn’t the only thing he didn’t believe in. He didn’t believe in anything.
When he’d taken the sweeper from her earlier, the emptiness of his heart saddened her, the void almost bringing her to tears.
He didn’t believe there could be romantic love for a lifetime. In his mind, friendship was an illusion that existed only so one part of the equation could use the other. And even God, selflessness, and kindness were only means to an end.
She ached for him, then wished she could hold the young boy in him in her arms and assure him Aunt Hattie was the norm. Not his parents. Too bad it was years too late for that. But if someone had explained it to him then, maybe as he’d moved around the country covering stories about how ugly life could be, he wouldn’t have accepted what he saw as proof that no one cared because there was nothing to care about.
He might have balanced his articles with some about people who died trying to save children they didn’t know, or the risks police and firemen take. But now was much too late. A talk like that would only give him reason to scoff and laugh and question her mental capacity.
Trying to find her voice, she swallowed hard. “Hey, why don’t you put the monster away and come have a cup of coffee? I’ll bet you could use one.”
His brows lifted, then a grin followed. “I sure could.”
After she unplugged the cord, he coiled it into place and shoved the vacuum into the storeroom. As they turned toward the coffee shop, the front door chimed, then chimed again and again. Unable to see who’d entered, she shot him a glance. “Sounds like an army just came in. I’d better see if I can help them.”
But before she had taken two steps, she could hear Steve. “Miriam! Where are you? Dammit! Miriam!”
By the time Cassie reached the front, Keegan had raced past her, then planted himself in front of his ex-brother-in-law. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want my wife—out here.” Several days’ growth of beard on his face, his eyes wild, Steve muscled past to grab the office door knob and rattle it. Finding it locked, he raised his fist and pounded. “Miriam!”
Anger radiated from Keegan. “Leave that door alone and get out of here. I mean it, Steve.”
“Oh, yeah? Or what? You’ll kick my ass? Throw me out on my ear? Hurt me? Like you could hurt me after... Aw, why don’t you just try—” Looking for a moment as if he might cry, Steve shook his head—
“Or just go straight to hell.”
Hands knotted into fists, Keegan stepped closer. “I said get out. This is Miriam’s store. You have no right here.”
Steve charged Keegan, then stuck his face close. “I’ve got every right. She’s my wife!”
“Ex-wife,” Keegan corrected him, not bothering soften the words.
“Not yet, she’s not. And I want to tal—” Breaking off the word with a wince, he stepped back to kick the door with his boot.
“Call the police,” Keegan muttered over his shoulder.
Heart pounding, Cassie slipped down the aisle, hoping to get to the phone next to the register without further upsetting Steve.
“Yeah, call the police. They can help me break down this door. I think she’s in there with some man, and can’t get out.” Steve tried to yank the door from its hinges, then started pounding again. “Do you hear me, Miriam? I’m going to break it down.”
“Nothing is going to get broken—except your head if you don’t leave.” Keegan’s threat bounced off Steve like a spit wad off a buffalo—he didn’t even notice.
The door o
pened so suddenly, Steve’s final knock caught only air. “What do you want?” Miriam asked through clenched teeth. Behind her, the white-faced salesman sat in a chair, gripping his briefcase.
“I want to talk to you.” Grabbing her arm, Steve caused her to stumble as he shoved her back into the office, then growled at the salesman, “Get out!”
With his case in both hands, the man sailed past Steve, not stopping until he was out of the building. Steve then slammed the office door and locked it with a loud click. When Keegan quickly stepped toward it, Cassie caught his sleeve. “She’ll be okay.”
“Like hell.” Worry etching his face, Keegan went to the phone and dialed two numbers—the office. After several long moments, he asked, “Are you okay in there?”
His mouth turned down as he listened, then his eyebrows dipped. “All right. Fine.” Slamming the phone to the cradle, he stalked toward the rear.
Dreading what she would hear, Cassie hurried to catch up with him. “What did she say?”
When they reached the coffee shop, he pulled out a chair and dropped into it. “Mind my own business. Get away from the office. Leave her alone.”
Knowing the pain he must be feeling, she wished she could stroke him, hug him, even pat his hand—but times of great emotional upheaval were when she picked up feelings most easily. The last thing she wanted was to reach into his heart to experience the pain along with him. “I’ll pour us some coffee.”
“How about some for us, too?” Mack asked as he and Vern approached.
“Coming right up,” she answered with more cheer than she felt. “What are y’all doing here so early?”
“We came for breakfast.” Mack glanced at Vern, then continued. “But when we heard loud voices coming from the office and didn’t see anyone else in the place, we got a little worried.”
“It’s Steve, talking with Miriam.” Cassie glanced swiftly at Keegan, then focused on the old men.
