To Touch a Thief (An Everly Gray Novella)

by Charles, L. j.

  He nudged my foot with his. “You’re thinking too much. Tell me about the séance room.”

  “There’s plenty of space for the twenty-three people who requested invitations. Richly decorated with plush carpeting and upholstered chairs. The table is oval, probably cherry. I’m babbling. Don’t know why I’m so nervous about this.”

  “You’re gonna have to trust them with the plans, Sunshine. Jayne is meticulous about detail, and she has a lot riding on this.”

  “Yeah. I know. That’s not my part in this show. The room felt okay. No bad vibes or anything. You know—” I twisted away from him— “Parker’s apartment is right next to the séance room. And Jayne has keys, one for the private elevator and one for his apartment.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  “No. Me either, but…you’re gonna laugh.”

  “I won’t laugh at you, Sunshine.” He flashed his dimple at me.

  “Right. Anyway, Steele is big guns, and Jayne—”

  “What about Jayne?”

  “She’s so proper. Do you think she can handle him?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He nuzzled my neck, and my girl parts begged for attention. “And I have the scars to prove it.”

  “Wanna show me?”

  “Anytime,” he whispered, his mouth covering mine.

  One week later

  I chose my clothes carefully, checking my reflection from all angles. No gypsy costume for the real deal. It had been fun to tweak Jayne’s prim and proper attitude, but not tonight, and not since we needed to work as a team to pull this crazy séance plan off.

  I’d chosen a deep green suit, almost black, with a flared jacket and an above-the-knee skirt. I paired it with a cream turtleneck that made my skin glow and tamed my hair into a sturdy clip. After slipping my feet into my favorite strappy sandals, I nodded at the mirror and headed downstairs to wait for Mitch.

  I had asked him to attend the séance, not because I was afraid, certainly not, but because he looked yummy in a dinner jacket.

  His rakish smile, slightly too long sandy hair, and steady nerves were exactly what I needed to stay calm while I waited to be served up as a tasty decoy for a potential felon. Unlike Jayne and Parker’s common sense, my intuition insisted the thief was going to make an appearance. Not that I’d mentioned it to them. No point. Planners didn’t like to deviate from their prescribed strategy.

  Mitch flashed his dimple as he ran a finger down the lapel of my suit. “I like.”

  “Thanks. You’re lookin’ good, too. Very good.” My heels made us the same height, so his mouth was right there. So kissable. It was such a waste to only brush his cheek with my lips, but since I wanted to rip his clothes off, I didn’t dare get too close to temptation.

  I blew out an impatient sigh. “The sooner we do this, the sooner it’ll be over.”

  Traffic was light, so it only took fifteen minutes to arrive at Steele Management. Mitch pulled into a corner slot at the back of the building, leaving the front parking lot open for valet service. Twenty-three spaces had been reserved for the séance participants—a token perk for the thousand-dollar a seat donation required to participate.

  Mitch handed me out of the car, keeping a reassuring palm at the small of my back as we walked to the elevator.

  Jayne was pacing outside the conference room, her greeting a curt nod. “Are you ready?” she asked, motioning us inside.

  I squared my shoulders and sucked in a breath, every inch the condemned heroine. “Um-hmm. Are you?”

  “Me?” Jayne asked, surprised.

  “You’re the one who has to vindicate all these people. And what if you’re wrong and the bad guy shows up? I only have to chat with a few harmless dead people.”

  Mitch bit back a grin and shook his head as Parker Steele joined us. “Has it always been like this between them?” Steele asked.

  “Yep.”

  I poked Mitch in the ribs.

  Neither of them realized that Jayne and I had formed an alliance against the scummy individual stealing from Parker. It was tacit and lurked quietly under our bitch facades, but I hoped it was the beginning of a true friendship. I’d learned to trust her. Sort of. And she’d learned to rely on my fingertips when all else failed. Another sort of, but it wasn’t a bad beginning to accepting each other as permanent fixtures in Mitch’s life.

  He tapped my hand. “Where do you want me, Sunshine?”

  The wingback chairs were comfortably spaced around the table. It had been polished to a satin glow that reflected a wavy image of my face—eyes too big, mouth too tight. I consciously relaxed my muscles.

  “There.” I pointed to a corner slightly behind and to the right of the end of the table where I planned to sit. “It would be better if you don’t participate, I think. I’m not exactly sure what will happen when I begin to work with these people and need to know you have my back.”

  Jayne spun around, grabbed my arm, and tugged me away from the others. “Are you suggesting that you might actually communicate with dead people?”

  I shrugged. “It’s a possibility. I’d rather be prepared for something like that than not.”

  “We planned this. It’s not real.” A flash of panic crossed Jayne’s face. “What is the probability of a visitation from the dead? In numbers?”

  “You’re such an accountant. I’d give it fifty percent.” It was better to state a number than allow her imagination to tweak the odds. No point explaining that I couldn’t control the images my fingertips see. Some things are better left unsaid.

  Jayne’s hands clenched. “You don’t have to acknowledge the…images, do you?”

  “No, but in this case, I believe it would be better to talk about something near and dear to the participants. Silence isn’t a widely accepted séance technique.”

  “Oh, well, no. You’ll have to say something.”

  I shrugged. “A girl’s gotta use the gifts she’s got. It’s the only edge we have, Jayne, and I intend to use it. Hopefully it will protect you.”

  Jayne threw up her hands, then crossed her arms firmly under her breasts. “I’m scared. You know there are officers posted downstairs. I think they’re afraid I’m going to skip bail.”

  “They do stand out, but I’m not sure they’re here because of you. There’s a lot of money being tossed around tonight. I thought maybe Parker had requested—”

  “No. We have our own security. Those officers are watching me.” Her voice broke.

  And for the first time, I gave her the Everly version of a hug—tight with lots of positive vibes.

  She broke away. I watched, waiting for her to smooth her skirt. Yep, there it was. Jayne always ran her hands over her skirt when she was nervous. As tells go, it was kind of cute.

  “Thanks, Everly. I-I’ve never been on the other side of the law before. Sometimes I forget it’s pretend. And those officers, they don’t know the truth. They believe I’m guilty.”

  “True,” I agreed, then paused just to let her fret. “If you have any hope of pulling this off, they need to believe you’re guilty. There’s no room for error here. I’m going to do my best to give you a good show, but the rest is up to you and Parker.”

  She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “You have a plan, right?”

  I avoided her gaze. “If I can get the participants to focus their emotions on the person they want to contact, there’s a good chance I’ll pick up some pertinent, usable information.”

  Jayne’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s your plan? What kind of a plan is that? Surely you’ve practiced this.”

  “It’s not the kind of thing I can practice.”

  “I knew I should have made time for a rehearsal this week, but Parker and I—”

  “It wouldn’t have helped, Jayne. My gift is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of thing. I can’t plan how it’s going to work.”

  Jayne pushed her fingertips into her temples. “Anything you want me to do if this plan doesn’t work?”

  �
�Wanna take my place?”

  “This is serious, Everly.” Jayne reached into her pocket and pulled out a bottle of ibuprophen.

  Mitch and Parker joined us—Mitch glancing warily at me. “Are they serving alcohol at this thing?”

  “Absolutely,” Parker answered. “Champagne and hors d’oeuvres before the séance begins. If you need something stronger—” his gaze darted between me and Jayne, then came to rest on Mitch— “let me know.”

  We turned in unison as voices sounded outside the door. Parker reached for Jayne’s hand, pried the bottle of ibuprophen from her grasp, and dropped it in his pocket. “Time to greet our guests.”

  When everyone was seated and had been plied with the champagne and hors d’oeuvres, Parker gave a brief introduction and then turned the séance over to me.

  When had the room become so warm? I rested my hands on the table, fingers interlaced. With all the skepticism about séances, I didn’t want anyone to wonder what my hands might be doing under the table.

  I asked Mitch to dim the lights, and the room relaxed in the peaceful, cozy glow.

  “Good evening. As we progress through the séance, I’ll stand behind each of you in turn and place my hand on your shoulder. My touch indicates that I’m working with your friend or relative who has passed beyond the veil.”

  I stood and circled the room. “As we begin, allow your eyes to close. You’ll want to keep them closed throughout the séance, because it will help you to focus inward on your memories, rather than on my movements as I select participants.”

  “Deep, even breathing will help to welcome the spirits surrounding us. Bring your attention to your inhalations and exhalations, the air moving through your lungs. When you’re comfortable, hold an image in your mind of the loved one you’d like to contact this evening.”

  An agitated feminine voice cut into the quiet. “We’ll all get a chance won’t we? You won’t leave anyone out?”

  “Everyone will have an opportunity.” I paced my answer to re-set a calm atmosphere. “Some spirits are easier to communicate with than others, and we must respect their limitations.”

  Mitch grunted softly in the background, and I had to swallow a laugh. He was obviously focused on my limitations, not those of the dearly departed.

  I selected my first participant, an elderly gentleman who radiated deep loneliness, and rested my hand on his shoulder. Images flowed onto my internal monitor. A big, empty house, a classic photograph of an elegant bride done in black and white, and a family portrait that included a daughter. The next image flashed in front of me, a warning clearly attached. The daughter was gazing at one of North Carolina’s more ruthless politicians—a besotted smile on her lips.

  “Is it your wife you’d like to contact?” I asked.

  He shivered under my fingertips, and the faint scent of mothballs tickled my nose. “Yes, miss.”

  “She is at peace, is waiting patiently for you to join her. She’s concerned, though, about your relationship with your daughter.” His shoulder muscles tensed, and a wave of discomfort tugged on me. I shrugged it off. There was no turning back now. “Your wife says that you must not let her sway your convictions. That you must remain strong in your beliefs and true to your heart.”

  A tear trickled down his cheek.

  “Thank you, miss.” He brushed at his face with trembling fingers. “She’s a difficult one, our Callie.”

  I patted his shoulder and moved to the other side of the table to select the next participant.

  Two long hours and one headache later, there were only a few people left for me to read. Unlike the other participants who had followed my instructions and kept their eyes closed, Parker’s gaze had followed Jayne as she wandered around the room, keeping watch over the participants. When I placed my hand on his shoulder, he growled, low in his throat.

  I bent to his ear. “You, thinking about Jayne, is clouding the whole room with hormonal vibes. Focus on memories of your grandfather. Now.”

  His eyelids fluttered closed.

  I spoke up, hoping a pointed question would clear his mind of the X-rated images. “What was your grandfather’s name, Parker?”

  “Thomas Steele.”

  Cloudy pictures of an elderly gentleman with Parker’s gray eyes replaced the semi-nude images of Jayne. I breathed easier. There had been way too much Jayne in my life lately.

  It was sometime during the reading of Thomas Steele that my neck started to prickle.

  I tried to scrub the sensation away, but it worked its way under my skin until I couldn’t ignore it.

  EIGHT

  Everly Gray

  I finished the reading on Thomas and bent to Parker’s ear again. “Something’s wrong,” I whispered and moved away, slowly circling the table, stalling for time.

  A trickle of sweat had slithered down my spine, and uncomfortable vibrations were tickling my skin.

  Jayne stepped in front of me. “Pick someone.” There was a definite bite in her voice.

  “Can’t. Something’s wrong.” I angled my chin toward the right side of the table, the seat at the end.

  All of the participants were totally relaxed, eyes closed—some might even have fallen asleep. Steele had, after all, provided a never-ending bottle of excellent champagne.

  But still, the guy at the end—Solomon Tarik, if I remembered the introductions correctly—didn’t look right. He wasn’t sitting in the chair so much as the chair was supporting him. Completely supporting him.

  I turned to move in his direction, and Jayne grabbed my sleeve. She nodded toward the woman sitting to the left of Tarik and whispered in my ear. “Mrs. Pockett hasn’t had a turn. Do her now.”

  Pulling free of Jayne’s grasp, I crooked my finger at Mitch.

  He rose from his chair, a liquid movement that spoke of his time in war zones. Reaching us in three steps, he cradled my face and held my ear to his lips. “What’s up, Sunshine?”

  I took his hand and headed for Tarik. “Not sure, but if we have a panic situation, not only will it potentially destroy whatever data Jayne is collecting, but it could provide a diversion for the thief. And we don’t know if Solomon Tarik has been set up as a cover for…whatever.”

  Tarik looked limp, but sort of normal. A knot froze in my stomach. I’d never live it down if this turned out to be a false alarm, or worse, if he were truly ill and we didn’t call for help in time to save him.

  “I have to trust my intuition.” The words sounded flimsy.

  Backbone, Everly. Now’s the time to grow one.

  “I’m on board with that plan, Sunshine. And my gut is in agreement with your intuition.”

  Mitch’s support helped to build my confidence, vertebrae by vertebrae. “Fortunately, Tarik is sitting next to Mrs. Pockett, so I can check his pulse while I’m working with her.”

  Mitch nodded, then angled his jaw toward Jayne. She was frantically motioning him away from the table toward a far corner of the room. Her obvious panic shot my nerve endings into full alert. Something was definitely going down.

  I motioned Mitch toward Jayne, then turned my attention to Tarik. I braced my left hand on the back of the chair, the textured fabric roughly reassuring against my palm, and touched his shoulder with the tip of my right index finger.

  Nothing. Nada.

  He’s not a bomb ready to detonate, Everly. Touch the poor man.

  I made a light fist, released it and placed all four of my fingers on his shoulder.

  Nothing.

  No images whatsoever. At least he hadn’t been rigged to explode.

  I suppressed a shudder and focused on the point of contact between us, allowing the rest of the room to fade into the background. A burned, nutty scent coated the back of my throat. I swallowed several times, clearing the offensive taste, then searched the ethers for an image. Any image.

  Nothing.

  I filled the room with a monologue, softly spoken prattle about how the energy around us had turned vibrant and welcoming for
the next spirit who chose to visit, but the background of my mind was running in high gear.

  Had my ESP fingers gone on the fritz? That hadn’t happened since the first time I tried to work with law enforcement, and new job stress had panicked me so badly it deadened the ESP in my fingers. I drew my attention inward, did a few seconds of yogic breathing, and cleared my mind of everything but Solomon Tarik.

  Finally, I rested my hand on his shoulder. No response. An icy chill filled the spaces in my chest and spread into my throat. I moved my fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Barely there, but palpable. Okay, then. Not dead, but probably in need of medical attention. Some of the tension eased from my shoulders—not dead was a good thing.

  A glance across the room confirmed that Mitch and Parker were having an intense discussion, but Jayne was gone.

  In spite of my reluctance to leave Tarik, I knew I had to continue the séance. I sidestepped to reach Mrs. Pockett, curled my hand over her shoulder, and opened to the images playing across my mind.

  Fortunately, Mrs. Julia Pockett was an easy read, and a sigh of relief escaped before I could stop it. It was a huge plus that I’d be able to surreptitiously work on Tarik while chatting with Julia.

  “Is it a cat you’d like to contact, Mrs. Pockett?” Every image I was picking up from Julia centered on a big, orange tabby.

  “Oh, no, dear.” She cooed, sweetly. “I lost my dear husband, John Pockett. He was an avid supporter of Forever Feline, and I need him to talk to Max The Cat for me.”

  I swallowed a grin. “Would Max the Cat be a large orange tabby?”

  She clapped her hands. “Oh, my! Yes dear. About two weeks after I’d laid my John to rest, Max started nibbling on my house plants.”

  While Julia Pockett described her prized African Violets in great detail, I turned back to Tarik. Maybe if I touched his hand, skin-to-skin, for a long enough time, an image would pop up to explain what happened to him.

  My fingers brushed his hand.

  An immediate and fierce wave of nausea rocked my body. I jerked my hand away and fought the tremors with every bit of strength I had.