CORE Shadow [1] Shadow of Danger

by Kristine Mason

  She rolled her eyes, and tried to hide her embarrassment. First the psychic thing and now the bazillion gnomes. He had to think she was an over the top eccentric. “I know. I have no idea where to put them anymore. Maybe I should call Matt Boysen and ask him to put an ad in his paper announcing I’ve reached my full capacity.”

  Running a finger along the gnome cookie jar, he frowned. “Boysen’s a piece of work. Remember what I said about him and other reporters once the murders are leaked.”

  Damn, just when she was relaxing, he had to bring up the investigation and remind her exactly why he’d stopped by tonight. He might have showed concern, but this wasn’t a social call, this was business. “And I told you that I could handle it.”

  “Really?” He faced her. “Have you ever had a reporter follow you around? Shove a microphone in your face? Harass you when you’re at the grocery store, or at work, or in the privacy of your home?”

  “You know I haven’t, but apparently you have.”

  “Apparently. Let’s talk in the living room,” he said with a tight smile, then grabbed the bottle of wine.

  And apparently that was the end of that, she thought as she trailed behind him. It didn’t take a psychic to know when someone was hiding something, and John, she suspected, had a few skeletons in his closet. She hadn’t missed the way he’d tensed, or how his eyes had narrowed before he’d masked his emotions with a forced grin. He’d said he worked for a private investigation firm. Now she wondered what line of work he’d been in before joining CORE. Carl Saunders had made an off-handed comment about him smelling like FBI. If that were true, why had he left?

  Curious, and nosey as hell, she was prepared to ask him more about his job, rather past job, when he suddenly stopped. He stared at the large painting she’d hung on the wall opposite her brick fireplace, his gaze riveted on the beautiful collage of colors.

  “This is good. Where did you get it?”

  “My brother.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where he got it from. I’ve been looking for something like this.” He glanced back at her, and she swore he blushed. “For my mom. Christmas isn’t that far away and with my schedule I shop early and whenever I can.”

  For his mom? Good lord, the man did have a sweet side. “Actually my brother is the artist.”

  “Really? Your brother painted this?”

  “Mmm-hmm. He sculpts too, although I’m partial to his paintings. You can see more of his work all around town. They’re in a lot of the local shops, the county library. Even Roy has a few in his office.”

  “Yeah, I saw those. Maybe I could look at any extras he might have.”

  “Trust me. He’d be happy to sell a painting to you. He’s trying to get his name out there. Actually, he has a showing at some new gallery in Chicago at the end of October.”

  “I’ll have to check it out.”

  Right. Because that’s where he lives, and that’s where he’ll be heading when the investigation is finished. “I’m keeping my fingers crossed for him. He’s desperate to leave Wissota Falls, but until he can earn enough money from selling his paintings, he’s kinda stuck here.”

  He moved toward the bookshelf lined with pictures and memories. “What about you? Does small town life agree with you?”

  Standing next to him she let her gaze drift over the framed snapshots. “So-so.”

  He cocked a brow.

  “I mean, yeah, it’s okay. Like with any place, though, it’s not always peaches and cream. Know what I mean?”

  After studying her for a few seconds, a smile tilted his lips. “I do. While I love Chicago, I used to think small town simplicity seemed more appealing.”

  “Now?” she prompted, curious and eager to learn his take on where she lived. Did he think they were all bumpkins? Most visitors did. Wissota Falls sponsored many annual festivals. Tourists would come from big cities, and then act as if they’d time traveled in their Mercedes or BMW’s into another century. She didn’t resent the tourists, they were good for the town and for The Sugar Shack. She resented that she couldn’t leave with them.

  Wissota Falls had become stifling. She’d wanted out the moment her mom died, but she hadn’t been able to leave. Her dad’s grief had weighed on her. She was a fixer, and he’d needed fixing. Only she hadn’t anticipated the fix she now found herself in three years later.

  Living a life she didn’t want.

  “Well,” he began. “Let’s just say I think I like the anonymity I have in Chicago.”

  No shit, hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she refrained with a false smile. She understood more than he could ever comprehend. “Well, it’s not for everyone.” She shrugged, and sipped her wine.

  After setting his glass on the bookshelf he picked up one of the photos. Her favorite. It had been taken the year before her mom had been diagnosed with cancer, when she’d been healthy, beautiful.

  “Your family?” he asked, as he caressed the frame with his thumb.

  “Yep, and that’s my mom and dad. My brother Will and my sister Eden.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  Was he blind? Eden was gorgeous, exotic, and the total opposite of her. Black hair, green eyes and olive skin, then there was her body. Eden was one of those women who had a natural, runway model physique. She was tall and slender, while Celeste was short and curvy. Sharing clothes had never happened when they were growing up, no matter how many miles Celeste ran.

  “She looks familiar…not because of a family resemblance, you two don’t look anything alike.”

  Her brother and Eden had similar coloring, and favored their dad, while she looked more like her mom. “You probably recognize Eden from the news. She’s changed her name, and is a reporter at WBDJ-TV in Chicago. She does—”

  “Investigative reporting,” he finished for her. “Eden Risk, right?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t contact her about this. No offense, but your sister is as bad as those reporters I was telling you about.”

  Bristling, she moved to the couch. “No, I didn’t tell her, and she’s nothing like those leeches.”

  He dropped to the opposite end of the couch. “Really? Then why haven’t you told her?”

  “Because she’s based in Chicago, and I doubt anyone around there would be interested in what’s happening in Podunk, Wisconsin.” And Eden didn’t believe in her psychic abilities, just as she hadn’t believed in their mother’s. As much as she loved her sister, and knew Eden would foam at the mouth over this story, she worried about the spin Eden would put on the investigation.

  “No one but Boysen knows about the murders yet. This case could be a coup for her career. Why are you really holding back?”

  She stared at her sister’s photo. “Put it this way. I love my sister, and I want her to be successful, but what’s happening around here, what’s happening with me, isn’t something she needs to know about.”

  “She doesn’t believe in psychics,” he said, not a question, but a bitch of a reminder.

  Eyeing him for a second, she smiled. “You’re perceptive.”

  “That’s my job, and I’m wondering about yours. Have you always worked at the diner?”

  “No. After high school, I went to the University of Wisconsin for a degree in accounting. After I graduated, I stayed in Madison and worked at a firm.”

  “If it’s so-so here, why’d you come back?”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re nosey?”

  He shrugged. “All the time.”

  A grin tugged at her lips. “I can see why.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, then he shifted and set his glass on the coffee table. “So are you going to tell me how you ended up back in Wissota Falls?”

  “You’re relentless,” she chuckled.

  “That’s why I’m good at my job.”

  She eyed him and decided to take the opportunity he’d given her. “How long have you worked for C
ORE?”

  “Not talking until you answer me first,” he said, and cocked a dark brow.

  She shook her head. “Why do you care? It’s not like I’m all that interesting.”

  “A psychic accountant, who’s a baker, runs a diner, and owns more gnomes than should be legal? I’d say you’re interesting.”

  “Hardly, but since you can’t let this go, I moved back three years ago. My mom was diagnosed with cancer and it was too much for my dad and brother to handle. Eden was already in Chicago, so I came home to help. I wanted to anyway.” She drained her glass, then cleared her throat.

  “My mom passed away six months later and my dad...he couldn’t stand being here without her. Too many memories I suppose. It started out that he was going to Florida for a few months to clear his head, but he ended up buying a place and left Will and me running the diner.”

  He leaned forward with genuine sympathy in his eyes, and caught her hand in his. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She curled her fingers around his, relishing his touch. Holding hands shouldn’t have caused the longing coursing through her, or the ache to be held, but it did. In that instant a hunger settled in the pit of her stomach, a need so fierce, and nothing she’d ever experienced before. She wanted him. She wanted to do more than hold hands despite what her head told her.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the quick image she’d had when he’d touched her at the diner. Picturing them naked, writhing and moaning, had her inner thighs growing damp and her nerve endings humming with need and anticipation.

  “Celeste?”

  She opened her eyes. Her face heated to the point that she wanted to fan herself. “Sorry, my mind was wandering.”

  “To where?” he asked, and inched closer.

  “I…you probably don’t want to know.”

  Keeping his gaze on her, he murmured, “The diner.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just…when you touched me, I had a vision that included me. That’s never happened before, and I’m wondering if you’d felt…forget it.” She sighed, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “It was probably my imagination.”

  “I…” he began, then drawing away from her, stood. “Maybe we should talk about what happened today.”

  Grateful he’d changed topics before she made a fool of herself, she nodded. He obviously hadn’t felt what she had at the diner, and considering he didn’t believe in psychics, there was no reason to bring it up again despite the need he stirred in her.

  “Good. Let’s start with the car ride over to the dump site.”

  Although curious about the trance she’d gone through, a part of her was now afraid to know exactly what had happened. After all, when he left tonight, she’d be alone. Again. With nothing but her nightmares.

  “You know, before we get into all of that...”

  He turned away from the mantle and eyed her.

  “I understand your reluctance in using psychics. Not everyone is a believer, but I was wondering about your experience, as an investigator or whatever your title is.”

  Shaking his head, a slow cocky grin spread across his lips. “You want to know my qualifications?” he asked, as if shocked she’d have the audacity.

  Her curiosity in him multiplied. “Yes, that’s what I meant. You’re not a cop or a government agent. How did you and your company end up part of a murder case—”

  “In Podunk, Wisconsin?” he teased. “Honestly, I have no idea. I go where I’m told. But, as for my credentials, I joined CORE two years ago. And I’m not just an investigator, I’m a criminalist. I trained with the FBI for ten years before I left.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “Anybody ever tell you you’re nosey?” he asked with a smile.

  “All the time,” she echoed his earlier reply. “Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t just tell me to look into my crystal ball if I wanted answers.”

  “Welcome back, Miss Sarcasm,” he said, and although he smiled, she caught a hint of regret in his eyes. “Besides, didn’t I use that line earlier today?”

  “If you did, I missed it.”

  “If I did, I’m sorry I was stupid enough to say it.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to the painting again. “You have to understand my line of work. I do believe in hunches and gut instinct, but I have a hard time believing in psychics. During an investigation, solid evidence is what I rely on, and what will hold up in court. Hell, even then, it can sometimes be difficult to convict. The wrong person can be put on trial and sent to prison for life, while the other...” He turned to her. “Look, I’m not going to discount what you said in my car, or at the ME’s, but I need more to go on.”

  “Thank you. And I promise not to interfere in your investigation. Honestly, John, I only want to help.”

  “I know you do.” His dark eyes softened. “But I’m, um, hell, I’m worried about you.”

  The aching loneliness, the misery of the nightmares was suddenly overshadowed with a ridiculous sense of pleasure and relief. Warmth and hope spread through her. He might not believe in her, but he wasn’t looking at her as a kooky fortune teller, either. And he cared. She suspected as much with how protective he’d been today at the ME’s, but to hear him say it out loud? Then again, maybe she was reading too much into this. All he’d said was he worried about her.

  “I’m fine. Really,” she said, stressing the last word when he shook his head.

  He pushed away from the mantle, and moved toward the couch. Kneeling, he gripped her hands. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe in much, do you?”

  She caught the regret in his eyes before he looked away. “I honestly don’t know what to believe anymore. I came here to do a job, and ended up…”

  “Ended up what?” she asked.

  Heat simmered in his eyes as he moved closer. “You said you had a vision when we touched at the diner. Tell me about it.”

  “I told you, it was probably my imagination.”

  His breath quickened, as he dipped his head. His mouth, those lips she’d admired, only inches from hers. “I don’t think so.”

  “W-why do you say that?” she asked, drifting her gaze to his tempting lips.

  “Because you made me feel something I’ve never felt.” He moved impossibly closer. His masculine scent enveloped her, his warm breath, laced with the sweet remnants of wine, caressed her mouth. “You made me feel alive,” he whispered, then captured her lips.

  She gasped into his mouth as their lips melded and fused. As he eased her against the couch, her body exploded with need. With pure hunger, she held onto his broad shoulders and kissed him with all the desire bursting through her pores. Their noses smashed together, teeth collided, as their tongues mated. She’d considered herself a good kisser, but finesse had no place here. Not now. Not when all she wanted was to be closer to him, crawl into him, show him exactly what she wanted.

  He didn’t seem to care, either. Instead, he deepened the kiss, speared his hands through her hair and held her head in place. Drawing in a deep breath, he tore his mouth from hers, peppered her jaw and neck with opened-mouthed kisses only to cup her cheeks in his warm palms as he drew her back to his lips.

  This time, he slowed the pace. He nipped her lower lip, pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then ran his tongue along where he’d bitten her. “You taste so good.” He untwined his fingers from her tangled curls, then moved his hands over her body.

  His large, warm hands plundered and took. Slid under her shirt, caressed her bare back, then ran lower over her hips and bottom. He gripped her there, and pressed her against his muscled thigh. Too many layers of clothes prevented her from the contact she desired. Unashamed, she pushed her heat against his hard thigh, the friction of his jeans against her sweatpants stimulated and rushed through her. Close...so close. God, she needed more.

  “You’re so hot,” he whispered, then took possession of her lips again. She lost herself in his passion. Hushed gasps and quie
t groans echoed throughout the room as she hung onto his shoulders and rode his thigh.

  He shifted and settled his erection between her legs. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, about touching you.” He nuzzled her ear, his hot breath puffed at the curls framing her face.

  “Then touch me.” She took one of his hands between their bodies then placed his palm to her breast. Releasing a soft moan, she urged him to massage her, to take what she offered.

  Through her cotton t-shirt, he rolled her stiff nipple between his fingers, then muffled her cries with a hungry kiss. She tore her mouth away, delved her hands through his hair, cupped his head and urged his mouth lower.

  He took the cue, shoved her shirt over her lacy bra then lowered his head. His soft stubble teased her flesh as he opened his mouth over one, lace-covered peak.

  “Oh, John,” she gasped.

  He kissed her taut nipple, cupping her breast with his hand. Liquid desire flooded between her thighs and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding her heat against his arousal.

  Through the lace, he tugged and pulled at her nipple. She longed to feel the contact of his hot, wet mouth on her bare skin. Reaching between them, she grazed her palm along his hard shaft. His cock surged. She rubbed him through the rough denim, wishing they were naked. Naked and in her bed, or on the floor...at this point it didn’t matter. She wanted him, plain and simple.

  The doorbell rang.

  Breathing hard, he raised himself above her. “You expecting someone?”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. “No.”

  She stood and began rearranging her shirt and sweatpants. “It’s probably Will. He lives in the room above my garage, and uses it as his studio.” She blew out a frustrated breath, then gave him a half-smile. “Sorry.”

  He tucked in his shirt. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Don’t worry about it. Yeah right. She was about to orgasm, possibly have ultra hot sex, and now the mood was ruined. She stomped to the foyer then swung open the door.

  “Hey, saw your lights on. Hope you don’t mind my dropping by so late.” Deputy Dan Malvern stood in her doorway wearing an uncertain grin on his freckled face. He poked his head around the corner, keeping his hand on his gun belt in that casual police stance he liked to use. “Bad timing?”