by Hinze, Vicki
“Oh, I noticed. You were all over the woman.”
“I wasn’t.” Was she jealous? Impossible... Maybe...
Caron reached over and made an exaggerated show of tenderly brushing an invisible speck from his cheek, then gave him a smile that turned his mind to mush and his body into a furnace. “What’s that action called, then?”
Parker gritted his teeth. “It’s called, getting an ink smear off a woman’s face.”
“Right.”
“That is right.” He had half a mind to kiss her again, to let her feel every drop of his heat. Instead, he shifted his body weight to lean against the door. “With your ‘gift,’ you should’ve known that.”
“My gift only works on important matters. And that certainly doesn’t include you.”
If that was true, then why was she so ticked? “So you can’t tell what I’m thinking.” He’d been worried about that, in case there was a grain of truth to her psychic claims.
She slumped her shoulders and rubbed her temple. “No.”
“Why not?” He was surprised she’d admitted it.
“I just told you.”
Because he wasn’t important? That didn’t wash. She expected him to believe she saw images of complete strangers. “But you can read other people’s thoughts.”
“Some of the time.”
Parker softened his voice. “So why not mine?”
“I don’t know.” She slumped forward over the steering wheel, clearly exasperated.
She did know. But he was pushing her too hard. There was a strain in her now that hadn’t been there earlier. She was a phony who needed exposing, but she was a human being, too, a woman. And women required finesse, not bullying. “Would it help if I apologized?”
She rolled her cheek against the wheel and looked at him. Her voice sounded hopeful. “Would you mean it?”
He hadn’t done anything to apologize for. Kissing a beautiful woman with shadows in her eyes wasn’t a crime just stupid, considering the woman he’d kissed was Caron Chalmers. But to find out what he wanted to know... “Yes.”
“Yes, then. It would help.”
“Okay.” He leaned over, covered her hand on the wheel and felt her tremble. “I’m sorry, Caron.”
“Fine.”
If her voice got any tighter, she’d squeak, but she didn’t move her hand. The top of hers nestled under his palm. Warm. Tiny. Fragile. When he knew what she was, what she’d done, how could she strike him in that way? How could she make him want to prove her innocent? How could she touch him emotionally?
They lapsed into silence. Rain pattered against the windows and the hood of the car, steady, rhythmic, relaxing. The silence wasn’t heavy, Caron decided, just indicative of both of them being tied up in their own thoughts. She watched the drops hit, bead into balls and glisten in the glow from the streetlamp. Rubbing her leg with her free hand, she wondered why Parker was still holding her other hand. Why didn’t he move it? Why didn’t she? Did not being alone in this situation feel that good?
“Where do you come from?” Parker asked.
“Here.” She rubbed harder, grazing her shin. Her leg felt swollen, but it wasn’t.
“Me, too.” He sighed. “You are single, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Single,” he repeated. “As in no husband to hunt me down for being alone with you in a dark car.”
“I wish I was married. You could use a little attitude adjustment. But, no, I’m not.”
She studied the feel of her leg, wishing she’d worn a skirt instead of slacks so that she could better isolate the pain. The girl must be injured. Caron sensed swelling.
“Do you have family here?”
“They’re in Mississippi.” She glanced at him. “You?”
“My mother and Megan.” He let his head loll back against the seat. “You remind me of her.”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
Caron grimaced. “Just what a girl wants to hear.”
That remark earned her a grin that was more lethal than his smile. “Yeah, well...She’s a special woman.”
“Most mothers are.”
“Do I detect an ‘except mine’ somewhere in there?”
“No.” Caron fiddled with the keys dangling from the ignition. “Including mine.”
“Hmm...” Her words said one thing, her tone something else. Her relationship with her mother was strained; he’d have bet his license on it. “What about your dad?”
She stiffened. “I haven’t seen him for a long time.”
Pain etched her voice, and Parker just couldn’t make himself push her. He rubbed her thumb with his.
After a long moment, he looked over at her. The strain was still there, around her eyes, but she was in control again. “You haven’t told me what Sandy said about Decker.”
Caron paused, then decided that if he was to be of any use to her, Parker had to know what was going on.
She wished for the hundredth time that she could read his thoughts. She couldn’t read Sandy, because she refused to probe. That wasn’t the problem with Parker. But she was positive she’d figured it out. It was so basic, so simple that she couldn’t believe it had stumped her. Physical awareness dulls psychic awareness. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, her awareness of Parker Simms had tossed her into a total psychic shutdown. “Sandy didn’t find anything on Decker. Not even a traffic violation.”
“And?”
Caron held off a sigh. So Parker knew there was more. Sandy had said Parker was sharp; that, at least, had been the truth. “And there’s still no report of any abduction.”
“So we still have no hard evidence.”
“Ina saw Decker getting a girl’s bike out of his car trunk. It was lavender...just like the bike I imaged.”
“Mmm.” Parker stretched out, rested his arm on the back of the seat. “We need more.”
They did. But at least he wasn’t disputing her images. That was progress. Only then did it occur to her just how much she wanted him to believe her.
Her stomach rumbled.
“Didn’t you get enough to eat?” he asked.
Her hand felt cold without his covering it. She buried it in her lap. “Too much.”
“Why’s your stomach still growling?”
His fingertip brushed her nape. Caron looked down to his chest. “I’m not hungry.”
“You sound hungry to me.” One finger became four and a thumb, kneading the knots from her muscles. “And you’re tense.”
She was tense. The images coming back. Worrying about the little girl. Parker touching her. How could she not be tense? But he was wrong about the rest. “I’m not hungry.” She gave him a flat look. “The girl is.”
He clamped his jaw shut and moved his hand. “Don’t you think it’s time to play straight with me instead of pawning off this—”
“Caron interrupted him, squeezing his jean-clad thigh. “Decker’s leaving.”
He swung his gaze to the front door, but then saw Decker backing out of the garage in a raggedy Plymouth.
“You follow him in your car,” Caron said. “I’ll check the house.”
“What about the Doberman? He’ll swallow you whole.”
Caron grabbed the leftover burger from the dash and predicted, “He’ll welcome me with open arms.”
“No. What if someone else is there? You don’t know what you might be walking into here.”
“I’m hoping I’ll walk in on the girl.” Caron swept her hair back from her face. “I feel her here, Parker. I have to go in.”
He hesitated for a long moment. It would be better if he went up against Decker. Still, Parker hated the idea of her entering that house alone. “All right.” He dropped his voice. “But be careful.”
When Decker was busy closing the garage door, Parker cracked the door open and slid out, then leaned down to look back at her. “You will be here when I get back?”
“Yes.” Caron’s heart raced.
Caron waited until Decker drove off and Parker followed him. Then she got out of the car. Killer met her at the gate, growling and raising a ruckus. She broke off a bit of the burger and tossed it to him, wishing she had a muzzle. She’d always been afraid of large dogs. And Killer was monstrously large.
He gobbled up the burger and returned for more. Caron opened the gate and stepped inside. When he didn’t lunge for her, she broke off a second piece and dropped it beside him, praising him for not biting her.
A third bite fed got her to the front door. It was unlocked, which surprised her—despite the Doberman—and she left the rest of the burger on the front stoop, then went inside and closed the door behind her.
The living room was a disaster. The television was on and tuned to a Saints-Redskins game. Beer cans littered the coffee table and an end table beside a worn-out recliner. Caron stepped over a misshapen stack of newspapers Decker hadn’t bothered to unroll and entered the kitchen.
Half a TV dinner that looked like it had been there for a week was on top of the stove. More beer cans were on the counter. And the only way to get another dish into the double sink would be with a wedge. The tile counter was greasy. So was the torn potato chip bag on it. She noticed some scribbling, and a pen set beside the bag, and looked closer. A phone number had been written there.
She copied the number, then walked through the kitchen to the door. The garage. Dirty and messy, just like the rest of his house. She glimpsed color and swung her gaze. There, in the far corner, she saw the little lavender bike.
Her heart pounding hard, thudding against her chest wall, Caron walked across the oil-stained concrete and looked closer at the bike. A name had been etched into a metal plate at the center of the handlebars. Misty.
That was the child. Caron knew it. Tense, she reached over and traced the letters with a trembling fingertip. Betrayal flooded her. Fear joined it. A fear so cold, so chilling, that she had experienced it only once before. The night Sarah James had been murdered.
Whimpering, Caron tried to pull back, but she couldn’t move. Her fingers had gone stiff on the handlebars. She felt frozen. Willing herself to calm down, she felt her wrists begin to throb, her leg to burn like fire where before it had only stung.
A car horn honked. Parker, warning her.
She spun around. Decker! Decker was back!
The garage door started to open. Caron ran inside. If she hurried, she could make the front door before he made it in through the back one.
She jerked the front door open. Killer growled, showing her every sharp tooth in his head. Caron heard the garage door going down, and slammed the front door. Where could she go? How was she going to get out of here?
The door leading to the kitchen creaked open, then slammed shut. Something heavy thunked down on the tile. Caron rushed down the narrow hall and ducked into the first room. A bathroom? There was nowhere to hide in a bathroom!
Fighting panic, she stepped inside the shower and drew the curtain almost closed. The tub was caked with soap scum. Black mold had taken over the tile grout and caulking. She couldn’t die in this pigsty. She couldn’t!
The bathroom door groaned open. The shower scene from the movie Psycho flashed into her mind. Sweating profusely, her flesh crawling, Caron flattened herself against the back wall of the shower, shaking with fear.
Decker stuck his hand in and cranked the faucet. Caron glued her gaze to his beefy fingers, not daring to breathe. The pipes moaned and hissed, and then ice-cold water streamed out, soaking her from head to toe. She held her breath and didn’t move. She wanted to move. She tried to move. But, God help her, she couldn’t so much as bat an eyelash.
Chapter 4
The water grew hot and steamy.
Caron stood in the shower beneath the stinging spray, her clothes plastered to her body. Mesmerized, not daring to draw breath, she watched a distorted Decker through the frosted shower curtain. He was a big man, barrel-chested and thick-muscled. Bullish. And she harbored no illusions; to hide his involvement in Misty’s kidnapping, Decker would kill her. Pushed, he would kill both her and Misty. The hard-knocks Deckers of this world resented being pushed, and they pushed back—hard.
He unbuttoned his shirt.
Shivering, Caron forced her numb mind to think. When he dropped his pants, she’d push past him, and run. That was her best hope of getting out of here alive, of finding Misty.
Decker unbuckled his razor-thin belt. Through the curtain, it looked like a black snake. A potential weapon. Grabbing one end to pull it from the loops, he stilled, as if listening. Caron strained to hear, but the fear pounding through her veins, the splatter of the water against the fiberglass tub, drowned out all other sounds.
“Damn it,” Decker muttered, then left the bathroom.
What was going on? She stuck her head out and heard the doorbell.
Parker! Imaging him pacing outside Decker’s front door, she stumbled from the tub, her knees weak with relief.
Dripping water onto the threadbare carpet, she eased her way along the wall to the mouth of the hallway, near the living room. Her shoes hissed out water. She took them off, her adrenaline pumping hard, her heart knocking against her ribs.
A bare-backed Decker stood dead ahead, facing the front door. With as little as a half turn, he would have her in plain sight. Parker’s voice rang out, and she caught a glimpse of him over Decker’s shoulder. No one ever had looked or sounded so good.
She slipped past Decker and inched to the back door.
On the other side of the screen, Killer was waiting.
Snarling, he hulked down, growled deep and throaty, baring his teeth. In a cold sweat, Caron snapped the screen door back. The dog reared, lost his balance, and toppled. Scrambling to his feet, he barked wildly.
Caron shushed him, but the dog didn’t listen. From the front door, Decker bellowed, “Come here, you damn mutt!”
As if she was no longer there, Killer took off through the shrubs and weeds and mud, clipping the corner at the front of the house. Caron hurried out, shut the door behind her, shoved on her shoes and ran straight to the back fence. She hooked the toe of her best taupe flats into the hurricane fencing and hoisted herself over. When she hit the ground, she sank to her ankles in a bed of soft mud.
“Psst!”
Shoving her dripping hair out of her eyes, Caron looked up at the clapboard house, toward the sound. Wearing a faded pink chenille robe and a purple satin turban, Ina was watching through the curtains.
She shoved them back and bent low to the small opening in the window. “What are you doing out there?”
“It’s Caron.” She rubbed the gooseflesh from her arms.
“I figured that, child. You just stomped my irises.”
“I’m sorry.” Caron stepped closer to the window. “Decker came home.”
Curiosity turned to worry, pitting deep wrinkles around Ina’s mouth. “Best you come inside, then.”
“I can’t.” Her heavy breathing fogging the chilly air, Caron looked back over her shoulder. Killer was still barking at the front of the house, and there was no sign of Decker. “Parker will wonder what’s happened to me.”
“You dry off right away, then, you hear? A body can catch pneumonia just like that—” Ina snapped her fingers “—on a night like this.”
“I will.” Pneumonia. Was that what was wrong with Misty?
Ina shut the window, then moved away. Caron turned down the shell driveway. Between the lights, shadows sliced thick, dark wedges into the pavement. Concealed by them, she crossed to the opposite sidewalk, made her way around the corner, then down the block to her car.
Nearly giddy with relief, she opened the door and slid bonelessly onto the seat. Even as she swung the door shut behind her, she closed her eyes and began to hum, starting the relaxation exercises Dr. Z. had taught her years ago. A long minute later, her heart had slowed to a mere canter.
“Quit shaking, will you?�
�� The deep voice came from the backseat. “You’re slinging water.”
Caron gasped and whipped around. A wet clump of hair stung her cheek and clung. “Blast it, Parker, you scared ten years off me!”
“Sorry.” He studied her face, frowned, then passed her a crisp white handkerchief. “How did you get wet?”
It smelled like his cologne. Her throat tight, she patted her face dry. “Decker turned on the shower. From the looks of him, I figured that was the one place I’d be safe. I was wrong.”
Parker chuckled.
“It’s not funny.”
“Sure it is.”
“It’s not, Parker,” she said from between her teeth. “He would’ve—”
“He didn’t.” Parker’s eyes sobered. “Let it go, Caron. You’ve got no time to waste on what could have happened.”
“Give me a minute, okay?” Parker Simms had the compassion of a swamp stump. “I’m cold and wet and my leg hurts like hell.”
He slid forward and draped his arms over the seat. “You’re scared.”
She glared at him. “He scared me. Of course he scared me. I’m not stupid, Parker. If he’d caught me in there, I know what Decker would have done.”
Parker swept her hair back from her face. “But he didn’t catch you. You’re fine. Now get over it.”
Sliding to the door, Parker got out of the back seat, then got back into the front beside her. “Let’s go.”
“Go?” She wadded up the handkerchief and pressed it firmly against her mouth to inhale its heavenly scent. Why the smell of Parker’s cologne calmed her when the man himself infuriated her, she hadn’t a clue—but it did. “Go where?”
“Anywhere,” he said impatiently. “The porch light just went on.” He hooked a thumb toward Mr. Mud Boots’s house.
The frilly curtains fluttered. “Mrs. Mud Boots is watching again.” Caron fleetingly hoped for another kiss. She even tensed in anticipation.
When it didn’t come, she frowned her disappointment. “I’ll take you to your car. I saw a fresh twelve-pack of beer on the counter. Decker’s good for the night.”