a Touch of Ice

by L. j. Charles

  We’d settled on my back deck with dessert bowls balanced on our laps and mugs of coffee steaming on top of a wicker table. I’d just stuffed a bite of pie in my mouth when he hit me with the question. “You ever been on a bike?”

  I swallowed. “Never even considered it. Seems…uncontrolled. And they’re so big. I, um, drive a VW Bug. Sort of opposite from a Harley.” I chased the pie down with a gulp of too-hot coffee. He looked like he was going to press the bike-ride thing, so I shoved in another bite of pie and ice cream and let the pungent cinnamon melt over my tongue. Cinnamon and Mitch. They had a lot in common.

  “Not a Harley. It’s a BMW, good for on and off road. Work takes me to odd places and the bike is adaptable. Same reason my main ride is an F-one-fifty. Not glamorous, but hell on back roads.”

  We ate and talked about family and shared work stories. Normal. Until he picked up our dishes and headed for the kitchen. “Ready for that ride?”

  I glanced at my toes, the Keys to My Karma polish a bright red contrast to my honey colored skin. “Shoes. I need shoes.” And no, I wasn’t ready, but a bike was about as far as I could get from a rocking chair.

  “And a jacket with long sleeves. It can get breezy.” Was that a wink? My stomach did a happy flip. Winks were good, right?

  Mitch rinsed our dishes while I put on shoes, a jacket, and washed the sudden rush of have-you-lost-your-mind fear from my palms. Damn. A motorcycle.

  He tucked my hair into a spare helmet, pulled my arms tightly around his waist, and gunned the engine. Trouble. I was in such trouble. Just let me say—a bike is a living entity. A thinking, breathing, powerful entity, capable of creating tiny internal earthquakes . Or was that the man I had my arms wrapped around? Hard to tell.

  We pulled back into my driveway thirty life-altering minutes later. Mitch helped me from the bike, laughing as I tried to get my helmet off and my hair under control. He tried to help, wove his fingers through my unruly mop, untangling strands of hair from the fittings on the helmet. His breath caught, an audible hitch that sent heat rushing through my veins and into my cheeks. Could he tell my hormones had kicked into high gear?

  His eyes darkened, turned to ebony pools that held a promise I ached to explore. I fought to keep my fingers curled, to not reach for him, touch him. His hand cupped my cheek, and right on cue bells started ringing. Not the good kind. He checked the number on his phone and gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Have to take this.”

  I wandered to the porch, shedding my jacket and toeing out of my sneakers, then laid back on the warm wooden stoop, eyes closed to let the late afternoon sun beat on my still vibrating body. It’d probably bring out the freckles, but…

  Mitch was quiet, stealthy even, but I knew he stood next to me because he blocked the sun and awareness rippled over my skin.

  “It’s really red.” His voice held a touch of amazement.

  I sat up, bracing on my elbows. “You’re referring to my hair, right?”

  “Yeah. Looks like fire in the sunlight.” He held out his hand to help me up. “Gotta go. It’s—”

  “One of those you’d-have-to-kill-me-if-you-told-me things.”

  He tipped his chin then pulled me into a hug. “Didn’t want this to end quite yet. Rain check when I get back?”

  I nodded, my forehead brushing against his shoulder, fingers tucked firmly into my palms where I’d kept them for the entire bike ride.

  He set me away from him, rubbed a few loose strands of my hair between his fingers. “Pretty.” And then he cupped my chin again. A brush of lips. A shiver of heat.

  The bike disappeared around the corner of the cul-de-sac, leaving the echo of power shimmering in the air, and a chill touched my body where he used to be.

  Tuesday, before daybreak—

  I had my ring-tone set to a soft chime but it still brought me from a deep sleep to confused awareness. The clock read two. In the morning. Not good.

  “This is Everly.”

  “I’m sorry, El, but I had to call…” Violet’s words pierced the soft place in my belly and left the sharp ache of hollow fear behind. “You’d want to know, and I’m going to need your input. I just got a new client. Her name is Jayne Hunt and her brother, Mitchell Hunt, is missing.”

  Five

  I stumbled from bed and wrapped myself in a warm robe—red fleece—totally unnecessary in the warmth of a North Carolina October, but considering the chills attacking my body, a necessity. I headed for the kitchen, one step at a time, hands braced against the wall. I planned to put on a pot of decaf, but somehow managed to spill the fresh-ground beans all over the counter. I took a deep breath and the coffee scent brought tears stinging to the surface. Unexpected.

  Enough with the melancholy, Everly. Mitch and Violet need you. I splashed cold water on my face and gave some serious thought to the bottle of scotch tucked in the cupboard above the refrigerator. Bad idea. Really bad idea.

  I took a deep breath and finished making the coffee, even added an extra spoonful of cinnamon. By the time the coffee finished brewing, I was steady enough to unlock the door for Violet.

  “You know,” she greeted me, “it’s ironic that as soon as you get a hot date he goes missing.”

  I pressed my hands tight against the counter to keep them from shaking. “Yeah. It figures. Violet—”

  She looked up from pouring the coffee. “Huh?”

  “Are you going to find him?”

  “Yep. Sure am.”

  “He was called for an assignment. Maybe Jayne’s wrong, maybe she didn’t know.”

  “She knew.” Two words from Violet, and the hope I was clinging to vanished.

  “You think it’s Tony’s murder—”

  “Stop. Just stop. It’s my job to find him, and I’m very good at my job.”

  “Who’d think I could care this much after a weird encounter on the beach, a piece of apple pie, and a ride on a motorcycle?”

  She grinned at me. “Motorcycle, huh? I’d’ve been a whole lot more surprised if you didn’t care. In case you haven’t noticed, you rarely do anything halfway.”

  “Right. You’re right. And the image of Tony’s body was so real.”

  “Uh-huh, death’ll smack you into reality every time.”

  She sounded calm. Too calm.

  “You’ve never talked about working with a murderer, murders, whatever.”

  “There’s been a time or two.” Not something Violet would normally say. She rarely shared anything about her work. She slid the pot back into place and paused. Just for a second. If I hadn’t been paying attention I would have missed it.

  We each took a corner of the sofa and curled up with our cinnamon-laced coffee.

  “You know—” determination clipped her words— “I can’t tell you a thing about my conversation with Jayne Hunt. Not until I get a release.”

  “Got it.” Nothing new there since my work had the same confidentiality issues.

  “And I expect you to come clean on all the info you hold in your memory as well as—”

  “My intuitive knowledge.” I completed her sentence. “Thing is, I didn’t touch him. Kept my fingertips to myself the whole time we were together.”

  “On the motorcycle?”

  “Even then. I held on, tightly, but my fingers were tucked in. I couldn’t touch him that way. There’s the respect thing, and I care about him.”

  “Huh. Still, I want details, sensations, anything that can help me find him.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Jayne will probably want to talk to you too, and I get the feeling that she won’t readily accept this ‘touching quirk’ that led to the whole apple pie-with-her-brother scenario.”

  I knew Violet was right and cleared my mind so I could recount my time with Mitch as precisely as possible. By the time we’d gone through everything a zillion times, I was exhausted but needed to share one more idea. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m positive there’s a reason we’re all tangled up in this together, and I think
you should look at my murder collage.”

  Violet’s gaze must have been focused on that soft spot between my shoulder blades, ‘cause it started to itch as I jogged to the dining room to retrieve the storyboard. Tightening the belt on my robe, I picked up the collage, ignored the jarring memory of my mental state during its creation, and turned to face her—totally normal. Well, maybe not, but as close to normal as I could act. “I’m a little out of my element with this.”

  Violet stared at the storyboard for a few minutes, then looked at me with bottomless green eyes. “Explain what this means. I don’t get it.”

  “The predominant picture—” I stuffed my hands into the deep, patch pockets on my robe. Protection? Hell, yes— “of the dead body, is obvious, except Tony wasn’t covered in blood. The big cat with the diamond collar and leash. I think it means what we’re facing has very big teeth, an angry disposition, and is deadly beautiful.”

  “Uh-huh.” She really wasn’t getting it.

  “And the picture of the storm with the camera indicates there’s a connection to the photographs Mitch took. Obviously, there’s a reason he found Tony’s body and has turned up missing all within a week. You’re absolutely sure he’s not just on an assignment? The government, military, whoever he contracts with could have him—”

  “I’m sure.” Harsh. Final. “Get on with it.” Violet jabbed her finger at the collage. She was definitely getting cranky.

  “Sorry. Rambling. The picture of the woman suspended on the tree branch probably has a bunch of potential meanings. It could be me because I feel like I’m a bit exposed. It could be Mitch because he’s certainly out on a limb. The couple in New York are a puzzle, but I think the location is just as important as the people in that picture, don’t you?”

  “Huh?” She so wasn’t getting this.

  “Next there’s the recurring theme of diamonds that are scattered all over the collage in different places—lots of sparkling ice. See the belly jewel?” I pointed to the picture of a flat, female abdomen with a single, round diamond resting in the center of her navel. “There’s something about it—not sure. Anyway, the bling kept drawing my attention, and I think it may be an important theme, but I have no idea why or what it means.”

  Glazed green eyes stared at me.

  “The piggy bank is you.” I didn’t miss her glare. “Not because you’re chubby, which you aren’t, but don’t private inquiry agents always follow the money?”

  I tucked my hands into the sleeves of my robe. Violet’s reaction wasn’t long in coming.

  “Yeesh. You know I love you, and I truly respect your finely tuned intuition, and I believe everything you’ve put together here is related to my case?”

  I nodded.

  She yawned. “Sorry, but I have no idea how to use all this—” she waved her hand over the storyboard— “totally unfounded information.”

  “Oh. It, umm, all seemed so clear to me.”

  She stood. “I better get some sleep before my meeting with Jayne, which is in all of three hours. Will you be around if she wants to meet you?”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Ten minutes to shower, three to pull on some clean jeans and a semi-dressy t-shirt, one to tame my unruly red hair into submission, and one to swallow some OJ. Travel time wasn’t an issue since A New Perspective, Private Inquiry was right next door. I jogged down my front steps, contemplating how I’d feel if Mitch searched my home without my knowledge. Uncomfortable? Oh, yeah. Although, if I were missing, I would want to be found.

  No more time for speculation. Violet was standing in the driveway, messenger bag over her shoulder. “Morning, El. This is Jayne Hunt, Mitch’s sister. Jayne, Everly Gray.”

  Jayne looked me over, body stiff, lips squeezed tight together. Her khaki slacks had a sharp crease, and I suspected her white blouse would be afraid to wrinkle even on the most humid North Carolina day. Obsessive compulsive, anyone?

  Her eyes narrowed as she offered her hand.

  I met her gesture, fingertips and all. What the hell? This was about rescuing Mitch, not preserving her privacy. “Jayne,” I said with a slight tip of my chin.

  The images I got were scattered, mostly about her time with Violet, and nothing clear enough to offer any help.

  “Ms. Gray.” Ice coated her words.

  Violet rolled her eyes, then flipped on her sunglasses. “Let’s get going. We can chat on the way to Mitch’s house.”

  We arranged ourselves in Jayne’s Murano: Violet riding shotgun, me behind Jayne. I caught her expression in the rear-view mirror and gave myself a quick attitude adjustment. It was almost like looking at Mitch. Same arch to the cheek and angle of the jaw. Only difference, Jayne had softer edges. She was eyeing me through a mass of dark brown bangs, her eyes framed with thick, long lashes. They would probably have been spilling over with tears if she relaxed enough to let them flow.

  Even though our date was brief, my relationship with Mitch wasn’t casual, not with us sharing the need to find Tony’s killer. He meant something to me, indefinable as yet, but there was a bond. Something special. I tried to put those feelings into the half-smile I sent Jayne. It didn’t make us best friends, but it was enough to get her talking.

  “As you’ve probably guessed, I have mixed feelings about including you on this trip. I know Mitchell would be uncomfortable with it, but he isn’t here and I feel like I have to take action.”

  I nodded, met her eyes in the rear view mirror.

  “He called me around eleven thirty Friday night to tell me about finding Tony and to let me know he was being detained at the police station.” Jayne’s right hand left the wheel and she waved it around in the air. Fortunately there wasn’t much traffic.

  “He wasn’t under suspicion or anything, but they wanted all the details to be recounted several times. I asked him to call me when he got home, which he did. That was at about half past ten on Saturday morning.”

  Her eyes briefly met mine in the mirror and the temperature in the car sunk to a whole new level of suspicion. “He told me about going to the beach, meeting you and Violet, Ms. Gray. And that he’d hired Violet, and was looking forward to seeing you again, even though something about you unsettled him. I wish I knew what that something was. He mentioned he told you about Tony, and that’s why I’m going against my better judgment…”

  My body did an involuntary shiver when her gaze flicked back to meet mine. “You were the last person to see him before he disappeared. You’re here because I want to keep an eye on you.”

  I tried to look innocent. Harmless. “Why do you think Mitch is missing?” Maybe she was wrong. I wanted her to be wrong.

  “I don’t think he’s missing, I know he’s missing. The…agency he works with contacted me last night asking if knew his whereabouts. Told me he’d been missing since midnight, Sunday. They offered an inane reason for not telling me sooner, something about company policy. I immediately made a trip to Mitchell’s house, must have been around ten last night. He wasn’t there, his door was unlocked, and when I went in I could see that things were disturbed.”

  “Do you think it was someone from the government? Checking on him?” I asked, watching her face for a sign of, well, anything.

  Jayne’s eyes met mine in the mirror, slapped me into a cubbyhole labeled “ditzy redhead.” So much for chalking up points with Mitch’s sister.

  She took a drink of water from the bottle in her console.

  I used the time to slide a look at Violet. She was head down over her notepad, seemingly oblivious to the drama unfolding next to her.

  “I don’t think it was only Mitchell’s employers who trespassed.” Annoyance and frustration sharpened Jayne’s words. “There wasn’t anything I could point to as being out of place, but it felt different. Wrong. Violent, I guess. Something bad happened to him or he would have called me. He always does before he leaves on assignment. Always.”

  Violet lowered her sunglasses and patted Jayne’s hand.

&nb
sp; “He knew I was concerned about the situation with Tony.” Jayne shrugged with a subtle jerk of her boney shoulders. “I can’t involve local law enforcement, especially since they’re already suspicious of him. If I file a missing person’s report, they’ll assume he’s running from a potential murder charge.”

  Both of her hands flew up in the air, landed back on the steering wheel with a slap. “Even though the police say Tony’s death was caused by an overdose, I think Mitchell’s sudden disappearance would wave red flags, and to trust political bureaucracy, that’s just plain stupid.”

  Jayne was on a roll, zipping along the highway, totally ignoring that traffic had gotten much heavier. “I called Ms. James, Violet, when I got home. It must have been after one this morning. Enough time had passed for me to search through Mitch’s house a few times. He lives a half hour out of town, so that adds to the time. Yes, it was around one.”

  “Quarter after.” Violet glanced up from her notes, pushed her Ray Bans firmly against her nose. I kept my mouth shut.

  “He’s always liked the country,” Jayne continued, her hands fluttering above the steering wheel. “I think it’s because he travels so much, sees so many bad things. The constant interaction with different places and people makes solitude a necessity for him.”

  I held my breath and prayed that Muranos came with back seat airbags. Jayne caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Violet explained she spoke with you early this morning, and she seems to think having you along will be beneficial in some way. I hope she’s right.”

  Just as I was about to attempt to string some comforting, understanding, logical, wise words together, Jayne turned into a driveway.

  At least I assumed it was a driveway.

  The hiss of Violet’s inhalation matched mine as Mitch’s house came into view.

  Violet found her voice first. “It looks—”