by Deborah Camp
“I grew up in a lot of places,” he said, resigned to his fate. He gathered in a deep breath. Might as well get it over with, he told himself. She’s not going to let it go and Quintara would eventually spill the beans anyway. “My father is a fire-and-brimstone Evangelical minister.” Her silence made him look at her again. Her expression was the epitome of shock. “Close your mouth, Trudy.”
Her teeth clicked and she blinked. “No shit?”
He smiled at her response. “No shit.”
“Wow. So, what does he think about what you do for a living? Has he come to grips with it?”
He stared at the sunset, but it had lost its allure for him. A humorless laugh tumbled out of him and it almost hurt his chest and throat, it was so dry, so lifeless. “He thinks I’m a liar, a black-hearted sinner, and a spawn from hell. He believes that I make my living by fleecing poor, searching, tortured souls. So, yes, I suppose he’s come to grips with it in his own way.”
“Oh, Levi.” All the compassion in the world seemed to coalesce into her voice. “I’m so terribly sorry.” She drew in a short, harsh breath. “That really blows.”
Before he closed his eyes, before the tenderness in her voice squeezed his heart to the point of pain, he saw her hand lift ever so slightly off her thigh as if she wanted to reach out to him, but then she thought better of it. He found himself wanting her consoling touch and that sent him mentally scrambling back from her. God! What kind of spell had she cast? And why the fuck was he spilling his guts to her?
Clearing his throat and shaking off the strange reaction, he aimed the conversation away from him and safely back to her. “What do your parents do?”
“My dad owns an auto repair shop and my mom works for a catering company.”
“And they’re supportive of what you’re doing,” he said, not bothering to pose it as a question. He could tell by the easy way she’d answered that her parents were there for her.
“Yes. They don’t understand it, but they know that there’s something odd about me. I mean, I’ve been out of step my whole life, so now my parents are relieved I seem to have found some answers.”
He smiled, relishing the complete opposites they represented. “And you lived in Mayberry next to ‘the Beav’.”
She laughed. “Yeah, sure, and my mother wears pearls, a dress, and heels when she does housework or cooks.”
Tipping back his head, he chuckled at that image. It came to him in black-and-white-and gray just like on the old television shows. He watched clouds skate across the cerulean sky for a minute and appreciated the cool breeze and the smiling girl beside him. “I thought Quintara said something about your family owning pawn shops.”
“My granddad owned them,” she said. “He died a couple of years ago and left his three shops to me and my sister and brother. But I sold my share to Derek and Sadie last year.” She propped her head in her hand. “How did you end up going to England to study?”
He glanced at her, surprised at her question. He’d thought she would keep grilling him about his misspent youth. “I read about Arthur Findlay College, so I applied for a scholarship there and got it.”
“That must have been a wonderful time in your life. To be in Essex, studying the paranormal with like-minded people.”
He noted the dreaminess in her eyes. Mediums loved to hear about Findlay College. It was like Hogwarts to them. “I was lucky to go there. I learned a great deal,” he allowed, then his thoughts moved unerringly to the temptress who had betrayed him and set him on a path of self-destruction and he frowned. He felt Trudy’s gaze sharpen on him. He erased the frown from his face, but it was too late.
“But?” she goaded.
Aw, hell! He tried for a light, careless tone. “I had a great time the first year, but then I met a girl, fell for her, and she broke my heart. Shattered it to bits, actually.”
“Ouch. Was she a student there too?”
“Yes, but we weren’t into the same things. She was studying ghosts. She wanted to know why they haunted places and she loved it when she thought they were evil or dangerous.”
“She loved the danger,” Trudy said. “That’s why she was attracted to you.”
He shifted to look at her, full on. The setting sun gilded her face and set fire to her hair. Her piquant beauty made his heart skip a beat. “Do you think I’m dangerous, Tru?”
She bobbed her head once and her green eyes narrowed. “Oh, yes.”
“Dangerous good or dangerous bad?”
“Good, I hope. You’re dangerous around the edges.” She shifted and her blouse tightened against her breasts. “What was her name?”
Around the edges? Hmmm. He’d have to think about that. His gaze moved lower where the material of her blouse strained.
“Her name?” she repeated. “What was the heartbreaker’s name?”
“Uh . . . Lizzie. Elizabeth.” He tore his thoughts from imagining the shape and feel of her breasts.
“She was British?”
“Yes. Veddy.”
“I can’t imagine you having a shattered heart.”
“Oh?” He lay on his back again and saw a cloud that was shaped like a reclining lion morph into a train engine as he watched. Sometimes, he thought, it was also difficult for him to recall that he’d once had such tender feelings. That he’d been so awkward and shy around girls. That he’d worshipped an English lass with long, blond hair and laughing, brown eyes. But just saying Lizzie’s name felt like the quick nick of a knife in his heart. Stupid, he thought. It was years ago and they’d both moved on.
Trudy was quiet. So quiet. Too quiet. He glanced at her. “Are you—Trudy?” His heart froze at the sight of her far-off expression and unfocused gaze. He swung his legs over the side of the chair and leaned toward her. She had sat up to face the ocean again. Staring off into the distance, her eyes were glassy, her breathing rapid. She was gone, stolen from him by a madman.
Levi reached for her hands. They were cold. Jesus H. Christ! The bastard has her! Determinedly, he kept himself calm, his voice soft when he asked, “Do you hear him? Is he there?”
She nodded.
He slid off the chair and knelt before her in the sand, sliding his hands up to her elbows and then down to clasp her chilly fingers. He wished he could climb into her head and protect her, support her. “Breathe, Trudy. Breathe. That’s it. Let him in. You’re strong. You can control this.”
Her eyes moved, tracked, and then settled on a distant point.
“What’s happening? Talk to me,” Levi whispered, warming her hands in his. Should he encourage her to talk or would that hinder her? It didn’t help him when he was channeling, but what about Trudy? He glanced over his shoulder at Quintara, wondering if he should awaken her and ask her to assist him, but then he shook off that notion. No. He’d follow his own instincts.
“He’s casing,” Trudy whispered. “He’s watching. Waiting.”
“Where is he? Where are you? Look around,” Levi instructed, trying to guide her into getting more information, more clues for them to mull over later. She obeyed him, her lovely green eyes tracking something only she could see. He released a sigh of relief, thankful that his prodding had worked.
“Gallery,” she said. “A museum? There are pictures hanging on bare walls. He’s looking at a woman now. She’s standing in front of a portrait . . . a framed artwork. He’s sitting on a low bench behind her. Behind. You’ve got a great ass, honey. How many men have fucked that ass? You like it in the ass? I bet you do. I’d like to rip open that ass and come all over you. You haughty bitch.”
Levi stared at her, wincing at the words spilling from her lips.
“Oh. Shit.”
Levi squeezed her hands. “What?”
“She’s pregnant! Goddamn, fucking preggo bitch! If I wanted a tub of lard, I’d go after a big, fat cunt. There are plenty around. Fat guts spilling over bikini bottoms. No, this bitch won’t do. Have to shop some more and – huh?” She sat up straighter, blinked, and
slumped forward.
Levi caught her shoulders, keeping her from pitching face first into the sand. He gave her a little shake and she stared at him for few moments before life flooded back into her eyes. “You okay?”
She nodded.
“What happened? Is he gone?” Levi asked, rubbing her arms to comfort her.
“Someone . . . something interrupted him.”
He gathered her to him for a quick hug. That was fanfuckingtastic! The way she had zeroed in. So much detail! “You did great, Trudy. Great.”
She cringed and hunched her shoulders as if she wanted him to remove his hands from her, so he did.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She cleared her throat and shook her head again as if flinging her thoughts into order. “I think we should keep this a professional relationship, Levi. It will be much safer for me that way.”
He sat on his heels, feeling like he’d been slapped. Safer? Pushing up to his feet, he felt stung beyond all reasoning, but clung to a feeble notion that she wasn’t rejecting him outright, but that she was still reeling from the danger she’d seen and sensed from the psycho who’d invaded her mind. He didn’t like the expression on her face – guarded, assessing, and tremulous. Like she was looking at a heartless beast.
He glanced toward Quintara. What crap had she been feeding Trudy about him? Fury suddenly mixed with his stinging feelings and he strode to Quintara and whipped the hat off her face. “Wake up,” he said, his voice as gruff and unforgiving as a drill sergeant’s. “Trudy has made contact.”
Chapter Five
When Trudy pulled into a parking space at the Blue Coconut B&B the next morning, Levi was pacing in the parking lot waiting for her. Looking edgy in dark blue jeans, gray t-shirt, and a dark blue denim vest that he’d left unbuttoned, he carried a small laptop case. He scowled, opened the passenger door, and slid into the seat.
“Good morning to you, too.” She breathed in the scent of him and noticed that his hair was still damp from his shower. He smelled faintly of a citrus grove. Bracing and clean. When he said nothing to her, she wilted a little inside. Great. He was still sore about yesterday. “So, what’s up?” she asked, placing cheeriness into her tone.
He slammed the door shut and fastened his seat belt without sparing her a glance. “The police have cleared the last murder scene. They’ve given us permission to go check it out.”
She digested this. “You’re in contact with the police here?”
“Yes.”
Interesting. One of the topics she had wanted to talk to him about was cooperating with the police. Of course, he’d already handled it. She glanced at him. What did he need her for? Oh, right. To channel the killer. “The cops are cooperating with you?”
“The lead detective is a good guy. His name is Tom Sinclair and he’s glad for any help with this we can give him.”
And he was already familiar with the lead detective. Natch. “That’s good to hear.”
“I’ll introduce you to him at the next opportunity.”
“I suppose I should be grateful for small favors,” she said, abandoning her fake cheerfulness and not caring that her tone had become snappish.
Finally, he looked at her, taking in her lavender tank top and jeans. She wondered idly if he approved and then wondered why she cared. His expression gave nothing away. “Let’s go.”
Grinding her teeth at his command, she looked at the B&B. “Where’s Quintara?”
“She’s not coming. She’s having breakfast. Let’s go.”
“You know how to get to the victim’s house?”
“Yes, I’ve been there. I wasn’t allowed in then. They were still fingerprinting and stuff. Let’s go.”
“Do I remind you of a dog?”
He lowered his black brows and glowered. “If you have a point to make, make it.”
“Don’t speak to me as if I’m supposed to obey your every command. The next time you do, I’m stopping the car and you’re getting out and hoofing it. That’s my point.” She slapped the car into reverse, whipped out of the parking space, and headed toward Key West. From the corner of her eye, she actually saw him smirk! The bastard.
“Is this your car or a rental?” he asked, looking down at the floor mats that were littered with sand, bits of shell, and grass and then up at the pine tree deodorizer that swung from a string on the rearview mirror.
“It’s mine. I tow it behind my RV.” She glanced at him again. He stared out the side window and his moodiness made her edgy. “So, you’re mad at me, I take it.”
“No. But you do owe me an apology and I’m waiting for it.” He propped an elbow against the window and tapped his index finger against the center of his mouth.
“An apology for . .?”
His gaze slid to her, as piercing as a knife blade. “That you have such a low opinion of me and no reason for it.”
“Oh, Levi, come on!” She slapped the palm of one hand against the steering wheel. “You can’t blame me. You know you have a reputation as a ladies’ man.”
“Run that by me again? A what?” He turned his face away from her again and his chest moved against his shirt with silent laughter. “I haven’t heard that expression except in old romantic films. If you mean that I like women, then I will own it, but I don’t think that’s what you meant yesterday. I’m pretty sure you said you wouldn’t be safe around me like I’m some kind of uncontrollable beast.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She glanced at the speedometer and saw that her agitation had put lead in her foot. The little car was zipping along at seventy-five miles an hour. She eased off the accelerator. “It’s just that I’ve heard about how you don’t hang around long, that’s all. You have a short attention span.”
He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “So what? So fucking what, Trudy? You’re either attracted to me or you’re not. Why do you have to make it so damned complicated? Jesus!”
She wanted to reply with a furious, well-aimed volley of wise words, but for the life of her, she couldn’t think of any. “I’m sorry.” Had she said that aloud? When she saw the glimmer of a smile on his lips, she knew she had. Well, crap. He’d won that round. She shook her head, conceding that she probably owed that one to him. “So, are you still dating the Court TV anchor lady? She’s very attractive.”
He frowned. “Sissy Franklin and I don’t date. We’ve attended a few industry events at the same time.”
“Quintara was certain that you were seeing Sissy and . . . you know, that you’re involved with her.”
“Quintara’s right. I have seen her. I do see her. I’ve just said that.”
He shifted restlessly in the bucket seat, irritation stamped on his chiseled features and in his every move. She felt his gaze on her, burning her, branding her a nosey gossip.
“Now if you think I’m going to tell you whether or not I have carnal knowledge of Sissy, then you’re barking mad.” His voice was even with an underpinning of barely controlled anger. “I don’t discuss such things because it’s none of anyone’s goddamned business.”
Trudy flinched. Bastard. “Apologizing to you sure is a barrel of fun,” she rejoined, sarcasm dripping from each word.
He arched a sardonic brow, then straightened and pointed ahead. “At the next traffic light, take a left. We’re almost there.”
###
Shelly Farmer had lived and died in a garage apartment behind a large, two-story house. Levi went to the front door, rang the bell, and collected a key from the woman who answered.
“Detective Sinclair called and asked the owner to let us in,” he told Trudy when she gave him a quizzical look. “Housekeeping will be here this afternoon, so this is our only opportunity to see the rooms before they’re wiped clean.”
He led the way up the staircase at the side of the garage, up to the apartment. He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.
It took a few seconds for Trudy’s eyes to adjust to the change from
bright, morning sunlight to the dim interior. She sniffed, catching the scents of blood, chemicals, and booze. Across from her, liquor bottles lay on the floor, toppled from a two-tier table set against the wall. A whiskey bottle had broken, the shards of glass glinting darkly in the nap of the beige carpet. A large circle of rusty brown stained it. A layer of dust was on almost everything. The fingerprinting specialists had been thorough.
The living room was furnished with a couch and two chairs, a coffee table, some lamps. A big, pink, plastic S hung on the wall behind the liquor table. Nothing special. She leaned forward, looking into the next room. A kitchen and a bedroom beyond that.
Levi opened the laptop case and removed a camera and his electronic notebook from it. He set the netbook on the breakfast bar, and then moved slowly from room to room, taking snapshots. He returned to the breakfast bar a couple of times to type something into his netbook. She followed, taking in the furnishings and personal touches. Framed photographs of smiling friends and relatives. Frog figurines sitting on a table. A guitar propped in a corner. A fluffy, pink robe hanging from a peg on the bathroom door. The bedspread was purple and cream and a big, pink, heart-shaped pillow sat in the middle of it. A similar one graced a chair in her own home.
The realization that she shared something with the victim sent tears to her eyes and also made her a little homesick. She blinked rapidly and looked around for Levi. He was in the living room, staring at the blood stain. Something in his posture made her heartbeat sputter. Suddenly, he flung back his head and a low moan escaped him.
Trudy was beside him in the next heartbeat. “What’s wrong?” she asked, not liking the thread of panic evident in her voice.
He stared at the ceiling and shook his head. Blindly, he reached out, grabbed her by the shoulder, and pushed her away from him.
“Stay well back,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I might hurt you if I get too deeply into this. I’m fine. Don’t talk to me. Just listen. Watch.”
She obeyed, retreating a few steps. There was a distinct sensation quivering in the air around him. His arms and hands trembled slightly. He took a deep breath that stretched the t-shirt more tightly across his chest and stomach, parting the front of his unbuttoned vest. A scowl crossed his face and then slipped away as his expression tensed and his eyes focused straight ahead. The charge in the air intensified and the sensitive hairs on Trudy’s arms and at her nape lifted as her skin pebbled. Running her hands up and down her arms, she knew that he’d tapped into Shelly’s spirit and was searching through her final memories of this place.