“You’re expecting, it’s the middle of the night, and I know Bret.”
“Fine. He’s parking the car.” We both laughed.
Jake rolled his eyes. “Women.”
Shannon nodded and slapped Jake on the back. Another first for them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were becoming friends. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea.
“So what happened by the river?” I asked. “Between you two, I mean.”
Jake shrugged. “Shannon saved my life. That big guy was going to stomp me.”
“We saved each other.” Shannon held out a hand to Jake. “Thanks for your help.”
Jake shook his hand. “You’re welcome. If it’s all the same to you, though, I think I’ll go back to tending my herbs.”
“Good idea. Maybe Autumn should do the same with her antiques.”
I smirked. “Not a chance. But we’re going to have to talk about a consultation fee. I’m spending way too much time doing your job.”
“On that, I agree,” Shannon said.
I doubted he was talking about my consultation fee, but I was too tired to care. “If Paige is awake, tell her I’ll come see her tomorrow.”
Once again his eyes held mine. Not fair for him to have those beautiful eyes. “I’ll do that. Good night.” He turned and left.
Tawnia headed toward Dennis’s room, where I heard her asking to talk to Sophie. The guard muttered something about Grand Central Station at rush hour but told her he’d pass on her request.
“So,” Jake said, pulling me down the hall, away from Tawnia and the watchful guard. “Are we okay?” He glanced in the direction Shannon had taken and back at me.
I stopped walking. “I don’t know. Are we? I got the sense that you and Kolonda were . . . I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “I loved her once enough to want to marry her, and if things were different, maybe I could feel that way again, but I’m another person now. And I’m in love with someone else. With you.”
The odd feeling I’d experienced with Shannon began to dissipate, but Jake wasn’t finished. “Except it seems I’m not the only one who feels that way.”
I tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean Shannon. I thought he’d get over his infatuation with you. Or that it wouldn’t matter, but I think somehow it does matter. Or is starting to.”
That could only mean he sensed a change in me, and I wasn’t sure he was wrong. I’d both hated and resented Shannon for much of the time I’d known him, and he annoyed me to no end. But I respected and trusted him too. I enjoyed our verbal sparring. Worse, I was beginning to suspect that I looked forward to seeing him.
Jake put an arm around me, and I leaned into him with the ease of habit. “Look,” he said, “there’s a lot of history between us, a lot that doesn’t have to do with us, really, but with Winter and our shops. All of that sometimes confuses things. Don’t get me wrong—our history is something to build on—but in the end I want us to be together because we would both rather be with each other than with anyone else. Not because we feel like we should or because it’s easier. Or because we don’t want to let the other down.” He fell silent as a nurse passed by.
When she was gone, his hand went to my shoulder and he turned me to face him. “After everything that happened today, I want you to have no doubts about my feelings. I love you, and I want to be with you.” He planted a kiss on my lips. Not a demanding, world-stopping kiss, but a searching, tender, heartfelt one that left no doubts.
Jake was already my best friend, and I loved him more than anyone except my sister. He made my heart race when he kissed me, and we’d laughed together far more times than I could count, something I cherished. I’d dreamed of being with Jake for so long, but I needed to be sure. I cared too much about him to do anything that might mislead him.
“Jake, I—”
He put a finger over my lips. “Later. I know.”
I’m glad he did because I wasn’t sure what I’d been going to say. But one thing I knew for sure: I didn’t ever want to lose him.
Tawnia was coming toward us, a cranky, red-faced Lizbeth held awkwardly to her swollen stomach. “Change of plans, folks. I’m going to help you find Bret so he can get you home. I’ll be staying here to help Sophie make it through the rest of this night. She’s pretty wrapped up with Sawyer at the moment, but she doesn’t want to let either of the children go too far—not that I blame her. I promised I’d hold onto Lizbeth every second and bring her right back after I get you two on your way. In the morning, maybe I can convince Sophie to go home with me for a few hours.”
“I could stay and help.” I wouldn’t really know what to do with a baby, especially for hours at a time, but I could walk the halls with her if I had to. Or play with Sawyer when he awoke. Good practice for when my niece or nephew finally made an appearance.
Tawnia rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? You aren’t touching this baby. Not only are you still wet, but you look like you should be checking into the hospital, not leaving it. You both do. You’re even shivering! Come on. Let’s go find Bret and get you home and into your beds.” We let her usher us toward the elevator.
Jake, who’d been quiet during our exchange, an amused grin on his face, snapped his fingers. “Hey, Tawnia, I have an idea for you. After everything that’s happened today, what about naming your baby Miracle?”
Tawnia rolled her eyes. “You experience miracles. It’s not a name.”
“Actually,” I said, “I was thinking more along the lines of Destiny.”
“Destiny,” Tawnia repeated as if tasting the word. “I still don’t know what makes you think it’s a girl.”
My response died on my lips when I spied Russo’s bodyguard, standing near the elevator like a sentinel. Until that moment, I’d almost forgotten I owed a favor to a very dangerous man. Well, I’d face that problem when I had to. Sometime hopefully far in the future.
Until then, I had every intention of stepping up and taking on the role I was meant to fill.
Avoiding the bodyguard’s intent stare, I stepped into the elevator when it opened and let the doors close. Jake caught my gaze for a solemn moment before offering his hand. Smiling, I took it and let his warmth fill me.
NOTE FROM TEYLA BRANTON: Thank you for downloading this book and for spending a little time with me in my world! If you enjoyed On the Hunt, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated. For your enjoyment, I have included in the next section the first chapter of Upstaged, the third novel in the Imprints series. This sneak peek is followed by a bonus preview of The Change from my contemporary urban fantasy series. You can see all my books on the About the Author page, or sign up for a free book and new release notices here. Thanks again!
THE END
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
I lifted the Ruger LCP .380, racked it quickly, and fired. Three shots in rapid succession—boom, boom, boom. Three more shots emptied the magazine. My target jerked repeatedly. Not unlike the jolting of my heart.
“Not bad.” Detective Shannon Martin looked over my shoulder at the man-shaped paper target. Four of the rounds had hit the chest. Another went through the head. Only one was missing. “You sure you haven’t done this before?” he asked.
“No,” I snapped. Truth was, I didn’t want to be doing this now. My consulting position with the Portland police had led to my being imprisoned in an underground cellar, shot, and injured in numerous other ways, but carrying a gun was going too far. With my flower child upbringing, I doubt I could shoot anyone, even if my life depended on it.
“What’s wrong?” Shannon’s eyes went from my face to the Ruger and back again. “You aren’t picking up any imprints, are you?”
We were alone inside the range, so I pushed off the earmuffs he’d insisted I wear to protect my ear—great idea, it turned out. “No imprints,” I said.
Well, there was one faint
feeling of satisfaction that Shannon had left when he’d shot the gun a week earlier, and even now I was probably leaving a few of resentment and maybe a little pride. Fortunately, these less vivid imprints didn’t bother me.
“The older lady I bought it from said she’d shot it only a few times,” he added.
“You know that if I ever actually used this on someone, I’d never be able to use it again. I’d have to relive the memory every time I touched it.”
He shrugged. “I’d just find you another one.”
I guess as a police detective that didn’t bother him—shopping for guns, the possibility of shooting someone. All of it bothered me. I believed people had the right to defend themselves, but it was quite another thing to be the one actually pulling the trigger.
“Can we quit now?” I started to hand him the gun, barrel down, the way he’d drilled me these past few weeks.
“Not yet. You have to shoot at least a hundred rounds a month to stay in practice—and that’s assuming you’re hitting anything, which you are, fortunately. Now load her up again.”
“A hundred? Please tell me rounds are individual bullets and not a whole clip.” I’d gone shooting with him only once before and couldn’t remember the terminology.
My faulty memory might have a remote—a very remote—connection to his unusual eyes. There’s something about them. Something, perhaps, in the green blue color that illuminated his face. Or maybe it was the framing of his light brown lashes that made them so compelling. It was hard to think about anything else if I became caught in his gaze, so mostly I tried not to look.
“Magazine,” he corrected. “It’s not a clip. I know people call them that, but that’s not what they are. The magazine is what holds the rounds—in this case, six rounds. And yes, rounds are individual bullets.”
So six bullets went into the magazine, which in turn slid into the bottom of the gun grip, or handle as we rookies called it. Not rocket science by any stretch. Sighing internally, I pushed the magazine release button, placed the gun on the small stand in front of me, and began forcing bullets into the magazine.
Shannon stopped me when I went to put it back in. “Visually check the chamber first, just to make sure nothing’s caught.”
I did as he asked before proceeding to shred more of my target. Shannon seemed more puzzled than pleased at my success.
I didn’t see what was so hard. You aimed and you shot. It was, well, rather easy. Kind of fun too, which I would never confess to Shannon. I derived a strange sort of contentment from irritating him, a trait he definitely shared when it came to me.
I shrugged. “I have good eyesight.” Once again I had to raise my voice to near yelling because of our earmuffs.
“All those herbs?” he mouthed a bit derisively, pushing the box of bullets at me.
I didn’t take offense. Everyone was entitled to his opinion—even the annoying Detective Martin. My adoptive parents had been self-proclaimed hippies who owned an herb store, so naturally I’d consumed more than my share of herbs. Growing up with them had been unusual, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything—well, except maybe the opportunity to grow up with my twin, but that couldn’t be changed now.
“Satisfied?” I asked when the man-shaped target finally tore in two at the chest and fell to the ground.
Shannon allowed himself a grin. “I’ve seen longtime police officers do worse.”
Not exactly a compliment, but Shannon was careful that way. Maybe it was because he liked me far more than he wanted to. Or maybe because he’d finally started to trust both me and my weird gift of reading imprints—and begun to realize that there was nothing holding him back from his attraction to me now.
Nothing except my boyfriend, Jake, and my own reluctance to trust a man who until a few months ago thought I was mostly nuts.
Shannon was staring at me with those eyes that were probably responsible for more convictions than any detective work he’d ever done. I looked instead into his hairline. His hair, usually somewhere between brown and blond, was on the darker side now that we were in November. He needed a haircut, and the ends were beginning to curl with the length.
For a long time he didn’t speak, though the air was suddenly heavy with whatever he’d left unspoken. Carefully, he began packing things away. He handed me the Ruger, zipped in a lightly padded cover.
“Keep it in your purse until I get you an ankle holster. There’s an extra magazine in there, too. I’ve filled it with hollow points for a bigger impact.”
“No way.” I pushed the weapon back at him. “I don’t even use a purse half the time.”
“Well, you can’t carry it on you without a holster.”
“I’m not going to carry it at all.”
“What do you think that class and all that fingerprinting was about? Your concealed-carry permit arrived in the mail, didn’t it? You should have it on you at all times, whether you’re carrying or not, in case you end up with a gun while working a case.”
Okay, I had taken a class on gun safety and found it interesting. Since I’d been shot in the leg during our last adventure and had somehow ended up with the gun, albeit unloaded, I’d wanted to feel more comfortable with handguns in case such a thing ever happened again. But I wouldn’t have taken the class at all if I’d known Shannon was going to insist that I carry a weapon.
“I’ve got the permit in my wallet, but I read that women who own guns are more likely to be shot than those who don’t,” I told him.
He snorted. “That’s only women who aren’t trained and who aren’t going to practice every few weeks.” He scrubbed a hand over his hair, and I followed the motion. “Speaking of which, there is a more intensive training I’d like you to attend. It’s only three days. You get great target practice in a lifelike town. With popup targets and stuff.”
“No, no, and no! Look, I have a niece now, and I can’t have a gun around my apartment or at my store. If you make me take it, I’m just going to put it in my glove compartment.”
“You don’t even lock your car.” The way he said car left me no doubt that he didn’t believe my rusty Toyota hatchback was worthy of the name. He might have a point. It was always breaking down.
“Oh, right. Guess that sets me up for all kinds of liability.”
“Yeah, the jail kind.”
He was kind of cute when he was upset, though that was certainly not why I was arguing with him.
“Look,” he continued, “your niece is only, what, three months old? It’s going to be a while before she can rack and shoot a gun. By then you’ll have a safe installed.”
“At the department’s expense?” They’d agreed to start paying me a consulting fee for reading imprints, but it wasn’t a lot.
“Sure.”
At this point, he’d say whatever he needed to make me take the gun, but I doubted the safe would come from the department. They didn’t care if I carried a gun. They’d probably rather I didn’t. But Shannon was president of the Autumn Needs to Be More Careful Club, which meant he cared about me. I wished he didn’t. It made my life more complicated.
More exciting.
I took the gun and put it in my coat pocket. “There’s not a bullet in the chamber, is there?”
“No. You’d have to rack it before you could shoot. But you should have checked yourself if that’s the way you plan to carry it. Remember the class?”
“Oh, right.” I wouldn’t carry the gun with a bullet in the chamber like he did, though my permit gave me license to do so. I didn’t trust it not to go off accidentally, but unless I racked it, it couldn’t fire, so I was safe.
Outside it was raining. Again. The wind was also doing its thing, which made Portland bitterly cold this time of year. Shannon glanced instinctively at my feet, perhaps forgetting that during the most bitter winter months, even I usually wore something to cover my feet when I went outside. Instead of my customary winter moccasins, today I wore the boots my sister, Tawnia, had given me—no heel, fur-l
ined, and advertised as footwear that made you feel as if you were barefoot. They were almost like wearing thick socks, but unlike the socks I occasionally resorted to, they were waterproof. I hated not feeling a connection with the earth as I normally did in bare feet, but cold weather like this usually convinced me to use the boots or my moccasins.
I’d begun using gloves as well, something I’d occasionally done before in winter, though not for the same reason I used them now. Gloves protected me from accidentally finding random imprints and reliving experiences that weren’t mine.
Of course, I wasn’t prepared to wear gloves all the time. My shoe-hating, herb-loving, spirit-connected-to-the-universe upbringing wouldn’t let me go that far. But sometimes after stumbling on a particularly virulent imprint, I was tempted.
Zipping my coat, I ran to Shannon’s truck. Yes, a truck. I knew his house was built on an acre of land, so it made sense he might need a truck for something related to that, but I’d been so accustomed to seeing him in his white, unmarked police Mustang that when he’d come to pick me up, I’d felt a little taken aback. For some reason the blue truck made him seem more real—normal, maybe. Almost as though I’d seen a part of him that was too private to share.
It’s just a truck, I told myself.
The weight of the Ruger felt heavy in my coat pocket. At least it could sit in a drawer at my antiques shop while I was working. My niece wasn’t old enough even to crawl yet, much less open a drawer. Before much longer, though, it’d have to be in a safe or in a holster.
The idea of needing a gun was enough to make me seriously consider getting out of the imprint business. Except I didn’t choose to read imprints. That just happened.
Psychometry was the official name of my ability to pick up scenes and emotions left on certain beloved objects or on objects involved in extremely emotional situations. I used my talent to find missing people, and the police used it through me. Some scientists believed that people like me developed part of our brains that ordinarily remained inactive. For all I knew, they were right. I suspected it was also hereditary, though because I was adopted, I wasn’t sure where the ability had come from.
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