by Marie Jermy
He expelled a deep breath. “No, Jessica, I wasn’t ignoring you. I took a break from the Federation. As a director I can do that. One of the senior members stood in for me, but you wouldn’t have met him because he never came here. And I know I should have called, but I admit my head’s been a mess. Laura was my life, and now she’s gone for good.” He quickly glanced at Anderson, who surprisingly showed compassion, not sarcasm.
Jessica returned and took up her original parking space on the edge of his desk. Uh-oh. Interrogation time. Scott mentally kicked himself. Being an intensively private man, he would rather laser beam his balls than talk about himself.
“You’ve never said how you met Laura. Was it through the Federation? I mean, she was the wife of Senator Williamson, the then director.”
“Yes and no. And I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why not?” she gently asked.
“Because I don’t!” Scott softened his sharp tone with a rueful smile but added nothing further.
“Oh, c’mon, Scott, it can’t be that bad.”
He snorted as he swiveled his chair to stare out of the window. The blue-green waters of the swimming pool atop the Manhattan Heights Hotel opposite reminded him of the turquoise of Laura’s eyes. “September 11th, 2001. How’s that for ‘it can’t be that bad’?”
Jessica gasped, and Anderson tossed out a succinct curse. Scott’s mouth thinned into a grim line, the memories of that shit-awful day still sharp enough to pierce a black void of remorse in his heart. Why had he survived when so many others hadn’t? After a full five minutes’ silence, Scott swiveled around to face Anderson and Jessica. They stared at each other and then at him as though uncertain as to how to proceed. Jessica then spoke.
“Scott, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean, um…Oh, God, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything, Jessica.” His tone held a steely edge. “Just drop the subject, okay?”
“Are we still friends?”
He nodded. “Still friends. And Ross? Don’t change your opinion of me. A hypocrite, you’re not.”
“Did you save Laura’s life?”
Despite his demand not five seconds ago, Scott found himself fighting back a smile at Jessica for not dropping the subject. He further surprised himself by not only answering her question but providing a brief back story of his and Laura’s affair.
“Yes, I saved Laura’s life. After we were discharged from the hospital, we swapped contact details. We called and met each other on quite a few occasions over the months, but only as friends. It wasn’t until after the first year’s anniversary memorial service that we became closer. I knew she was married, of course, and to the senator, but it wasn’t a happy union, which I know is no excuse for starting an affair, but I’d fallen in love with her, and she with me.”
“And in reward for setting the marital bed sheets on fire, you were offered the position of ghostbuster.”
Anderson was his usual sardonic self, and Scott flashed a shark-like grin. “I knew nothing of the Federation until I made detective some six years later. I let it slip that I was a believer of the paranormal. I expected Laura to poke fun at me, but she didn’t. She told the senator, and because he was still grateful that I’d saved his wife’s life—not that he ever treated her as such—he introduced me and paved the way for my membership. Sam was my mentor,” he tagged on just because he felt like it.
“Dick Tracy by day. Van Helsing by night. Perfect.”
Scott flashed another shark-like grin at Anderson’s continuing sarcasm, then pointed to the door. “Speaking of dicks, haven’t you got a precinct to run?”
“It’ll wait.”
Scott shot him a grimace, then pointedly looked away when Anderson pulled Jessica into his arms and kissed her. And not just any kiss either, but a window-fogging one, and one that would no doubt lead to window-fogging marital relations.
Since Laura left him, he’d decided to never involve himself or make love to a woman ever again. He had embraced bachelorhood and do-it-yourself whack jobs. It hadn’t been easy; not only had he and Laura shared a voracious sexual appetite, but they wanted matrimony. Therefore, this ringside seat, no doubt to show him what he was missing, wasn’t exactly welcome.
He picked up and opened one of the agency files from his tray and tried to concentrate. Finally, though, at the sound of Jessica’s soft moan and what sounded suspiciously like the lowering of a zipper, he threw the file down. “Jessica, haven’t you a plane to catch?” No response other than more glass-steaming kisses joined by wandering hands. “This is my office. And my desk!”
“Mmm, and I’m making use of them,” Anderson returned, leaning back until flat and tugging Jessica to lie across him. Then, looking Scott straight in the eye, he added, “I have a feeling the next woman you screw will become your wife. Or is it just ghosts that turn you on?”
“Fuck you!” With another equally hot retort, Scott shoved to his feet and strode from the office. He was still cursing a blue streak when he exited the elevator into the lobby and took a spin in the revolving door out onto the sidewalk. He did not want a wife. Well, unless it was Laura. But that was as unlikely as him publicly announcing the existence of the Federation and all of its secrets.
No, what he badly needed to do was laser beam some ass, but since frying Anderson’s would only incur Jessica’s wrath, and there were no law-breaking ghosts hovering nearby, he decided to cool off with his favorite coffee.
Turning the block, he went to the nearest Starbucks. He had wanted to sit inside, but because the place resembled sardines in a tin, he ordered to takeaway. Leaving the shop and removing the lid from the cup, he strode around the corner and collided straight into a woman, his caramel macchiato spilling all over the front of her beige thigh-length raincoat.
“Dammit!” Scott muttered, cursing his own stupidity. Tossing the cup into a conveniently located trash can, he grabbed the front of the woman’s coat before the coffee soaked through the material to whatever she wore beneath.
“Get your hands off me!”
Her loud shriek turned the heads of several passersby. He immediately stepped back to give her room and noticed two things.
One. Her lovely bedroom brown eyes were blank and unresponsive. Two. The black Labrador guide dog by her side that was looking up at him with disdain.
Dammit indeed. That dog looked like it was about to bite him in the balls. Okay, so he wasn’t using that part of his anatomy anymore, but he’d still like to keep hold of what he’d been blessed with. “Sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” Oh, yeah, real cute, you schmuck! Scott berated himself, mentally kicking his ass at what could have been an expression of “No, you think so?” from the dog.
A woman’s voice sounded. A schmuck, hey? I couldn’t agree more. Ignorant, too. Right, Archie?
The words, particularly “schmuck,” exploded into Scott’s mind, yet neither he nor the woman had spoken. For as long as he could remember he’d been telepathic, but, despite some of the weird shit he dealt with in his Federation Director’s role, he’d never met another person with the same ability. Not that he made a habit of tapping into other people’s thoughts; he was of the firm opinion that whatever went on in people’s minds was private and should remain so.
But who was Archie? He stared down at the dog for a second, wondering, then switched his attention back to the woman, and in particular the large brown splotch spread across the front of her coat like a golden eagle in flight. “That’s coffee, and it’s gonna stain,” he helpfully supplied.
“I’m sightless, not stupid!”
Since there seemed to be nothing wrong with the woman’s sense of smell—the aromatic coffee and creamy caramel had teased his nostrils, too—her fiery snub, delivered on a surprisingly dulcet tone, was probably richly deserved. Scott took another step back and watched as she reached into her purse and withdrew a handful of tissues. While she dabbed, he studied her more closely.
Apar
t from that stained raincoat, she was wearing a long black skirt that swished over a pair of black lace-up ankle boots. He was a great fan of boots on a woman; there was something more wantonly sexual to them than high-heeled shoes. Her frame was svelte, and at about five foot eight, she was only a few inches shorter than his own six feet. A rich shade of burnt umber, her hair was styled in a short and sassy cut that framed a delicate oval-shaped face. A pair of gold studs adorned equally delicate earlobes.
But it was her lips that really drew Scott’s attention. They were truly bee-stung and made him want to kiss the pale pink lip gloss she wore right off them. Suddenly unable to help himself, he stepped forward, almost invading her personal space. A cloud of sweet vanilla enveloped him. Desire kicked in his guts before swiftly spiraling down to his cock. As his rational thinking was muddled with an insatiable urge to touch her, he took one of the tissues from her and murmured, “Here, let me.”
Her blank and unresponsive yet lovely bedroom brown eyes flew to his. And locked. How she knew exactly where to look, or not to look as the case was, he didn’t know. Then, a split second later, a bolt of electricity shot through his entire body, making it tingle with raw sexual need when her hand brushed against his as she snatched the tissue back.
I have a feeling the next woman you screw will become your wife.
“Are you deaf? I said, get your hands off me!”
Anderson’s words combined with the woman’s were more than enough to snap Scott out of his highly aroused state. He removed a bill from his wallet and tucked it into the dog’s collar. “Here’s a hundred, Archie,” he said, tight-lipped and failing miserably at keeping the anger he felt at himself from his voice. “Go find a dry cleaners!”
And with that Scott stomped back into Starbucks to replace the coffee he had wasted at his inability to control his cock with a twenty-something-year-old woman he was never, ever, going to have the pleasure of colliding with again.
* * * *
“My God, Leia, what happened?”
A couple of steps over the threshold to an open doorway, Leia Howard turned in the direction of where that question had sounded from, also the exact location where the rasping of a zipper and the rustling of clothes could be heard. She slowly made her way over, her guide dog, Archie, only a pace in front.
Her shoulder brushed against a doorjamb. It was nothing significant, just the briefest of touches. Almost immediately, however, footsteps rushed to her right side. With good grace, she allowed herself to be guided to a chair. The cologne she detected was nice, but not as nice as the man’s she had just encountered. His had been woodsy with a heavy accent of danger. Dark. Forbidden. Compelling.
“Are you okay?”
Leia smiled. Ross Anderson’s voice was nice, too, but again not as much as that man’s. As with his cologne, it had been just as dark, just as forbidden, just as compelling. “I’m fine, Ross,” she said, then redirected her smile at Jessica, who hunched by her left side. “And in answer to your question, some ignorant schmuck bumped into me and showered me with his coffee.”
Jessica snorted in agreement. “An ignorant schmuck and no doubt blind!”
A ghost of a smile curved Leia’s lips. A schmuck, yes. Blind, probably. But upon reflection, the man—a complete stranger—was definitely not ignorant. She reached out and gave Archie a brief loving pat. In return, he licked her hand.
Since losing her sight at fifteen through contracting meningitis, she had honed her remaining four senses to perfection. She had to. She knew if she wanted to have anything that resembled a normal life then she had to maintain the independence she’d had since she took her first steps at just five months old.
Amazed by her abilities, family, friends, lovers, and acquaintances often forgot she couldn’t see, which considering she’d only had Archie for a year, was a compliment in itself. The thought of becoming a burden or a charity case didn’t exactly hold appeal for someone as strong-minded as she.
Archie had been provided by a guide dog charity founded by Jessica’s father, Ray Ferris. The dog was newly trained and initially they’d asked her to give him a trial with a view to taking him on permanently. She was so glad she’d agreed. She and Archie had hit it off straight away, and now she couldn’t imagine life without him.
Leia possessed another sense, too—a sixth sense, also honed to perfection. She’d heard the man mentally calling himself a schmuck, but had he in turn heard her thoughts? Was that how he had known Archie’s name? Unprecedented, but not entirely impossible, either.
“It’s gonna stain,” Jessica remarked.
“That’s what he said.”
“Oh, how helpful… And what the hell is this?”
“Oh, that’s the hundred he tucked into Archie’s collar for the dry-cleaning bill,” Leia replied at the rustling of paper. She didn’t need sight to know that at the spluttered curse, Jessica’s fuse-box temper was in danger of blowing. “Jessica, it’s okay, honestly,” she said, her tone soothing.
“Did he touch you?” Jessica and Ross asked in unison.
“No.” An outright lie. The man had touched her, and Leia wasn’t about to forget the brush of cold fingers against her skin that had literally turned her blood into molten lava. For a second she’d wondered if he’d been sculptured in ice, his touch had been that cold. Either that, or dead.
But he’d been neither. He was a living, breathing man who had sparked an almost uncontainable urge to jump into bed with him. And since she was never going to come into contact with him again, the chances of that happening were zilch. More’s the pity. Fresh out of an intense yet domineering relationship, sex with a stranger with no strings attached was very high on her to-do list.
Leia gave a rueful shake of her head and rose to her feet. “Anyway, let’s forget about the schmuck…” Yeah, as if! “I dropped by because I thought it would be a good idea to get a feel of the office. You know, before I start tomorrow. And to meet this Scott Rafferty.”
For some reason, her breath stuck as she said the name of the P.I. who Jessica worked alongside at Magnum Investigations. It was strange but, the schmuck with the coffee shower felt like a Scott. Which was just plain ridiculous. She exhaled, albeit shakily.
“Oh. I really must go home and pack, Leia. I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Oh, of course, you’re going to London to visit your parents.” Leia slapped her forehead. “Sorry, I completely forgot.”
“No worries. I’m sure Ross will show you around. But you’re outta luck with Scott. Ross wound him up, and he stormed out.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Ross began but was interrupted by Jessica.
“Oh, shut up, moron!”
Leia laughed and planted a kiss on her friend’s cheek. “Give my love to Ray and Scarlett.” She waited until husband and wife had shared a lengthy farewell kiss, then turned to Ross. She sensed the frown. “I’ll bet you’re wondering how I made my way here.” It was a statement, not a question. She reached into her purse and removed the Magnum Investigations business card that Jessica had given her. “I showed this to Archie, and he guided me.”
“Archie can read?” Ross’s tone was skeptical.
“Yes. Although it’s entirely self-taught.”
“Right. Wow, that’s amazing.”
Ross’s tone remained skeptical, and Leia smiled. “Anyway, once we got here, the nice security guard in the lobby told me which floor to take. He wanted to press the button for me, but Archie and his paw got there first.” Now she sensed Ross’s mouth had dropped open. Her smile broadened. “Whose office is this?”
“Rafferty’s.”
Ross’s sour tone was unmistakable. She knew from Jessica that Ross and Scott Rafferty didn’t get on, though she didn’t know the reasons why, as Jessica had suddenly become very tight-lipped. “You always call him by his surname?” she asked, hoping he’d be more amenable. She was disappointed.
“If he gives you any crap, you come to me” was Ross’s answer, just a
s tight-lipped as his wife.
Leia bit back the laugh but couldn’t suppress the smile. She was sure that if Scott Rafferty gave her any crap, Archie would deal with him in probably the same way he’d wanted to deal with the “schmuck” by biting him in the balls. She masked a deep sigh behind a cough. What she wouldn’t give to feel the schmuck’s balls.
For the next hour, Leia focused on Ross’s thorough and detailed tour of Magnum Investigations. There were two offices, each with private bathrooms, a practical yet comfortable reception area, another restroom, a small kitchen, and an even smaller storeroom. The floor’s layout had been thoughtfully planned with easy access to all areas and no clutter. Leia agreed with Ross that she and Archie should have no trouble negotiating their way around.
“I know Jessica will be okay with it, but do you think Scott would mind if I put Braille signs on the doors?” she asked. “I haven’t made a mistake yet, but I wouldn’t want to show a client to the wrong office, the stationary cupboard, or worse, the toilet. Unless, of course, they wanted to go,” she said, laughing.
“If he gives you any crap, you come to me” was Ross’s response, which was then followed by his amused chuckle when she translated Archie’s “And I’ll bite him in the balls” series of woofs.
Before they left, Leia again walked around Jessica’s office and then Scott’s. They were completely at odds with each other and not just with their location at opposite ends of the floor space, either. Jessica’s felt alive and tidy, whereas Scott’s, though also tidy, held a sense of secrecy and darkness, a bit like death. Even smelled faintly woodsy. Strange. But even stranger was that Leia felt more comfortable there, surrounded by the aura of mystery than at the reception desk where she would sit.
Just like Ross—though being a man, he’d never admit to it—and Jessica, Leia believed in the paranormal, and the sense that Magnum Investigations was a center for supernatural activity was almost as palpable as the container of Jessica’s chamomile tea bags in the kitchen. She told Ross as much as they rode down in the elevator together, but again, his response was, ‘If he gives you any crap, you come to me.’