by Deborah Camp
Through His
Touch
Book Two of the
MIND'S EYE Series
Deborah Camp
Copyright 2014 by Deborah Camp.
Praise for THROUGH HIS EYES (Book One of the Mind’s Eye Series):
“THROUGH HIS EYES is a well written thriller with a healthy dose of romance. It should be on the "must read" list of every romantic suspense reader but more than that, anyone who enjoys a good crime novel or action thriller will definitely want to consider this novel for their library.”
“Camp has assembled a cast of memorable characters and a tightly woven story line that kept me engaged even past the ending. Good writing is when I'm made to care about the characters, both hero and villain. This is skillfully accomplished by Camp and I sure hope she doesn't make me wait long for book two.”
“This book is a perfect example of what I am looking for when I feel the urge to pick up a paranormal, romantic suspense. It honestly has it all. I cannot wait to read the next book of this series!”
“Great character development and sizzling hot love scenes abound. Once I started reading I couldn't put the book down, but I hated to finish it! I would highly recommend this book to all fans of romance and paranormal fiction!”
“Look out James Patterson and J.D. Robb. This one could give you some competition.”
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Joyce Anglin, my soul sister and editor; Pat Wade, my friend and proof reader; the talented folks at Lowenstein and Associates; Ruth my hair stylist who happens to have degrees in psychology; Cassie and Janet, who help me with ads and my website; my writer friends who listen to me when I call; the wonderful bloggers who read and post reviews; and the great readers who read and post reviews.
Cover design by Kari Ayasha of Cover to Cover Designs
Chapter 1
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wolfe,” the toothy, young doorman said. “It’s nice to have you back in Atlanta. How was Key West? Exciting, or so I’ve heard.”
Leviticus Wolfe nodded, momentarily forgetting the kid’s name, and having to glance at the tag attached to his blue suit jacket. “Hello, Jeremy. Yes, it was a successful trip.” Successful. Yeah. One serial killer tracked down and jailed. One pretty, auburn-haired, green-eyed fellow psychic named Trudy Tucker totally rocking his world, turning it completely upside down.
“You want me to carry that luggage up for you, sir?”
“No, thank you. I can handle it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Anything exciting going on while I was away?”
“Not really.” Jeremy flashed his bright-white teeth again. “Ms. Brennen in apartment 4D got a kitten and named it after me.”
Levi quirked an eyebrow. “How flattering.” Shaking his head, he hoisted his luggage more securely and strode to the elevators. Actually, that was the kind of excitement he needed right now. He’d had enough thrills and chills in Key West to last him for months. All he wanted now was peace and quiet; a few hours to get his feet back under him and mull over the newest development in his life – being in a committed relationship. A first for him.
Inside the elevator, he dropped the garment bag on top of his wheeled case so he could get his keys out of his trouser pocket. He used one of them to open a panel, then he punched in his code and pressed P. The elevator began its ascent to the eighth floor. Tomorrow it would be back to work as CEO of Wolfe Enterprises, but tonight he wanted to zone out in front of the television and have a beer. Or milk and cookies. Yeah! Milk and cookies.
The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors opened. He gathered his luggage again and crossed the lobby that led into the penthouse. His residence actually took up the whole eighth floor and half of the seventh, plus most of the roof. The black lacquered double doors in front of him were always secured when he was away for more than a day. He unlocked them, gave them a shove, and stepped into his expansive living room.
He dropped the luggage near the crescent-shaped sectional and stretched from side to side to work the kinks from his muscles. Even flying first-class, the flight had been uncomfortable. Mainly because he’d been uneasy leaving Trudy to drive herself and her little dog back to Tulsa in her RV. She’d texted him twice already from the road, assuring him that all was well.
His stomach chose that moment to growl. Since Wes Statler, his housekeeper and personal chef, wouldn’t show up again until tomorrow, Levi figured he’d send out for pizza or grab a burger. Wait . . . he sniffed. What was that smell?
Puzzled, he glanced around the living room. A newspaper lay folded in sections on the coffee table beside a ceramic mug. What the hell? His stomach gave a little lurch of unease. Wes would never leave anything like that sitting out. His heart rate sped up as he noticed other things that didn’t belong – a large urn filled with fresh lilies beside the fireplace and a tacky, blue, crushed velvet pillow lying on the hardwood floor.
He breathed deeply . . . that smell . . . had someone been cooking in his kitchen? Taking a step back, he felt sweat bead on his forehead and dampen his armpits. Had someone besides Wes been here? Was someone still here? A clatter of dishes sounded from the kitchen and Levi jumped like a startled animal, all of his senses vaulting to high-alert.
“Levi?” a woman’s voice floated out to him from the kitchen, which he couldn’t see from where he stood like a statute. “Is that you, babe? Are you finally home?”
What the fuck? Weirdly, he felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience. One part of his mind told him to run like hell and another part sizzled with outrage.
A woman rounded the corner, brandishing a knife in one hand. A butcher knife. Levi’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. The blood drained from his head, making his vision fuzzy for a few seconds. He was momentarily struck mute. He didn’t even realize that he was moving backward until she raked him up and down with her narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiled and propped her other hand at her waist as she lifted her brows in a quizzical expression.
He noted that she wore a flour-dusted bibbed apron over her jeans and shirt – his apron that had “Molest the Cook” emblazoned across it.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said. “I expected you home yesterday. What held you up? Did the police want to question you some more about the serial killer?” She giggled. “What would they do without us, I ask you? They would have never caught him without your psychic powers and—.”
“Just how in the hell did you get in here?” Levi demanded as his brain unseized and he was able to think again.
She waved the knife at him. “Are you trying to be funny? Come into the kitchen with me. I’m frying chicken – your favorite.”
He stared warily at the knife. “How long have you been here?” Glancing around, he felt a little sick. Obviously, this lunatic had made herself at home. Where the hell were his security guards? Why didn’t Wes know about this?
“I’ve been here since I left Key West, of course.” She shook her head. “You’re acting odd.”
“I’m acting odd,” he repeated, trying to get his mind around the situation.
Wait. Key West? “You were in Key West?”
She rolled her eyes. “Honey, I really don’t have time for this. I’m cooking dinner. Go unpack your things while I finish up in the kitchen.”
“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” He turned sideways and rested a hand on the door handle. Even though he had degrees in psychology, he had no idea what to do next. Was the woman dangerous or simply delusional?
Running a hand over the top of her short, auburn hair, she smiled at him. “You’re so adorable. Okay. I’ll play. I’m your sweetheart. The girl you danced with at Mallory Square and fell head over heels for. Your one and only. The girl of your dreams. I’m yours forever and a day. Your Trudy.”
His heart bumped painfully against his chest wall. Christ! She was completely insane! He stared at her hair and then at her features. Something didn’t add up. A memory of her face swam up from the depths of his mind. He’d seen this woman a few days ago in Key West. Only her hair had been dark brown, falling straight to her shoulders.
She gave him a saucy wink. “Want to kiss the cook?” She glanced down at the words on the apron. “Or maybe molest me?”
Trepidation clamped a hand around his throat and squeezed. He took another step back, wanting no physical contact with her. As a psychic, he’d dealt with his share of unnatural and odd occurrences, but this was personal. She knew things about his recent life that meant she’d been stalking him. All the times his instincts had told him that something wasn’t right, that someone was shadowing him in Florida . . . here was the proof that he hadn’t been crazy. No. Crazy was standing in front of him with a six-inch knife blade in her hand.
“You called me when you were in Key West, didn’t you?” he ask, striving to keep his voice level even though his insides were shaking. “How did you get my cellphone number? Were you the one peeking in at me through the sliding glass doors at the motel that night? You remember that? And I saw you in Key West. In Mallory Square. I signed your shirt.”
After a long sigh, she grinned at him. “We danced and you kissed me as the sun was setting. But we’re home now, darling. Back in our love nest.”
Uh-huh. So, she had selective hearing. She only listened to her own storyline. Great. He opened the door and took another deep breath. He told himself to get a grip. She wasn’t charging at him. She didn’t want to hurt him. The woman needed psychiatric help and he needed her out of his apartment. His heartbeats boomed in his ears and stress sweat trickled down his sides. He patted his breast pocket for his cellphone and pulled it out. “I have to make a call.”
“Now?” She leaned toward him, her eyes growing sultry. “I’m waiting for that kiss.”
Staring at her flour-dusted apron, he sniffed the air. “Is something burning?”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, no, no, no! The chicken!” Pivoting, she dashed toward the kitchen.
Levi escaped into the lobby and punched a number on his speed dial to call the head of his security firm.
Pete Gonzales answered on the first ring. “Hey there, sunshine! You back amongst us again?”
“Gonzo, there’s a woman in my apartment and she’s as crazy as a loon. Get up here. Now.”
“Wh-what?”
“Here. Now,” Levi repeated, then ended the call. He dialed the security desk downstairs.
Jeremy answered, “Wolfe Tower, how may I—.”
“This is Wolfe. Did you let a woman into my apartment?” He paced in the lobby and kept an eye on the double doors, which he’d closed behind him.
“A woman? No sir! Why? Is there . . ?”
“Yes, there fucking is!” He rubbed his brow and realized that at some point he’d actually started shaking. He balled his hands into fists as thoughts tumbled in his head like rolled dice. “A woman I’ve never met is in my place cooking chicken, bringing in ugly pillows and bouquets of flowers and – Christ only knows what else!” He visualized her flitting around the penthouse, touching his things, sorting through his personal papers and files, invading his life.
“How can that . . ? Holy shit, sir! There hasn’t been anyone trying to get to the penthouse floor since I’ve been on duty. Not since Wes on Monday. He brought in groceries and cleaned your place.”
Monday. Had she been here then? He groaned to himself and squeezed his eyes shut. This was nuts. The woman was nuts, thinking she was Trudy. God, if he wasn’t absolutely certain that the real Trudy was miles away in her RV, he’d probably be out of his ever-loving mind right now. He heard a commotion in the background.
“Mr. Gonzales just came in and he’s on his way up, sir.”
“Good.”
Levi ended the call and planted himself in front of the elevator doors. Within a minute, they opened and Pete “Gonzo” Gonzales and two other men wearing dark blue t-shirts with GSI’s logo stamped in bright red over their hearts, barreled into the lobby. Levi scoffed at the sight of them. Security, my ass, he thought.
“Where is she?” Gonzo asked, his black brows lowered in a dark scowl. He was bigger than the other two guys, but then at six-feet-five-inches and with the physique of a gladiator, he was bigger than most guys.
“In my apartment,” Levi said, slowly, succinctly. “She has a knife. She’s frying chicken – it’s my favorite meal, according to her. From all indications, she’s made herself at home.”
Gonzo ran a hand over his shaved head and his clipped, black mustache twitched as he frowned. “Goddamn it, Levi! I had no fucking idea about this! You know, I’ve wanted to add more security to this building and your place, but you piss and moan about the measures we already have and—.”
“Can we debate this later? Could you maybe escort her out of there, please?” Levi leaned his backside against the wall and bent over to rest his hands on his knees as he tried to regulate his breathing and bring his heart rate back to normal. His initial alarm had completely melted into intense aggravation, bordering on irrational anger. “Did you call the police?”
“Yes,” Gonzo said. “But we aren’t waiting for them.” Gonzo motioned to the other two men with him. “Let’s go get her. We’ll bring her down for the police to arrest outside the building, if possible.” He sent Levi a quick shrug.
Levi grimaced. So much for a restful first evening back. And he’d be expected to go to the station and file charges. Fuck! He’d call his attorney and let her handle it.
Gonzo opened the double doors. “You want to wait next door in your office?”
“Hell, no.” Levi preceded Gonzo into the living room. The smell of frying chicken permeated the place now. He walked around the curving wall and into the dining room/kitchen area with Gonzo and the other two security guards flanking him. The intruder was at the stove, her back to them. The sound of bubbling, spattering grease accompanied her as she hummed a tune. Happy as a lark, Levi thought with a snarl. Having his home – his sanctuary – invaded rankled far more than he cared to dissect at that moment.
As if sensing she wasn’t alone anymore, she looked over her shoulder at them. Her eyebrows arched and she smiled. “What’s this? Company? That’s fine, darling. We’ll have plenty for everyone.”
Levi glanced at Gonzo and exchanged a “is she nuts or what?” wide-eyed smirk. The kitchen sat above the dining room, accessed by steps at either end of the semi-circled, ultra-modern space. Gonzo motioned to his men to guard one set of stairs while he jogged up the other three steps with Levi right behind him.
“I’m Pete,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
She wiped her hands on Levi’s apron and held out her hand. “Trudy Tucker. It’s nice to meet you. Do you work for Levi?”
Hearing her identify herself as Trudy made Levi feel slightly queasy. She actually thinks she’s Trudy! His Trudy. How much did she know about her?
“I do work for Levi,” Gonzo told her, holding her hand even as he reached back with his other one to grasp the handcuffs dangling from a loop on his belt. “So, you’re Trudy, are you?”
“Yes.�
�� She looked lovingly toward Levi. “His girlfriend. Our affair is all over the Internet and in the newspapers. Did you see the photos?” She wrinkled her nose at Levi. “You were so angry at the photographer that evening at Mallory Square. Remember?”
He nodded, his heart shoving against his chest. She’d been there. Watching them. Had she been plotting this takeover of Trudy’s life then?
Gonzo moved with agility and the handcuffs were on her wrist before she could comprehend his intention. Then he grabbed her other hand and snapped the other cuff in place. He took the cooking tines from her and set them aside. She blinked, gazing for a few moments at her cuffed hands in front of her. She looked from Gonzo to Levi and back to Gonzo. Then she went off like a bomb.
“Noooo!” She jerked away from Gonzo, grabbed the handle of the skillet on the stove and whirled with it, slinging hot grease and chicken pieces everywhere. Some of the grease landed on Gonzo’s hands and the front of his t-shirt and he let out a vicious curse.
A few drops sailed through the air and sizzled on Levi’s neck and cheek. Hissing, he swiped at them and started forward, reaching for her wrists, trying to stop her from whopping anyone with the skillet. The other two guards rushed her from behind, one of them binding her in a bear hug and the other wrenching the skillet from her hand as she tried her damnedest to hit Gonzo with it. Levi could see that she’d burned her hand on the handle, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.
“Levi, Levi!” Her brown eyes bugged wildly as spittle flew from her lips. “Tell them to let me go! Tell them about us . . . that you love me . . . that I’m just like you . . . psychic. Tell them!”
“Calm down,” Levi said, lowering his voice to a firm command.
The imposter shook her head as she wriggled to be free of the security guard still pinning her arms to her sides. “You love me. You love me!”
Levi grabbed a kitchen towel and ran it under the faucet. “No, I don’t. You’re not Trudy and you know that. Your family must be worried about you.” He wrapped the cool towel around her hand. Blisters were forming on her palm. “You should go home to your husband,” Levi told her, trying to keep his voice calm and reassuring. “You have a husband, right?” He saw a flicker of something in her expression. Was he getting through to her? “I remember meeting him one morning in the motel gym. Is his name Mike? Or Mark?” By the infinitesimal tightening of the muscles in her face, he knew he was right. “Yes. His name is Mark. Where’s your home? Where do you live?”