Forbidden Touch

by Paula Graves

  She licked her lips. "Thanks for showing me this place, I should head back now. The party's in a couple of hours."

  "Sure you don't want a ride?" His cheeks dimpled with a slow smile.

  "The walk will be good for me"

  "Okay." He stood when she did. "I'll walk you back."

  "That's not necessary-"

  "I'll walk you back" he repeated firmly. He put his hand between her shoulder blades, nodding toward the door. He stopped to say something to the guy at the cashier's stand, handed him some cash and then led her outside.

  "What about the Harley?"

  "I paid that guy an extra ten to make sure it's here when I get back. Let's go."

  The day was waning, the sun already low on the western sky, gilding the Caribbean Sea as it stretched toward the horizon. The sun was warm on her cheeks, and the air was fragrant with the tang of the sea. For a moment, this could almost believe she was on a tropical vacation with nothing to worry about but where to go for dinner.

  Almost.

  "Hungry?" Maddox asked as they neared the main drag. "There's a fish-and-chips stand just over there"

  She was hungry, she realized. She took him up on his offer, waiting while he dealt with the street vendor and returned with two cardboard boats full of fried fish and crispy french fries.

  "Careful, it's hot." He handed her one of the boats.

  She gingerly plucked off a piece of hot fish ad popped it in her mouth. The blend of spices on the breading and the delicate flavor of the fish made her hum with satisfaction.

  "Good, huh?" He nudged her with his shoulder, motioning with a nod of his head for her to follow him. They set off down the main street toward the beach, mingling with the other tourists strolling the boulevard.

  By the time they reached the beach road. Iris proclaimed herself stuffed and handed off the rest of her meal to Maddox. She'd eaten less than half, he noted with some consternation, but the meal and the exercise had seemed to do her some good. There was a little more color in her cheeks and she didn't seem as weak as she'd been when he'd found her outside the Tropico.

  "You must love living here in Mariposa." Iris turned to look at him, her eyes alight. He felt a tug in the center of his chest, as if she'd pulled a string wrapped around his heart. "Do you ever set homesick?"

  "I used to." He tossed the remains of their dinner in one of the public trash bins lining the walkway. "I got over it."

  Iris laughed, Maddox found his gaze drawn by the low, throaty sound. Her eyes sparkled, lighting up her whole face from the inside. He found it hard to take a deep breath. Why had he insisted on walking her home?

  Or hell, if he really wanted to ask a tough question, why had he followed her out of the cafe that morning in the first place? A combination of curiosity and boredom could explain some of his interest. But not all of it.

  "How did you end up in Mariposa, anyway?" she asked.

  "Took a right turn at St. Croix."

  "Seriously."

  "Seriously. I was heading toward Trinidad for Carnival and took a detour on a whim. I liked it here and decided to stay."

  "How long ago?"'

  "A little over two years."

  She looked surprised. "I would have thought you'd been here longer. Everybody seems to know you and you seem to know everything about this place."

  "I'm very adaptable. Who knows, I may decide next week to head on down to Trinidad after all."

  "A real rolling stone, huh?"

  "Something like that."

  "Never gathering any moss?"

  "Nasty stuff, moss."

  The words came out as a warning. One he hoped she'd heed. Silence fell between them, not an entirely comfortable one, as they moved ever closer to the St. George's pale pink facade.

  He broke the silence. "What about you, sugar? What do you do up there in Alabama?"

  "I own a plant nursery and I also do some botanical research on medicinal herbs."

  "Botanical research " he echoed. Little Miss Jet-lagged Tourist had layers to her, didn't she?

  "I have a master's degree in botany" she explained. "Maybe one day I'll finish my PhD, too busy for it right now. What about you? What did you do before you took a right turn at St. Croix?"

  "This and that. Nothing special."

  "It must be nice living in paradise year-round"

  "Mostly." lie agreed. "The weather's great."

  As they reached the entrance of the St. George, Iris turned and looked up at him. "Why are you doing this?"

  He didn't follow. "Doing what?"

  "Helping me out." Her dark-eyed gaze grew wary. "Do you expect something from me in return?"

  He didn't know whether to feel insulted or mortified. "I don't expect anything from you, sugar. I'm just helping out a tourist in need."

  "You make a habit of that?"

  "You caught me on a good week. I'm between jobs"

  "Oh." She licked her lips. "I don't have a lot of money with me, but I can get some from my room-"

  He grabbed her hand. She made a soft sound of surprise. "I don't need your money. What do you think I am?"

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you." Her brow furrowed. "I just thought-"

  "I know what you thought." He released her hand, looking away from her.

  "I really am sorry" she said again, catching his hand with hers. He tried not to look at her, but the feel of her fingers, soft on his skin, drew him in. Her gaze was full of remorse, "You've been good to me today. I don't know how to thank you."

  "You just did. Don't worry about it." He withdrew his hand, wishing he were anywhere but here with this woman.

  "I should attend the seminar tomorrow, shouldn't I?" Iris asked.

  "Maybe you'll find your friend there "

  "Maybe."

  "But you don't really think so."

  She released a shaky breath, "She would have left me a message if she knew she was going to be away overnight"

  "Are you sure she didn't?" he asked, wanting to smooth the frown from her pretty forehead. "Maybe it got misplaced"

  Her expression shifted. "May be they sent the note to the wrong room. Why didn't I think of that?"

  Her sudden look of excitement made his stomach hurt. "Don't get your hopes up. It's just something to look into."

  "Maybe you're right." She started up the steps to the hotel entrance. "Thanks again for everything."

  He tamped down the urge to follow her inside. His good deed for the day was done, and then some. He'd told her about Celia Shore. He'd helped her find a computer so she could look up the Cassandra Society. Hell, he'd even tucked her into bed when she'd fainted on him.

  And besides, he'd see her tonight at the cocktail party.

  By 7 p.m, Maddox had taken his second shower of the day, dressed in a pair of black trousers and a white dress shirt, and headed back to the Hotel St. George to put his plan for the evening in motion. And a big part of the plan had just pulled into the St. George's employees parking lot.

  "Milo!" Maddox pushed away from the wall and walked toward the barrel-chested waiter parking his scooter a few slots down from Maddox's Harley.

  Milo Maroulis looked up cautiously. "Maddox. What you up to?" He kept moving toward the kitchen entrance.

  Blocking Milo's path, Maddox pulled a pair of twenty-dollar bills from his pocket. "I need you to call in sick. I need inside the cocktail party going on tonight"

  "Why?" Milo asked, his voice wary.

  Maddox flashed the waiter a sly grin. "Why do you think?"

  Milo looked surprised. "You not gonna hit on one of them crazy people, are you?"

  Maddox stood in the doorway to keep Milo from going inside. "I'll make it sixty. You can use my cell phone to call in."

  Milo pursed his lips. Maddox could tell he wouldn't put up a real tight; his eyes gleamed with unconcealed eagerness to take the money and run. Maddox added an extra twenty to the two bills in his hand and waved them in front of Milo.

  Milo grabbed t
he bills from Maddox's hand and stuffed them in his pants pocket. "Go talk to Thomas. He knows you. Tell him I'm home with a sore throat and I asked you to take my place."

  Milo headed for the parking lot, a spring in his step. Maddox entered through the kitchen, ignoring the curious looks from the staff already assembling appetizers for the party. He snagged a spiced shrimp off one platter, flashing a smile at the pretty Creole sous chef, and went to look for the staff manager to talk his way into the cocktail party.

  There had been no note waiting for Iris in her box when she returned to the hotel that afternoon. She'd asked the desk clerk about the possibility of a mix-up, but the clerk had told her that nobody had mentioned getting the wrong note, so far. She hoped the Cassandra Society cocktail party would offer more information about her friend's disappearance.

  The Paradise Room didn't quite live up to its name. Though live potted palms dotted the room and the walls were painted in a gradation of red, coral and saffron in an attempt to capture the colors of an island sunset, the room was small and windowless.

  The dozen or so people Iris found mingling in the Paradise Room didn't seem interested in the decor, however. They gathered in clusters of three or four, drinks in hand and deep in discussion.

  She took a deep breath and entered the room. Toiler left, a long table lined the wall. A couple of women dressed in black business suits sat at the table. Half a dozen name tags lay in a neat row. The younger of the two women, a redhead with a round, girlish face, smiled at her.

  "Welcome, Iris."

  Iris blinked at the woman's use of her name.

  The redhead chuckled. "No, I'm not a clairvoyant. You're just the only person on the RSVP list I haven't met yet."

  Iris recognized the woman's Midwestern twang. She was the one who'd answered Iris's RSVP call.

  Handing Iris her name badge, the girl added, "My name's Sharon Phelps. I'm with the Minnesota chapter. I'm a medium. I guess you'd call it. Dead people talk to me."

  Iris tried not to gape. Though she'd lived her entire life knowing she had a special gift, she'd never spoken of it so openly and matter-of-fact not with anyone outside her family. "Nice to meet you "she managed after a couple of seconds.

  "What do you do?" Sharon asked as Iris pinned the badge to the front of her dress.

  "I own a plant nursery." Iris answered automatically, then realized that wasn't what Sharon was asking, "And I,…I guess I feel things."

  "Like an empathy?" Sharon asked brightly.

  "Sort of." Iris conceded, the skin on the back of her neck burning.

  She had steeled herself all afternoon to handle the flood of human emotions that would surround her tonight, but she wasn't getting much from Sharon or the older woman at the table. It wasn't the same as the empty sensation she'd received from the bearded man outside the Tropico. It was just a sort of blandness, as if neither woman had a care in the world. Must be nice.

  "Well, I won't keep you. Go ahead and mingle. And try the stuffed shrimp-they're delicious." Sharon waggled her fingers in a goodbye wave, leaving Iris no choice but to turn and start working the crowd.

  She spotted a woman sitting alone across the room. Safe enough choice, she thought. She took a deep breath and headed across the room, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  She wished Maddox were here, she realized with surprise. With Sandrine missing, he was the closest thing she had to a friend on the island.

  If you need me at the party, holler he be around. Maddox's promise echoed in her head.

  I need you, she thought. Where are you?

  A sharp flood of dark emotion shot through her, trapping her breath in her lungs for a second. She faltered to a stop, gripping the back of a chair sitting next to an empty table. She pulled it out and sat, closing her eyes against the neon flash of emotion coloring her vision bright red.

  Anger. Contempt. Rage.

  As suddenly as she felt it, the emotion fled, leaving only a bitter residual sensation inside her.

  She opened her eyes and found herself staring at the gold buttons of the waiter's jacket. "In the mood for a cheese cracker?"

  Iris's head snapped up at the soft, familiar drawl.

  The waiter was Maddox.

  Chapter Five

  Maddox grinned at Iris's look of surprise, pleased that he'd been able to pull off this investigative coup. It brought back a few of the better memories of his former life.

  "How did you manage this?" Iris selected one of the crackers and gazed up at him with an admiring gleam in her dark eyes.

  "I know people." Maddox answered, deliberately cryptic.

  Desire fluttered in his gut, not unexpected but not particularly welcome. Iris Browning was a complication he couldn't afford.

  "Anything new on the Cassandra Society?"

  "Not much more than we found online." Iris murmured, nibbling at the edge of the cracker.

  "Same here. So, your friend Sandrine is the hoodoo sort?"

  She frowned, apparently not happy with his characterization of her friend. "She considers herself a medium"

  "Do you? Consider her a medium, that is?"

  Iris looked down at the cracker. "She's very perceptive. More than the average person."

  Lots of people are perceptive, he thought, but they don't think they've got some special gift from the gods.

  "Reckon why she signed you up for this thing?" he asked.

  Iris didn't answer. He started to repeat the question when he caught sight of a man gesturing at him from across the room. He sighed. "Duty calls. Go mingle."

  He worked the room slowly, listening to snippets of conversation that gradually began to draw a clearer picture of what the Cassandra Society and the conference here at the Hotel St. George were about.

  As one plump, over earnest woman holding court in a group of five expounded, "It's about science, not magic, and it's time we prove it to the skeptics."

  Good luck with that, Maddox thought, heading back to the kitchen for a new tray of appetizers.

  In the kitchen, the pretty Creole sous chef, Darlene, flirted as he loaded the tray with coconut shrimp and stuffed mushrooms,

  "Anybody put the hex on you out there, Maddox?"

  He flashed a smile. "Not yet. But the night is young "

  "I hear they found that American psychic lady, Celia Shore, all beat up on the beach." Darlene leaned closer, lowering her voice to a half-whisper. "You'd think a psychic would've known the attack was coming." She laughed at her own joke.

  Maddox smiled, but his heart wasn't in it. He'd seen firsthand the kind of injuries Celia had sustained. She might be a big old faker, but she hadn't faked the scrapes and bruises on her wrists and ankles or the concussion she'd sustained. Something bad was going on here at the Hotel St. George, something to do with the Cassandra Society,

  And he intended to find out what.

  Iris's feet were aching. Though she wore low-heeled and ridiculously comfortable, she suspected most of the pain was a vicarious sensation from the short-skirted blonde standing next to her in a pair of spike-heeled strappy sandals. Iris was tempted to make an excuse to leave, but the blonde, a "sensitive" named Andrea Barks-dale, seemed to know something about everyone in the room. So Iris ignored her aching feet, discreetly pumping Andrea for information.

  "That's Trevor Mac Allan." Andrea pointed to a tall, gaunt-looking man in an ancient tweed suit. "He has a show on British television where he goes to various haunted places and speaks to the dead. Really quite amazing the people he's spoken with. Ask him about his talk with William Shakespeare"

  Why, Iris wondered, did celebrity mediums always have conversations with famous people? Never Joe Blow from Peoria who died of a heart attack while shoveling snow.

  "Well, hello "Andrea said, her voice tinged with intrigue.

  Iris followed her gaze. Near the entrance, a slender, well-built man in his thirties survived the room calmly. He was dark-skinned-Arabic, perhaps-with strong, even features. The stylish cut of his shor
t black hair accented his striking bone structure. His dark eyes met hers, and he gave a polite nod.

  "Who's that?" Iris asked Andrea when he looked away.

  Andrea shook her head, "I don't know, but I'm damn well going to find out."

  She set her martini glass on a nearby table and crossed the room to greet the stranger. For a moment. Iris watched Andrea pour on the charm feeling a little sorry for the newcomer. Turning her gaze back to the rest of the meeting room, she spotted Maddox a few yards away, gathering up empty glasses, his head cocked as lie listened in on conversations. As if he felt her appraisal, he turned his head and shot her a conspiratorial look so intimate that it stole her breath for a moment.

  We're in this together, that look seemed to say.

  The sense of relief that flooded her in response caught her by surprise. She looked away quickly, annoyed at herself. You're not in this together, she scolded herself. You're in this to find Sandrine, and if Maddox wants to help, you'll take it, but you're not a team.

  The pain in her feet, which had eased now that Andrea headed across the room, was back. Iris turned her head to find the blond Canadian approaching, the swarthy stranger in tow.

  "Iris Browning, this is Tahir Mahmoud. He's from Kazarastan."

  "Kaziristan." Tahir corrected gently. He spoke perfect English, his accent British and formal. "Have you heard of it?"

  "Of course. The embassy siege was only three years ago." she said softly. "I've kept up."

  He laughed, reassuring her that she hadn't insulted him by bringing up his country's troubled past. "So you have. I assure you the country has vastly improved in the interim. Miss Barksdale tells me that you're an American."

  Iris took the hand he extended. The second his flesh touched hers, a sharp pain raced through the right side of her face, as if she'd just bitten the inside of her cheek. She couldn't suppress a wince, though she recovered quickly as the pain receded to a tingle. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Malunoud."