Touched (Second Sight)

by Hazel Hunter

  The rough stubble of his chin rubbed against hers. Her gloved hands ran down over the broad shoulders. Though her lungs began to burn, her lips never left his as she dragged in air through her nose. Though her heart beat in her ears and her chest wanted to burst, she could not lose contact. The feel of his mouth blotted out everything else. The images of the day fell away as pent-up desire rose to take their place. Mindless oblivion was approaching and yet just out of reach.

  His tongue probed her then, the rhythm of his absorbing kiss broken, urging her mouth to open. As her lips parted in response, she felt his arms tighten and he leaned forward. Her body curved against him, luxuriating in the press of the hard slabs of muscle. But as the jab of his arousal pushed into her abdomen, she gasped and he kissed her deeply.

  • • • • •

  The more Isabelle opened herself to him, the more Mac wanted. The curve of her, the press of her hips, her breasts, the sweetness of her mouth–she was irresistible. His tongue swept inside her with a carnal desire that made him lean even further forward. Even though they stood where they’d started, he pursued her. He felt the lithe movement of her body against his and he wanted more. His mouth engulfed hers, capturing the soft, pink lips that had fascinated him during the day, tasting them, and feeding from them as though he were a starving man–and he wanted more.

  And her skin?

  Was it just as delicious?

  He had to find out.

  With a small smacking sound, he suddenly released her mouth and immediately ducked under her chin. She gasped, inhaling deeply, and he felt her diaphragm flex against his abs. He held her close and leaned forward yet again. Her back arched to accommodate him and, as her head tilted back, he covered her throat with fevered kisses. He lapped at her with his tongue, nibbled her with his lips, and savored the fresh taste of her silky skin. Her hands clung to his shoulders as he tilted her back even further and his mouth covered the dip between her collar bones.

  Her gasps had turned to rasping breaths that moved in time with his steady progression across and down her skin. Though he tried not to hurry, it was as though his mouth knew what waited just below. But of course it did. He hadn’t been immune to the sight of her figure. His lips and tongue traced a sucking and nibbling line directly to the top of her dress.

  Isabelle quietly moaned in response, arching her back even further. He held her weight completely in his arms and her hands moved into the hair at the back of his head. Both of them breathed quickly now, their lungs heaving for air. His tongue darted under the dress and between the softly curved swell of her breasts. His lips bit gently into her, savoring the creamy flesh, his nose filled with the fragrant smell of her. Lower he went, as his chin nudged the dress down, kneading his mouth into the plump mounds as she moaned again.

  Suddenly, his phone rang.

  For a moment, he couldn’t place the sound. His mind had gone somewhere else completely and his mouth–it couldn’t stop exploring Isabelle.

  But on the second ring, he couldn’t ignore it and on the third he knew he had to answer.

  “Dammit,” he muttered quietly, as Isabelle stood upright.

  With more willpower than it should have taken, he withdrew his arms from around her and took the phone from his pocket.

  It was Sharon. He jabbed the answer button with his thumb.

  “Mac,” he said, as he watched Isabelle take a deep breath and try to straighten her dress.

  “We’ve had a call,” Sharon said.

  Mac’s mind immediately snapped to an image of Special Agent Lyang at her laptop in Ben’s living room.

  “The kidnapper?” Mac said, almost not believing he was saying it. He and Ben had both known that the chances of getting a ransom call at this point were none.

  Isabelle had stooped to pick up her keys but looked up at him.

  “Yes, the kidnapper,” said Sharon. “But no ransom.”

  Mac scowled as Isabelle stared at him.

  “He wants to talk to the psychic,” Sharon said. “To Isabelle.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Keep him talking,” Isabelle said. “Ask to speak with Esme.”

  “Right,” Mac said.

  The living room was buzzing with excitement. Anita and Ben stood together at the far end of the room and stared at her, looking hopeful. Worried but hopeful. Ben held a headset with a wire that led to the computer and other electronics boxes on the coffee table. Sharon already wore her headset and sat to Isabelle’s left, on the couch. Mac sat to her right. He’d quickly jotted down some dialogue for her to read and that sheet of paper lay on the coffee table in front of her.

  Why me?

  “Just act natural,” Mac said.

  She nodded and tried to give him a smile. Though they hadn’t held hands or anything, Mac had stayed close.

  “One minute,” Sharon said.

  She pointed to the clock on the screen, almost nine o’clock.

  Why does he want to talk to me?

  Her gloved hands seemed to wrestle with one another in her lap and now she realized they were shaking.

  “You’ll do fine,” Mac whispered. “I’m right here.”

  She nodded, aware she was holding her breath, and let it go with a whoosh.

  The phone rang.

  As though a fire alarm had gone off, the sound seemed to shatter the air. Isabelle jumped, her hand flying to her chest.

  Sharon held out two fingers, then one, then pointed at the handset in the charger. Isabelle picked it up.

  “Hello?” she said.

  Sharon hit the enter key on her laptop and a timer started. Mac had already explained that every second on the phone could count. If he was calling on a land line, they’d be able to trace it instantaneously. If he was calling on a cell phone though, the longer the better to narrow down which cell tower was being hit the strongest. Something about triangulation.

  Another agent across from her, also wearing a headset, nodded.

  Isabelle listened but there was only silence.

  “Hello?” she said, again louder.

  “Your gift comes from Satan,” a man’s muffled voice said. “It’s filthy.”

  Whether it was the tone of his voice or what he said, Isabelle didn’t know, but a shudder ran down her spine. Sharon nodded, rotated her hand as though she were cranking a pencil sharpener, and pointed at the timer.

  “Satan?” Isabelle asked. “Satan gives gifts?”

  That was lame.

  “Do you mock me?” the voice said.

  “No!” Isabelle quickly answered. “No. I’m just a psychic. I don’t know the first thing about Satan.”

  There was a dry chuckle on the other end of the line.

  “But he knows you,” he finally said. “He owns you.”

  Isabelle glanced at the laptop screen. Fifteen seconds elapsed. Across the room, Anita was clutching Ben as the two of them shared the headset. Mac pointed to the top paragraph on his sheet of notes.

  “May I speak with Esme?”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Is that her name?” the kidnapper asked, sounding amused. “I call her the Whore of Babylon. Satan owns her too.”

  “Her name is Esme,” Isabelle replied. “You’ve seen it on TV. The way you saw mine.”

  Mac gave her the ‘okay’ sign.

  “I need to speak with her,” Isabelle said.

  “With whom the kings of the earth had committed incest?” the kidnapper yelled and everyone who was wearing a headset flinched. “The one who the inhabitants of the earth have been made drunk with the wine of her incest? You don’t tell me what to do!”

  “I’m not telling,” Isabelle said quickly. “I’m asking. I need to know if she’s alive. You’re not the first person to call this phone number today.”

  “You don’t know?” asked the muffled voice. “You don’t know if she’s alive? How can a psychic not know if she’s alive?”

  “That’s not how it works,” Isabelle said, automatical
ly. “I see things through touch.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “So working with the FBI and touching things?” he asked.

  Isabelle checked with Mac. He nodded.

  “That’s right,” Isabelle said.

  “And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus,” the kidnapper replied.

  “I still don’t know if Esme’s alive,” Isabelle said. Mac nodded. “Is there any point to this conversation?”

  “There’s a point,” the kidnapper snapped. “It’s a war between good and evil. Faith versus heresy. Between God and the devil.” He paused. “Between me and you.”

  Isabelle swallowed in a dry throat and, for the first time, she doubted that this phone call was serious or that Esme was even alive.

  “Between you and me there’s nothing,” Isabelle said. “Not until I know Esme is alive.”

  There was only silence.

  The timer on Sharon’s computer said two minutes.

  “Hello?” Isabelle said into the silence.

  “Hello?” came a young girl’s voice.

  “Esme?” Isabelle said, nearly yelling.

  Across the room, Anita clamped both her hands over her mouth and Ben closed his eyes.

  “Esme,” Isabelle tried again. “Is that you?”

  “Yes,” came the faltering, trembling answer. “I’m–”

  Then there was the sound of scraping and jostling.

  “Between you and me,” said the kidnapper suddenly and then the line went dead.

  Sharon and the man across from her frantically typed on their keyboards. Everyone in the room held their breath. But finally, the agent across the table shook his head and took of his headset.

  “Didn’t get a lock,” Sharon said as she took off hers. “The signal strength was too weak and we couldn’t narrow it down to one tower, more like four.”

  Shoulders sagged around the room and Isabelle quickly looked at Mac.

  “Maybe a fifty square mile area,” he said. “That’s not small enough.”

  Damn it, Isabelle thought. I should have talked to him longer before I talked to Esme. Maybe he would have quoted more scripture. Maybe–

  She felt the phone in her hand move and looked down to see Mac taking it, nearly having to pry her fingers away.

  “Good work,” Mac said quietly, as the people around them began to move again.

  “But we didn’t get the trace,” Isabelle said.

  “But we know she’s alive,” Anita said from across the room. Tears were running down her face as Ben held her with an arm around her shoulders. “At least we know she’s alive.”

  • • • • •

  Mac’s gut had been right.

  “No ransom,” he said, standing.

  “What?” Isabelle said, taking his hand as he helped her up from the couch.

  “No ransom request,” Ben said from behind Mac. “What are you thinking, Mac?”

  “It’s a true outlier,” Mac said, measuring his words. “By this time in a case, nearly thirty-six hours, there’s usually an outcome. It doesn’t happen often but it happens. But no ransom request?” He looked at Ben. “He’s not a kidnapper. That’s the wrong profile. It never did fit.” He turned to Sharon. “I want the analysis of the tape from DC, ASAP. Text the transcript of it to every member on the team.”

  “Background noise?” Ben asked.

  Mac shook his head.

  “I’d have to say it was pretty clean,” Mac said. He looked at Sharon who nodded in agreement. “There won’t be much help there. But speech patterns, accents, even the lack of background noise or echo, that might tell us something, even the type of phone. We’ll have to let DC work it over.” He looked around the room to each face in turn, finally ending with Isabelle. “Good work, everybody.”

  • • • • •

  Before the girl could start crying again or yelling, Prentiss gagged her, despite that rapid head shaking she could do. Then, he whooped and pumped his fist. That had been, by far, his finest performance to date.

  Damn, he was good!

  News of it would have to be on TV. He’d have to rush home and watch. This was turning out to be much better than the usual killing. He glanced at the girl tied to the chair. There was plenty of time for that tomorrow.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Mac followed Isabelle up the dark stairs for the second time this night.

  “Maybe I should have asked him about the Bible,” Isabelle said. She’d been second-guessing herself ever since they’d left the house, even through the blinding gauntlet of camera lights and flashes. “Or maybe Satan.” She reached the front door and unlocked the deadbolt and the knob. His hand gently rested on the small of her back. “Even if I’d just said that I’ve never read the Bible it might have taken more time,” she said turning to him, the door open behind her.

  His hands slipped easily around her waist as he stood close, looking down into her stunning eyes as they searched his.

  “He had a timer,” Mac said. “Probably on his phone. There was nothing you were going to say or do that would have kept him on the line any longer. Too many people have seen crime dramas.”

  He drew her closer.

  “Really?” she asked, sounding relieved. For a moment, he wasn’t sure she realized he was holding her and then her hands found his waist as well. “You’re not just saying that?”

  “Now why would I do that?” he said lowly, as he bent to kiss her.

  • • • • •

  Isabelle felt Mac walk her backward through the door, heard him kick it shut with his foot, and lock the knob behind his back. His kiss was hard on her mouth, insistent this time, as though he were finishing something he’d started. The sudden fierceness of it was like fire, hot and wet, capturing her lips in a heated fusion of flesh. She ran her gloved fingers into his hair, desperately longing to feel it against her skin and yet knowing that was impossible.

  But what she could feel was his body. Even as his arms wrapped around her and he continued to move her backward, she slipped her hands up his torso and under his jacket. Though his lips never left hers, he quickly peeled off the coat, stripped the tie, and unbuttoned the shirt as though her hands on his body had been a signal. Her hands dove under the open shirt, as she continued to back into the bedroom and he flicked on the light. Pressing her palms against the curves of his pecs was like touching a statue. She quickly rubbed her hands down the six-pack abs and, in moments, her fingers had undone his belt and pants and he had unzipped the back of her dress. Their mouths wrestled for dominance, their breathing harsh and uneven. In her mouth, his tongue danced and curled, finding hers, twining with it, and then releasing it. As his pants and boxers fell, he undid her thin white belt and lifted her dress over her head. And for the first time since they’d arrived, his lips left hers.

  She dragged in a lungful of air and, as the dress hit the floor, she saw Mac’s body. His powerful muscular frame was magnificent, everything her fingers had said and more. The wonderfully broad chest was dusted with dark hair that, down the middle of his corrugated abdomen, gathered into a near perfect line. Tight, corded muscle flexed at his hips and, as he came toward her, the long muscles of his thick thighs rippled smoothly under the taut, hairy skin. And between the hips and thighs, his aroused flesh stood rigid and erect.

  He must have seen her gaze because he suddenly picked up his pants, dug in one of the pockets, and produced a condom.

  “From my luggage,” he said, tearing it open. “From…” He paused just as he was about to put it on. “From before,” he finished, smoothing the tight latex over his shaft.

  She’d been so caught up in the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to use protection. Though Mac’s movements were quick she was mesmerized. The smooth muscles of his arms rippled and his pecs bunched as well. But more than anything, she watched his bare fingers, touching himself in a way that she couldn’t.

  In momen
ts he was done and closing the short distance between them. But instead of reaching for her bra or panties, his hands lightly grasped one of hers and he began to unbutton the glove.

  “No,” she gasped, tugging it away. He stopped, his eyebrows furrowed, gazing down at her hands before she hid them behind her back. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s always a reading. I can’t control it.”

  She waited for the protest that she knew would come–because it always did. In many ways, it was the end of the relationship even if it wasn’t the end of the evening.

  “Leave the gloves on?” he said, looking into her eyes.

  “I have to,” she breathed. “Always.”

  • • • • •

  As Isabelle stood, hands behind her back, it wasn’t her beautiful body that riveted him, suddenly it was her face. As she waited for his reaction, one emotion after another flitted across it: apprehension, worry and even fear alternated with the desire she clearly felt for him. Then the corner of her mouth crooked upward ever so slightly as she searched his eyes. In that moment, she was transparent to him, vulnerable and utterly irresistible.

  “Then leave them on,” he said lowly, reaching behind her and unclasping her bra. “It’s sexy.”

  But as the lacy, blue bra fell away and Isabelle let it slip from her arms, sexy hardly seemed the right word. Sexy was the way she looked in a dress. Sexy was the swivel of her hips when she walked. In the flesh, her silky nakedness was gorgeous. The creamy pink nipples matched her lips and the honey colored skin of her bare shoulders and breasts matched that of her face and neck. Tiny lace panties that matched the bra barely covered her, stretching from one rounded hip to the other. Nor had she yet stepped out of her heels.

  When she’d told him to stop, he’d thought for a moment she’d changed her mind. But now, with her hands settling on his hips and his drifting to the nape of her neck, there would be no stopping. Despite the aching of his arousal, he kissed her tenderly and slowly, aware of how she’d feared his reaction. Something in her past had taught her to dread that moment. And, as if to confirm it, her lips trembled against his. He ran his fingers into her long, silky hair and caressed her mouth with his, urging her to open to him again. And when she did, his tongue stroked her lips instead of penetrating into her.