Through Her Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 4)

by Deborah Camp

  He patted her hand. “If she doesn’t, I’ll withhold a compensatory amount from your fee.”

  Chapter 3

  Emerging from the jetway into the airport reception area, Trudy glanced around for Wes Statler, Levi’s chef, housekeeper, and man-of-all-trades. She expected him or Kenner, Levi’s driver, to meet her and drive her to the penthouse. Her attention was arrested by a dark-suited figure standing off to her right. The superb cut of his jacket, the black, wind-tousled short curls of his hair, the glint of his blue eyes, and the mischievous slant of his smiling mouth made her do a double-take. Her heart leapt as if trying to escape and reach the man who, after all, now owned it.

  Surprised, she sent Levi a questioning look as she wrestled with her rolling carry on. He strode toward her and cupped one hand at the side of her neck while the other reached for the handle of her luggage.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, automatically tipping up her face for his kiss. His lips warmed hers. “It’s only three-thirty.”

  “I left the office early. I can do that because I sign the paychecks.” He pulled her closer for another kiss, his mouth lingering on hers, rubbing, caressing, tantalizing. “Someone once told me that people who love each other meet each other at the airport and I should get used to it.”

  She laughed lightly at him throwing her words back at her. “Whoever said that is right and very insightful. Quintara sends her love. Also, my parents and various other relatives.”

  “I’m glad you took an extra day to visit with your folks.”

  “So were they.” She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm as they set off for the parking area. A bright light hit her retinas, making her stumble slightly and tighten her grip on Levi’s arm. A photographer walked backwards, taking several shots of her and Levi.

  “Did you have a good trip, Trudy?” the man with the camera asked, keeping just ahead of them. “Did you miss her while she was away, Levi? Have you two set a wedding date yet? Are you pregnant, Trudy? Planning a family?”

  She walked with her head down, allowing Levi to guide her through the terminal and out into the sunlight. The man with the camera fell back, evidently getting all the photos he needed and realizing he would get no answers to his questions.

  Trudy pressed closer to Levi and looked up to see irritation stamped on his face. She strove to erase it. “My cousin is all moved in to my house,” she told him. “She really loves being so close to her work. Her commute used to take her forty-five minutes and now she can walk or ride her bike to the university.”

  “I can vouch for short commutes.”

  “They don’t get much shorter than yours.” With Wolfe Enterprises right next to the building that housed his penthouse apartment, he had only to walk a short distance between the two. She spotted his ivory Cord in the parking lot. It stood out like a cherry on top of a sundae. The vintage automobile was sleek, sophisticated, and definitely a plaything for the wealthy. She’d spied papers on his desk once that valued the four-seater convertible at $250,000. “You brought the jalopy, I see.”

  “Yeah, I thought we’d take a spin in the old rust bucket.” His grin reminded her of a boy showing off his favorite Christmas present. As he was unlocking the passenger door, a man carrying suitcases walked past, but paused to admire the car.

  “What is that?”

  “A 1937 Cord SC Sportsman,” Levi answered.

  “She’s a beauty,” the admirer commented and walked on.

  “That she is.” Levi’s smile was almost predatory and she knew he wasn’t talking about the car anymore. Her blood heated as he unlocked and opened the passenger door for her, releasing the aromas of leather and oiled wood. “Welcome back, baby.” Once Trudy was comfortable on the red, cushiony seat, he leaned in and kissed her cheek before closing the door. Easing his tall frame behind the wheel, he depressed the clutch as he turned the ignition key. The car purred to life and the sun reflected off the chrome-plated external exhaust pipes that were mounted on each side of the hood and grill. “So, you enjoyed the conference?”

  “Yes. Well, you know.” She shrugged. “Most of it was fun. I always love being around Quintara.”

  “What wasn’t fun?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “People noticed me more. They came up to me and wanted to have their photos taken with me and get my autograph. That still freaks me out. Like that photographer. I mean, it’s so weird when strangers know my name!” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and wasn’t surprised to see him give a careless shrug. “Oh, I know you thrive on that stuff, but not me. I prefer to be unrecognized and allowed to go about my business unnoticed.” She fluffed her bangs off her forehead. “And they don’t get me.”

  “Get you?”

  “They ask me to tell them about their future or if a boyfriend is a cheating liar or where they left the key to their safety deposit box. Stuff like that. Then they look all confused or pissed off when I tell them I don’t do that kind of thing.”

  “They hear ‘psychic’ and they think ‘fortune teller.’ I get the same requests from people.” He rested his hand on her knee. Even through the cotton twill of her pants, she luxuriated in the electricity of his touch. “I missed you like crazy.” His hand moved higher, his fingers curling along the inside of her thigh. “You were the main topic of conversation during my session with Dr. McClain.”

  “I hope that went well.”

  He shrugged and a worry line appeared between his expressive eyes. “Same old, same old. I’m fucked up, but improving, bit by bit.”

  “You look tired.” She edged forward to get a better look at him. Something was eating at him. But what? “Have you been sleeping okay?”

  A rueful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Without you? What do you think?”

  She rested her hand on his. “Were they bad? The dreams?”

  He nodded and then drew in a quick breath. “Did you bring me anything back from New Orleans?”

  “Other than a kiss from Quintara? No. However, I do have a couple of strands of Mardi Gras beads that I snatched off a centerpiece one night, if you want one of those.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t deprive you of them.”

  They fell into a companionable silence on the rest of the drive. Levi parked in the underground garage and they took the elevator to the eighth floor. The doors opened to the foyer and Trudy laid the flat of her hand against the panel beside the double door.

  “Hello, Ms. Tucker,” the security system responded with a canned female voice and the lock on the doors disengaged.

  The smell of orange blossoms greeted her along with a yapping, gray Chihuahua.

  “Mouse!” Trudy scooped the little dog into her arms and giggled as Mouse lavished her cheeks and chin with dog kisses. “I missed you, too. Was Levi nice to you the whole time I was gone?”

  “She adores me,” Levi drawled. “Just like you.”

  Trudy met his gaze and felt hers warm right along with his. God, she’d missed him! Missed that look he gave her – all hot and predatory – and missed his big, talented hands on her naked body. With effort, she broke the gaze and set Mouse on one of the leather chairs as she walked through the spacious living room to the glass wall that gave a lovely view of Olympic Park and the Atlanta skyline. Levi switched on more lights and tossed his keys onto a side table that sat beneath a striking photo of a wolf on the prowl, its eyes glinting in the failing light.

  Watching three women pushing baby strollers and some boys kicking a soccer ball back and forth to each other, Trudy slipped out of her suede loafers. Mouse scampered over. “Uh-uh.” She pushed the dog aside with her stockinged foot. “Get away from my shoes. You go get in your bed. Go on,” she said, more sternly, and Mouse made a beeline for the laundry room where they kept her dog bed. Trudy released a long sigh of contentment. “It’s good to be home. Where’s Wes?”

  Levi came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and kissed the side of her neck. “I gave him th
e day off. Do you think of this as home?”

  “Sure.” She caught her own baffled expression reflected in the glass. “I live here now.”

  “Yes, but you don’t have many of your things here. Sometimes I think you put everything in storage so that it would be easy for you to move out. You know, should it get too hard living here with me.”

  She turned to face him. “Is this what you discussed with Dr. McClain?”

  “Some. Yes.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that my things would look odd in here. I have antique stuff and this is a contemporary décor. Besides, a few of my favorite pieces of furniture are here.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “My comfy chair upholstered from chenille bedspreads that’s in your bedroom and I put my desk and swivel chair downstairs in your office. Oh, and my old dressing table, bench, and alabaster lamp are in the walk-in closet. What are you frowning about now?”

  “Do you hear yourself, Trudy? My bedroom, my office, the walk-in closet. It’s our bedroom and office. You still think of them as mine. If it will never feel like yours, then we should look for another home together.”

  “No.” She rested her hands on his chest and felt the drumming of his heart. Slowly, she removed his suit jacket and then unknotted his tie. All the while, he stared down at her, one eyebrow cocked. “I like the penthouse. I really do.” She lifted herself up on tiptoes and kissed his chin. “I love being here with you. And I missed you like crazy, Mr. Wolfe.” Smoothing her hands down the front of his black shirt, she looked up at him through the sweep of her lashes. “You’re so impatient! You want everything to happen yesterday.” With a flick and a quick yank, she unbuckled his belt. “Why did you give Wes the day off?”

  Desire flamed in his eyes. “So that we’d be alone and I could fuck you on that couch over there if I wanted to.”

  “Oh?” She leaned sideways to look past him at the designated furniture. She unzipped his trousers and took pride in keeping the smirk off her face. “And do you want to?”

  He caught her head between his long-fingered hands and tilted her face up for his kiss. “Damn right, I do,” he whispered against her lips.

  Trudy emitted a little squeak when his arms tightened around her waist and he lifted her off her feet to carry her to the couch. Laughing, they undressed each other in a flurry of flying shirts, pants, socks, and underwear until they were skin to skin. Levi settled the lower part of his body between her thighs and lavished her nipples with attention. Moaning, Trudy closed her eyes as her blood heated and thickened. She rubbed her heels along the backs of his muscled thighs and calves and caressed the rippling muscles in his back and shoulders.

  “I missed you so much.” She gathered fistfuls of his hair and brought his mouth back to hers. “The world isn’t nearly as interesting without you at my side.”

  The smile he pressed to her lips was rakishly tender. His mouth plucked at hers, each kiss becoming more ardent and demanding than the one before. When his body joined with hers, the world seemed to slip off its axis a little before righting itself. Trudy hugged him with her legs and arms, glorying in the power of him and in the passion-building jolt of each thrust. He came with a growl of her name and she climaxed seconds after him, clutching him to her and vowing never, never, never to let him go.

  ###

  Carefully removing the pie pan from the oven with mitted hands, Trudy set it on the counter before arranging two place settings on the dining room table. She paused to stare out at the twinkling lights of Atlanta and her thoughts returned to Levi’s earlier comments about her not thinking of this place as her home. He was right. It wasn’t home yet, but she felt confident that it would be, given a little more time. Right now, she still thought of it as Levi’s place. However, with her home in Tulsa occupied by her cousin now, this penthouse was certainly her current residence.

  She heard the shuffle of feet on the hardwood floor and turned. Levi, clad only in black pajama pants, blinked owlishly at her.

  “What do I smell?”

  “Chicken pot pie.”

  “Where’d you get it?”

  She laughed under her breath and removed the apron she’d tied around her sleep shirt. “I made it.”

  His dark brows shot up. “Really? You made it or microwaved it?”

  “Made it from scratch.” She motioned to the table. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? I was just getting ready to wake you up.”

  “Jesus, Tru.” He shook his head. “How long have you been up?”

  “A couple of hours. I let you sleep because you so obviously need it. But a man must also eat, right?”

  “Right.” He jogged up the steps to the elevated kitchen, sniffed appreciatively at the steaming chicken pot pie, and then washed his hands. “I can’t get over how you can cook like that.”

  “You’re lucky to have two good cooks to serve you, Mr. Wolfe. Between me and Wes, you’ll never go hungry.”

  “Damn straight.” He dried his hands and then returned to the dining area, carrying the pot pie with him, and sat in his usual chair. “Okay. So, this one is mine. Where’s yours?”

  She laughed at his joke and offered him a serving spoon. “You do the honors.” He scooped portions into the two plates while she admired the glossy curls of hair that fell onto his forehead and his five-o’clock shadow. Good Lord, he was pretty. Awake, asleep, and rumpled like now. She could stare at him for hours. “You slept okay? No bad dreams?”

  “Slept like a log.” He blew at a forkful of tender chicken, peas, carrots, and pearl onions before sliding the bite into his mouth. He feigned a swoon. “Oh, my God, baby. This is fan-fucking-tastic.”

  She shook her head at his dirty mouth. “Thanks.” She did her own taste test and had to agree with him. “My grandmother would say that I got a good scald on this.”

  He paused in chewing, then he swallowed and asked, “Is that a compliment?”

  “It’s high praise.” She savored the late supper – it was after eight o’clock – and enjoyed watching him devour two helpings and a glass of Chardonnay. Sitting back in the chair and sipping her own preferred beverage – chilled apple juice. “I met Jazeem while I was in New Orleans. You know her, right?”

  He nodded and dabbed at his mouth with a linen napkin. “Quintara’s friend.”

  “She read my tea leaves and Tarot cards.”

  “Let me guess. She said that you’re destined to marry a dark-haired, pain-in-the-ass prick.”

  “Yes. Evidently, it’s written in the stars.” A sweep of her hand illustrated the point. “I believe you told me – very early in our relationship, as I remember it – that our union is kismet.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Well, yes. In a way. You said something like it was fated that I would succumb to your charms and fall into bed with you.”

  He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes twinkling at her. “And I was right. As usual.”

  She tugged her hand from his and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “I didn’t immediately fall into bed. I made you work for it – a little.”

  “Beg for it, you mean.” He winked at her and then concentrated on devouring the heaping portion on his plate.

  In between bites, Trudy filled him in about the conference and about how her parents wanted him to come with her to visit next time. Levi was still a little stand-offish when it came to being around her family and she knew it was because he wasn’t used to demonstrative relatives. His own parents had turned their backs on him when he was barely six years old and he’d been raised in unorthodox boarding schools where they tried to chase the “devil” from him through a variety of tortures.

  Trudy grinned when Levi pretended to lick his plate. “I cooked, so you clean. Preferably in the dishwasher.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Chuckling, he gathered the dishes and took them to the kitchen.

  “Jazeem wanted to talk to me about a man who had come into her place before Christmas. She’s convinced that h
e’s the salvage yard killer.” She met his gaze as he straightened from loading the dishwasher. “We read about those killings in the newspaper. Remember?” Something in his expression made her heartbeats quicken. “What?”

  “I had my own connection with the salvage yard murders.” He joined her back in the dining room. Sitting down again, he took a long drink of his wine. “You tell me yours and then I’ll tell you mine.”

  “How intriguing.” She pulled her legs up into the chair and wrapped her arms around them. “Jazeem said that this man came in with a client of hers. The man had souls tethered to him. Souls that were in great distress and wanted to be free of him, but couldn’t. Jazeem believes that they can’t rest until he answers for their murders.” Scowl lines appearing between his eyes detoured her from the retelling. “Why are you frowning?”

  “Tethered souls?” His tone chided her. “In all my communing with the dearly departed, I’ve never come across such a thing. Sounds like Jazeem is using melodrama to get your attention.”

  “Or that’s just how it comes across for her. You know, for a guy who studies all things paranormal like a scholar, you sure are a Doubting Thomas.”

  “Hey, baby girl, I’ve seen a lot of fakes in my time. I was sired by one of the biggest charlatans of them all.”

  She had to give him that. John Comfort, his father and a famous TV evangelist, was about as genuine as a Times Square Rolex. “You don’t think Jazeem is a fake, do you?”

  “I don’t know. Quintara says she’s legit. What do you think?”

  “I get the feeling that she’s the real deal. She was shaken up by the experience and it has preyed on her.”

  “So, why didn’t she go to the police with this? She knows the guy’s name, right?”

  “She won’t go to the police because she doesn’t have a good relationship with them.” She shrugged that off. “You know how that goes. So, tell me about your experience.”

  “It was strange. Very strange. I was contacted – during a business meeting, mind you – by the dead son of the new contractor I was speaking with in my office. This kid – a salvage yard murder victim – popped into my head and started yelling at me. I tried to shut him out, but I couldn’t. I had to actually stop the damned meeting and tell the man that his deceased son was demanding an audience. Gonzo thought I’d lost my noodle.”