by Rebecca York
Jake ducked around him, pulling her up. “Are you all right?”
The feeling of relief was overwhelming. Relief and more. As he held her in his arms, they exchanged silent messages.
You knew something was wrong.
Yeah.
Thank you for getting here in time.
You kept him busy.
She wanted to stay in Jake’s arms, but she knew that the feeling of safety was only an illusion. They had to get out of here.
Her eyes flicked to the man on the floor, seeing the blood oozing from his hair.
“You hurt him.”
“Not as much as he was planning to hurt you. Head wounds bleed a lot.”
She winced.
Jake squatted beside the man, picked up the gun and handcuffs and cuffed the guy to a heating pipe.
Next he handed her the gun. “Keep him covered.”
She accepted the weapon, wondering what would happen if she had to shoot it.
Jake felt for a pulse in the guy’s neck.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.” He rifled through his pockets and pulled out a wallet. In it were a driver’s license and a couple of credit cards in the name of Eric Smithson. He also took the handcuff key.
“Probably the ID’s not in his real name,” Jake muttered. “Give me the gun.”
She was glad to hand it over and watched as he switched on the safety and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“We can’t leave him here,” she whispered as she stared at the assailant. She was still coming to grips with what had happened and what would have happened if Jake hadn’t arrived.
“You want to call the cops?” he asked, his voice hard.
She considered that option. “No.”
“Why not?” he pressed.
She’d always been a law-abiding citizen. Now she heard herself answer, “I don’t want to get myself connected to the Evelyn Morgan case.”
“Agreed.”
“What should we do?”
“Well, you can’t hang around here. Too dangerous. Can you stay with a friend?”
She thought for a moment and couldn’t come up with anyone she could impose upon. Not when she was hiding out from a guy who was probably a murderer. And she was pretty sure Jake could guess what she was going to answer.
When she shook her head, he said, “You’re staying with me.”
Undoubtedly what he wanted.
She swallowed. “Okay.”
“Go up and pack a few things.”
“You know I live upstairs?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t comment as she turned toward the door that led up to her apartment. Jake hesitated, then followed.
She stood for a moment in the middle of the darkened room, feeling paralyzed, her brain in danger of shutting down. Which wasn’t an option.
Grimly she forced herself into action, taking underwear and some practical clothing out of drawers, then throwing a few personal items and some makeup into a small kit.
After she’d stuffed everything into an overnight bag, she looked up to find Jake watching her and holding the gun he’d taken off the assailant.
“What are we going to do with the guy down there?”
He thought for a moment. “Take him to another location and turn the tables on him.”
“You mean question him?”
“Right. I’d like to know who he’s working for.”
“If he killed Evelyn Morgan, won’t he be…dangerous?”
“I think I can handle him,” Jake said, and she knew from the tone of his voice that he’d taken care of a lot of business she didn’t want to ask about.
When she started for the stairs, Jake held her back. “Stay behind me.”
He hurried down the steps, then stopped short as he reached the ground floor, muttering a curse.
WHERE THE HELL WAS CARTER Frederick? Bill Wellington expected a second report from the man, but perhaps it was too soon.
He hadn’t been willing to reveal what he wanted to find out from Evelyn Morgan, but he already had a hunch it might be connected to a cockamamie medical research project the Howell Institute had funded years ago.
To give himself the illusion of progress, he started accessing medical reports from the Crescent City and the surrounding area. At first there wasn’t anything of unusual interest. Then he began to pick up a strange set of data. On deaths from cerebrovascular accidents among young adults in New Orleans.
There were more than you’d expect in the metropolitan area. And when he checked to see the individuals involved, he found that many of the deaths came in pairs. All those victims were unmarried couples in their late twenties or early thirties. Young men and women who were found in bed together.
Did Evelyn think that Rachel Gregory and Jake Harper were going to be the next victims? Was that why she’d showed up in New Orleans?
That was certainly a stretch, but why would Evelyn have been trying to contact them? Was there some new kind of brain disease going around Louisiana, and she thought those two had contracted it?
Because a Howell Institute project had made them susceptible?
He reached for the phone and called Carter Frederick. No answer. Again. Did that mean the guy was in trouble? Or was he avoiding making a report because of another screwup?
Wellington slammed a fist into the palm of his opposite hand. He didn’t like being jerked around, and he didn’t like operating by remote control in Portland.
When he’d been running the Howell Institute, he’d had more trustworthy operatives. Retirement had forced him into using less reliable guys, and now he was paying the price. If he didn’t get results this way, would he have to go to New Orleans himself and do it right? But was that worth the risk?
AS RACHEL PEERED AROUND Jake, she saw what had made him curse. The man on the floor was gone, leaving a small pool of blood where his head had been.
“He was cuffed to a heating pipe,” she said.
Jake swore again. “I guess he had a spare key.”
“Will he go to the police?”
Jake barked out a laugh. “He came here to harm you. And he probably killed Evelyn Morgan. I hardly think he’s going to call the cops.”
“He could make up some story.”
“You think?”
“Okay. No.” She looked at the blood on the floor. “But he needs medical treatment.”
“Like I told you, head wounds bleed a lot, so it may be superficial. But if he goes to a doctor, he’ll make up a story about what happened.”
She kept staring at the blood. “I have to clean up.”
He made a rough sound. “I’ll send a cleaning crew over. Just lock up after us and put up the closed sign.”
He moved to the side of the door and looked out.
“You don’t see him?”
“No. And now we’re really getting out of here.”
He stepped outside, waited a moment and motioned for her to follow.
“Where are we going?”
“A place I own.”
“Your house?”
“No. If he could find you, he could find me.”
“Does he even know who you are?”
“We have to assume he does, even if it’s not true. Which means we’re going to a different location.”
“A hideout?”
He laughed. “It’s a set of converted row houses where I store antiques that aren’t going right to my shop. But the top floor was already outfitted as a loft. I go there sometimes when I need a change of scenery.”
He led her rapidly away from the shop, and she hurried to keep up. To her relief, he slowed his pace when they turned the corner. There were only a few people on this street, and she glanced at them as they passed. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her and Jake Harper.
Still, he took a circuitous route through the French Quarter, ducking down alleys and stopping to listen and look behind them every so often. He had an excellent knowledg
e of the area, and as far as she could tell, no one was following them.
They ended up in an alley a few blocks away, where he stopped at a three-story building that was as wide as three town houses. All the shades were tightly drawn. He unlocked the door and stepped inside where he turned on a dim overhead light. As she followed him, she saw that the first-floor interior was one big open space. As he’d said, it was filled with antiques. Victorian sofas, chests of drawers, marble statues and even a horse watering trough.
He crossed the room, heading for a stairway at the back. They climbed to a second level that was much like the first. The third floor was set up like a loft with a kitchen on one side, a living area and a bedroom in the back. He’d said it was an occasional residence. Anybody else would have been glad to call the place home.
She sank onto the sofa, hugging her knees as she watched Jake standing uneasily a few feet away. After he had come to her rescue, they’d been intent on getting to safety. Now that they were alone together, it seemed everything had changed.
As she watched him standing awkwardly in the living area, she asked, “Sorry you brought me here?”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise. You look like you’re going to fly apart with tension.”
“I’m thinking about the guy who barged in on you. How did he know you knew Evelyn?”
“He said my name was in her daybook.”
“That solves one mystery.”
“But you’re thinking about us, too.”
“Okay. Yeah.”
She swallowed. She’d been avoiding Jake Harper because of what she’d sensed between them. Maybe that had been the wrong approach.
“You might as well sit down,” she said.
He waited a moment, then took the gun from the waistband of his pants and set it on the table before lowering himself to the other end of the sofa, still eyeing her.
“What are you thinking now?” she asked as she studied his uncertain expression.
“That I’ve had a lot of weird experiences in my life, but I’ve never run into anything like this.”
“Which part?”
“The whole deal. Evelyn Morgan. Her murder. The mind-reading stuff.”
The mind-reading stuff—which was triggered by touching, as far as she could tell. She felt a strong compulsion to reach out and touch him now—for a lot of reasons—but she thought it would be better to keep her hands to herself. For the time being.
Trying to fill the silence, she said, “I have more experience with psychic…phenomena than you do. Murder, not so much.”
He laughed. “Yeah.”
“I was afraid to find out what was between us. Maybe that’s a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because when the guy was getting ready to handcuff me, I had the strong feeling that you were going to show up to rescue me.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Well, at least I knew something was going to happen to change the equation. I didn’t know for sure that it would be you until I saw you standing in the doorway. Why did you come rushing over to my place?”
He blew out a breath. “I’d been thinking about you all day. I told myself that I should ask you some questions. I guess that was an excuse to see you. On the way to your shop, I felt—” He stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know what to call it. Anxious, I guess. Like I knew something bad was going down. Specifically, I was sure you were in trouble.”
“Lucky for me.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Thanks for being honest. Did you ever feel something like that before?”
“I’ve had hunches that turned out to be right.”
“Like what?”
“Sometimes when I’m negotiating, I have a sense of how far the other guy’s willing to go.”
“That could just be experience.”
“When I was a teenager on the streets, I was pretty good at picking places to sleep where I knew I’d be safe.”
She nodded, thinking that none of that was exactly evidence. “Did you ever have…mind-to-mind communication with anyone else?”
“No. Did you?”
She shook her head. “Only you. In fact…” She let the sentence trail off.
“Are we going to stick with honesty?”
“It’s not that easy. I’m not used to revealing myself.”
“Neither am I. But it may be to our advantage.”
She dragged in a breath and let it out, wondering what he was going to think of her. “Okay. I’ve never felt close to anyone. Not my parents. Or anyone I called a friend. I was always alone in a way that made me…sad.”
She’d never admitted that to anyone. She wanted to look away, but kept her gaze on him and saw him swallow.
He swallowed hard. “Same with me.”
“Why do you think it’s true?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know why. But I always felt there was something missing. Something I should be able to have but couldn’t attain.”
“Yes! That’s the way I felt. Like there should have been more—but there was no way to reach it.”
They were both silent for several moments. When he didn’t speak, she said, “Something’s going on between us. We hardly know each other and yet we know each other better than anyone else we’ve ever met.”
He nodded.
“We ought to see if we can make it stronger.”
He kept his gaze fixed on her. “Why?”
“For starters, for safety.”
He considered that and asked, “How?”
She kept her gaze steady. “I think you know. As soon as we touched, we made a connection. It brought you to me when I was in danger.”
“And you’re thinking that if we get closer, it will strengthen the connection between us and make us both safer?”
“Don’t you?”
“I think there are risks as well as benefits.”
“What risks?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve taken risks before. What’s different now?”
His gaze turned inward. “When I was a teenager, trying to make it on my own, I had nothing much to lose. I was at the bottom, and there was nowhere to go but up. I took a lot of chances. I mean, living on my own. Dealing with adults who would have no compunction about raping or murdering a boy.”
Her insides clutched. “Did—”
“No,” he answered quickly.
“You think being successful has made you more cautious?”
“I hate thinking of myself that way.” He gave her a direct look. “Your experience is different. You came from a stable middle-class home.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “Where my parents didn’t approve of their daughter trying to make a living in what they considered a nutty profession.”
She kept her gaze on him, thinking that this was a strange conversation but that both of them were using it as a way to postpone action.
“So you’re willing to take chances. But not with a woman?” she asked.
Chapter Five
The comment had been a calculated risk.
Jake’s expression darkened, and Rachel knew she’d insulted a man who prided himself on his courage.
And he wasn’t going to let the remark go. His eyes glittered dangerously, making her want to spring off the couch, but she stayed where she was as he slid across the space that separated them and reached for her.
She let her head drop to his shoulder, closed her eyes and held on to him. It was a unique experience. As his arms came up to enfold her, she felt such a confusing rush of emotions that she could hardly cope with them.
Safety was part of it. She was safe in his arms. Along with that came the most overwhelming sexual need she had ever experienced. But she knew that was only one component. She was also keenly aware of the danger simmering below the surface.
It came from the situation they were in. And also the intimacy.
Why? he asked.
I don’t know.
Besides the word h
e had spoken in her mind, she could read the emotions churning within him just as clearly as her own needs and doubts.
If we go any further, there’s no going back, he warned.
She didn’t have to ask how he knew that. It was as clear to her as it was to him.
Her answer didn’t come in words. She lifted her head, staring at him, letting him make the final decision.
He did, lowering his mouth to hers, rubbing his lips gently against hers. It was only a light touch but it sent heat shimmering over her nerve endings. Beaded her nipples to tight points of sensation.
With any other lover, there had always been the question of how fast to go.
In terms of days and hours, she and Jake Harper still hardly knew each other, but in this case, time was the least important factor.
She had confessed her inability to connect with anyone on a deep level. He had said the same thing.
Not now.
When he lifted a hand, brushed it lightly over the swell of her breast, it felt right.
His touch sent heat shooting downward through her body as wayward thoughts shimmered through her brain. Memories that he would rather her not know. Yet he had no way to hide them.
She gasped. A junkie almost killed you.
He didn’t speak, but she saw him clawing his way out of the man’s clutches, then striking back with fists and feet.
As she was absorbing that, another long-ago scene leaped into her mind. A well-dressed man trying to pick up the good-looking boy. Offering money if Jake would come home with him.
She felt the clogging sensation in his throat as he’d backed away and run.
Next she watched him taking a valuable pitcher to a flea market and having a dealer knock it off a table—only to blame the clumsy kid.
I got back at him a few years later by scoring a whole houseload of goods that he’d thought were going to be his.
But it wasn’t one-way communication. If his mind was open to her, hers was to him. Her life hadn’t been as shocking, but it hadn’t been wonderful, either.
She saw herself again in sixth grade, trying to explain why she’d done so well on a book report. And Jake was right along with her, eavesdropping on the memories.
The teacher thought you cheated.
I didn’t.