by TL Schaefer
He’d drawn back into the stairwell, leaving the upper part of his face in the shadows, and me clueless about what he was thinking. Damn it, I needed to see his eyes without the veil of my glasses.
I drew up and squared my shoulders. I’m tall for a girl at five-ten, but next to him I felt tiny. “Who’s asking?” Thank goodness my voice didn’t waver.
He reached into his coat and I stiffened while I cast my eyes right and left, deciding which way to dive, more than pissed off at myself that I’d misjudged him. If this guy was gonna shoot me, I’d at least go down fighting.
When his hand emerged, it wasn’t a handgun or blade he held, but a shiny gold shield. “Detective Brian Roney.”
I should have known. “I’m Sara Covington. What do you want?” I didn’t bother to make my reply polite. While I worked with cops almost every day, that didn’t mean I liked having my privacy violated. Or having the crap scared out of me. Guns were not big on my list of things to be around. Yeah, they were part of my everyday life, but I didn’t have to like it.
“I wanted to talk to you about the scene you shot tonight.”
His gravelly voice was doing stupid, girly things to my insides. I pushed those feelings aside, even as I wondered where he was from... Certainly not Dallas. Maybe California or Oregon. The non-accent threw me. And I still couldn’t get a read on his eyes.
“I downloaded the stills before I left HQ. What more do you need?”
He hummed quietly, managing to make it sound long-suffering. “Humor me on this, all right?”
Xena whined at my feet. “Fine, we can talk while I walk the dog.” No way was I letting this bozo into my place. The loft was my sanctuary, and I didn’t need anyone screwing up the karmic balance.
“That,” he said, pointing an accusing finger at Xena, “is not a dog. It’s a rat with hair.” He turned and walked down the stairs.
I pushed my glasses back up, yanked my keys from the door and followed with a lunging, cheerful Xena tugging at the leash. When we hit the dimly lit street, I addressed him.
“Don’t quote cheesy eighties movies and think you can get away with it.”
He looked genuinely puzzled, so I elaborated. “Ruthless People. Danny Devito, Bette Midler.” Still nothing, so I gave up. It wasn’t worth the argument. Apparently I was the only one in our little group with a fetish for the eighties. “Why are you here, Detective? Twelve thirty on a Tuesday night isn’t exactly prime visiting hours.”
He shifted on the balls of his feet and tugged at the collar of his shirt, appearing truly uncomfortable for the first time in our short acquaintance. That, if nothing else, made me thaw marginally.
“What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential, got it?”
I waved my free hand in a “hurry it up” gesture. “Whatever. Get on with it. It’s been a long night.” I started walking toward the pocket park around the corner so Xena could do her business. It still bugged me that I couldn’t see a thing about Brian Roney but the usual, the mundane.
He walked beside me, and I could tell he was checking his stride to keep pace with me. He cast a look over his shoulder and sighed before he began.
“Tonight’s vic is a red ball. City Councilman Brock Williams.”
Fabulous. The case was a political hot potato. My night kept getting better and better. “What the hell was he doing in that neighborhood?”
The detective shook his head. “We don’t know...yet. One of the guys in Division said you’d come up with more than one good suggestion in the past, and I wanted to get your take on the situation.”
His comment brought me up short. Henderson, the admin weenie in charge of running the desk, was wagging his tongue again. Asshole. If he thought it would make my zipper any easier to lower, he was sorely mistaken. I’d make sure he understood it the next time our paths crossed.
“Listen, I’m sorry you’ve got a hot case here, but you saw the stills. Dead pampered guy, crappy neighborhood, bloodthirsty killer. Not too unusual in Dallas.” I peeked over the rim of my glasses, trying unsuccessfully to meet his eyes as I attempted to pawn off my observations as nothing much to ponder. For him to have come to me was unorthodox at best. The last thing I needed was word getting out I was a psychic, and I got the distinct feeling he was operating under that impression. Or something sorely like it.
It didn’t matter how nonchalant I sounded, though. He honed in on something I’d said. “Pampered. What made you think that?”
“His hands. Good manicure. He had a gym body too, not something you’d get from outside labor.”
He stopped and laid a hand on my shoulder. His touch sent a low-voltage jolt through me. In a flash I saw us standing together under the dim light of a streetlamp, Xena squatting next to the curb and the silvery corona of the fourth dimension around my body. My heart thumped unsteadily in my chest, and I drew in a shaky breath.
Apparently the thrum was a two-way sensation, because he jerked his fingers back and shook them gingerly. “Damned static electricity,” I heard him mutter.
It wasn’t any such thing, but I wasn’t going to correct him. Because in the moment he’d touched me, our eyes had met for a single searing second, and everything that made me a woman had gone on red alert. Yeah, because he about scorched my insides, but even more important, because I hadn’t been able to read his feelings...at all.
I dropped my gaze and immediately felt the loss.
He was a Null, and the zing we’d both felt had been my Sight reaching out to touch him and being rebuffed. I let myself be amazed for a scant second before forcing myself to act as if nothing had happened. But inside, I was rattled beyond reason.
“So why’d you hunt me down? And why haven’t I seen you at headquarters? Or at a scene?”
He scrutinized me, those blue eyes crackling with sharp intelligence. “Just transferred in. We haven’t drawn but one case together, and by then you were gone. As for the scene, something’s not right, but I can’t figure out what it is.”
I digested his response, and it made sense, at least as much as any of this did. “I don’t know what to tell you. All I saw was a dead guy.” Yeah right. What I couldn’t figure out was what was bothering him. As a Null, there was no way he could have sensed anything amiss, at least not on the next dimension. Nulls, at least what I understood of them, were devoid of anything extrasensory...including intuition.
He was still looking at me, almost as if he was trying to decide if I was telling the truth. He was aware of something, or intuited it. Since the first was distinctly unlikely, it had to be the second...and how could that possibly be?
“You’re not being straight with me,” he stated baldly. “I don’t do lies well. Know that right now.”
That put my back up, and I told myself it was because he pissed me off, not because I felt defensive.
Who the hell did this guy think he was? I wasn’t lying, not really, and it wasn’t as if I could tell him anything without sounding like a complete loon. “And I don’t do intrusion well, Detective,” I replied snarkily. “What is it you think I’m hiding? I’m a photographer, for God’s sake, not a cop.”
After a long, tension-filled minute of meeting my eyes, he shifted his gaze, his frustration evident. “Fine, Miss Covington, have it your way. But if you think of anything, please give me a call.” He dug around in his suit pocket and held out his business card.
“I can’t make any promises,” I told him. Why wasn’t I flat out telling him to go to hell?
Xena, having given up on the park, finished her business and proceeded to plop herself down on Roney’s Rockports with a little yip.
“I’m not asking for promises,” he replied with a sigh as he reached down and disengaged the dog carefully. “I’m looking for answers.”
Hah. He wanted answers, but I could guarantee he wouldn’t believe the ones I gave him. Because they only raised more questions, and because, in my experience, cops didn’t buy what they couldn’t see, smell or touch. Espe
cially a Null.
I watched him walk away with a long, loping stride that ate up the asphalt, and admired the way his butt moved beneath the fabric of his slacks. He may have been a confrontational prick, but he had a fine body.
I sighed in appreciation and a little bit of loneliness I quickly smashed to bits in my psyche.
Looked like it was another night with my boyfriend-in-a-box, Jon (as in Bon Jovi).
Chapter Two
Before
The first day dawned cold and miserable with me huddled on my “bed”, which was nothing more than a cot covered by a scratchy sheet and a woolen blanket. Nothing but the best for us loonies.
The orderly who came for me gave me a once-over, sending chills up my spine, and I made the decision to find a weapon, any weapon. Whether it was to defend myself (door one), or end this miserable existence (door two), I hadn’t decided yet.
Surprisingly, he led me into a smallish mess hall rather than shoving my morning gruel through the door. Unlike my cell, the dining room was warm and inviting, almost what you’d expect to find in a high-end boarding school.
Children, ranging in age from about ten to a few years older than me, were scattered across the cafeteria in little clumps. Each and every head swiveled as I walked in, scoping out the new girl.
It would be like the last time we moved, where I was the newbie, the weirdo who never fit in. Door number two was starting to look more tempting. Being the class freak had been my occupation for too many years, and now, with Mother turning her back on me... I was tired of being alone.
Now—Wednesday, 10:00 a.m.
My alarm went off too early, at least for someone who primarily works nights. But I had things to do today, the first of which was taking Xena to the vet for her annual shots.
As I sipped coffee and inhaled a wake-up smoke, I studiously avoided looking at Brian Roney’s business card, tucked into a corner of the battered corkboard above my computer. There wasn’t anything else I could tell him without getting the raised-eyebrow, “what in the hell are you talking about” look. For some reason I didn’t want to see that expression on his face. Okay, I knew the reason... He was hot, but it was too early in the morning to self-analyze.
Last night’s events clung to me like the greasy sweat that follows a nightmare. The aura I’d seen, as well as the crime scene itself, bothered me on an elemental level. What bugged me even more was that I couldn’t shut it out. Usually I left the ugliness I saw far too often at my front door, but this perp’s work left me flustered and off balance.
Instead of obsessing, which I can do like nobody’s business, I showered, blew my hair almost-dry and slipped into shorts, a T-shirt and Birkenstocks.
The visit went as expected—Xena detested it and shot me mournful doggy looks from the backseat of my Expedition all the way there and back.
I unloaded her at the loft, knowing that while I was working out and grocery shopping she’d take her disgruntlement out on my favorite pair of running shoes.
Rusty’s, the gym I used, wasn’t exactly fashionable, but it suited my needs to a T. Dark, smelly and overloaded with testosterone, it was the complete anti-health club. A boxing ring dominated the center. Punching and speed bags dotted the perimeter, interspersed sporadically with free weight sets.
Today all of the regulars were there, and I garnered a few waves and nods as I taped up my hands before getting loose with the jump rope for a few moments. Diamond Jim, a heavily tattooed bruiser with a heart of gold, was sparring with my workout partner, Luis. Given the disparity in their sizes, you’d think it wouldn’t be much of a contest, but Luis was wily and quick, throwing quicksilver jabs before eeling back, out of Jim’s long reach.
They were playing with each other, dancing around on cat feet. I finished my warm-up and moved on to the big bags, listening with half an ear for my name to be called. When it was, I was nice and loose, ready for a good sweat.
Luis waited for me on the mat to the right of the ring. An ultimate fighter by trade, he could—and often did—kick ass on a national level. We’d been sparring partners for over five years, and I counted myself lucky he’d agreed to take me on.
My time on the streets had taught me how to fight dirty, even as a kid, but Luis had refined what I’d learned, pushed me to be better, faster, meaner. Today was simply a workout, not a take-’em-down match, but there was always the chance of a punch slipping through, so careful was a watchword...for both of us.
We started out easy, a few barefooted kicks and jabs to limber us up, before getting down to business. Luis’s fist streaked toward my face. I blocked and swept out with my leg, briefly connecting with his calf as he leapt up, out of my range. We continued in that fashion, each confident in our own strengths, until the allotted half-hour was complete.
“Good job, querida,” Luis said, slinging an arm over my shoulders.
I shot him a smile of thanks. I’d gotten used to his aura years ago; I simply didn’t see it anymore.
Rusty threw me a little salute as I shouldered my gym bag and headed for the showers. While there was no separate locker room for women, the boys and I had an understanding of sorts. Rusty had made it clear I was to be left alone when I used the facilities, or suffer his wrath. Not something anyone with half a brain wanted to test. I washed away the sweat and grime, and when I left I was in my happy place.
As I pulled the truck into my parking space in front of the loft an hour later, an unmarked sat at the curb, waiting for me. Roney. So much for my happy place. From what I’d experienced last night with the good detective, this wasn’t a social call.
I loaded myself down with bags and decided to ignore him. It wouldn’t work, but it was worth a shot. I didn’t need to be able to read Roney to know he was the kind of guy who pushed until he got what he wanted. I just wasn’t sure what he was after.
He unfolded his long body from the Crown Vic and proceeded to grab the rest of my groceries without a word. He looked really good in the daytime. Better than I would have thought, and it chafed at me. My nightly escapades with Jon were getting a smidge stale, and I didn’t need a hunky cop screwing with me...literally and figuratively.
“Sara.” The way he said my name, almost in a lover’s caress, sent shivers down my spine. Damn him. I really, really wanted to think of him as a pinheaded detective with a hard-on for something he couldn’t put his finger on. But the way he looked at me as he spoke dispelled that notion like mist.
I nodded to acknowledge him, but didn’t say a word, because my voice would probably come out all soft and girly. Not the impression I wanted, needed to make.
Telling him to go away was probably my best bet because I didn’t want him in my personal space, but it was too hot to argue. I opened the door and ushered him in. Well, there was the voice thing, too.
It was a weak set of excuses—I fully admit it—but any port in a storm, right? For some lame-brained reason I trusted Roney more than I was suspect of him, something I couldn’t equate with the fact I couldn’t read him and how he’d gone all alpha cop on me last night. If I was being truthful with myself, I wanted to learn more about him, about what made him a Null.
Everything I’d read suggested someone with no aura was either dead or rapidly heading in that direction. Brian Roney struck me as not only vibrant, but shockingly so. His aura should have been a vivid sapphire blue or pulsing firehouse red. The fact he was willing to come to me, basically on intuition, told me something was either very wrong with my basic hypothesis on Nulls, or something was wrong with Roney. Never mind that looking at him was no hardship.
He followed me into the kitchen and deposited the bags on the counter. Settling on a barstool, he looked around the open space with an interested expression. Freakin’ cop. He was probably cataloguing everything and filing it away to use later. Somehow.
It had been a long time since I’d seen the place through someone else’s eyes, so I slid my glasses off and simply looked.
The loft had been a
steal back in the day, when I’d been looking for a place to hole up and forget. Now Deep Ellum had undergone a cultural rebirth, and esoteric ethnic restaurants and shops lined the street. Having my ’hood “revitalized” had grated some, but after a while I got used to it, and the folks who hung out in the neighborhood were odd enough for me to blend in seamlessly.
Lazy late-afternoon sunlight streamed in through a big picture window topped by stained glass, casting the room in a hazy, almost otherworldly glow. As hot as it was outside, the concrete and brick walls of the building kept it nice and cool inside.
In one corner was my home gym; treadmill, speed bag and a set of free weights. I used it when I didn’t have sparring time set aside with Luis or when my job precluded it.
On the opposite wall was the door to my bedroom and bath. In the center of the room a leather couch, the mate to my armchair, was situated for perfect viewing of the street below. Jewel-toned, oversize pillows were scattered around the room...little islands of color on a sea of richly stained hardwood. All in all, it looked like a great place for entertaining. Which I never, ever, under any circumstances did. Can you imagine a crowd of people jammed in there, their auras and feelings careening around the place like pinballs? Thank you, no.
When Roney’s gaze finally wandered back to me, it pinned me in place. And his words, well, they blindsided the hell out of me.
“So what’s with the glasses?”
“Pardon?” I wasn’t speechless too often, but at that moment I was pretty close. What was left of my post-workout lassitude disintegrated.
It was because of people like last night’s baddie I’d had special glasses made, and sometimes because I saw the shadows of things hovering on the periphery that I didn’t want to know about. Getting people’s auras and their feelings is quite enough, thank you very much.
“They aren’t dark enough to be shades and they aren’t prescription. I didn’t think you were the type for affectation.”