by Linda Turner
So Kelly thought he could push her buttons, did he? Well, two could play at that. Taking a rare break, she grabbed a stool behind the counter and sat down to watch.
“Hey, man, look what she sent you!” Tanner said, surprised. “Turkey on whole wheat with grilled onions and mustard. I don’t know anybody else who eats grilled onions on turkey. How’d she know that was your favorite?”
“It’s just coincidence,” Sam muttered, scowling at the sandwich Tanner held out to him. “She probably just threw something together and got lucky.” Reluctantly he took it. “What’s yours? Peanut butter and jelly with bananas?”
It was an old joke between them, one that went back to their days as rookie detectives. Tanner had walked into the squad room their first day with two peanut-butter-and-jelly-with-banana sandwiches and been needled unmercifully by the older detectives. In self-defense, he switched to something more sophisticated just to regain his self-respect with his coworkers, but he still loved PBJ and bananas.
“I wish,” he said with a rueful grin. “But she’d never guess I’d like something like that.”
But when he unwrapped the white butcher paper Jennifer had wrapped his sandwich in, he took one look and started to laugh. “I don’t know how she does it, but you gotta admit she’s good, man. No wonder you can’t stay away from her.”
Sam took one look at the PBJ sandwich with bananas and swore. For the past few days Tanner had done nothing but needle him every time he pulled up across the street from the café. He’d claimed he was just keeping an eye on the lady while they took a break, but Tanner knew him too well. “She could have talked to someone at the station... or one of the cops on this beat. Just about everybody knows you’ll do cartwheels for peanut butter and jelly.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain your grilled onions. Nobody at the station knows about that, and I haven’t said anything to the lady. So how do you explain it?”
He couldn’t. Not then or the next evening when he impulsively stopped by the café on the way home from work and she had a piece of coconut-cream pie and a hot cup of coffee set out for him. The place was empty, Molly had already left for the night, and only the lights over the grill were on. The place was obviously closed, but the front door was still unlocked. When he stepped inside, Jennifer turned from where she was cleaning the grill and didn’t appear the least surprised to see him. And there on the counter sat that damn pie and steaming coffee, waiting for him.
It was, Sam decided, the last straw. A man could only take so much sass from a woman, and he’d had enough. Stalking toward her, he ignored the pie and coffee and stepped around the counter to confront her. “You think you’re real clever, don’t you, lady? Sending out sandwiches and stuff to me and Tanner without asking us what we like. I guess we’re supposed to be real impressed with what a great psychic you are, aren’t we? Think again, sweetheart. I don’t know how you found out what my favorite foods are or how you knew when my shift ended tonight, but my bet is you’ve become pretty chummy with someone at the station. I want to know who it is. You hear me? I’m not leaving until you give me a name!”
Chapter 5
Jaw rigid, blue eyes fierce, he was the picture of a man pushed to the edge. A wise woman would have gotten out of his way till he cooled off, but after running headlong into his cynicism day after day for what seemed like weeks now, Jennifer couldn’t resist needling him. “Then I guess you’re staying a while because I haven’t talked to anyone at the station but you.”
“Are you saying I told you I like turkey and grilled onions? When, dammit?”
“Not verbally, no. But there are other ways to communicate, and your psyche has told me all sorts of things about you.” Feeling cocky, she dared to grin at him and taunt, “You like just about every movie Clint Eastwood has ever made, and your favorite color is blue. You like to fish but not hunt, and one of these days you’ll own a place in the country and—”
“Shut up.”
Scowling, he took a step toward her, but she’d come too far to be intimidated now. “And you like your steaks medium rare, your toast nearly burnt and your eggs scrambled. You played football in high school, hate baseball and see a Spurs game whenever you get the chance—”
“Dammit, I’m warning you...”
“What’s the matter, Detective? Am I hitting a nerve? Shall I tell you about your ex-wife? Your marriage? The woman was a fool. She hurt you—”
Muttering a curse, he moved like lightning, closing the distance between them to grab her by the arms and snatch her up on her toes. His eyes, dark with fury, glared down into hers from only inches away. “Watch it, sweetheart,” he growled softly. “We’re talking about me, not Patricia. If you’re so smart, tell me something about myself that’s not common knowledge among my friends. Tell me what I really like.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. He was asking about sex, just daring her to make the conversation intimate. Shaken, caught in the trap of his eyes, she told herself to end this craziness right now. Before she made a complete fool of herself. Before she opened her mouth and he realized that what she didn’t know about pleasing a man in the bedroom could fill the Gulf of Mexico.
But he seemed able to push her buttons as easily as she pushed his, and the devil had a hold of her tongue. With the spicy scent of his aftershave surrounding her, seducing her, she leaned close, closed her eyes and imagined what would turn a man like Sam Kelly on. The images that sprang to mind came surprisingly easy.
“You like a woman who enjoys touching as much as you do,” she whispered huskily. “One who isn’t afraid to drive you wild with her hands and mouth and tease you until you’re so crazy for her that you lose control...”
Her breath was warm and moist against his ear, her breasts just touching his chest in an intimate caress, as she told him private, personal things that only a woman who had been to bed with him could possibly know. It was unnerving. And damn seductive. His heart slamming against his ribs, Sam told himself not to listen, but it was too late. In ten seconds flat she had him hot and hard and aching.
Torn between fury and need, he should have gotten the hell out of there right then and there. But instead of releasing her, his fingers tightened around her arms, dragging her closer until her breasts pressed more fully against his chest and her hips nudged his. He saw her eyes widen with surprise, felt her breath catch and couldn’t for the life of him remember why he shouldn’t do this. Swooping down, he took her mouth in a hot fierce kiss.
She’d been driving him crazy for longer than he cared to admit, and at the first touch of her lips, something in him seemed to snap. His hands tangling in her hair, holding her captive, he crushed her close, groaning at the taste of her. Madness pulled at him, clouding his senses. He was rough and hungry and couldn’t seem to help himself. More, dammit! He wanted, needed more!
Lost to everything but the passion clawing at his gut, he didn’t realize anything was wrong until he heard her whimper. The sound washed over him like a bucket of ice water. What the hell was he doing?
Muttering a curse, he jerked back and stared down in self-directed fury at her swollen mouth. He’d never been rough with a woman in his life, and it left a sick feeling in his stomach. “God, I can’t believe I did that!”
“I shouldn’t have pushed you...”
“That didn’t give me the right to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m usually not such a bastard.”
Still caught close, they both spoke at once in hushed whispers, stumbling over each other’s words like a couple of awkward teenagers. His heart still slamming against his ribs, Sam knew he should let her go, but he couldn’t seem to stop touching her. With a will of their own, his fingers traced the curve of her delicately arched brow, the slant of her pert nose, the swollen softness of the mouth he’d so thoughtlessly bruised.
“Sam, please...”
“Let me,” he whispered thickly when she winced and would have pulled back. “Let me make it feel better.”
She should have slugged him—he wouldn’t have blamed her. But when he leaned down and carefully brushed his mouth, whisper soft, over hers, once, twice, then a third time, the wariness slowly drained out of her. With a sigh that could have been his name, she leaned into him trustingly and shyly opened her mouth to him. Groaning, he knew he was in trouble when he had to remind himself to keep it light. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore the invitation she so sweetly offered. With a tenderness he hadn’t known he was capable of, he took the kiss deeper.
At the first touch of his tongue Jennifer jolted as if she’d touched a live wire. Heat streaked through her, lighting little fires one by one all over her body, melting her bones. Moaning, she clung to him as the strength in her legs seemed to give way. Every touch of his hands seduced, burned. Shuddering, her senses humming, she tasted passion for the first time in her life, and she loved it.
She wanted to sink into the pleasure of it and never come up for air, but she’d never been so stripped of defenses before, so emotionally at the mercy of another human being. She didn’t know what he wanted, what to expect of him. To him a kiss was probably just a kiss, but when you could count the ones you’d been given on fewer than half the fingers of one hand, every one meant something. And this one meant he could hurt her in a way no one ever had.
Suddenly afraid, she tried to pull back, but she never got a chance. A vision bore down on her like a freight train from out of nowhere, and before she could do anything but gasp, she was hurled right into the middle of it.
“Jennifer? What is it? What’s wrong?”
Caught up in the images that flashed against the back of her eyelids, she hardly heard Sam’s worried voice. Unaware of the cold stiffness of her body, she stood frozen as an old man stepped into his house and found himself face-to-face with a masked man with a gun. His fear hit her like a fist in the throat, choking her, but even as she watched, he faced the bandit defiantly.
Don’t! she wanted to cry out. Don’t be brave—he’ll only hurt you.
But he couldn’t hear her, and there was no one there to warn him that he was dealing with someone who thrived on other people’s fear and pain. A hard fist to the mouth knocked all the fight out of the old man, and before he knew what hit him, he was standing in front of the safe in his own library, fumbling for the combination while his assailant held a gun to his head. The second he had the safe open, the intruder shot him.
“No!”
Her painful cry startled Sam out of ten years’ growth. “What the hell?” He felt the fine hairs at the back of his neck rise as she stared sightlessly past him out the front window of the café. She didn’t seem to have a clue that she was standing stiff as a board in his arms.
“Jennifer? C’mon, sweetheart, snap out of it! This isn’t funny.”
She didn’t answer, didn’t even blink. He wanted to believe she was playing some kind of a trick on him, but then, with no warning, she turned white as a sheet and her eyes rolled back in her head. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, she would have fallen. Lightning quick, he caught her—right before she would have hit the floor.
“Dammit, Jennifer, this has gone on long enough!” he muttered, only to feel his heart stop as her head lolled back on his shoulder.
He almost called for an ambulance, but she was breathing all right and didn’t seem to be in any physical distress. There was, he figured, a good possibility she’d just fainted, though he had yet to figure out why. If she regained consciousness to find herself surrounded by paramedics, she’d not only be embarrassed, she’d probably want to kill him. He’d give her a few minutes, he decided as he cradled her in his arms and made his way through the kitchen to the back door. But if she didn’t wake up pretty damn soon, to hell with embarrassment. He’d call 911.
He found the keys to her apartment hanging on a hook near the back door to the café kitchen. Seconds later he was letting himself into her apartment and carrying her through to her bedroom. Taking time only to switch on a light, he laid her gently on the bed. She didn’t move so much as a muscle.
Staring down at her, he swore softly. She was too pale, too still. He was worried and not afraid to admit it. He’d dealt with a few fainting women in his time, but never anything like this. She should have been conscious by now. Muttering curses under his breath, he stalked into the bathroom and wet a washcloth. “This is your last chance, sweetheart,” he told her as he returned to her bedside. “If this doesn’t do the trick, then you’re just going to have to risk being embarrassed.”
With a gentleness that belied his gruff tone, he slowly ran the damp cloth over her face and arms and throat. And all the while he watched her. One more minute, he promised himself. That was all he was giving her.
One second she was out cold, and the next she stirred and her eyes ftuttered open. Confused, she looked from him to the washcloth in his hand and back again. Without an ounce of color in her face, her eyes looked huge. “What happened?”
Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, and did nothing to reassure him. “I was hoping you could tell me that,” he said quietly as he reached out to brush her hair back from her face. “You passed out down in the café and I carried you upstairs. How did you feel?”
“Like I just got run over by a truck.” She sighed tiredly. Still dazed, she tried to remember what happened as a particularly nasty headache started to throb at her temples. “I can’t believe I just passed out like that,” she muttered to herself. “The last time I fainted, I—”
Before she could complete the thought, the fog clouding her brain abruptly lifted and her memory came flooding back, shooting a hot tide of color into her cheeks. Sam had been kissing her as if he’d never let her go. And she’d loved it—until she’d realized how easily he could hurt her. And then...and then...
“Oh, God!” Horrified, she sat bolt upright on the bed and clutched at him. “A vision! Oh, God, Sam, I had another vision! We’ve got to do something!”
Her head pounding like a jackhammer, the beat of her heart frantic, she started to swing her legs off the bed, only to find herself flat on her back. Sam was leaning over her, his eyes fierce and his strong hands pressing her into the mattress. Startled, she squeaked, “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you still until I find out what the hell is going on,” he growled. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve got about as much strength as a day-old kitten. You’re not getting out of this bed until I’m sure you won’t fall flat on your face.”
“But I’ve got to get up!” she cried, frantic, struggling against his hold. “The man who attacked Mrs. Elliot—he’s going to strike again. Tonight! And I know where!”
Scowling, he let her sit up, but that was it. With the bed up against the wall on one side and him blocking the other, there was no way she was getting up without going through him. “How?” he demanded, his narrowed eyes searching hers. “I thought you said you didn’t pick up those kind of details.”
“I don’t usually. But I’ve been to this house on a catering job. In the vision I saw a library with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and a secret door that hides the safe. Mr. Stubbings has one just like it. He had to get into the safe to pay me when I catered his granddaughter’s engagement party.”
Unconvinced, Sam frowned. “There must be dozens of other houses in the city that fit that description. How do you know that particular house is going to get hit tonight? Last time you couldn’t be sure when the perp was going to strike.”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “I just know it. I feel it. Mr. Stubbings is going to be shot tonight, and if he doesn’t get help, he’ll bleed to death.” When Sam just sat there, doubt clearly visible in his midnight blue eyes, she snapped, “Dammit, Sam, if you’re not going to call someone and have it checked out, then get out of my way and let me do it! I’m not letting Mr. Stubbings die just because you doubt me.”
She would have shoved her way past him, but he was already rising to his feet. “There’s no need to
call anyone—I’ll check it out myself.”
“But you’re off duty, aren’t you?” she began, only then putting two and two together. Hurt squeezing her heart, she looked at him reproachfully. “You still don’t believe me, do you? You don’t want to call in the police until you get a chance to check out the scene for yourself, because you think this is some kind of trick.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” she retorted. “You just kissed me silly, but you don’t trust me as far as you can throw me. I’m surprised you don’t want me to go along so you can keep an eye on me. Who knows? I might call the perp once you leave and warn him you’re on your way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m taking you along in case you’re wrong. Then you can explain to Mr. Stubbings what we’re doing on his doorstep at ten o’clock at night.”
She gave him an address in Monte Vista, one of the older, more affluent areas of the city, then didn’t say another word until they pulled up in front of the Tudor-style house that sat well back from the road. Half-hidden by trees, the house was dark, not a single light shining. Jennifer shivered. “Something’s wrong,” she said huskily, hugging herself. “Mr. Stubbings isn’t one of those old people who goes to bed with the chickens. He loves Letterman. He wouldn’t be in bed yet unless he was sick.”
“Maybe he’s visiting friends,” Sam suggested as he pulled into the drive. “Or out of town. Just because the house is dark doesn’t necessarily mean he’s in trouble.”
“No,” she said in a hollow tone that set Sam’s nerves on edge. “He’s been here already.”
“Who?” he asked sharply. “The perp?”
Her eyes never leaving the darkened house, she nodded. “Can’t you feel it?”