Lucky's Woman

by Jones, Linda Winstead

  “My father was a hit man.” This wasn’t the time or the place for such a confession, but he found himself unable to keep the secret locked inside. Annie deserved to know. “Not even a very good one. He was cheap and sloppy, and he died in prison when I was twelve.”

  “Oh, Lucky,” Annie murmured. She rose up just enough to look him in the eye. In the semidarkness they were nose to nose, chest to chest. “How awful for you.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” he responded. “That’s not why I told you. I just want you to understand why I can’t stay here when this job is done, no matter what.”

  She cocked her head slightly. “What does your father have to do with us?”

  Us. She said the word as if it meant something, and that couldn’t happen. “Nothing at all,” he answered, “unless you’re appalled at the idea of sharing your bed with the offspring of a man who made his living killing people for money.”

  “I’m not, so now what?”

  She was so guileless, so open and trusting and good, he had no business sleeping with her. He didn’t have to have her psychic powers to know that she wasn’t the kind of woman who shared her body without sharing her heart, as well.

  “I just thought you should know.”

  A soft smile spread across her face. “There’s only one thing I want to know. What’s your real name?”

  “What?”

  “Lucky must be short for something, or else you have a horrid given name that you don’t want anyone to know. I could take a peek at your driver’s license, but that doesn’t seem fair.”

  “You’ll peek into my head, but not my wallet?”

  “A girl has to draw the line somewhere.”

  He’d just confessed the truth about his father to her, and moments later she made him smile. That had never happened before. “My name is Lucky.”

  “Your mother actually named you Lucky.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure that I believe you.”

  She grinned, and a conversation that had started out with a deadly seriousness turned to something comfortable and friendly. Annie made him smile at the oddest times and places. She reached past all the crap and touched him in a way no one else had in a very long time.

  He could get used to this.

  “Dreams tonight?” he asked, his hand finding her hair and one wayward blond strand.

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “That’s good.” There was a thorough investigation underway. With a little luck, the Benning Agency could find the killer without putting Annie through the torture of psychic nightmares. All they needed to do was identify more suspicious deaths and then tie them together through the people the victims had known. Eventually, their trail would come here, to Mercerville, and Annie’s nightmares would end, once and for all.

  “Stop it,” she said softly. “Don’t think about the case or the Huffs or work or nightmares.”

  “You’re in my head again,” he said, a soft accusation.

  “I can’t help it.”

  By the soft light that illuminated his bedroom, Annie was truly beautiful. Her gentle curves, her silky skin, her lively eyes. More, she had about and around her the most beautiful energy…and that was a thought he’d never had before.

  “If you don’t want me thinking about why I’m here, then you’d better distract me,” he said. A kiss, an exploration of hands, reaching for another condom…

  Annie’s smile was positively wicked. “I think I can do that.”

  She surprised him by delving beneath the covers, bold and warm and fearless, and once there she distracted him very well.

  Chapter 11

  In spite of the terrifying events of the past few weeks, Annie felt indescribably wonderful, as if a warm glow had grown at the very center of her being, and all was truly right with the world. The glowy feeling was due to the sex in part, she knew that, but it was also much more than sex.

  Lucky trusted her. He might never admit to that trust, but she knew it was there, as surely as she knew the sky was blue. She didn’t have to peek into his head to know that. If he didn’t trust her, he wouldn’t have told her about his father. He wouldn’t have given into late night pillow-talk that went well beyond the case that had brought him here and the physical need that had brought her into his bed. Even though she knew he wouldn’t stay, the connection they had developed went far beyond anything she had ever known. In the end he would break her heart, but for a few days or weeks of this feeling…it was worth every moment of pain yet to come. She wouldn’t miss this for all the world.

  She still hadn’t told Lucky about her vision of him in her bed, and she reasoned that as long as they remained in his bed, what they had couldn’t be over. That was convoluted reasoning, perhaps, but it comforted her in some small way.

  He didn’t seem to mind where they slept, as long as it was together. This morning she’d awakened with his hands on her body, his mouth on the back of her neck, his honeyed whisper in her ear. Oh, my.

  But there was more to Lucky’s presence in her cabin and her life than sex, and they could not escape that fact in their waking hours. Today he was determined to eyeball a couple of the suspects they’d been able to come up with—which included any lone male who’d arrived in the area within the past year. Last night, he’d had a chance to observe Stu Bentley up close and personal, and even though Annie was positive her friend’s husband couldn’t be a murderer, Lucky refused to strike him from the list without more proof.

  Psychic ability would be so much more convenient if it was foolproof, and if she could call up what she wanted to see. It didn’t work that way, apparently. She could occasionally slip into the killer’s mind, but she couldn’t see him. Maybe if she’d honed her skills in the past, as her grandmother had urged her to do, she wouldn’t be in this mess now.

  According to what little Truman and Sadie had been able to learn about the suspects, Harrison Sharp, the new mailman, was the only one who’d been cleared. He’d moved here from Florida, and there was lots of paperwork—and even photos—to confirm his residence there. It shouldn’t take long to clear or condemn the others, but it would take some time. A day or two or maybe three, Lucky had told her.

  And then, when they discovered who’d killed the Huffs and the others, Lucky would be gone. That certainty dimmed her happiness, but she wouldn’t let it ruin these last few days. She felt guilty to view the end of this case with even a hint of sorrow. The killer needed to be caught and put away, but oh, losing Lucky was going to be hard.

  Her hand, which was caught securely in his, squeezed tightly as they entered the fudge shop. Wade Nance, who had bought the popular tourist stop a few months back, had kept on all the former employees and couldn’t always be found in this shop. But he did spend a lot of time here. On slow days he could be seen going in and out, roaming the sidewalk and the nearby shops, trying to tempt passersby to try his sweets. When there were tourists in the area, the shop stayed busy.

  Lucky studied the glass case. “I had no idea there were so many kinds of fudge,” he said, his voice low, intended for her and her alone. One eye narrowed as he studied the chunks of candy on display.

  “I like the lemon,” Annie said.

  Lucky shook his head. “Lemon fudge. That’s just…wrong.”

  The girl behind the counter—pretty, longtime local Sara Clark—heard him, and immediately stepped forward with a sample of the lemon fudge. Lucky took it almost grudgingly, and after a moment’s hesitation popped the small piece into his mouth. “Not bad,” he admitted.

  It looked as if Nance was out today, or else their suspect was in the back room. They couldn’t see anyone but Sara in the shop. As she had with the others, Annie tried to imagine the man who owned the candy store—with the unoriginal name Fudge, Fudge, Fudge—as a murderer, and she couldn’t do it. Of course, she couldn’t imagine anyone doing what this serial killer had done. Only a monster was capable of such horrors, and in her mind there weren’t such mons
ters in the world—certainly not in Mercerville.

  Lucky said she was naive, and maybe he was right.

  He ordered a quarter pound of the lemon fudge he proclaimed to be unnatural but tasty, and as Sara was weighing the candy, another couple wandered in. Gray-haired, plump and wearing matching Tshirts, they studied the display much as she and Lucky had. On their heels, another, younger couple came into the small shop. The girl squealed when she spotted the strawberry fudge.

  A moment later, Wade Nance appeared. He must’ve heard the voices from the back room and realized that Sara needed help.

  Annie couldn’t say that she knew Nance well, but she had seen him around town and he’d come into the shop a couple of times when she’d been there. He never bought anything, but then he was a widower with no one to buy girlie things for. At least, that was what he told people. If he was the killer, that might not be the case.

  Or maybe he’d killed his wife. A shudder crawled up her spine. Maybe he was a widower, but it was by choice. He didn’t look at all threatening, but looks could be deceiving. While Lucky paid for the fudge, Annie moved in Nance’s direction. He was on the other side of the counter, not even near being in reach. If she could touch him, even for a split second…

  Nance sliced fudge for the older couple and wrapped it. As he worked he carried on conversation with the customers. He didn’t discuss anything alarming or special. The weather. Football. Fudge, of course. The case was too high for Annie to reach across and touch him. She’d have to bound across the counter and tackle him, and wouldn’t that be subtle. Not.

  Wade Nance didn’t look at all like a murderer. For one thing, he was too small to overpower two people. He didn’t stand much taller than she, and he definitely didn’t have Lucky’s muscles. He was one of the most ordinary-looking men she’d ever known. His hair was a medium brown, his eyes the same. His clothes didn’t fit exactly right, as if he’d bought the dark pants and golf shirt without trying them on, and then decided that to take them back and exchange them for the correct sizes would be too much trouble. Both articles of clothing needed to be ironed, and the pants needed to be hemmed an inch or so, but she supposed a widower wouldn’t think of such things.

  Most people had at least one striking or attractive feature, but not Nance. She tried to reach for him with her mind, without being obvious. She tried to turn on her psychic ability and bring on the sensations she usually tried to block. For a moment there was nothing, and then she heard a faint whisper in her mind.

  The thoughts were as ordinary as the man. Rent. Salaries. Advertising. He’d obviously been working on the shop’s books while in the back room. He was thinking about selling the shop, even though he hadn’t been here all that long. There were no horrid, violent thoughts. No rage. She tried to reach deeper, but beneath the commonplace thoughts there was…nothing.

  She shuddered. True emptiness was more terrifying than rage, and it was certainly sad. This little shop and the mundane details attached to it were all Wade Nance had in his life.

  Lucky stood behind her, a small bag caught in one hand. His other hand settled comfortably and easily at the small of her back, but he didn’t lead her from the store. He knew what she was thinking, what she planned to do, if she could find the chance.

  When Nance’s customers had paid and gone, Annie caught his attention with a wide smile. “Hello, Wade.” The emptiness disturbed her. If she could touch him, just for a split second…“How about a sample of the maple fudge?”

  He smiled at her. Not a wide smile, but more than a polite one. “You’ve never had the maple fudge?”

  “Never.”

  “Now that’s a real shame. We’ll have to do something about that.” He cut off a piece of the maple fudge, laid it on a small sheet of white bakery paper and handed it over the counter. Annie reached for the candy, holding her breath as her fingers brushed against Nance’s.

  Even though she touched him briefly, all she glimpsed were the same commonplace thoughts she’d caught from a distance. The day’s receipts, the checks he had to write when the place was quiet again, whether or not he’d make a profit when he sold the shop. Beneath it all was a void left by his wife’s departure, that emptiness she’d glimpsed even from a distance.

  Nance’s wife wasn’t dead, though. She’d left him, years ago. He’d been telling people she was dead since she’d walked out.

  “Give that a try. You might like it even better than the lemon.”

  Nance smiled as Annie popped a small piece of the sample into her mouth. “It’s wonderful,” she said after she swallowed the candy, “but I think the lemon is still my favorite.”

  She said goodbye. Hand in hand, she and Lucky left Fudge, Fudge, Fudge. She didn’t breathe deeply until they were on the sidewalk.

  “Well?” Lucky asked as they walked toward the garden shop, where—according to Annie’s inquisitive phone calls that morning—carpenter Jim Ingram was supposed to pick up an order for Edith Kerr this afternoon.

  “I didn’t sense any violence or anger,” Annie said, “just a very sad emptiness. He misses his wife very much.”

  “Could it be him?” Lucky asked sharply.

  She squeezed his hand. “You want yes and no answers, but sometimes that’s not what I get. I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I can’t say it’s impossible, either.”

  “I’m not going to get that name and address, am I?” he teased.

  “Maybe Truman and Sadie can come up with that kind of information. It’s not exactly what I do.”

  Halfway between the fudge shop and the garden shop, Lucky stopped, spun her around and kissed her. It was a quick but very deep kiss, and oh, it was more than enough to make her think of the night to come.

  Before he ended the kiss, a shiver walked up her spine. Someone was watching. No, he was watching.

  Jim Ingram was not at all like the owner of the fudge shop. The carpenter, who hired himself out all over the county, was over six feet tall, and he was built like a moose. Drugs or no drugs, he could very easily overpower two ordinary people. His disposition wasn’t exactly sunny.

  Lucky was uneasy expecting Annie to get some sort of revealing reading from the big man, but it had to be done. She was the one who had set this into motion, after all, and for the ordeal to be over for her the man responsible for the Huffs’ deaths had to be caught.

  They entered the garden shop as Ingram was paying for his purchases—Edith Kerr’s purchases, to be more specific. But Annie said the elderly woman wasn’t getting around the way she used to, and Ingram had been doing more and more work for her lately. It had only taken two phone calls—disguised as inquiries into the handyman’s workmanship and reliability—to find that out. Small towns were like that. Everyone knew everything. Well, almost everything.

  The counter was piled high with garden flags and hand tools, and even a small statue.

  “Gnomes are creepy. Have you ever noticed that?” Annie asked, her voice soft as they meandered down the wind chime aisle.

  “There’s goes my great idea for your Christmas present,” he countered.

  Annie laughed, and then with an almost startling suddenness the laughter stopped. Lucky knew why. He wasn’t going to be anywhere near Mercerville at Christmastime.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  Her eyes turned toward Ingram, and she shuddered. “I don’t like him,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s unhappy. His life is not what he wanted or expected it to be. He moves often, waiting for that happiness to find him, but…it never does.”

  “Is he our man?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned her eyes to him. “I’m sorry. This would be so easy if I could see everything I want to see, but I can’t. I see what I see.”

  “Will it help to touch him?”

  He saw her gentle shudder and knew the idea of touching Ingram repelled her, but she didn’t refuse. “It might.”

  They walked toward the front counter
as the clerk was putting the garden flags and tools in a large paper bag. Ingram was obviously anxious to get out of the store. One big foot tapped impatiently, and when the salesgirl mentioned the nice weather, he just grunted.

  She went to wrap the gnome in thick paper, so it wouldn’t get broken on the way home.

  “It’s so cute,” Annie said as she reached past Ingram and peeled back a bit of paper to look at the odious creature. As she did so, her arm brushed against Ingram’s. The big man drew away from her as if she’d hit him.

  “There’s plenty just like that one on aisle five,” Ingram said sharply. Lucky didn’t like the way the handyman looked at Annie, his eyes narrowed and cold.

  He took Annie’s arm and pulled her gently away from the counter. “Aisle five. Thanks.”

  They walked down aisle five, and without stopping to look at the gnomes, they walked out of the garden shop and into the sunlight of the crisp fall afternoon.

  “Well?” he asked as they walked away from the store and Jim Ingram.

  “He’s a very angry man,” Annie said, and it seemed that she moved closer. She shivered, and he put his arm around her. “But I’m still not sure. Who else do we have on our list?”

  “Bill Stevens and Parker Glover, but they can wait until tomorrow.” Annie was exhausted by what little they’d done so far. Maybe by tonight Sadie would have more answers for him. More suspects cleared, or maybe even more names added to the list.

  For all they knew, the man they were looking for was keeping such a low profile, no one in Mercerville even knew he existed. He could be living well beyond this town, driving in when he wanted to watch, living his life in another small town, or a big one where he could blend in. Worse, what if he’d been here all along, and the other suspicious deaths Truman had uncovered were unconnected? It was even possible that the man had been here for years, and had made a few long trips in the past four years. Maybe he had a vacation house nearby, as so many people from Nashville and Knoxville and beyond did. If any of those scenarios was the case, there was no telling when—or if—this case would be resolved.