“I believe in hunches that pan out. I believe in strong feelings about things. I attribute them to instincts, and I believe that instincts, hunches, all of that could push beyond the five senses. But what you told us, that goes way beyond the boundaries of believability.”
She nodded. “Most cops feel the same. My…hunches, feelings, whatever you want to call them, I’ve had them since I was a child. I inherited them from my grandmother, who used to host séances and tarot reading parties. If my mother had any abilities, she was too embarrassed by my grandmother to admit it. Then I came along and, well, you can imagine how that went over with my mother. She…” She paused for a moment before saying, “Sorry, I’m babbling.” She paused again. “There’s something you should know. The reason I connect to kidnapped children—and only kidnapped children.” Her body tensed. “Maybe if I tell you, you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll believe.”
“What’s the reason?” he asked after a moment.
She was gripping one hand with the other, crushing her own fingers in a tight grip. “I was kidnapped when I was eight.”
He couldn’t help his quick intake of breath in surprise. “You were kidnapped?”
She nodded. “A stranger abduction. He held me captive for five days before I was able to escape. Because of the heightened state of my senses—fear, anxiety—my sixth sense was also heightened. It wasn’t until years later, when I got out into the world, that I realized what had changed. The first time I heard about a child being kidnapped, I was drawn into the story. Not just in the way that a once-victim would be drawn into a story of another victim. If you were a victim of a dog attack, say, and you heard a story about another dog attack victim, your emotions would be heightened to the story, right?”
Max caught himself nodding. “Yeah, I understand that.” Too well. He leaned against the wall across from her, putting some comfortable distance between them.
Olivia stroked Stasia’s fur in a quick, rhythmic motion. “That’s how it is for me, only my senses take me a step farther. Once I’m emotionally connected to the child, I see through their eyes. It comes in brief flashes, like images from a movie screen. I have no control over the images or when I connect. The child’s emotions trigger the connection. When they’re suddenly in a heightened state, I’m pulled to them. It overcomes me. That’s what happened at the bookstore, and that’s what was happening when you came in.”
“So, what you were doing…that’s normal?”
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “If you can consider any of it normal.”
“Well, yeah.” He wanted to ask more about her kidnapping, but she continued.
“Whenever I got something useful, I would call it in to the police anonymously.”
“Why anonymously?”
“First of all, I didn’t have to explain where the information came from. They may have thought I was involved in the crime, but at least they couldn’t question me as a suspect.” She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I could understand why they would suspect me, but I didn’t want to go through all of that. Secondly, well, I was used to hiding my abilities. But the important part was they investigated my leads. And sometimes…I think they helped. Two years ago, back in Columbus, Ohio, I came out of the closet, so to speak. I gave the police information that didn’t help find the child, but turned out to be right. So the next time a child went missing, they called on me.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”
Her face tensed, and she massaged her temples again. “Because that case didn’t go very well.”
He could hear the pain of her admission. He didn’t know what to make of her. Something inside him wanted to believe her. Maybe he was that desperate for a lead. And maybe, he had to admit, he simply wanted to believe her.
“Why tell me now?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to say anything with that other detective around.” Max could tell just what she thought of him by the hard tone in her voice. “But if it might help find Phaedra, it was worth telling you.”
You. As though she trusted only him.
“Who did you deal with in Columbus?” he asked.
“Captain Jack Richards.”
A captain had believed her. “The man who kidnapped you,” he couldn’t help asking. “Is he alive?”
“No. He can’t hurt me or anyone else. I wish I could help more. Now I’m not sure how much of what I see to trust.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m fine now. You don’t have to hang around.”
He wanted to ask her more about her own abduction, but she obviously didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it couldn’t have any bearing on this case if the man was dead. “There’s, ah, a small matter I need to rectify. I broke your door in when you wouldn’t answer.”
“You what?”
“I’ll take care of it. Lie down for a bit. You look frazzled. I know a guy who’ll come right out.”
She followed him to the living room where Lucille Ball was trying to swing her leg up onto a ballet bar—and failing comically. “I don’t want to lie down. And I don’t want you hanging around. I’m perfectly capable of handling the situation.”
He followed her as she made her way to the door. She had clear pathways delineated throughout the apartment. All of her furnishings had rounded edges. If she was faking it, she’d been perfecting the technique a long time. And yet, she sometimes slipped and made contact with an object as though she could see it.
“Be careful,” he said, joining her at the door. “Splinters.”
He took hold of her hand just as she was about to run it across the splintered wood. She turned toward him, and he was overcome with a rush of something he couldn’t explain. Whatever it was filled his chest and made his fingers tighten on hers. He abruptly let go, and she pulled her hand against her stomach as though he’d singed her.
“I’ll call my friend,” he said.
In the hallway, he wrangled a promise that Rob would be right over. Then he grabbed his cup of cappuccino and walked back inside. She was bracing herself against the wall and trying hard not to look like she was.
“Sit down and let me fix you something to drink,” he said.
She walked toward the couch. “I don’t want anything.” Her voice still sounded shaky, and he had to stop himself from helping her. Her legs gave way just as she dropped down onto the cushion. In a resigned voice, she said, “Some tea would be nice. It’s in the last upper cabinet on the right.”
He filled the teapot and set it on the stove. His gaze went back to her. She was murmuring words of comfort to Stasia, who followed her like a shadow. He didn’t like the protective feeling Olivia engendered. He couldn’t afford to be this drawn to someone…especially when she was a suspect.
CHAPTER 7
Olivia wanted to crawl into the crack between the cushions and die, but she couldn’t damn well do that with Detective Max Callahan rummaging around in her kitchen. Even more disconcerting was coming out of the trance and finding a man holding her, his hard, warm body pressed close to hers, coaxing her back with his sultry voice. It was comforting and disturbing at once.
Was she crazy?
Very probably.
What she hadn’t told Max was that the connection was stronger if the case was similar to her own—a stranger abduction. Phaedra had been taken from a toy store on the same date that she had; that had to be why it was so strong, and why the connection was getting mixed up with her memories.
“Here you go.” He set the cup on the coffee table in front of her. “Do you need sugar or milk?”
“I can get—”
He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure you can. But right now, relax and let me get what you need.”
She tightened her mouth. In another situation, with someone who didn’t put her on edge, this would be nice. “Sugar, please.”
He returned a few moments later. “How many spoons?”
“I can handle this part, thank you.” She knew she didn’t sound very ap
preciative, but she wanted to be alone. She poured sugar through the cracks between her fingers, monitoring the amount. “So, break-the-door-down heroics one minute, serving tea the next. I suppose I should be amazed. And grateful.”
“And yet, it doesn’t sound like you’re either.” She could hear the sardonic smile in his words. He sat down on the sofa beside her.
“That’s because I don’t need a hero or a waiter.”
Or a sexy cop hanging around. Oh, yeah, she didn’t need to see the man to tell he had sex appeal. He had strong hands; she learned that the first time they’d met. His voice was soft in a masculine way. His scent of man and cologne evoked memories of family trips to the Michigan cottage on the lake: fresh breezes, earth, and pines. The way he’d felt with his arms wrapped around her, and the way he’d cared about her, appealing in a man, but not what she needed just then.
She cleared her throat. “Look, you don’t need to stay around. Your friend will be here anytime now, and I can deal with him.”
“I’d rather stick around while he’s here.”
“Don’t you trust him?” She could feel him lean back and get more comfortable.
“I don’t trust anyone. You shouldn’t either.”
“Why, because I’m blind?” she said sharply. What she couldn’t get across with subtle eye contact she could manage pretty well with her voice.
“You sound like you’re feeling better,” he said, obviously catching the tone. “And I’m not trying to be a hero. Yours or anybody’s.”
She could also detect those same subtleties in others’ voices. The subject of being a hero was tender. “Good, because I don’t need one.” She’d already said that. Why was he unnerving her so? He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t sitting too close. But he was close enough for her to know he’d recently had cappuccino with a hint of cinnamon. Close enough to reach out and touch.
She even got as far as wondering what he looked like before she squelched that thought. Bad idea. She picked up the cup and blew across the surface. He’d chosen the mango tea, her favorite. Lucky guess.
“So, you just happened to be in the neighborhood,” she prompted.
“Something like that. I wondered how you knew Mike Burns.”The question didn’t come off as casual as he probably wanted it to. “Isn’t that the missing girl’s last name?”
“Mike’s her uncle,” he said.
“Is he a suspect?”
“The Burnses have one of your paintings at their house. I thought maybe you knew Mike, that maybe he was the reason his brother has your painting.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell. I’m bad with putting faces with names.” After a moment of silence, she added, “That was a joke. If I did meet him, he made no impression on me at all.” Mike was obviously a suspect of some kind or Max wouldn’t be asking about him. Now he was trying to connect her to him. “Wait a minute. You think Mike took his niece, and I had something to do with it. That I was, what, in cahoots with him?”
“Like I said, I can’t afford to discount any possibility. Or to discount the coincidence that you were the one warning the guards about the missing girl who just happens to be his niece.”
She laughed, letting sarcasm shine through. Tea sloshed up over the edge of the cup, and she set it down again. She licked the drops of tea from her fingertips. “But you just said it. If I was involved with Mike and the girl’s abduction, why would I warn the guards about it?” Her mouth drooped into a frown as she remembered how desperate she’d been and how the guards had ignored her.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she hoped it was his friend. She wanted her door fixed and both of them on their way. But it was her friend Judy’s voice saying, “Wow, Olivia, what happened to your door? Oh, hi.”
Judy tended to over-pronounce her words, substantiating everyone’s opinion that she was slow. “Just a misunderstanding. This is Max Callahan. He’s a cop.”
“Detective,” he corrected, coming to his feet.
“This is Judy Ford. She’s the building manager’s daughter.”
Olivia thought they shook hands, and then Judy dropped down onto the chair to their left. Only then did Max resume his seated position.
“I help him,” she announced with pride.
Even though she was thirty-four years old, she acted more like a child. Olivia was pretty sure Judy was smarter than anyone gave her credit for, even Judy herself. Her IQ was just on the low side. Unfortunately, her father kept her from growing into an independent woman by keeping her under his supervision.
“I help Olivia, too,” Judy said with that same pride.
“How do you do that?” Max asked.
“I mix paints for her. And read the newspaper. She pays me.”
“That’s nice of you,” he said in a genuine voice. Most people tended to dismiss Judy, or condescend to her. Olivia hated that. “What do you spend your money on?”
“Sometimes I buy a brownie at The Beanery. I save most of it because Olivia says I should. I keep it hidden in my bedroom. My dad doesn’t pay me anything to help him. Olivia says thank you and she pays me. Like double bonus points!”
A few awkward minutes of silence followed, filled only by the I Love Lucy tape she’d put in earlier. Olivia didn’t know what to say, and she wasn’t good at small talk. Besides, she really wanted some time alone to sort out what was going on in her mind. She’d hoped that once Max had the information he’d come for, his dutiful charade would be over.
Judy asked, “Do you need any paints mixed?”
“No thanks, hon. If you can come up tomorrow, though, that’d be great. The usual time. I need to finish that one on the easel for Sebastian. He’s been bugging me about it.”
“Max Callahan, you made a face. Don’t you like Olivia’s paintings?”
“My nose itched,” Max said, but Olivia picked up on the lie that threaded through his voice. If people only knew how much their voices gave away. Since most people relied on their visual senses, they didn’t pay as much attention to their other senses. “I think her paintings are dramatic. Vivid.” His low voice was aimed at her. “Alluring.”
Olivia picked up her tea again, needing something to do besides listen to his voice. “Thank you. I think.”
“I’m not much of an art critic,” he said by way of apology.
“Me either,” Olivia said.
“This time he smiled,” Judy informed Olivia.
Olivia caught herself nearly asking what kind of smile. Half a minute passed. She pressed the button on her watch. “Two-zero-one.”
Judy sighed and pushed out of her chair. “Okey-dokey, I’m going now.” Her footsteps were heavy across the floor, something Olivia had been working with her on along with her pronunciation. She wasn’t about to call her on it now, though.
“Judy, don’t tell your dad about the door, okay? No need to bother him with it. It’ll be fixed by tonight.”
“It’ll be our secret,” she whispered. “I’m good at keeping secrets. Bye cop detective Max Callahan. Bye, Olivia.”
Her footsteps pounded down the carpeted hallway and faded away, and another set of footsteps sounded soon after. Most people who ventured down this way were visiting her. Except for whoever was staying across the way.
“Good job, Max,” a man’s voice said, followed by a whistle. “They ought to put you on the S.W.A.T. team.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for coming. This is Olivia Howe, the owner. Olivia, Rob Miller.”
They exchanged pleasantries, and Rob went to work on the door. She wondered if Max knew for certain that she did own this place, and how much, for that matter, he did know about her.
She listened to Max’s voice; not the words, per se, but the cadence and pitch. It was smooth, soft-spoken, yet strong at the same time. She was trying to figure out what exactly made it sound so contradictory when both men’s voices were drowned out by sound of wood cracking. She drank her tea and checked the time again. She wanted him to leave and find that girl, not stay
and watch over her.
“Who is Rose?” Max asked, startling her because she hadn’t heard him approach.
“What?”
“You kept saying, ‘I’m not Rose’ over and over in your trance.”
“I don’t know who Rose is.”
He was wandering around again. What was he looking for? Between the bursts of noise Rob made, she heard Max pick up her phone, press a button, and hang up a moment later.
She was about to tell him that really, he didn’t have to stay with her, when a chirping sound filled the air.
“Callahan. Hey, Sam. Yeah, I’m near one. What channel? All right.”
She could faintly hear a man’s voice on the other end. “You’re not going to like it.”
Max didn’t say a word as he walked into the dining area, turned off the videotape, and changed the channel. Was there news about Phaedra? She found herself getting to her feet and walking closer to the television.
A man who sounded like a reporter asked, “Mr. Burns, could you tell us why you suddenly lost faith in Detective Max Callahan? He did find that other missing boy, after all.”
“I have it on good authority that his family’s deaths have affected his job performance.”
A woman said, “We understand that he hasn’t been assigned to a case like this since then. There must be a reason why, and I know what it is. He might have been one of the best cops on the force once, but he isn’t anymore.”
Mr. Burns said, “We’ve asked for the case to be reassigned, but they’ve ignored us. They think it’s because we’re angry that they’re looking at us as suspects. It’s not.” His voice cracked. “We just want our little girl back.”
The reporter said, “We have a phone statement from Detective Callahan’s superior, Lieutenant Huntington. Lieutenant, the family is accusing Detective Callahan of letting the past slow him down on this case. Is he up to handling another abduction?”
Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense) Page 8