Wasn’t Jack listening? Hadn’t he heard her mention that neither of her parents knew what to make of her psychic abilities? They usually chose to ignore her random visions of inconsequential future events, such as consistently predicting winning lottery numbers. They chalked it up to coincidence when she knew someone was at the door before the doorbell rang or a lucky guess that she knew the phone was going to ring before it did. Or when she had a dream that usually came true. But they found her serious visions of disastrous events, over which she had no control, more worrisome. Katherine considered her special abilities natural, but to her parents they were unnatural, supernatural, an embarrassment, and the less said about them the better.
Worse, she sometimes felt like she didn’t even belong in her family. Both her parents were successful overachievers. She was a failure, by any standard. No job now, no means of support, and she didn’t want to continue to freeload off her parents. She wasn’t exactly living in their basement. She had her own suite in the Crystal Palace. But she was still wandering on an unknown future path, trying to find her way.
If she were truly successful, would she still be living at home? And would the gallery have terminated her because they no longer needed her services? She had been embarrassed when she had to admit to Jack that she was unemployed. But she wasn’t about to back down.
“And what if I did want to sell paintings for the rest of my life?” she challenged. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I appreciate beauty.”
Jack stared at her intently, then looked away, leaving her to scan the papers and wonder what she did to put the latest scowl on his face.
****
If he didn’t know better, and she wasn’t always so damn angry all the time, he’d think Crystal Ball Kate had cast a spell on him, a love spell. He’d been watching her sleep, taking cover behind a newspaper to hide the fact that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was having a hell of a dream if that smug smile on her face was any indication. Probably about some guy—some lucky guy.
All he could think about since they left Sydney was kissing her. He’d come so close in the hotel room as they were packing up and preparing to fly back to Atlanta. They were both ginned up after catching the Sydney Strangler. For all his bluster, and the control he wielded over innocent, helpless young girls, Lucas Taylor was just a sniveling little creep who had broken down like a crybaby when Commander Jones perp-walked him by his father in front of all the Lord Mayor’s distinguished party guests. The commander had caught hell from Chief Commissioner Williams for doing it so publicly, but he still admitted it had been worth it.
They’d finished up all the paperwork and said their goodbyes to Commander Jones at the station, and then Jack had taken her out for a big dinner to celebrate the fact that his long-term losing streak was finally over.
Back at their hotel suite, he could still see Kate perched in the window seat, sunlight streaming in, highlighting the golden streaks in her hair, sprinkling sunshine like fairy dust. She was marveling over the view, and he was thinking the view from inside the hotel room was pretty great, too. He’d walked up behind her and placed his hands squarely on her shoulders. She’d startled and turned around, and at that moment, as he gazed into her bottomless violet eyes in that stunning face, he’d wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and find out what it would be like to kiss a psychic, to be part of her future.
He’d resisted the urge and the moment was lost. But his desire for Kate was still alive and kicking. The look she’d given him then made him think she really could read his mind. It was uncanny.
He hoped she didn’t know what he was thinking right now, sitting so close to her, winging their way back to Atlanta. She hadn’t given him a clue as to what was going on in that complicated, messy mind of hers. Or whether she’d want to see him again when they got back to Atlanta.
“So, what do you plan to do when you get back to Atlanta?” Jack asked, testing the waters. “With all this publicity, you have an open ticket to travel around the world solving mysteries and problems.”
“You wouldn’t believe the endless parade of reporters knocking on my parents’ door looking for a scoop since the Vince Rivers prediction,” Katherine said. “Inquiring minds want to know: Who is Crystal Ball Kate? Where did she come from? What’s going to happen next?
“It’s all about the road not taken, and everyone thinks I can point them in the right direction. How can I point anyone in the right direction when I don’t know where I’m going myself?”
“Well, I’m not a psychic, but I can pretty much predict where we’re going now,” Jack said. “Back to Atlanta.”
“Very funny.” Katherine shifted in her seat, trying to get comfortable.
“But seriously, are you going to continue doing police work?” He was crowding Kate in her seat. His arm was touching hers as they fought for purchase on the armrest between them. He was winning. He enjoyed the electric shock sensation whenever they came in contact. Kate, not so much. She was grabbing her left shoulder and twisting her body in an effort to angle away from him. He couldn’t help his bulk or his muscles. He was a big guy. He turned his head to face her.
“Not if my parents have anything to do with it. As of now, the ‘Crystal Ball Kate,’ franchise is closed for business.”
He didn’t know how he felt about that. He didn’t want her on his turf on a regular basis, but she had been a big help on the strangler case in Sydney.
“But, Kate, you have a true gift. You can help people. You already have.”
“Jack, my parents were right,” said Katherine. “I’m not cut out for this. I’ll answer the dozens of messages on my cell phone from agencies who want me to solve a police case or people who want me to predict their futures, let them know I’m not interested. My phone’s still ringing off the hook. I was finally forced to change my number. But somehow they’ve managed to track me down.”
“Who exactly is calling you?”
“Friends of Vince Rivers—fellow actors and the beautiful people—calling incessantly, looking for stock tips, advice for the lovelorn, and career recommendations. Should they accept this movie role or turn it down? Could I contact the spirits of their loved ones from beyond the grave? I’m not a medium, for heaven’s sake. I mean, I’ve dabbled in tarot cards, but I don’t read palms to predict the future.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Jack said vehemently.
****
Don’t go soft on me now, Jacko, he cautioned himself. Just because she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve seen in a long time. Maybe ever. A man could get lost in that oh-so-touchable, temptingly soft, dark fall of ringlets and those compelling violet eyes and that smile. God, Kate’s smile could light up the night sky. The moon would pale in comparison. You’re falling for that melodramatic act she just put on, and she’s luring you in with her feminine wiles. She’s just like all the rest of the frauds.
He should know. He’d had experience with mediums. He had been just ten years old when his father was killed. Desperate and distraught, his mother brought a parade of nut jobs into their home and into their lives and finally settled on her medium of the moment, a cunning woman named Heddy Henrietta Grainger, or Madame Hydrangea, as she instructed her clients to call her. Looking back on that time in his life, he knew he should have sized Madame Hydrangea up as a fake from the start, and, like all mediums, Crystal Ball Kate deserved to be painted with the same brush.
The interloper summoned spirits for a fee, a very hefty fee, and claimed she could contact Jack’s dead father. So two nights a week, for almost a year, he’d sat at their second-hand dining room table holding hands with his mother and Madame Hydrangea, futilely watching his mother suffer the false hope of catching a last glimpse of her departed husband.
Furniture had moved, lights had flashed, candles had flickered. He didn’t know it back then, but today he saw those special effects for what they were—parlor tricks—and he recognized the medium as a fraud, perpetrating a
bunch of hokum to take advantage of a grieving widow’s loneliness. Even at ten Jack knew he didn’t like the woman and that she was lying. He had learned a valuable life lesson. His mother believed love could last beyond the grave. If that was where being in love got you, then he wanted no part of it.
Jack’s elbow accidentally bumped into Kate’s. They both retreated to their respective spaces, crowded as they were. There was definitely something there. A spark. An attraction whenever they were together, which they pretty much had been, 24/7, in the past week. He couldn’t be developing feelings for Kate. That was impossible. Not just because he didn’t believe in love but because she was who she was. A psychic. In his mind, it was a dirty word.
Jack shut his eyes and tried not to think about the tempting sprite in the seat next to him. That was hard to do. Mainly because he was getting hard imagining what it might be like to press his lips against hers, feel her body—her naked body—under his. Touch those magnificent breasts, do more than touch them. They’d slept in the same room, but not in the same bed. And he’d had trouble maintaining pure thoughts and keeping his hands from roaming.
He grabbed the magazine in the seat pocket in front of him and held it strategically on his lap. Hopefully Kate hadn’t noticed the bulge.
Maybe, when they got back to Atlanta, they’d trade emails and phone numbers. He’d call her, sleep with her once, get rid of the restless explosion of energy he felt whenever he was around her. Then it would be on to the next one-night stand. He had no qualms about sleeping with a psychic, unleashing his pent-up anger about Madame Hydrangea on Kate, but long-term love wasn’t in the cards for them.
Chapter Eight
Atlanta
Jack drove to Kate’s family estate on West Paces Ferry Road in Buckhead. The Crystal Palace, as the media called it, was almost as big as the Governor’s Mansion down the block. A far cry from the three-bedroom brick house he’d grown up in. After his father died, his mom had refused to give up the house—and the mortgage—she’d shared with her husband and son. So she’d taken a job to cover the house payment and to put food on the table for herself and Jack.
Jack put the car in Park and shut off the engine. He turned toward Katherine and put his arm over the back of her seat.
Katherine smiled, then involuntarily yawned, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, I’m exhausted.” She dropped her hand and fiddled with the clasp of her purse. “I’d invite you in, but I really need to get some sleep.”
“No problem.” Jack would have loved to go in and take a look around. He’d never been in a house like hers before and never would, not on a cop’s salary.
More reason to buckle down on his studies, keep up his grades.
Jack removed his hand and dropped it to the gear shift. He let the car idle, staring at Katherine awkwardly in the dark. Was this it, after all they’d been through together? He hadn’t even kissed her. Unless he counted the mouth-to-mouth he’d performed when she passed out in the hotel room. They hadn’t talked about the take down, diced it and sliced it, which is what they liked to say around the station. Would they ever see each other again? The thought of never again laying eyes on her unforgettable face, never being near enough to touch her, to watch her sleep, to hear her laugh, was agonizing.
Katherine took in a deep breath, let it out. “Well, I guess this is it.” She opened the car door as Jack got out of the driver’s side to help her with her luggage.
“You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride from the airport, and, um, everything.”
Jack just stood there, glued to the asphalt. His mind and body were at odds. His body wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss her senseless, take her home to his bed, or hers. Hers was closer. His mind reminded him that he’d sworn off long-term relationships with women and this one could break him.
A laugh broke through. Who was he kidding? A class act like Katherine and a rookie cop? She would never waste her time with someone like him.
And what could come of it? There was no such thing as love. This was something else. Lust, maybe, but it wasn’t permanent, so probably cutting off all ties was the best course of action.
****
This was awkward, Katherine thought. The big dope was just standing there, immobile. She was a psychic, for heaven’s sake, and she wasn’t misreading the signs. She may not be able to read his mind, but she could tell he was interested. Maybe her sixth sense had jet lag.
There was chemistry on both sides. He had wanted to kiss her in their hotel room in Sydney. But something had stopped him. So this was it? They were never going to see each other again? Resigned, she turned away from the car, swung her handbag over her shoulder and started rolling her suitcase up the driveway.
She looked back at Jack, who was still standing there staring at her, and she shook her head. Men. What was the big jerk waiting for? An engraved invitation?
Oh, what the hell. She was a liberated woman. If she wanted to kiss him, and she was dying to, then she would have to make it happen. She dropped her luggage and ran back to the car.
“Jack,” she said, staring at him. “I’ll probably regret this, but I wanted to thank you for everything in Sydney.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” Jack said, looking oxlike just standing there.
She reached up, wound her arms around his neck, and pressed herself against him, seeking the warmth and comfort she knew she’d find there. God, he felt good. And then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Not a peck on the lips but an amorous kiss. She put everything she had into it, her whole body, including her tongue.
She felt something, a big something, and she ground against his erection. Jack grabbed her butt to keep her pressed against him, right where he wanted her, and responded in kind by kissing her back. Wow, he was a good kisser. Very experienced. She wanted more, and she could tell he did too. Should she ask him in? Was that too forward? No, not with her parents there. But she’d given him a signal that she was interested. The next step was up to him, if there was going to be a next step. She had a good feeling about it.
Suddenly, she felt tired. She pulled her lips away from his and hugged him one last time, almost fell asleep against him.
“Well, Beauregard, that wasn’t half bad,” she murmured.
Jack adjusted his jeans. “Kate, I don’t know what to say.”
She laughed. “Then say goodnight.”
He pulled her back into his arms and hugged her tight. “I don’t want to leave you. You feel so good.”
“You feel pretty good yourself, but I’m beat. I really need to go.”
“Could I call you?” Jack asked, shifting from one foot to the other.
“I’d like that,” she answered. “Do you want my number?”
“I’m a detective. I could probably find it.”
“Right,” said Katherine, nodding.
He took both of her hands in his. “Goodnight, Kate, sleep tight,” he said, planting another sexy kiss on her lips, leaving her wanting more. “Sweet dreams, now.”
Oh, yes. She’d definitely be dreaming about Jack Hale tonight.
Chapter Nine
The house was silent and as eerie as an empty crypt. There was no sign of her parents. Katherine wheeled the luggage into the foyer and removed her cell phone from her purse. She’d forgotten to turn it back on after the plane landed. She’d probably only missed some more messages from Vince Rivers’ hangers-on. Maybe someone wanted to locate a missing puppy. She was up for something easy for a change.
She missed her parents. She wanted to discuss the next chapter in her life. She may as well tell them she’d been let go by the gallery. Opportunities to help people with her psychic gift were piling up. But she wasn’t going to make a move in that direction without their approval. If she could just talk to them, she knew they would help her find an answer. This might be the path to a new and exciting future. As horrible as the serial killer episode was, she had found working with
Jack exciting.
The last message was from her parents.
We read about what you did in Australia, “Crystal Ball Kate,” and your father and I are anxious to talk to you about it. You’re all over the news. I think this kind of exposure is dangerous. We’ve gone to the cabin at the lake to get away from all the reporters. We’ll be back Sunday afternoon. Love you, darling.
Sunday afternoon. That was today. Actually, it was getting dark outside. They should have been home by now. Maybe they’d stopped somewhere for a romantic dinner. They were still a couple of lovebirds, even after so many years of marriage. She wanted a loving marriage like her parents had found. She hoped to have it one day. She called her mother’s cell phone but it went straight to voice mail. The same thing happened when she called her father.
What did her mother mean by dangerous? She wasn’t in any danger. And she wasn’t getting any strange vibes, no prickle at the back of her neck, if you didn’t count the chills she felt when she thought of Jack. She knew everything was all right. She was just anxious to see her parents, especially her mother. She wanted to talk to her mom about things…Jack, mostly, and the way she felt about him, how her heart was beginning to open up to him.
She lugged the suitcase and her carry-on up the curved staircase. She could have taken the elevator, but she didn’t like to use it when nobody else was home. The idea of getting stuck in an elevator was not her idea of fun. She’d had too many visions about what could befall a person in an elevator to take her misgivings lightly. Daddy would have carried her bags up, but he wasn’t here.
She left the suitcases on the floor near her closet. She could unpack tomorrow. Then she undressed, went into the bathroom, and took a long, steamy shower. That felt good. If she had known she would be alone in this big house, she would have invited Jack up. No doubt they would have ended up naked in the shower and then in bed. They had both wanted that. But then she might have fallen asleep before they made love.
Sixth Sense (A Psychic Crystal Mystery) Page 7