Intuition

by Carol Ericson

  She’d left the bathroom light on, and he charged into the small space. He read the words on the mirror with a tight jaw.

  “Wh-what do you think?”

  He braced his hands on the vanity and hunched forward. The sweet, cosmetic smell of the lipstick tickled his nose. Must’ve happened recently for the smell of the lipstick to be lingering.

  “I think this idiot couldn’t have been in Mrs. Wilson’s English class if he uses your for you are.”

  A soft sigh escaped Kylie’s lips and her upright posture slumped a little. “You don’t think it’s serious?”

  Matt didn’t like the idea of some jerk sneaking into Kylie’s room and scrawling juvenile messages on her bathroom mirror, but it didn’t seem too serious. Not yet.

  “Someone was able to get into your hotel room, so don’t take that lightly.” He smudged the lipstick with the tip of his finger. “Is this your lipstick? And if so, where’s the tube?”

  “That’s definitely my lipstick.” She sidled up next to him in front of the mirror, bumping him with her hip, and grabbed a small leopard-print bag from the glass shelf above the toilet. She unzipped the bag and pawed through the contents. “And someone stole it after they used it for a marker.”

  “The mayor was in the hotel, and he didn’t seem too happy about your investigation into Bree’s disappearance.”

  She shook her head and her long hair brushed his arm. “I can’t picture Tyler Davis slinking around hotel rooms.”

  He shrugged. “You never know. You need to report this to the hotel, anyway. Someone broke into your room.”

  “And stole a lipstick.”

  “And wrote a threatening, if illiterate, note on your mirror.”

  Kylie’s forehead creased and Matt bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to worry her—it probably was that joke of a mayor trying to scare her off.

  She gasped and covered her mouth. “He rifled through my bags, too.”

  She squeezed past him out of the bathroom and he followed her. She pointed to a couple of suitcases on the floor, the contents jumbled. “Anything missing from the bags?”

  “I don’t know.” She crouched down and sifted through her tossed clothing. “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “Maybe just another scare tactic.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe the hotel has a camera on this hallway and we can expose the mayor and throw a wrench into his reelection plans.”

  The lines stayed in place between her eyebrows, but the corners of her pretty mouth lifted. “That alone would be worth the shock I had when I walked in here.”

  He met her eyes and lifted his brows. “You mean you didn’t sense beforehand that there was a message waiting for you?”

  “It doesn’t…” She wedged her hands on her hips and blew out a breath, and then noticed his grin. She punched him in the arm. “Idiot.”

  He laughed. “Do you want me to go down to hotel security with you to report this?”

  “Sure. Maybe I won’t seem like a hysterical female then.”

  He would’ve expected more hysteria from any woman after knowing someone had been in her hotel room, leaving a creepy message on the mirror and rifling through her bags. He liked Kylie’s measured response—not at all what he’d expect from a medium.

  Maybe he could partner up with her after all. It might be easier if they didn’t have this sexual tension between them because that had screwed things up for him before. But nobody had ever accused him of being a fast learner.

  They traipsed down to the empty lobby and reported the break-in to the front desk clerk. He summoned the hotel security guard, who shot down any hopes they had of a camera recording the dirty deed. Then the clerk exchanged Kylie’s card key for a new one and promised to ask the hotel maid on duty earlier if she’d noticed anyone suspicious on the third floor. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes.

  They paused in front of Kylie’s door, and Matt slipped the new card in the slot. The green lights flashed. Pinching the card between two fingers, he held it out to her. “Are you going to be okay?”

  She glanced over her shoulder into the room. “Sure.”

  “I can sleep on…the floor.”

  She folded her arms, a gesture that had no written all over it. “That’s okay. I’m good.”

  His gaze traced the curves of her body, landing on her blue polished toenails peeking out of her glittery sandals. Kylie was a lot more than good. By the time he returned to her face, her lips were pursed into a line of disapproval.

  He had to get a grip on this insane attraction he felt for her. He didn’t need the distraction, and she wasn’t exactly swooning at his motorcycle boots. He coughed and pointed to the door in her room that connected to the room next to hers.

  “Do you want me to see if I can move into the next room?” Protection not seduction. “It’ll save you from running down the hall next time.”

  Pushing her hair from her face, she quirked an eyebrow. “Next time? Who says there’s going to be a next time?”

  “I don’t think there will be, but just in case.”

  She lifted her shoulders and he trained his eyes away from the way her rounded breasts strained against the cotton of her T-shirt. “Suit yourself.”

  “In the meantime—” he smacked the doorjamb “—lock your dead bolt and put the chain on the door. Don’t order any room service and don’t open the door for anyone…except me.”

  “Now you sound more like a cop than a P.I. Are we still on for the breakfast meeting tomorrow at nine?”

  “We can make it later if you want.”

  “No. I feel like I’ve wasted enough time. I need…we need to get back on Bree’s case.”

  “Nine o’clock it is then.” Sensing her dismissal, he stepped back into the hallway.

  “Good night, and thanks for helping out…again.”

  “My pleasure, Madam Medium.”

  Shaking her head, she shut the door on him. He stood with his head cocked until he heard both the dead bolt and the chain. So he sounded more like a cop than a P.I.? He’d have to change that because he’d never be a cop…never again.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING Kylie adjusted the showerhead so the hot water hit between her shoulder blades. Dropping her head, she braced her palms against the tile. That little swing from the third floor of Columbella had done a number on her muscles.

  How much worse it would’ve been if Matt hadn’t rescued her.

  And what a rescue. Landing on top of his strong, muscled body had almost been worth the ride.

  She sighed and cranked off the faucet. If her adult self could go back and tell her teenage self that Matt Conner was making suggestive comments to her and sleeping down the hall, her teenage self would faint dead away.

  Or who knows? Maybe her teenage self would have more sense than to fall for a bad boy in black motorcycle boots. She’d always thought Matt was totally hot, but if he had crooked his little finger her way like he’d done to so many other girls, she probably would’ve shot him down. Then. Now?

  Now she had a job to do—two jobs if she ever hoped to find peace over Mom’s suicide. And now that Matt was involved with her other job, she’d have to find a way to work with him while keeping her thoughts above his waist. Unfortunately for her, he had plenty going on upstairs, too.

  She stepped out of the shower and rubbed the steam from the mirror with her fist. She’d scrubbed the threatening words from the mirror last night before she went to bed. The hotel security guard wasn’t interested in seeing them, and Kylie had no intention of calling the police. She’d been around police departments long enough to know what the cops found serious enough to investigate. Even a small-town department like Coral Cove wouldn’t be interested in a few words scrawled on a hotel bathroom mirror.

  Would Mayor Davis be petty enough to try to drive her away with lipstick? Probably.

  As she put the finishing touches on her makeup, a loud knock on the door made her smear her pink lip
stick onto her face. She’d have to try a different brand. This one obviously had a curse on it.

  She squinted through the peephole at Matt, wearing cargo shorts and flip-flops today, lounging in front of her door. Annoyingly, her heart lifted at the sight of him.

  She yanked open the door. “I thought we were just meeting at the restaurant. I don’t need an escort.”

  His brows shot up. “Wow, wake up on the wrong side of the Ouija board this morning?”

  She sealed her lips against the giggle threatening to humiliate her. “That joke’s getting a little old.”

  “Really? Because I could’ve sworn a saw a smile light those green eyes of yours.”

  Matt was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. That’s what must make him a good P.I. Was he a good P.I.? She knew next to nothing about him. Just that standing close to him made her heart race. And touching him made her body flush.

  She threw open the door. “Okay, you’re mildly amusing. Let me grab my stuff.”

  She scooped up her purse and swept open the drapes. “It’s sunny.”

  “And it’s already warm. Going to be one of those picture-perfect days on the coast.”

  “You’ve been already been outside?” She slipped her card key into the side pocket of her purse.

  “Went for a run on the beach and took advantage of the hotel gym before the hordes descended.”

  Her gaze swept up from his solid, flaring thighs to his broad shoulders that tested the fabric of his T-shirt. Of course he’d already hit the gym. A man didn’t get a body like that drinking beer in front of the boob tube.

  When she finally made it back to his face, he met her gaze with a tilted grin. Oh, yeah, he knew she’d been checking him out. How could she blame him for taking the same inventory of her last night?

  They stepped out of the elevator, and Matt nodded toward the front entrance of the hotel. “We don’t have to eat here. There are a couple of breakfast places on Main Street.”

  “Okay. Let’s get out of here. The person who broke into my room might still be lurking around the hotel.”

  Matt held open the door for her and she brushed past him. Even without the motorcycle boots, he towered over her and just about everyone else.

  She stopped on the sidewalk and drew in a long breath of salty air.

  “Growing up on the coast, that smell gets into your system, doesn’t it? Even down in L.A., I lived as close to the beach as I could get on my salary.”

  “Lived? You don’t live in L.A. anymore?”

  His jaw tightened. “I’ve been traveling for work. How about you? You left Coral Cove for where?”

  “I’ve lived here and there. I’m up in Oregon now, Portland.” Truth was, she didn’t have roots anywhere. She had no siblings and her father had run out on her and her mom years before Mom’s suicide.

  “How about the Whole Earth Café?” He pointed across the street at a small café with a blue awning.

  “Looks fine to me. Must be new.” She stepped off the curb, but Matt grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “Better not jaywalk here. I heard the chief is always looking for ways to increase the city’s revenues.”

  “Wow, the bad boy of Coral Cove really is a reformed character. No jaywalking?”

  They reached the corner and crossed between the yellow lines of the crosswalk. Matt grabbed the door handle of the restaurant and yanked it open, sending the little bell on the door into a tizzy.

  Kylie clutched his arm. “Hold on.”

  She tilted her head to the side to read one of the flyers posted in the window of the restaurant. Tapping the glass, she said, “It’s a flyer for the Coral Cove Music Festival.”

  “Those have been up for a while. I’ve been seeing them all over town in the two days I’ve been here. Makes sense—it kicks off in a few days.”

  A shiver of apprehension rolled through her body as she bent forward to read the small print at the bottom of the flyer. “Look. A Harlan Sloan production.”

  Matt crouched beside her, his breath fogging the window. “Harlan Sloan was the concert promoter the year Bree went missing.”

  “I see you’ve done your homework.”

  “Did you figure me for a slouch?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. What kinds of cases do you work mostly?”

  “Let’s save this conversation for later.” He straightened to his full height and steered her into the small café.

  The hostess waved them to a couple of empty tables on the right side of the room and they snagged one in the corner—better for plotting and planning…and working. Because this was a working breakfast, nothing more.

  After the waitress took their order, Kylie planted her elbows on the table. “Okay, so what else do you have on this case other than the fact that Harlan Sloan was the promoter of the event and tried to stonewall the investigation into Bree’s disappearance?”

  “How do you know Sloan tried to stonewall things? From what I could gather, Chief Evans was quick to label this a runaway situation.”

  “It delayed the investigation because they weren’t calling it a missing persons case until a few days after Bree was supposed to be back home getting ready for college.”

  “According to Mr. Harris and everyone who knew Bree, she wasn’t runaway material.” Matt took a sip of his grapefruit juice and puckered his lips. “So how did Sloan figure in the picture?”

  Kylie dragged her gaze away from Matt’s lips and blinked her eyes. “What?”

  “Sloan. How was he blocking the investigation?”

  “From the reports I read, he wasn’t too anxious to give the police information about the roadies on the show or even the performers.” Kylie took a gulp of ice water, trying to quench the fire that burned every time she looked into Matt’s eyes.

  “I guess his attempt to cover up didn’t do much good since he wasn’t involved in the past two music festivals.”

  “He’s back now.”

  “So how do you work? You seem to know a lot about the case.”

  Could she explain her process to Matt? She’d never gone into details with anyone before. Kylie swallowed her words while the waitress put their plates on the table.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  Matt pointed to his egg white omelet stuffed with spinach and mushrooms. “Some salsa, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She studied his plate with the fruit and dry wheat toast on the side, and then wrinkled her nose at her own cheese and bacon omelet with twin dollops of guacamole and sour cream on the top. “You’re too healthy. You make me feel guilty.”

  “It wasn’t just the drinking with my old man.” He picked up a slice of toast and added a spoonful of strawberry jam. “He destroyed his health bit by bit until he dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-nine. I’m not going down that road.”

  “And yet you still ride a motorcycle.”

  He shrugged and thanked the waitress for the salsa. “What’s life without a few risks? But we were talking about you.”

  “We were?” She crunched into her bacon, getting no enjoyment from its salty goodness as Matt spooned salsa on his healthy omelet.

  “I was asking you how you worked because you seem to know a lot of details about the case.”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess you figured I just closed my eyes, and all the answers would come to me. On a Ouija board.”

  “I have to admit, we…I’ve never worked with a psychic before on a case. Tell me how it’s done.”

  Kylie took a deep breath. “Every case is a little different. I try to find out all the facts first, usually from the police report if I can get it.”

  “Do you usually get it?”

  “It depends. If the police are the ones who hired me, yeah, slam dunk. If the family hired me…” She hunched her shoulders and dabbed her lips with a napkin.

  “I can tell you straight-up, Chief Evans is not the most cooperative guy.”

  Kylie’s hand tre
mbled as she stabbed a potato. “Did you see the report?”

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “Is he going to give you access?”

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll get it anyway.” He polished off the last bite of his omelet and eyed her potatoes. “Are you going to eat those?”

  “It’s good to see you’re not perfect.” She shoved her plate toward him.

  “Me? Perfect? You’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Did she? He seemed so right in so many ways.

  “We keep getting off topic.” He crumpled his napkin and tossed it on the table. “Whether or not you see the police report, what’s your next move?”

  “I need something in my possession that belonged to the victim.”

  “What did Mrs. Harris give you?”

  Kylie unzipped her bag and pulled out a red scarf with gold thread woven through it. “This was Bree’s.”

  Skimming his hand across the diaphanous fabric, Matt, said, “I take it you can’t just hold the thing in your hand and the victim whispers in your ear or something.”

  “Not exactly.” She balled up the scarf and shoved it back into her bag. “I don’t see dead people and they don’t talk to me. Rather, I sense a situation or I see scenes flash in my head. Sometimes I feel what the victim feels, and sometimes…” She gripped her upper arms and shivered.

  “Sometimes what?”

  “Sometimes I’m in the killer’s head.”

  Matt tipped his chair back and cocked his head. “You’re kidding.”

  “Unfortunately, I’m not kidding.”

  “That’s gotta be creepy as hell.”

  “I think that’s what…” She trailed off again. Matt didn’t want to hear her wild assumptions about Mom. He already thought she was creepy. “Your turn.”

  Matt squinted at the bill the waitress had just dropped at their table. “Huh?”

  “What do you have, and why did Mr. Harris hire you? Did he find you on the internet? Portland’s a long way from L.A.”

  “It was a referral, and I don’t have much on the case. Just what Harris gave me and going through old news stories—Bree was on summer break from the University of Oregon and drove down solo for the concert, hooking up with some locals while she was here.”