Through His Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 1)

by Deborah Camp

  “Big Pine,” Trudy answered. She couldn’t imagine that Levi would be enamored with the place. In fact, the rooms were probably far too feminine for him. “You’re only about twenty miles from Key West.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Levi, just drop those by the bed,” Quintara said as Levi came in, his arms and hands full of luggage.

  “Here . . . let me help you,” Trudy said, bounding toward Levi, but she stopped dead when he sent her a quelling glare. “What?”

  “I can do it,” he said between gritted teeth. “Just relax.” And he hauled the luggage toward the bed and set three bright yellow pieces beside it. He took the black and silver wheeled duffel and matching suit garment bag with him as he went across the hall to his room. He kicked the door closed behind him.

  Trudy looked at Quintara. “What’s with him?”

  Quintara sighed. “He’s a man of many moods and right now he’s chaffing because we’re wasting time moving about when we should be trying to connect with the murderer.”

  Trudy narrowed one eye. “Did you know that he planned to hit on me?”

  Quintara laughed. “Dear, he’s Levi Wolfe and you’re a lovely, talented, young woman. Of course, he’s going to pounce on you. But didn’t he also tell you that he’s glad to finally work with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. He’s been after me to hook you two up for months.”

  “He said something about that . . . wait. Hook us up?” Trudy repeated, aghast. “What? You’re his procurer of women now?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Trudy. Hook you up to work together, but I know that he finds you very attractive.”

  “I think he finds nearly every woman with a pulse very attractive. In fact, I think he probably views most women as fairly easy conquests.” She eyed Quintara with suspicion and grinned. “So, you’re not pimping for him?”

  Quintara released a throaty laugh as she fondled the string of beads around her neck. “As if he needed that! When he’s in his element before an audience, he’s a sexy beast and women line up for him after every show. It’s like he puts them in an erotic trance!” Some of the amusement faded from her expression. “He used to be quite a rounder when I met him, screwing every woman who rubbed up against him—.”

  “Oh, my God! TMI, Quintara.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Too much information,” Trudy translated. “But you’ve just confirmed what I said about him. He treats women like sex toys.”

  “I said he used to be like that. He’s more discriminating now because he’s matured. Also, he works entirely too much. The man is driven, I tell you.” Quintara flapped a hand at her, scowling good-naturedly. “You know so little about him.”

  Trudy pressed her lips together as the truth of that resonated in her. “Pretty much all I know about him is what I read in the newspapers,” she quipped. “And see on television and hear on the radio all the damn time.”

  “He’s flashy and can be brooding and dramatic, but he’s serious about what he does – and what he does, he does to perfection.”

  Trudy shook her head, knowing that she was speaking about more than Levi Wolfe’s work as a psychic. “You’re his biggest fan.”

  “Maybe I am.” She smiled warmly. “I’m a big fan of yours, too. Take the time to get to know him, Trudy dear, instead of assuming things about him. You could have a wonderful relationship and do extraordinary things together.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Oh, let’s see.’ Quintara glanced up, thinking. “Six years, I guess. Seems longer than that. Maybe seven years.”

  She tried to picture him in his early twenties, fresh from college, but it was difficult. Quintara was right. She knew virtually nothing about him. Just gossip and innuendo.

  “Who wants a drink?” Levi strode into the room, looking irritated. He was dressed in black jeans and a slate gray, linen shirt that was open at the collar. “I could use a Scotch and water.”

  “I’m in,” Quintara said, rising from the sofa. “But I want something fruity.”

  “I could go for a beer,” Trudy admitted. Actually, she thought, she could go for something stronger, but a beer was safer this early in the day.

  “Could you now?” Levi sent her a half-smile, making her wonder once again if he was reading her mind. “Then let’s blow this pop stand, ladies.”

  ###

  “He’s not any older than forty,” Trudy said, shifting on the bar stool in the quiet, dark tavern as she tried to picture the serial killer who had been in her head recently. “More like thirty or thirty-five.”

  “Yes, that’s sounds right. Around my age. Maybe a little older.” Levi carried a netbook, not much bigger than a paperback novel, and he opened it and typed something into it.

  “How old are you?” Trudy asked, figuring she’d start getting to know him better.

  He looked up from his notes and something changed on his face and in his eyes. In a nanosecond he went from concentrating on the case to concentrating on her. “Almost thirty.”

  “Almost?” she said.

  He nodded.

  She raised her brows. “So, your birthday is soon?”

  “Not very far off. Birthdays aren’t important to me. Age isn’t important to me.”

  “What is important to you?’ Trudy asked, playing along.

  “What you do with the years you’re given.”

  She told herself to look away, but she couldn’t. Her gaze was riveted to him. He had spoken a deep truth that shed light on her own shortcomings. In the handful of seconds that passed, she realized that she’d wasted great chunks of her time cowering from life and not taking chances that might have given her thrilling experiences and dangerous liaisons. The man standing near her – this dark-haired, devilishly handsome man – had never backed away from a dare. She knew that about him. It was apparent in his stance and in the way he held her gaze boldly and made her break the bond first.

  Her heart climbed into her throat and lodged there. Trudy gathered in a deep breath and refused to succumb to her new tic of clearing her throat. The tinge of regret shadowing her heart bedeviled her. She hitched up her chin and he smirked.

  “Got an idea about coloring? Caucasian?” he asked, bringing her gently back to the task.

  “Uh . . . yes, Caucasian.”

  “Fair or dark?”

  “I don’t know about that yet,” Trudy said, finding her center again, her purpose for being there. “He speaks about women as objects. He notices how they’re dressed, the size of their breasts and hips, the color of their hair and if it’s natural or bleached.” She watched him from the corner of her eye as he typed quickly, his silver ring flashing in the dim bar lights. He looked up from the page and waited for her to continue.

  “He curses a lot. He says ugly words. Words most women hate.”

  “Such as?”

  “Cunt. Fat bitch. Whore. Slut. Fuck.”

  “He sounds fairly typical,” Quintara said. “Men love to debase women and put them in their place.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Levi drawled, his voice taking on an edge. “Would you care to rephrase that?”

  Quintara regarded him in the greenish, neon-tinged light and then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I was painting with broad strokes. Present company, excluded, of course.”

  “Thank you.” His lips quirked. “And what’s wrong with ‘fuck’?”

  Quintara released a deeply naughty giggle. “You scoundrel. Nothing. Absolutely nothing is wrong with it! You say it and do it enough!”

  “Right, and you don’t? And I’m rather fond of cunts,” he added getting another laugh from Quintara.

  TMI, Trudy thought, rolling her eyes, but drawn by their delight with one another. She felt a stab of envy. She didn’t have close friendships like theirs. She had her family, but lifelong friendships had eluded her. Her psychic abilities had made her wary, caused her to not open herself up to acquaintances so that they were able
to become friends. She regretted that and never as keenly as she did watching Quintara and Levi nudge each other and share another quick laugh when Levi whispered something in Quintara’s ear. He was definitely more relaxed with her – more himself. She wondered if Quintara knew him better than anyone.

  Still grinning, Levi returned his attention to the netbook and its softly glowing screen. “Okay, then. Trudy, do you sense any reasoning behind his decisions? Any motive?”

  She steered her thoughts back to the case and only then realized that she resented him having fun with Quintara and sticking to business with her. But that’s how she wanted it, right? No monkey business with Levi?

  “Motive, Trudy?” he asked again.

  “Oh, sorry. No, but I’ve only heard him once. It’s early.”

  He nodded, grabbed the shot glass in front of him, and swallowed the Scotch in one long gulp. His eyes didn’t even water. “Good. It’s a start.”

  “You feel more in control now, Levi?” Quintara asked, motioning the barkeep to make another drink for her. It was something called The Blue Bomber and it smelled like coconut.

  “Yes, I think so.” Levi closed the netbook and held it out to Quintara. “Be a love and slip that into your purse for me.”

  “Certainly.” Quintara shoved it inside her large, straw tote. “Now you be a love and dance with Trudy,” she commanded, sweetly.

  “What? No. I . . . no.” Trudy shook her head as she looked from Quintara to Levi and back to Quintara. A shocked laugh tumbled out of her.

  “Go ahead, children,” Quintara said, almost smugly. “I want to watch.”

  “You dance with him and I’ll watch,” Trudy said.

  “No, my feet hurt.” Quintara shoved Levi’s shoulder. “Go on. You dance so divinely.”

  “We’re in a bar, not a —what are you doing?” Trudy stiffened as Levi captured one of her hands in both of his.

  “Let’s go. One dance.”

  “No, thanks. Really, I—.”

  He tugged hard and she slipped off the bar stool. “Come on. Quit being such a baby about it.”

  “A baby?” She glared at him, but she was already in his embrace. He circled her waist with his arms and tightened them around her. Her breath caught in her throat. He felt warm and taut and she was staring at his mouth.

  “Yeah. Baby.”

  Oh. My. He had a great mouth, she thought, disjointedly. A curvy, upper lip and a full lower one. Wide, generous, and so very expressive. She snatched her gaze away from it and realized that her hands were on his biceps and he had quite a pair of guns under his cool, linen shirt. His lips touched the top of her ear as he rubbed his cheek against hers.

  “Just follow my lead.” His breath was perfumed by Scotch.

  He was close. So close. She had trouble breathing. He spread his large hands across her back and his touch scorched her skin through her blouse. She looked toward Quintara as Bonnie Raitt sang about giving them something to talk about. Quintara was watching and she lifted her glass in a salute.

  He is a good dancer, Trudy thought, having little trouble matching his steps. He didn’t just do the sway-back-and-forth thing. He actually moved his feet and spun her around the small area that they’d made into a dance floor. He rocked his hips and thrust his pelvis to the sensuous beat of the music Fast. Slow. Glide. He grasped one of her hands and sent her twirling away from him and then back into his arms, back against the solid wall of his chest.

  “Who taught you how to dance?” she asked, letting go of a delighted giggle. He smiled and seemed to be enjoying himself.

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “I really do,” she insisted. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  He shook his head and lights danced in his eyes. “An older woman.”

  “Your mother?”

  At the mere mention of the woman who’d given birth to him, she felt him tense and the pleasure glowing in his eyes was doused like a candle flame killed by a swift gust of breath.

  “No,” he said, pressing his cheek against hers so that she couldn’t see his expressive face. “Just a woman I knew for awhile.”

  “Well, whoever she was, she knew what she was doing.” She felt him relax against her and then his lips touched the curve of her neck. A shiver of pleasure shot through her as potent as a swallow of Scotch.

  “Who taught you?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper.

  “My brother.” She closed her eyes, loving the feel of his lips barely touching her skin when he spoke.

  “Kudos to him.”

  “He’s not nearly as smooth at it as you.”

  He dipped her, his arms holding her fast, his face poised above hers. “Oh, really?”

  She laughed up at him and then he righted her, but the world was still a little off-center.

  “You okay?” he asked as his hands splayed across her back to steady her. His thumb skimmed under the band of her brassiere and she sucked in a breath.

  “Sure. I’m okay. Why?”

  “Well, you’re still swaying and the song has ended.”

  “Oh.” Trudy glanced around and heard the deafening silence. “Right.” She stepped away from him. “Fine then.”

  “Yes, it was very fine. Thank you for the dance.” His voice was deep, scratching her nerve-endings. He bent his head and his lips brushed hers and then he was still, his mouth hovering an inch from hers. His eyes glimmered with a challenge.

  Trudy stopped breathing and she knew he was waiting . . . daring her to kiss him. Well, she wouldn’t. Not here in a bar while Quintara sat there and watched and . . . oh, to hell with it. She’d take that dare!

  Lifting up on the balls of her feet, she pressed her mouth to his, parting her lips and stroking his tongue with hers. His arms cinched around her waist, pulling her against him and she felt his hardness nudge her. She ran her hands through his thick, soft hair and opened her mouth wider, letting his tongue caress hers hungrily. It was as if she’d caught fire and everything around her fell to ashes. There was only him and her and the frantic strokes of their tongues and the feel of his hands caressing her back and cradling her head. God, oh God, she wanted him.

  She heard someone clapping and then Levi’s mouth lifted from hers. She opened her eyes to stare into blue pools of naked lust. He gave a little shake of his head before his hands fell away from her.

  “You are one devious witch, Trudy Tucker,” he whispered. “If I don’t watch out, you’re going to have your way with me.”

  “Lovely, children,” Quintara cooed, still applauding them. “I used to cut a rug, I tell you. I could samba and make your eyes pop out of your head.”

  “You’ll have to teach me the samba some time,” Levi said, turning toward her and smiling gently. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  Quintara returned his smile. “I’d be happy to. Of course, I’m so out of shape now, it’s not the same. I used to be a knockout.”

  He dropped a kiss on her rouged cheek. “You still are to my eyes.”

  “Oh, you flirt!” Quintara shook a finger at him, but she was lapping it up like a kitten going after a bowl of cream.

  Trudy touched her flaming lips. Good grief! Had she just deep-kissed him in a bar in front of Quintara, who had applauded their performance? She had lost her ever-loving mind!

  “Let’s take a walk,” Quintara suggested. “Maybe we can pick up some vibes. At the very least, we can get to know the area – and each other – better.”

  Trudy grabbed her purse to poke around for her wallet.

  “This has been my pleasure,” Levi said, handing the barkeep his credit card.

  Oh, he’s smooth, Trudy thought. But she had to admit that she liked a man who paid more than just compliments.

  ###

  The beach was small, but not crowded. Sitting in an Adirondack chair, Trudy watched as the sun slowly began to extinguish itself in the ocean. Beside her, Levi watched the same scene, but he was having trouble keeping his gaze on the
sun and not on Trudy. On the other side of him, Quintara was fast asleep in her chair, her straw hat covering her face and muffling her snores.

  “She’s really sawing the logs, isn’t she?” Trudy asked, a laugh lacing through her voice.

  He chuckled. “Do you snore?”

  “I don’t think so. Sometimes I make sounds. Maybe I say a word or two. I wake up and I know I’ve said something, but I don’t know what.” She turned her head to look at him. “Do you snore?”

  “Only when I’ve had too much to drink.” He paused, realizing it had been a long time since he’d been that sauced, thank God. “I have been known to talk in my sleep. And I have nightmares sometimes.”

  “Me, too.” She turned wide eyes on him. “About murders?”

  “No.” He shut his eyes. Now why did he bring that up?

  “About what then?”

  He shrugged, closing his mind to painful memories he preferred to keep buried. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. “Let’s talk about you. Are your parents still living?”

  “Yes, but I think we should talk about you. Quintara gave me strict orders to get to know you better.”

  “She did?” He glanced at Quintara, making sure she was asleep. “Why?”

  “Because we’re supposed to be entering into a partnership,” she said, giving him a “duh” widening of her green eyes. “It’s only fair since it’s pretty obvious you’ve discussed me at length with Quintara.” She turned to lie on her side and look at him. “Are you close to your family?”

  “No.” Irritation blasted through him. Quintara damn well knew that he didn’t like to talk about his upbringing or personal things. Most of it was just too sordid to dwell on. He went to shrinks to sort all that out and help him deal with it. To everyone else, he liked being a mystery. It was safer that way. He could keep people at arm’s length. But, did he really want to keep Trudy that far away? he wondered, and his heart seemed to know the answer that his head wasn’t quite ready to accept.

  “That’s it?” she asked after a few more moments ticked by. “You’re going to answer my questions with yes or no?”

  Well. Hell. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where do your parents live? Where did you grow up?”