Through His Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 1)

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Through His Eyes (Mind's Eye Book 1) Page 17

by Deborah Camp


  “Levi, you poor thing. You’re going to take a shower and then you’re going straight to bed.” Her tone was as sweet and comforting as a lullaby and it did strange things to his heart and head.

  He turned on the faucet and splashed water onto his face, then rinsed the sinks and his mouth out as best he could.

  “Don’t worry about that. Get in the shower.”

  He looked at her. She raised her brows and pursed her lips in a way that made him think of a strict schoolmarm. “Here?”

  “Yes. You’re staying here tonight so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “No.” He shook his head. Was she nuts? Now she wanted to spend the night with him? “I’m leaving.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To my cabin.” His throat was on fire and his voice was almost gone. All he could manage was a rasp.

  “Then I’m coming with you. Let me grab some things—.”

  “No, Trudy!” He snagged the hem of her blouse to keep her in place. “Let me be. I’m fine. I just need some rest.”

  “I agree, but you shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I’m alone most of the time, so don’t worry about me.” He let go of her and ran the washcloth over his face again before tossing it onto the counter. “Sinclair’s sweet-talking made me puke my guts out, that’s all.”

  Disbelief flared briefly in her eyes, but then amusement tipped up the corners of her lush mouth. His gut knotted again, but this time with longing.

  “Made me want to puke, too,” she said, gifting him with a full-on, Trudylicious grin. “Stay here, Levi,” she whispered. ” Let me look after you.”

  She was tempting . . . so tempting . . . “No.” He shook his head again, unwilling to be in her bed alone while she played Nurse Trudy. Even though her wanting to take care of him touched something foreign and tender deep inside him. For the first time in a long, long time he felt a yearning to be coddled, to be cared for . . . cared about. He touched the tip of his index finger to her freckle-dusted nose. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Her fingers closed on his shirtsleeve. “Levi, please.”

  Gathering in a deep breath, he told himself not to grab her and kiss her like a caveman. Besides, his mouth tasted horrible. “Trudy, listen to me, please. You are the most infuriating woman. Did you know that?”

  “I’m just—.”

  “I know what you’re just trying to do,” he said. “I feel like shit warmed over. So let me go, Trudy. For the love of God, let me go to my lonely, little cabin before I snap like a twig and try my dead-level best to take you again right this second. Right here. Right fucking now.” He smiled at her wide-eyed, mouth-agape expression. Her fingers let go of his shirtsleeve. “Good girl. Thank you.”

  Then he turned on his heel and left before she could recover.

  Chapter Eleven

  Trudy carried a thermos of coffee and a wicker basket full of blueberry muffins with her toward Cabin Four. The door was standing open a couple of inches, so she leaned inside. “It’s Trudy! You decent?” She gave a little yelp when the door swung open and Levi filled the threshold.

  “No. Never. I thought we had already established that.”

  She gave him the once-over, taking in his jeans and blue t-shirt that was almost the exact color of his eyes. He’d already showered and shaved. “You look like you feel better this morning.”

  “Compared to last night, I certainly do.” He stepped back and motioned for her to come inside. “What do you have there, Miss Tucker?”

  “Coffee and muffins.”

  “You’re an angel.”

  As she passed by him, he gave her a smack on her rear and she issued a startled cry, whirling to face him. “Hey! Watch it!”

  His eyes widened and his lips formed an “O” at her reaction, then he grinned.

  “You’re a devil,” Trudy said, but she couldn’t keep from grinning back at him. “Next time you do that, I’ll hit back.”

  “That wasn’t hitting. That was patting. And it’s your fault for having such a cute denim-covered ass.”

  “Whatever. It was uncalled for.” She set the basket and thermos on the table where he had, undoubtedly, been working. His laptop and netbook shared the space with scattered papers and a compact printer. Cords snaked across the floor to the outlet. The wall behind the table was covered with information about the case. Each victim’s photo was taped there along with maps, autopsy reports, notes, and timelines. Trudy issued a low whistle. “Somebody’s been busy.”

  “It’s how I work. I have to bring order to chaos.”

  “I thought you’d be resting. Taking it easy.”

  He flung her a don’t be stupid glance and set two coffee mugs beside the thermos. “Will you join me?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She glanced around at the brass, double bed that dominated the space, the linens on it thoroughly mussed from a restless sleeper. A rumpled, damp towel, bar of soap, and black nylon travel kit lay at the foot of the bed. His Rolex, wallet, and a few other incidentals were scattered next to a digital alarm clock on the bedside table. She stepped around the bed and peeked into the bathroom. Some of his clothes hung from a metal garment rack on wheels. A toilet, a sink, a small rack filled with towels and washcloths were all crowded into the meager space.

  “Where’s the shower?” she asked, turning back to Levi.

  He nodded at the front door. “Out there. The park’s men’s and women’s restrooms have showers in them.”

  She sat at the table with him while he poured coffee into the mugs and helped himself to a muffin.

  “Did you make these?” he asked around a mouthful.

  “Yes.”

  He rolled his eyes in a swoon, earning him a smile from her. She was glad he was feeling better and in a good mood. She’d actually expected him to be as grumpy as a bear this morning. His cell phone danced on the table and he glanced at it. Sissy Franklin’s name glowed on the screen. Trudy looked from it to him. He pursed his lips and shrugged.

  “I’ll let it go to voice mail.”

  “Answer it,” Trudy urged. “You shouldn’t keep Sissy waiting.”

  He cast her a scolding look before he answered the phone. “What’s up, Sissy?” He continued to consume the muffin while he listened.

  Trudy could hear Sissy’s voice, but she could only make out a word or two. She thought Sissy was talking about her show. Levi drank some of the coffee and smiled at Trudy. He wagged his head, rolled his eyes, and made a talking gesture with his free hand.

  “Sissy . . . Sissy! Take a breath, for fuck’s sake,” he said, cutting into whatever she was yapping about. “I can’t. I’m still on this case in Florida.” He listened to her for another minute. “I flew into L.A. and right back out.” He finished off the muffin and grabbed another one. “No, I don’t have time for that now.” He sighed heavily. “It’s hard to say, but for at least another week. I’ll call you when I get back to Atlanta.” His gaze flicked to Trudy. “Yes, she’s still here. Sure, it’s great. Okay.” He swallowed hard, making his throat flex. “Same here. ‘Bye.”

  Trudy arched a brow at him, noting that he seemed a tad flustered. “She keeps you on a tight rein, does she?”

  He narrowed his eyes, trying to look menacing. “No. She was attempting to talk me into doing another remote or appearing on her show again this week.”

  “She asked about me?” Trudy took a bite of her muffin. She had to agree with him. They were delicious – and teasing him was even more delicious.

  “Yes. She knows that we’re working together.”

  “I bet she doesn’t know that we’re sleeping together.”

  He sent her a wry glance. “We haven’t slept together.”

  “You know what I mean.” She gave a shrug, dismissing the technicality. “Did she sign off with a ‘Miss you like crazy and wish you were here’?”

  “Not exactly.” He leaned closer to her, a grin lifting one side of his mouth. “Are you enjoying yourself?”


  “Immensely. I’m so glad I dropped by when I did.”

  He chuckled, but then glared at his phone when it buzzed. “Now what?”

  Trudy craned forward, thinking it might be Sissy again, but “Unknown Caller” flashed on the screen.

  Sighing dramatically, he answered it. “Hello. Who is this, please?” He listened and a frown line appeared between his eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Who is this and how the hell did you get this number?” He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the screen, ending the call. “That’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know her.” He held up a finger, stopping her next question, and pressed a number on the cell phone. “Hey, Gonzo. What? Oh damn, I forgot to tell you that I canceled that. Yes, I told Darla to cancel everything for the next couple of weeks so that I can devote my time to this Florida case.” He listened for a minute. “Okay. Yes. Yes. That’s good. Listen, Gonzo, I just received a call from a woman I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me who she is or how she got my cell phone number. I blocked her number, but let me give it to you. I’d like for you to find out who she is and shut her down. Okay the number is . . .”

  Trudy poured more coffee into his mug as he rattled off a telephone number. He glanced at her and gave her a quick, unfiltered smile that went straight to her heart.

  “Keep me posted, Gonzo.” He ended the call and sat back in the chair, deep in thought.

  “An obsessive fan?” Trudy surmised.

  “I suppose, but how did she get my cell phone number? That bothers me.”

  “Who is Gonzo?”

  He smiled faintly. “Pete Gonzales. He runs the security firm that I use.”

  “What do you need security for?”

  “For when I make personal appearances in certain venues,” he said, lifting one brow at her. “There are a lot of crazy people out there, Trudy.”

  “Don’t I know it.” She set another muffin in front of him. “One more? They’re small and it’ll do you good. Blueberries are nutritious.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Did your mother take care of you like this when you were a little boy and under the weather?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  He examined the muffin before shoving it into his mouth and eating half of it at once. He took his time chewing and swallowing. As the seconds ticked by, Trudy thought he was going to ignore her harmless question and she wondered why.

  “My mother is dead.”

  Trudy blinked as his answer sank in and she wanted to kick herself for letting her mouth get her in a pickle again. “I’m sorry, Levi.” The fresh grief glinting dully in his eyes made her ask, “Did she die recently?”

  “No. Twelve years ago.”

  She started counting back, but he was ahead of her.

  “When I was seventeen. She died of cancer. Ovarian cancer.” He finished off the muffin and wiped his hands together to dislodge crumbs.

  “Oh.” What else could she say? Uneasiness wound through her when he squared his shoulders and rocked his head from side to side as if to relieve bunched muscles there. One corner of his mouth kicked up in that way he had when he was about to say something with a punch to it.

  “My father was unable to heal her.”

  She shook her head, baffled. “Heal her?”

  “Yes. That’s what he does.” Hatred sparked deep in his blue, bruised eyes and it was so stark that it made Trudy wince inwardly. “He heals people. But he laid hands on her and it didn’t work. It really chapped his ass. But it wasn’t his fault. Oh, no. It was my fault.” His voice was scratchy, full of pain and scorn.

  “How could that be?” Trudy asked, shaking her head, utterly confused by such a ridiculous assertion.

  He looked at her as if she were thick-headed. “I didn’t pray fervently enough, and of course, I consort with Satan. That’s why she died. Because I’m a medium and my birth rotted her womb. Therefore, my father couldn’t heal her.” He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Sanctimonious bastard.”

  She cringed from his twisted explanation and the contempt embodied in his words. “That’s a horrible thing to accuse your son of! And your father is still alive.”

  A harsh, choppy laugh escaped him. “Oh, yes. He’s alive all right. He has a new wife – a younger, bigger breasted, bigger haired, cancer-free, empty-headed piece of ass who makes him feel like a stud again. He’s laying his self-righteous hands on desperate, pitiful people every day and pronouncing them healed. But I’m the liar. I’m the fraud.”

  “Who is he?” she asked, almost afraid to venture the question.

  His gaze swept up slowly to confront her. A dark, disturbing expression fixated on his features before he finally whispered, “The Right Reverend John Comfort.”

  Trudy didn’t follow evangelical preachers – or any preachers, for that matter – but she knew who that one was. You’d have to be totally divorced from the daily concourse of America to not have heard of the Reverend Comfort and the Hour of Comfort television show on one of the religious cable channels.

  Much had been written about him and he was often interviewed when the subject was religion. He was a handsome man, not unlike his son, with a shock of white hair he combed straight back from his broad forehead, sky blue eyes, and a big, bright smile. He was a tall man, well-constructed, and he had a musical cadence to his deep voice. His good looks, mesmerizing voice, and alleged power to heal the sick and injured had made him a famous and wealthy man.

  She also recalled images of his wife, AmyLynn, a bleached blond with a tiny waist and impossibly large breasts, who sang on the program and looked adoringly at her husband, muttering “amen” and “praise Jesus” every so often as he preached the Gospel according to Comfort. She couldn’t recall any other wife of John Comfort’s – Levi’s mother – so she must have stayed in the background or perhaps John Comfort hadn’t been as famous back then.

  “Oh.” She realized her response to his revelation was sadly lacking, but he smiled as if he understood.

  “Exactly,” He nodded. “Dear Daddy has made quite a name for himself collecting money and popping people on the forehead with the heel of his hand to heal them on his TV show five fucking days a week. But, to him, I’m the only liar, the only cheat, the only charlatan in the family. It’s so ironic, it’s hilarious.”

  But he wasn’t laughing. The pain in his expression squeezed her heart and Trudy reached out and covered his hand with hers. He flinched, but didn’t move away from her sympathetic touch.

  “He’s quite the showman,” she noted.

  He gave a half-smile. “Yes. I suppose I come by it naturally.”

  “Do you ever see him?” she asked, gently.

  “In person?” For a moment, he looked alarmed, then he scoffed. “Hell no! I want nothing to do with him and that’s just peachy with him, too.”

  “So, you never had a good relationship with him? Even when you were a young boy?”

  One corner of his mouth twitched into that sardonic grin he was so good at. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath and then released it with almost a shudder. She thought she glimpsed revulsion in his eyes and perhaps even a sliver of fear before his lids fell slowly to shut her out. “No. No way. Oh, baby, you have no idea . . .” Then he pulled his hand out from under hers as if he couldn’t stand to be touched at that moment – by anyone.

  She wanted – needed – to lighten his mood. “I wish you had grown up in Mayberry with me,” she said, giving him a wistful smile as she referenced a jest he’d made before about her own idyllic upbringing.

  “Yes, so do I.” Then he shrugged. “But I probably would have beaten the living hell out of the Beav and ended up being shipped off to reform school anyway.”

  They shared a smile and silence drifted between them for a minute before he drew in a noisy breath and flattened his hands on the table with authority. “I need to go to the police station around one o’clock. You want to come with me? Your boyfriend will be there.�
��

  It was her turn to roll her eyes at him. “Are you referring to Detective Sinclair?”

  “I am.”

  “Why are you going to meet with him?”

  “I called him to ask if I could look at some of the personal articles taken from each victim.”

  “Why?”

  “I tried to reach each one of them this morning, but had no luck. I have to touch something before I can call them to me.”

  “Why were you trying to reach the victims?”

  “Because I have this nagging feeling that each one of them was in the company of another woman shortly before they were killed.”

  “Zelda?” she asked, following his theory and feeling the truth in it resonate.

  He nodded. “I think so. I didn’t ask them about who they’d been with before because I didn’t know about Zelda then. But now . . . I need to see if I can get one of them to tell me . . . show me like Shelly did. Maybe one of them will even let me see Zelda’s face or tell me her last name.”

  “What would be the point of him working in concert with a woman?”

  He folded his arms against his chest. “Perhaps she gets the trust of the victim. She sets them up for the kill.”

  Trudy frowned and warded off a shiver. “That’s creepy. She would be as sick as him.”

  “Are you going to let Sinclair claim his rain check?”

  She thought about telling him to go jump off a cliff, but clamped down on her sharp tongue. “No. I want to concentrate on this case.”

  “Not going out with him again has nothing to do with me and how much fun you have in bed with me?”

  “No.” She stiffened when his expression called her a liar. He could be such a delinquent . . . “You mentioned reform school. Were you in one?”

  Muscles tightened in his jaw and she felt his shields click into place. She instantly wished she could take back the question.

  “You probably should go now. I’ll meet up with you later.” He shoved up from the chair in a fluid motion that took her completely by surprise.

  “Wait!” Trudy grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t . . . I just want to know you better, Levi. That’s all.”

 

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