MIND READER

by Hinze, Vicki

  “Like you’re half-afraid I’ll jump your bones.”

  She was, but she was also half-afraid he wouldn’t.

  “We’re just going to sleep a few hours until it’s time to try and find Misty. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Relieved and disappointed, she nodded and walked into her bedroom.

  Parker gave her time to shower and put on her flannel nightgown. She climbed into bed, tugged the nightgown down around her ankles and double-checked the top button to make sure it was securely fastened.

  After his shower, Parker came in, wearing only his jeans. The lamplight glinted off his much-admired shoulders and on his hair. The man had the broadest chest she’d ever seen. It was sprinkled with thick, dark hair that wound down to a thin line and disappeared beneath the waist of his jeans. Beautiful. She swallowed hard.

  He clicked off the lamp, then unzipped his pants. When they hit the floor, she heard the stuff in his pockets jingle and roll out. What was he wearing? It was too dark to see.

  He got into bed and shifted his weight. The mattress sank, threatening to roll her over to his side. She gripped her edge, tempted to stretch out a toe to see if he was naked. But, deciding she was better off not knowing, she stayed put.

  “Goodnight, Caron.”

  “Good night.” Her heart was pounding a zillion beats a minute. She’d never actually sleep with him here. They’d slept in the same bed before, but not with him maybe naked. Oh, geeze, he couldn’t be naked.

  “Caron?” He sounded woozy already.

  What now? Didn’t the fool man know that talking was darn near impossible? “Mmm?”

  “I borrowed your toothbrush. I hope it’s okay.”

  It wasn’t okay. Her toothbrush had been closer to him than she had. Jealous of a toothbrush? Caron groaned inwardly. She’d slipped over the edge. “That’s fine, Parker.”

  He rolled onto his side, his back to her. “Did you set the alarm?”

  “Yes.” He smelled soapy and crisp and fresh and clean. All male. And he was throwing off enough body heat to melt the polar ice caps. Both of them. She’d never sleep a wink. Not a wink. That was her last coherent thought.

  The phone rang.

  Parker cranked open a lid and glared at the clock. Four a.m. The room looked...strange. Where the hell was he?

  Memory flooded back. Caron’s. He was at Caron’s.

  A second ring split the silence.

  He untangled their legs and arms, reached over her and grabbed the receiver, then nudged her awake. “Caron.”

  She grunted a protest and nestled against him again. Even asleep, she wanted to be close. Smiling, Parker nudged her again and put the phone to her ear.

  “Hello,” she mumbled in a croaky voice.

  Parker heard the click. Whoever it was hung up. He moved the receiver to his ear and heard the dial tone, then dropped it back into the cradle. “You usually get calls in the middle of the night?”

  “No.” She opened her eyes. “No, I don’t.” She turned over to face him, her eyes wide now, alert and fully awake. “Parker, I sense danger.”

  He got out of bed and tossed Caron a pair of jeans from the chair, then grabbed his pants. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Out of here.” One leg in his pants, he shoved the other through, hiked them up, then zipped the fly. “We’re sitting ducks.”

  He went to the closet, grabbed the first blouse he saw, then tossed it to her, too. “Would you come on?”

  She scooted out of bed and jerked on her jeans. “What’s the hurry? I said I sense danger. I didn’t say the apartment is on fire.”

  Her sweater in his hand, he strode back to her, swept her fingers out of the way and took over buttoning her blouse. “Look, I’ve learned the hard way to respect your senses. When you image danger, I react. Got it?”

  She smiled up at him. “Got it.”

  He gave her tush a friendly pat. “Good. Let’s move.”

  “I think you’re overreacting, Parker.” Caron started across the complex’s lawn, toward the row of parked cars. The Porsche looked out of place. Glossy and black and reflecting the yellow light from the sign across the street, it stuck out like a sore thumb. “It was just a hang-up call. The danger might be totally unrelated.”

  “Or it might not be.” He stopped walking at the front of the car. “Whoever left that message on your door well knows where you live.”

  He could have gone all night without reminding her of the message, and she would have been just fine. She stepped off the curb and reached for the door handle.

  Tires screeched. Caron looked toward the sound. A black car sped toward them.

  Parker jerked her halfway over the car’s hood, then shoved her down into a crouch and pulled her along the row of cars to a rusted-out pickup.

  Loud pops split the air. Louder, staccato ones in a swift barrage sprayed her apartment and jarred Caron’s teeth. Glass shattered—windows and windshields. Metallic pings sounded in a long series that had her ears ringing. Dust from the bricks on the building flew. They were shooting at her home. At her car.

  Lights snapped on. People in other apartments began screaming. A baby started crying. And across the street a man walked out of the store carrying a bag of groceries, saw what was happening, dropped the bag and darted back inside. Still the firing of bullets rent the air.

  Smelling smoke, Caron moved back far enough from Parker’s shoulder to see the flames. Her car was on fire.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the shooting stopped. The car sped away, its tires squealing. Caron looked up and saw it fishtail, clipping the corner.

  When it was gone, she looked at Parker. “Decker?”

  “Or Forrester.” Parker grimaced. “Or maybe Sandy.”

  “No, not Sandy.” That something that had been niggling at her drew closer, hanging just at the frayed edge of her mind.

  “He’s in this up to his eyeballs, Caron. I know that hurts you, but that’s the way it is.”

  Understanding dawned. “Oh, God!” Caron jumped to her feet. “Oh, God!”

  Parker stood up and grabbed Caron’s arms. “What?”

  “Misty!”

  People began pouring out of the apartments to check the damage, some crying, some cursing. Some dressed in pajamas, some men with bare chests and feet.

  “Come on.” Parker began moving toward his car.

  Caron followed, sidestepping an old woman carrying a baseball bat. That was as futile and illogical as her locking the door to keep Killer out of her car. Caron reached for the door handle.

  “Don’t!” Parker held up his hand. “Move back.”

  Caron leaned against the nearest craggy oak and watched Parker check out the car. He walked around it, then lay flat on the ground and looked at its underside. When he stood back up, he popped the hood and inspected the engine.

  Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

  Caron got into the car and grabbed the phone. The wire dangled loose from the receiver. She tossed it to the floorboard. “Find a phone. The store. Stop at the store.” She raked her hand through her sleep-tossed hair. “God, I knew it. I knew I was missing something basic.”

  “What?” Parker wheeled in and braked to a stop. Before he shifted into Park, Caron was getting out of the car.

  “Mary Beth,” Caron shouted back at him, and yanked the receiver from the phone hanging on the store’s outer wall. She dropped a coin into the slot and dialed, and seconds later she was talking.

  She put in a second quarter, dialed again, then waited. No talking this time. A third quarter hit the slot, and again she said nothing. Then a fourth. She paused a second, then keyed in a series of numbers. What was she doing? She held the receiver for a long time, staring down at the ground, obviously listening, but she didn’t say anything. Caron stiffened suddenly, dropped the receiver, and rushed back to the car.

  She bumped against the front fender. When she jerked open the door, she sh
outed, “Gretna!” then launched into telling him what had happened. “Charles Nivens was with Mary Beth. She’s getting him to check the Hunt files for a client named Vanessa. We should’ve done that before, Parker, but I was afraid of his Mafia connections.”

  “Mafia? Who’s Mafia-connected?”

  “But he wouldn’t dare tell them—”

  “He who?”

  “Nivens.”

  She hissed the name in exasperation and slammed the door. “Aren’t you listening? Nivens wouldn’t tell them, because they’d start watching him. They’d find out about Mary Beth.”

  “What’s Mary Beth got to do with Nivens?”

  “They’re having an affair,” Caron told him. “Nivens would never risk losing Mary Beth or giving his in-laws a valid reason to kill him.”

  She twisted around in the seat. “Dang it, if I’d had my mind on work where it belonged and not on you, I would have thought that through sooner.

  “I tried getting Decker and Forrester, but neither of them answered.”

  His mind was still reeling from what she’d said. But she’d made four calls, not three. “Did you talk to Sanders?”

  “No.” She snapped her safety belt; the latch clicked. “Would you drive?”

  “Why not?” Somehow Parker had to get her to accept the truth. It wouldn’t be easy. Another man had betrayed her trust. Sanders might not have killed Linda Forrester but he had withheld the report of Misty’s kidnapping, and more.

  “Because he wasn’t there. He’s out looking for Decker and Forrester and trying to run down the redhead. There’s still nothing on her.” Caron smacked the dash with the heel of her hand. “Go, Parker!”

  “If he wasn’t there, how do you know?”

  “He left me a message on his answering machine. We’ve done that for years to keep tabs on each other during an investigation. He buried the missing-child report—for Linda, I know it.”

  “Did he do it, Caron?” She had that betrayed look. “Did Sanders kill Linda?”

  “No.” She buried her head in her hands. Her hair fell like a curtain around her face. She tossed back her head and glared at him. “When Linda was dying, I sensed Misty getting weaker.” Caron’s lower lip quivered. “She’s getting sicker, Parker. I can feel it.”

  Right before she’d collapsed, Caron had called out Misty’s name. Linda was dead, and Misty was without medication to keep her fever down. What was causing the fever, Caron didn’t know. But the aspirin Linda had given Misty had reduced the fever...for a while. “That means Misty—” Parker shoved the gearshift into reverse.

  “Yes!” Caron cried. “Misty knows who killed Linda Forrester. She saw it happen.”

  “Ah, sweet Jesus protect her.” Parker stomped the accelerator.

  “They’ll go after her.”

  “We’ll find her first.” Parker clenched the wheel in a death grip, dodged a white station wagon. Then he realized what Caron had said, and he turned a wary glance on her. “Did you say they?”

  “Yes!”

  Tears coursed down Caron’s cheeks. Without a word, Parker pulled her closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. His questions could wait. Right now, she needed to concentrate on where the shed was located. Somehow he knew that the tears she was crying were Misty’s. And there was no one there to comfort the child.

  Chapter 9

  Dawn broke just as Parker turned down the third winding dirt road. “Do you recognize anything?”

  “What’s to recognize?” Caron tried to keep a step ahead of panic. “There’s nothing but brush and trees out here.”

  “Be patient.” He gave her thigh a supportive pat. “You’ll find the right one.”

  He was thinking of Sarah, Caron knew, the way she’d confused the signs then. Parker didn’t know Sarah’s name, of course—Caron hadn’t broken that confidence—but he was thinking of her.

  And so was Caron. In the hum of the tires on the pavement, she heard Sarah’s cries for help, those shrill screams that had weakened to whimpers, then to deafening silence. The wind-whipped trees became fire and flame, billowing towers of thick black smoke, cloying and concealing and burning Caron’s throat raw. She’d stayed until the walls had fallen and there was nothing left to burn. Until the embers had died and all that could be seen was cold ash. Sarah’s torture chamber had fallen. And still Caron had found no peace.

  Sandy said Sarah’s husband had burned down the building. That didn’t feel right, but Caron hoped that he had. For him, there was solace, if not peace, in knowing that no one else would suffer there. For Caron, there was neither. She’d failed, and Sarah had died.

  The road curved left for the third time. Caron gripped the door handle, fighting desperation. “This isn’t right, either. Turn around.” The last road sign she’d imaged when holding the leash had been the one for Lafitte. Now everything depended on instinct, and she was terrified of being wrong.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. There were two left curves, then a right.”

  Parker stopped, turned the Porsche around, then headed back down the road, swerving through the cloud of dust the car had raised.

  The dark curl was taunting his ear again. This time, Caron didn’t hesitate, she just reached out and smoothed it back.

  He looked over, and something hard in his face softened. The pain in his eyes was gone. Odd. Until it had disappeared, she hadn’t realized how much pain had shone in his eyes. Worry for Misty filled them now.

  “When this is over, we need to talk.” His grip on the wheel had his knuckles white. “There are things I need to tell you.”

  This wasn’t the first time he’d said those words to her but the odd pitch in his voice was more telling than any words. She wished she could see his face, but he’d looked away. A lot remained unresolved between them; Parker had as hard a time being open about his feelings as she did. But he did feel. One of them had to take the risk...and the plunge. “I care about you, too, Parker.”

  He reached out to her. “Don’t stop.”

  “I won’t.” Her heart thundering, Caron clasped her hand in his and laced their fingers together until their palms pressed. It was a gloomy dawn, too cloudy for pretty pinks and golds to show in the sky. But inside her the sun shone warm.

  Something flashed black off Parker’s left shoulder. A dirt road, nearly hidden by tall weeds. “Stop!”

  Parker slammed on the brakes.

  Caron slid his way and bumped her chin on his shoulder. “Geez, Parker.” She cupped her stinging face in her hand. “I didn’t mean on a dime.”

  “Sorry.” He pecked a kiss to the tip of her chin, then just waited.

  She hadn’t often experienced quiet, undemanding acceptance. Caron loved him for that. The pain in her hands gone, she unbuckled her safety belt, then turned, her knees on the seat, to look out Parker’s window.

  “I can’t see past your shoulders.” She stretched over the steering wheel. He steadied her with a hand to her waist, and she saw the tire tracks rutting the road. “That’s it.”

  He set her back to her seat. “Hold on.” Parker put the car in reverse and backed up.

  She pointed through the windshield. “See how the brush is bent. This is it.”

  Parker reached to the back seat and retrieved a black vest. “Put this on.”

  She slid it on over her blouse. It was too big, and hung on her shoulders. “A bulletproof vest?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He did care; more for her than for himself. The muscles in her chest quivered. She kissed his jaw to tell him how much his caring meant to her.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, reaching under his seat. He pulled out a nickel-plated Colt, checked the chamber and snapped it shut, then shoved it into the waistband of his jeans. He nodded toward the vest. “That thing fastened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, Snow White.” He gave her a heart-stopping smile. “Let’s go get M
isty.”

  Caron put a restraining hand on his arm, wanting, needing, to tell him that she loved him...just in case. But the words stuck somewhere between her mind and mouth, and, afraid he didn’t want to hear them, she played it safe. “I care about you, and I like your kisses, Parker.”

  “I know, sweetheart.” He smiled so tenderly that her heart ached. “Me, too.” He jammed the gearshift into first and hit the accelerator.

  Weeds and tall grass slashed at the sides of the car. Caron looked back. A cloud of dust trailed behind them. “Slow down. They’ll see us coming a mile off.”

  He braked to a crawl. “How much farther?”

  Caron recalled the image. “A curve right, then the fishing camp will be straight ahead.”

  “No heroics,” he said. “When we get there, you stick close, but stay back.”

  It was impossible to do both, but she nodded anyway. He was remembering her going into Sarah’s building when Sandy had told her to stay in the car. She’d wished a thousand times, a million times, in the year since that night that she’d listened to him.

  A weedy patch of yellow sunflowers broke the monotony of green and brown to their left. Her stomach curled, and her chest tightened. And relief, precious and sweet, flowed through her veins. This was it. This was the right place.

  Parker stopped at a wide spot in the road, turned the Porsche around, then cut the engine. “We’d better go in on foot.”

  He grabbed a clanking black bag from the floor of the car. “Ready?”

  Caron swallowed hard, fighting images of Sarah, of going into the bar. They were replaying in her mind and she couldn’t make them stop. “Ready.”

  The tall grass was brittle and pricked at her legs and arms. It was waist-high in most places, higher in others, scraping her shoulders and catching in her hair. She knew it was grass, but in her mind it was Sarah’s attacker, tormenting, torturing.

  Parked stopped and whispered, “Watch for snakes. As hot as it is, they’ll be slithering to every mud puddle.”

  Her attention riveted to his warning. Caron watched the ground. The sun peeked out from behind a heavy black cloud, warming her head. Just as she was putting her foot down, she saw a brown egg and sidestepped. Again she imaged Sarah, sidestepping the loose stone in the parking lot. The man grabbing her arm, jerking her into a van. Gagging her...