“Among other things.” Again with the fists. Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.
He was a bundle of repressed energy, I realized. Holding everything in. I wondered why. And what would happen if he dared let it all out. “And Ebbie told you she wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Apparently,” he said as if mocking her, “only you can find my soul mate.”
I needed some ibuprofen. And maybe a stiff drink. Or four. “You said Orlinda dropped her off?”
“She found her roaming around her neighborhood and took her in, however, Orlinda couldn’t keep her. She’s allergic.”
I stared at him. He stared at me.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“That Orlinda gave you this cat specifically so the cat could bully you into coming to see me to find you a mate? Then yes, you know what I’m thinking.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Ebbie takes offense at the bully comment.”
She twitched a whisker.
“Sorry,” I said to her, wondering what kind of rabbit hole I’d fallen into.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t know if we’re pawns in some sort of game by Orlinda or not. All I know is that Ebbie has made it quite clear that you’re supposed to help me.”
“Help you find your soul mate?”
“Right,” he said.
A trickle of sweat slid down my spine. I could only imagine what my hair looked like. Humidity wreaked havoc on my curls. Even though I’d pulled it up today, I knew strands had probably escaped, twisting this way and that. In fact, one strand dangled in front of my left eye. I tucked it behind my ear and drew corkscrews on the notepad.
“Okay, then, let’s figure this out.” I wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. “Let me ask the obvious. Do you think you’ve met your soul mate yet? Is there someone from your past that you’ve loved and lost and want back? Someone you’re pining for?”
Stiffening, his shoulders drew back, his chin came up, and I thought I saw a split second of all-consuming pain in his eyes.
“I don’t pine.”
“Of course not,” I said sarcastically.
Clench, unclench. “But, no. There’s no one.”
I drew a triangle to go with my corkscrew. I looked at Ebbie. “Does she have any thoughts about who your soul mate might be?”
“She says that you can find her.”
An octagon joined the shapes on my pad of paper. A stop sign. This meeting was going nowhere. “I think there’s been some confusion somewhere along the line. I can’t match-make. You’re going to have to meet with my father. He’s the expert in that field.”
“No,” Jeremy said. “Ebbie said it has to be you. Only you.”
None of this made sense. As soon as he left, I was going to call Orlinda and get to the bottom of this. “What, exactly, has Ebbie done to convince you to come here?”
“The whining. I can’t take it anymore.”
Her tail swished. She looked so sweet and innocent, but I could hear the exasperation in Jeremy’s voice. Suddenly, I was very glad I couldn’t hear what the little cat had to say.
I walked over to my desk and riffled through the bottom drawer. I found one of my father’s questionnaires. It was an extensive quiz of likes and dislikes, of personality traits and habits. He insisted every client fill one out—even though he didn’t so much as look at it. He didn’t care about compatibility—at least on paper. He cared only about people’s auras. If their colors matched, they matched. Period.
A pigeon bobbed along my windowsill as I closed the drawer. I took my time walking past one of the fans (ahhhh) and sat back down at the conference table.
“What kind of woman do you prefer?” I asked, pen poised. “Tall, small? Blond, brunette, redhead? Curvy or skinny?”
Honestly, I was only going through the motions. I had already hatched a plan to get my father involved somehow. All I needed was for Oscar Valentine, King of Love, to get a glimpse at Jeremy and tell me his aura color. Then, a quick look-see through Dad’s files would lead me to Jeremy’s perfect match.
And if for some reason Dad couldn’t come through for me, then I’d rope my newfound brother, Oliver “Cutter” McCutchan, into taking a peek at this mystery man. He could also see auras, but he wasn’t a matchmaker (long story), but was a successful artist who incorporated auras into his paintings.
One way or another, I was going to find out Jeremy’s aura color so I could be rid of him—and his cat—once and for all.
Clench, unclench. “Tall, blond, in shape but not too skinny, and obviously, she has to like animals.”
A small spiral of anxiety twisted through my stomach. “Like me?” I asked warily. Was this why Orlinda was involved? Was she trying to match him with me? Because I hated to break it to her, but it wasn’t going to happen.
I had my perfect match already.
“You’re okay,” he said.
“Flatterer.”
“You’re not really my type,” he added, not even trying to soften the blow. “You’re a little too...”
“Careful now, Dr. Doolittle.”
“Chatty.”
It was one of the nicer insults I’ve had slung at me. I dabbed the tip of the pen on the questionnaire. “You don’t think Orlinda is trying to match us, do you?” I wanted to warn him if that was the case, I wasn’t playing this game.
“Ebbie says no.”
“She’s sure?”
“She’s absolutely adamant.”
Well...good.
With a quick look at his watch, a black high-tech brand, he said, “I have to get going soon. Can we hurry this along?”
I managed not to roll my eyes, and quickly read off questions, taking notes as I went along. So far, on paper, he seemed normal. Sitting across from him, I knew he was anything but.
A night owl, he preferred jazz music and liked reading nonfiction. Yet he was psychic, a modern-day Dr. Doolittle, and he refused to work on missing person cases.
I had to admit, I was intrigued. Who was Jeremy Cross?
“Where did you grow up?” I asked.
“I really have to go.”
There were still a lot of empty lines on the questionnaire. “We still have a lot to cover.”
He stood up, plucked Ebbie from the table, and cradled her in his arms. As natural as could be. Adoringly, she gazed at him.
And in that instant, I knew that despite how “bad boy” Jeremy Cross seemed, he was a good guy. I had to help him. Some way. Somehow. I was afflicted with the Love Conquers All syndrome, and Jeremy had just become my latest project.
Trying not to make it sound too important, I set the bait for an “accidental” run-in with my father. “You’ll have to come back for another meeting.”
“Fine.” He tucked Ebbie into the carrier.
“Doesn’t it get too hot in there for her?”
“Ice packs.”
Ah. I had no knowledge of cat carriers. My cat, Grendel, was a twenty-plus pound Maine Coon who, thankfully, had a vet who made house calls. Because there’s no way Grendel would fit into one of those bags. Maybe if it was a steamer trunk...
His vet was Marisol Valerius, one of my best friends since childhood. I had to confess that for a fleeting second I thought she might make a good match for Jeremy, what with their connection to animals. But no. She was the opposite of tall and blond. And she had curves that could make a man dizzy. Plus, Jeremy wasn’t her kind of man, either. She liked the Matt Damon type. Blond. Boy-next-door with a heart-stopping grin.
Not tall and dark with a dangerous edge.
I eyed his scar. “What happened to your jaw?”
“What happened to your leg?”
Beneath the hem of my dress, a raised scar stood out against the tan skin of my left calf. I’d once been stabbed by a psychopath. I studied Jeremy. Was he saying his scar had come from a psychopath, too?
His eyes gave nothing away. “I’ll call y
ou,” he said, setting the carrier on the chair. “To set up another appointment.”
“That’s fine.” I wanted to ask more questions, probe about what he meant about the scars, but on second thought, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear the answers.
Voices floated down the hallway. Male voices. Maybe I could save Jeremy another visit... “Can you hold on one sec?”
“One,” he said.
As soon as I turned my back on him, I rolled my eyes. He was used to getting his way. How that was going to translate into dating I couldn’t be sure. I could only hope a soul mate was going to love him the way he was.
I headed down the hallway, hoping my father had come in. I wanted to waylay him and put my plan into motion. Operation Read Jeremy’s Aura. But as soon as I stepped into the reception area, I saw Sean and his brother, Sam, sitting on the loveseat looking decidedly uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing immediately something was.
Sam stood up. Intense blue eyes narrowed on me. “We need to talk to you.”
Sean said, “It’s important.”
In his face, searched for a hint of what was going on and saw something that made my heart clutch. It was something big.
“I’m just about done with Jeremy Cross,” I said, “our new clie—”
I was cut off my Jeremy’s sudden appearance in the room. “Sorry, but I really have to go. I’ll call about that appointment,” he said, rushing for the door. “It was nice to meet you, Suz.”
He threw her a smile, and I swear she melted right there in her seat. A Suz puddle. Giving a nod to the rest of us, he disappeared out the door.
Something about his sudden departure was bothering me as his hurried footsteps echoed on the wooden stairs. I turned to Sean. “Well, I guess I’m done with Jere—” Shock rippled as I realized what it had been that nagged me. It was what he hadn’t been carrying. “Oh no he didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” Sean asked.
“No, no, no!” I cried, dashing back into my office, wobbling on my wedge heels. I slowed down a bit before one of my ankles gave way.
“Who? What?” Suz called after me.
I stopped in the doorway to my office and stared.
Oh, but he had. Sitting on my conference table was the black bag.
Two green eyes stared out at me from behind a mesh panel.
Jeremy Cross had left Ebbie behind.
Chapter Four
I couldn’t believe he’d left her with me.
Five minutes had passed since Jeremy walked out, and now Sam sat in my seat at the conference table in my office, Sean stared out the window, and I was still mulling over the note Jeremy had left.
Ebbie said she needs to stay with you for a while. I’ll be in touch soon.
That was it. No other explanation. He’d dumped and run.
I’d asked Suz call the number we had on file for him, but it turned out we didn’t have a number—he’d never filled out that portion of the client questionnaire.
Damn him.
I’d tried getting in touch with Orlinda, but my call was sent straight to her voicemail.
It looked like, for the time being, I was going to have to take Ebbie home.
Grendel was not going to be happy.
Currently, Ebbie sat on the table, staring at Sam. And for a second there, I wondered what it would be like to hear what she was thinking... It was an interesting ability.
Sam drummed long fingers on the table top. “That cat is freaking me out.”
“I think she likes you,” I said.
Ebbie’s tail swished against the table.
“I’m a dog person,” he said to her.
She flicked an ear.
Frowning, he swiveled his chair so he could look directly at me. “I know you have a lot going on, but we have a problem, Lucy, and you need to be made aware.”
Sean’s voice was low and steady as he said, “There’s still a chance you may be wrong, Sam.”
Sam said, “We’ve been over this.”
I adjusted my chair so I could see the both of them. Tension pulsed through the room. The whirr of the fan blades was the only thing cutting through the silence.
They both looked like they’d just come from a funeral. “What’s going on?”
I’d learned only a few months ago that Sean and Sam weren’t blood brothers, but had been adopted by the same family as teenagers. Sean didn’t talk much of his early years—especially the time after his mother died and he’d been placed in the foster care system.
After they’d been adopted, they flourished under the care of the Donahues. Both graduated high school and college. Sam joined the military while Sean followed his adopted father’s footsteps and became a firefighter.
Sam eventually left military service behind and settled down to have a family. And it had only been a couple of years since Sean had to leave firefighting behind because of a dangerous heart condition, one that required a defibrillator to be implanted into his chest.
Fate had eventually led them both to private investigating. Sam opened SD Investigations (SDI), and rented the third floor office space from my father. Over the past eight months, our two companies had become intertwined.
As happy as Sean was these days, childhood scars that didn’t show on the surface affected him almost as much as the visible scars on his chest.
My heart beat just a little faster as I recalled how Sean had been shocked back to life by his defibrillator a few of months ago. I’d been terrified. For him. For me. Because as much as I feared commitment (thanks to a pesky family curse), I feared losing him even more.
His pearly gray eyes stared out the window, seeming to focus on nothing at all. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Their silence was making me extremely nervous. “What’s going on?” I asked again.
Sean carried a lot of emotional baggage, but until today I hadn’t seen much of it firsthand.
Today, I saw him scared.
And it terrified me.
Six plus three is nine.
I gave myself a mental shake. It was a longstanding childhood habit that when I was stressed, I solved simple math equations in my head. I’d been working really hard to break the habit—I hated math—but sometimes when I was really on edge it slipped back in.
Sam sat rigid on the edge of his chair. There were only a few times I’d seen him so stressed. Usually, he was an easy-going, go-with-the-flow guy. “You’ve heard of the Beantown Burner?”
The Beantown Burner was the ridiculous nickname the media had given the recent serial arsonist. “Of course.”
Sean and I had just been discussing the case over breakfast. As a former firefighter, his interest in the arsonist bordered on obsession. Especially since he was very familiar with the neighborhoods where the fires had been set—he’d grown up in and around those very places.
“Sean and I noticed a pattern today while talking about the case,” Sam said.
“What kind of pattern?” I asked.
After a long second, Sam said, “I think the firebug is someone I know, and I think I’m being targeted.”
I looked at Sean. He was still staring out the window. His jaw was still clenched.
“You’re serious?” I said. It seemed like quite a leap to make.
“Maybe someone out for revenge,” Sam added, dragging a hand over his face. He glanced furtively at Ebbie.
She was still staring at him.
He frowned.
“I think you’d better explain,” I said softly.
He propped his elbow on the table, rested his face in his hand, and used his long fingers to block Ebbie from his peripheral vision. “I didn’t put it together until this morning when the Globe published the addresses of the places that had been targeted. The first fire was set in an apartment I rented off-campus during college. The second fire was at one of the high schools I attended. The third was my and Sean’s grandparents’ old corner store where I used to work. The fourth, this latest one that
almost killed the old man while he was sleeping, was the first house Lizzie and I bought together.”
Sean pushed his hand through his hair, raising spiky tufts in its wake.
My mouth had gone cotton-ball dry. Now that he’d explained, his leap didn’t seem all that big. “Have you called the police?”
He nodded. “A detective is coming by today to talk to me.”
“I’ve also been in contact with an old fire buddy, Curt Meister,” Sean said. He looked at his watch. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
I recognized the name. Sean played poker with friends from his old firehouse once a month, and Curt was one of the ones Sean talked about most. They’d been close before Sean’s heart problems, going through the fire academy together, working at the same station, vying for the same jobs. I was immensely relieved that Sean had a contact within the firehouse. Maybe Curt could share some information that hadn’t yet been released by the public.
Grim lines bracketed Sam’s mouth. “I’ve been making lists all morning of potential enemies.”
Of which he’d have many. Being a private investigator had its downfalls.
“I’ve sent Lizzie and the girls away to visit family in California,” Sam said.
The ramifications of his being a target were setting in. Sending Lizzie and his twin daughters away was a good idea. If someone was specifically going after him, his home would be at risk. His family.
So would his business.
A surge of fear zipped down my spine. “You think SD Investigations is in danger.” It wasn’t a question—I could already see the answer in his eyes. That was why he was here, filling me in.
“It makes sense,” he said.
The building, owned by my father, consisted of three floors. The first floor housed the Porcupine, a busy restaurant owned by Maggie Constantine, who was practically like family; especially now that she was engaged to Raphael, my father’s personal valet of over twenty-five years.
Since meeting Maggie, Raphael had drastically cut back on his hours working for my father and spent more and more time at the restaurant. My father hadn’t minded the shift too much since it was about the same time he’d reconciled with my mother. She was a great diversion.
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