Danny James opened the door to the Greasy Fork and ushered Dee in. Dee couldn’t think of anyplace more platonic to have her one drink with Danny than the Greasy Fork, the epitome of the small-town diner with its scarred Formica and Coke-and-hamburger menu. Plus no alcohol. She’d be safe there.
She led him through the bustling early-dinner crowd over to her favorite booth by the front window where she could see the town square, the river, and the cliffs beyond that were her favorite haunt. The sun was low, throwing a golden wash over the red brick buildings and limning the trees. Dee sighed. What the hell had she been thinking? She needed to be outside in that perfect light. Not here. Not with Danny James, for God’s sake.
She’d laid in a few brushstrokes of burnt sienna along the lines of his throat, where the warm sun had left shadows.
Dee shook her head, feeling oddly bereft. Damn fantasy.
“Nice place,” Danny said behind her with a suspiciously dry voice.
“Did I tell you the drink choices here are Coke, Coke, and coffee?” she asked as she tossed her briefcase onto the seat and slid in.
Danny looked around. “Yeah. I can see that.”
“No, no,” the waitress said as she bustled over. “It’s your lucky day. We got a liquor license. I know how much you like a good martini, Dee. How ’bout it?”
“Wonderful,” Dee said faintly. “Thanks, Maxine.”
Without taking her eyes off Danny, Maxine dug into her pocket, where she usually kept her order pad. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll just have a longneck,” Danny said with another one of those killer smiles as he settled across from her.
Every person within a four-booth radius turned their way. Maxine headed off to get their drinks, making it a point to wait until she was out of Danny’s line of sight before vigorously fanning herself for Dee’s benefit. Yeah, Dee thought. He’s all that and more. She just wished she knew what that more was.
He looked like a yuppie exec on casual day, his oxford shirt open and rolled up to his elbows, his hair just that much disordered, his shoes tasseled. He smelted like the male animal. Dee recognized the scent from her times as a fox. Musk and power and salt. The clean hint of soap, and something that was particularly Danny James. Something deadly she couldn’t quite identify. Probably the uncut scent of pheromones. And she was sitting across from him in hundred-weight wool and a pool of sweat. Very attractive.
She was feeling flushed again. Just who’d thought this would be a good idea? Across from her, Danny pulled a tape recorder from his jacket pocket and set it on the booth.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Dee said, stone-faced.
He gave a wry shrug and put it away. “You can only say no.”
“I could beat you into insensibility with your own equipment.”
She could change into a wolverine and chew his face off. But it was too nice a face.
“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” he said without looking up. “I have such a nice face.”
Dee went very still. Just which bit of vitriol had he been responding to? And if he was letting her know that he’d heard her thoughts, why wasn’t he flashing her an “I know what you are” smile?
She surreptitiously took another sniff. Again, she caught the man scent, the soap. And … ah, hell. She should have known. That mystery scent hadn’t just been pheromones. It held the tang of ozone before a storm. The crackle of electricity. Whatever else this guy was or wasn’t, he was one of them. He smelled like psychic power.
Dee fought to keep from sweating like a suspect. What did it mean? Why was he really here? And damn it, how could just smelling the power on him make her so darned itchy? No, that was the wool against her ass, which she suddenly couldn’t seem to hold still, as if rubbing it against Naugahyde would relieve her distress.
Danny James replaced the tape recorder with a notebook and a Third Virginia Bank pen. “You don’t like talking about your parents?”
She looked around for that martini, suddenly grateful the Greasy Fork had sold out. “What are you researching?”
Smooth, Dee. Very smooth.
He didn’t seem in the least disconcerted. “A book for Mark Delaney.”
She scowled. “Yes, I got that part. What could my parents have to do with alternative history?” Except the alternative history she used to imagine for herself. Clair and Cliff Huxtable as her parents and a house in the suburbs where the silverware stayed silverware and stress caused nothing more than headaches.
“Mark wants to do a nonfiction work on psychics,” he said. “Since your parents were the most famous ones, he thought we should start there. I’m sure you know that they were sometimes referred to as—”
“The Jim and Tammy Faye of psychics. Yes, Mr. James, I know all the pejoratives.” Like “charlatan.” She wondered when that one would come up. “And keep it down, please. I’m happier if no one in Salem’s Fork thinks I know anybody famous.”
“I was sure you’d rather I got my information from the source, which would be you.”
“Not really,” Dee said, seeing Maxine set a full martini glass on a tray and salivating. “There’s plenty of video on them. I doubt I could add anything.”
“I’ve seen the video,” he said. “No offense, but it all struck me as a cross between Ed Sullivan and Elmer Gantry.”
“With just a soupçon of the Partridge Family. They did know how to put on a show.”
“I’m sure that accounts for some of it,” he said. “Their rise to fame was pretty meteoric. From neighborhood psychics to international stars in a matter of three years.”
Dee tried to see where Maxine was with that martini. “The neighborhood they worked was West Hollywood,” she said. “They numbered quite a few producers and agents among their clients.”
It had been Xan who’d spotted the opportunity. The producers had never known it wasn’t their idea.
Danny James consulted something in his notebook. “Well, it certainly was a winning formula. Especially when they added you girls to the show. You were naturals for the bright lights, all ruffled and sweet and singing those cute songs. You did a hell of an ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’”
Dee scowled. “If you’re trying to butter me up, Mr. James, that probably isn’t the way you want to do it.”
His eyebrows headed north. “You didn’t find it as charming as the rest of us.”
Being blinded by those hot, hard lights? Hundreds of hands on her; people bending so close she could smell fetid breath, smiling and smiling and lying? And her parents always standing apart on the other side of the stage like benevolent deities while she waited for just one word of praise? What more could a girl want?
“I guess I must lack that showbiz gene.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” he said. “You couldn’t be more buttoned down if you were a nun.”
Dee went rigid. “Well, thank God you’ve come along and shown me the error of my ways, Mr. James. Now you have the length of one martini to talk.”
Right on cue, Maxine stopped at their table, drinks in hand. “Thatta girl,” she said with a sharp nod as she set the longneck down. “Even if he does have a point, a gentleman has no business being rude when he’s courting.”
Mortified, Dee shut her eyes and held out her hand. “Can I order my second martini now?”
Maxine laughed and settled Dee’s first martini right into it. “You bet.” Balancing her tray against her hip, she turned to Danny James. “So, it was like love at first sight, huh? You just met, right?”
That got Dee’s eyes open fast. What the hell? Maxine was spacey, but even for her that was a bizarre question. On the other hand, it might be a better line of inquiry than the real one. Especially since the other waitresses were standing back by the kitchen door waiting for Maxine’s report on the new man in town.
“No,” Danny said, picking up his longneck. “We met in college. I haven’t seen Dee since junior year, isn’t it?”
Dee almost couldn’t get her mouth clo
sed enough to form consonants. “Um, yeah.”
Was he really covering for her? Hell, he was here to expose them. Wasn’t he?
“Really?” Maxine said, sounding confused. “College?”
“Loyola,” he said.
“Butler,” Dee said at the same time, and damn near winced.
“For senior year,” he retorted easily. “She left before I could ask her to the fraternity formal, and I never got over it. So I’m using this research project as an excuse to see her again.”
Dee felt as confused as Maxine. Did Danny really mean to protect her? Maybe she could at least listen to what he had to say.
“Well, that’s just great,” Maxine said, still sounding bewildered. “So you’re like in love and everything?”
Dee damn near spilled her martini. “We’re in what?”
Danny gave her a conspiratorial look. “Give us time, Maxine.”
“Give me another martini, Maxine,” Dee said, in a tone that said, Get out of here, Maxine, and Maxine, evidently realizing her tip was in jeopardy, made tracks back to where the rest of the waitresses waited.
Dee faced Danny James. “Why did you do that? You could have outed me like Rock Hudson.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not escaped felons. I figure you have your own reasons for protecting yourselves. And while I’d dearly love to know why, that’s not why I’m here. Okay?”
She found she could breathe again. At least for now. “Thank you.”
He picked up his longneck. “No thanks necessary. Maxine was right, though. I wasn’t being a gentleman. I’m sorry. It just seems such a long way from that ‘Delightful Dee-Dee’ on the show who always sang in her pretty pink dresses.”
So that quickly he was back on the hunt. Dee went after her martini. “I’ll have you know crinoline itches like a bitch.”
So did wool, but he didn’t need to know that.
“What else itched?”
Dee stared. He’d just done it again. “What?”
He leaned closer to her and kept his voice down. “You and your sisters disappeared twenty-four hours after your parents’ death, and haven’t been heard from since. What have you been hiding from?”
“Nosy researchers.”
“I thought you might like to tell your side of the story. Did you really go to Butler University?”
“If we wanted to tell our story, we probably would have done it anytime during the last twelve years.” She reached for her purse, trying to force an end to this nonsense. “There is no story.”
He didn’t move. “It’s not just that you’ve never even gone back to your parents’ commune—who would all like to hear from you, by the way. You’re living in seclusion half a continent away under an assumed name. Why?”
She stopped again and faced him with a semblance of calm, even as her pulse skittered around like a pea in a hot skillet. “Who wants to live in a commune of psychics? Everybody knows your business.”
“And now nobody does.”
“And oddly enough, they don’t seem to mind.”
“What about your sisters?”
“They don’t mind, either.”
“Even the name change?”
She was getting frustrated. “You don’t like O’Brien? It was my grandmother’s name.”
He jotted something down, although Dee couldn’t figure out what it could have been. She hadn’t said anything yet.
“Your parents,” he said, his posture still comfortable. “They were both gifted?”
He looked so objective. Too bad Dee had already heard his opinion on the matter.
“You really want to know?”
He looked up, surprised. “Of course. If anybody knew, it would be you.”
“And you’ll believe me.”
He offered a wry grin. “You seem a trustworthy sort.”
She wanted to shake her head. This was going to be such a waste of time. “Yes. They believed they were gifted.”
“And you?”
“Me what?”
“Are you gifted?”
“Why, yes, thank you. I can knit and tap-dance a little, and I’m a whiz with a block of ice and a chain saw.”
“What about … ?” He let his hands drift through the air, the universal sign language for “woo-woo.”
“Looking for somebody to entertain at parties?”
“Looking for the truth about your parents.”
“No you’re not.” She shoved her drink away and sat back. “You’re trying to prove they were frauds. I mean, they must have been, mustn’t they? After all, they were convicted of it. They were convicted because they are fairly credulous and believed the wrong financial advisors.” And Xan, who had known better. “I’m not going to help you vilify them further.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to do that?”
Dee gave him the benefit of sincerely considering her answer. “You don’t believe it’s real, do you?” she asked.
He never hesitated. He didn’t even smile. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”
Dee almost laughed. She should have known. He was a psychophobe with a pile of psychic magazines in his bedroom. “Not ghosties nor ghoulies nor even things that go bump in the night?”
“Swamp gas and overheated imaginations.”
Lord, was she tempted to show him. It would be so easy. All she had to do was reach across the table, grab him by the ears, and kiss him. Really lip-lock in on him so that she sucked on his tongue like a Popsicle and he suddenly looked up to see his mother sitting in front of him. Wouldn’t he be surprised?
“Would you mind talking about the show?” he asked. “I mean, nobody was closer than you three.”
Dee reached for her martini again. It would be such a good moment to shift. It didn’t have to be his mother. Just something startling and very mobile. “We weren’t involved at all,” she said. “Just trotted out on special occasions. Other than that, we had nannies.”
And Xan. Always there, whispering in her ear, dripping uncertainty like acid. Especially, inevitably, around her twelfth birthday, the day her world changed.
“Why don’t you just tell me about the book?” she asked. “Why is Mr. Delaney so interested in psychics all of a sudden?”
Danny James eased back in his seat. “Not all of a sudden, really. It’s a subject he’s been fascinated by for a while. Especially … shall we say, ‘professional psychics.’”
“Ah.” Dee took a sip of gin. “I recognize that tone of voice. The ‘all psychics are frauds or delusional’ tone. Cops and fundamentalists are particularly fond of it.”
“Well, were they? Frauds, I mean.”
“You obviously think so. Who am I to argue?”
He should have looked piqued. He laughed. “Oh, I do love a challenge. I don’t suppose you’d like dinner after all, would you?”
Of course she’d like dinner. Who was he kidding? But she couldn’t risk it on so many levels.
Then he reached across the table. “Please,” he said. “I don’t bite. I promise.”
He did even worse than that. He touched her. Laid his hand over hers and squeezed. Lightning burst behind Dee’s eyes. A shock of heat shot up her arm and scorched her. That dusty image blossomed again, paint and sunlight and Danny James. Worse, this time it brought with it the sound of laughter. The sense of joy.
Dee gasped, stunned to silence. She looked up to see that Danny had lost color. His pupils were suddenly the size of dimes. Oh, God. He could see it, too. He could hear it.
Dee yanked her hand away, fully intending to turn him down. To climb regally to her feet and walk purposefully out the door.
She took in a breath, all set to shake her head. “Actually,” she said instead, “I’d love to.”
Lizzie stared up at Elric, into his dark, fathomless eyes, and she knew he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to. She was fascinated by his mouth, by his cool voice, by his eyes and the long elegant hands. She was fascinated by him, and half terrified.
She still wanted him to kiss her. She could feel the power pulsing between them, threading through her body so that she could feel him everywhere, and the sensation was so terrifyingly wonderful that she wanted to feel his mouth as well, everywhere, and see what kind of colors it brought.
But then he dropped his hand, stepping back, away from her, and the connection was broken, and she felt suddenly drained. Thankfully unkissed. Damnably unkissed.
“You’re very susceptible,” he said, and if she didn’t know how powerful he was she might have thought there was a shaken note in his cool voice.
“Susceptible to what?” She took a step back herself, for safety’s sake. A thousand miles between them would make things even better, but so far he’d been immovable.
“To me.”
The sting to her pride was enough to override her fears. “Yes, I’m absolutely quivering with desire for you,” she said. “We’re long-lost soul mates, and I can’t live without you.” The problem with sarcasm, she thought, the moment the words were out of her mouth, was that you had to have practice. She was so seldom sarcastic that her haughty little speech sounded far too much like she meant it.
It would have helped if he’d said something, anything. But he just looked at her for a long, measuring moment, before changing the subject. “We need to find you a talisman.”
“What for? To keep me safe from you?” she shot back.
“We’re not going to talk about that right now,” he said. “Maybe later. Right now we have work to do.”
Talk about what? she thought with just a trace of desperation, but for once she kept her mouth shut. The longer she was around him the more dangerous he became, though she wasn’t quite sure why.
“What kind of talisman?” She went back to the original subject. “What do I need it for?”
“To focus your energy. Do you have any old jewelry, maybe something that belonged to your mother?”
There was no way she could lie to him.
“We have some jewelry,” she said reluctantly. “But it’s not mine. We’ve been using it to support ourselves—every now and then we sell off a piece and it keeps us going.”
Unfortunate Miss Fortunes, The Page 10