Feel the Heat

by Desiree Holt

  Behind her was a shot of a house on a residential street with news vans, cars and people crowded around it.

  Faith dropped her whisk into the bowl. “Oh my god. Mark,” she called. “Come here! Hurry.”

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” He was still pulling on his t-shirt when he hurried into the kitchen. “Troy giving you a hard time?”

  “This is serious. Look.” She pointed at the television. “It’s about Lauren.”

  “Again?” His face sobered instantly. “Those damn bloodsuckers just don’t want to leave her alone, do they?”

  “This is the worst it’s been yet. I’m going to call her and see if there’s anything we can do.” Faith picked up her cell phone from the counter and walked into another room for privacy.

  “Friend of yours?” Troy asked, puzzled by the whole thing.

  Mark filled a mug from the coffeepot and sat down in a chair opposite. “Lauren Cahill and Faith have been friends for years. In fact, they both belong to kind of a psychic organization. Faith’s actually been trying to talk her into joining Phoenix’s Psi Department. Our wives have been a big help in some of our cases since we brought them in. We’d like to have more time to get the department fully up and running. Maybe in another few months. Meantime, we have a source we can tap if and when we need it.”

  “Is she a telepath also?” Troy knew both Faith and Mark were. It was the only thing that had allowed Phoenix to rescue him when terrorists had captured him in the Peruvian jungle.

  “No. She’s a psychic healer.” He cocked an eyebrow at Troy. “Ever have contact with any of them? I mean, as a medic.”

  “Not really. I was only a medic with the SEALs and we didn’t run into much of anything off the straight and narrow. But I have heard of psychic healing. It takes many forms. Touch, thought, herbs, even crystals. Do you know which kind of healing Lauren practices?”

  “Touch healing,” Faith answered, walking back into the room. “And it really takes a lot out of her.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Troy agreed.

  “Mark, the media was all over her this morning. I begged her to come and stay with us but she said they aren’t chasing her out of her home. And apparently her friend Sergeant Hurley cleared the area this morning and has a car driving by every hour. She thinks that will calm things down.”

  “I’m not so sure. Like you said, these people seem more intense than usual.” Mark frowned. “Maybe you should try again. I don’t like the idea of her being there all by herself.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Troy’s curiosity was piqued. “What’s she like?”

  “She’s very nice,” Faith said quickly. “Bright, funny. Very giving. She never takes money for any of the healings she performs.”

  “Yeah? How does she make a living?”

  “She has a great web design business, Mr. Skeptic. She builds and maintains websites, and has a very hefty client list, thank you very much.”

  “Oops.” Troy tried to soften things with a smile. “I didn’t mean to say anything negative about her, Faith. I’m just curious.” He took a swallow of coffee and set the mug back on the table. “I haven’t worked with any healers, but I’ve met a couple. They interested me enough to read up about it. I found the subject very intriguing.”

  “We’ll have to make sure you get to meet Lauren while you’re here,” Faith told him. “If we can just get her through this latest situation.” Her mouth quirked up in a slow smile. “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just thinking, Lauren probably needs someone to check out her house, make sure everything’s secure. Maybe install some extra locks. Check her phone system.” She looked at Troy. “Isn’t that one of your areas of expertise?”

  Mark raised an eyebrow. “I smell your brain burning. What are you cooking up now?”

  “Well, Troy’s between assignments and he’s got downtime after the one you both just finished. I thought maybe he’d like to keep himself from getting rusty.”

  Mark grinned. “Maybe we should ask Troy what he thinks about checking out the house of a gorgeous, single, unattached woman.”

  “Wait a minute.” Troy looked from one to the other. “First of all, if she’s so desirable, how come she’s still single? And what makes you think she’d even let me into her house if she’s so jittery?”

  Faith’s grin disappeared. “She’s still single because she’s learned not to trust people. Even when she’s tried to be so careful about the men she dates, most of them still see her as some kind of freak. And she’ll feel okay with you because we’ll tell her you’re safe.”

  “I’m not sure ‘safe’ is the word a man likes to have best describe him,” Troy said, a wry note in his voice, “but in this case it’ll probably work best.” He finished his coffee and stood up to get a refill. “So exactly what am I supposed to do when I get there?”

  “Exactly what I just said,” Faith told him. “Check the security of her house. Maybe see about doing something with her phone system. She’s had stalker calls before and it would make sense to try to trace them if she gets them again.” Faith gave a delicate shrug. “Spend a little time with her. Reassure her. Maybe even try again to talk her into coming here to stay with us for a few days.”

  Troy had to admit to himself his curiosity was running at a high level. The more things Faith said about the woman, the more intrigued he became. And all efforts at so-called matchmaking aside, it would be an unexpected opportunity to learn more about psychic healing, a subject that had fascinated him since he first learned about it.

  “All right. Call her. If she’s adamant about not having me come over, drop it. We’ll figure out something else. If she’s okay with it, find out what time would be convenient for her and I’ll do it.”

  Faith gave him an impulsive hug. “Thank you. She’s a good friend and I really am worried about her. I’ll call her right now.”

  * * * * *

  He called himself The Cleaner, because he saw his mission as one of cleansing. This woman had brought her black magic into the sphere of his life and tainted it. Oh, everyone said what a miraculous thing she’d done. How wonderful it was. How truly gifted she was.

  But he saw her skills as fashioned by the devil, creating an aura of false hope. Any day now he expected everything in his circle to disintegrate and then hope would be lost forever. There would be no relief this time.

  The headaches had begun that time he witnessed her doing her mumbo jumbo. Casting spells. They could call it healing or anything they wanted to but only he, The Cleaner, knew the real truth. He had wanted to destroy her at the time but the others protected her and kept her shielded from outside forces. Since then he had tracked her activities.

  She seldom traveled to perform her black magic. And when she did, she had a woman with her who clung to her like a barnacle. It would have been necessary to take both of them out and that would have been both dangerous and unnecessary. He wasn’t a killer by nature, nor did he see his plan as one of murder. He just wanted to cleanse the world of the she-devil.

  Ridding society of her was taking careful planning on his part. It wasn’t just the idea of killing her. He wanted her to know who he was and why he was doing this. He wanted to look her in the eye and make her understand his mission was to eradicate her.

  In the beginning, he had been satisfied with just the letters, imagining her reaction when she opened them. Hoping she would realize he was serious and stop what she was doing. When that didn’t work he began making the phone calls. Oh, she’d tried changing her number but enough money always bought the right information. He wanted to hear her fear on the other end of the connection. He wanted her to tremble at the sound of his voice and the impact of his messages and cease her vile practices.

  But she hadn’t stopped her Satanic practices so each time he heard of another person she’d attended to he’d escalated the calls. Now, after three years, that was no longer
enough. Not nearly. He’d come to the city where she lived to put his final plan together carefully. Even the media saw her for what she was. This latest turnout was larger and more demanding, as if they too knew she was evil.

  Although he frequently scoped out her house, he was careful to dress differently each time and to do it when his appearance would be least likely to attract attention.

  He thought it an omen when he’d found this little apartment in San Antonio. He wasn’t used to such cheap lodging, since money was not an issue in his life. But this suited his purpose perfectly, especially as all utilities except telephone were included, avoiding the necessity of having that kind of paper trail. Of course, he wasn’t using his own name. He had sources that provided him with false identification.

  The tiny place even came with basic cable, which astounded him considering the low rent. Not that it mattered, since he seldom watched television. And he didn’t bother to activate the phone, as he only used burner phones that were untraceable.

  So while he watched and waited for the perfect moment, while he tormented her daily, he could be completely anonymous.

  Chapter Two

  Lauren disconnected the call and shoved her cell phone in the pocket of her jeans, replaying the conversation with mixed feelings. On the one hand, she appreciated the concern her friends were showing. With her family split in their support of her—her parents wished she’d just make it go away, while her brother and sister-in-law supported her but tried not to piss off their parents—and nearly everyone else she came into contact with treating her like a freak of nature, her relationship with the Hallorans was something very precious to her.

  On the other hand, she wasn’t too anxious to have a stranger prowling around her house, even if the Hallorans vouched for him completely. She’d learned by now how to hole up with the blinds and curtains tightly shut when this happened, riding out the media circus of the moment. The police presence when Hurley could spare someone helped too. But eventually the bloodhounds got tired of getting no response and drifted off to harass some other poor soul. And she could resume what passed for a normal life. Up until now, everyone—including Faith and Mark—left her to it. Her home had never actually been breached, so why did they now think it necessary to send her someone to check out her safety?

  Idly, she wondered what he was like. Would he be like Mark Halloran, the quintessential alpha male who fairly radiated the aura of a warrior in full battle mode? Yet he had a soft side when it came to his wife. Muscular and ruggedly good-looking, Mark attracted glances from women wherever he went, yet Lauren had never seen him show an iota of interest in anyone besides Faith. Not to mention the fact that he was definitely someone she’d want in her corner in a situation like this. She hoped Troy would be the same type of person.

  When the doorbell rang, she was gripped by a sudden attack of nerves, her palms sweating for no reason. She wiped them on her jeans and looked through the peephole. What she saw was an identification folder with a photo ID and Troy Arsenault, Phoenix Agency, in black capital letters, along with the Phoenix logo.

  “It’s me,” he called through the door. “Maybe you’d better let me in before your friends out here decide to join me.”

  Friends? What friends?

  She cracked the door a little, and her heart sank when she realized some of the reporters and photographers had wandered back closer to the house, apparently hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Or to get a quick shot at her before the cops chased them away. At least they were staying off her lawn. A cruiser would be driving by again before too long and they’d get chased away. She swallowed hard against the sudden rise of panic.

  I won’t give in to it. Everything’s going to be fine. They’ll go away, and I can have my life back.

  Lauren slid off the safety chain and opened the door just enough for Troy to slip through. When she closed it, she hooked the chain again and turned the deadbolt. Then she turned to the man in her foyer.

  She was prepared to be polite, let him do his thing and send him on his way. But when she looked at the man standing there, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth and all her breath was trapped in her lungs. Faith had told her Troy Arsenault was a former SEAL and as far as Lauren was concerned, he could have been the poster boy for recruiting. He was as tall as Mark, with a lean runner’s body and deeply tanned skin. His light-brown hair was just a tad long, curling at the neck of his shirt, the kind of hair a woman wanted to run her fingers through.

  But it was his face that was the most arresting. Ruggedly handsome, like Mark, high cheekbones were slashes on either side of his nose and eyes the color of melted chocolate studied her from beneath unexpectedly dark eyebrows and lashes.

  Holy crap!

  Her reaction to him was hot and totally unexpected and she made a deliberate effort to tamp it down. For one thing, he was only here to make sure she was safe. For another, her history with men was so unpleasant that she’d decided to swear off them completely. The last thing she needed was to have her ruthlessly controlled hormones decide to take a walk on the wild side. How terribly inconvenient that those hormones chose this moment to start galloping through her system again. Maybe she should have insisted harder to Faith that she didn’t need anyone.

  “Looks like you’re pretty popular with the folks out there.” His mouth curved in a smile but his tone was dead serious. When she didn’t comment he asked, “You okay?”

  Lauren gave herself a mental shake. What was going on with her? She had a problem here and this man had kindly agreed to come check it out as a favor to her friends. This was business, not pleasure. She’d hoped for someone at least appealing to look at but Troy Arsenault had danger written all over him.

  “Sorry.” She didn’t know if her hands trembled because of the mob outside or the nearness of this man. She shoved them into the pockets of her jeans. “Thank you for coming over here, although I don’t think it was really necessary.”

  “From what I saw outside, this may be a little more serious than you think.” He held out his hand. “Troy Arsenault. But you already know that, right? Nice to meet you, Lauren.”

  “Same goes. And the idiots outside will probably go away the next time a police car comes by.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah? Doesn’t look like it to me.”

  She suddenly found herself tongue-tied. What happened next? “Um, would you like some coffee? I made a fresh pot.”

  “Thanks. That would be nice.”

  She led the way into her kitchen and motioned for him to have a seat at the table. Figuring the first rush of phone calls would have subsided by now, she picked up the receiver from the counter and replaced it in the cradle. Her hand hovered over it a moment as she waited to see if it rang. When it didn’t, she breathed a sigh of relief and turned to occupy herself taking down mugs and filling them. As she poured the coffee, she tried to focus on the situation and not the man. Troy Arsenault had an electric magnetism about him that made the air sizzle and scrambled her brain. And that was the last thing she needed right now.

  Troy smiled at her when she sat down opposite him, the kind of smile that bathed you in warmth.

  “Faith and Mark filled me in a little bit on what’s happening,” he began, “but I’d really like to get the details from you.”

  Lauren took a sip of coffee, set her mug down in front of her.

  “How much do you know about psychic healing?” she asked.

  “More than you probably think. I’ve met a couple of healers and talked to them, although not as much as I would have liked. But I was interested enough to do some research on it.” He took a swallow of the hot brew in his mug. “I know there’s more than one kind. Mark said you’re a touch healer.”

  She nodded. “I’ve had what people call ‘the gift’ since I was a teenager. My mother is part Cherokee and she also is a healer, as were her mother and her grandmother. In our family, the healing arts came down on the matriarchal side.”

  “Tell
me about the little boy you just treated,” he encouraged.

  Because he was obviously interested and not looking to sensationalize her, Lauren explained all about Rory Flanagan, his condition and the process by which she had healed him.

  “The only request I made was no publicity at all.” She shook her head. “I realize it was an accident. Rory’s aunt was so excited about it she couldn’t help telling the guy she’s dating. My bad luck that he’s a television news reporter.”

  “Is it always this wild when word gets out?”

  She nodded. “It’s like vultures descending on roadkill. They camp out in front of my house, bang on my door, disturb my neighbors. I’ve become close friends with the sergeant at the local precinct who luckily has sympathy for me and doesn’t think I’m a nut. He always sends patrol cars to clear the area and then schedules regular drive-bys. At least for a day or so.”

  “But then what?” Troy wanted to know.

  Lauren frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “The cops aren’t going to drive past your house forever. What’s to stop people from harassing you then? Do you have an unlisted number? A good security system for the house?”

  Although his voice was calm and soothing, the things Troy brought up disturbed her. The notoriety that exploded every time the news media discovered she’d healed someone else had become an unpleasant part of her life, but she had schooled herself not to panic and to deal with it. At first it had been frightening, but with each succeeding incident, she’d learned to handle it a little better. Even her family had stopped trying to insist she come and stay with one of them until the furor died down. So far it had been mostly noise, ringing her doorbell and the constant phone calls. She’d changed her phone number to an unlisted one, but it hadn’t helped. Someone always seemed to find it, so she just stopped using the house phone during these episodes and stuck to her cell.

  No one had ever actually tried to forcibly enter her house or attack her, except verbally. Even when her stalker popped up, she never considered him as anything other than someone who liked the sound of his own voice. She tried to explain all of that to Troy.