WHISPERS TO THE HEART

by Kimberley Reeves

  “It was really phenomenal what you did today. You saved that girl’s life.”

  “No,” she said softly, “we saved her. I know you didn’t believe me, but you went with me anyway. Thank you for that.”

  “I’ve got to tell you, I was totally convinced you were crazy as a loon until I found out Angel Starr had popped up on a Missing Person’s report.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Detective, I’m used to it.”

  Mac’s heart tugged at the look of desolation that crossed her face. He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush a stray curl from her forehead. “It’s got to be rough having people doubt you all the time.”

  “Oh, I can deal with that, it’s only natural. It’s the way they look at me that just…hurts. At first they look at me like I’m crazy or some sort of freak, then it’s as if they’re scared of me.” Rennie smiled sadly. “I think they’re afraid I’ll discover some deep, dark secret they’re keeping or that I can read their minds.”

  “Can you?”

  Rennie’s heart melted at the rakish grin on his face. “You’re teasing me, Detective.”

  “Call me Mac. And I was only half teasing.”

  “No, I can’t read minds. Technically, I can’t tell the future either.”

  “Technically? Now that’s a statement that needs to be elaborated on, but right now you’re tired and need to get some rest.”

  “It’s been nice working with you, Mac.”

  He stood up, reluctant to leave. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

  “If you like, but there’s really nothing more I can tell you about what happened to Angel.”

  Mac shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Some psychic you are. I was thinking more along the lines of calling to discuss a dinner date.”

  Rennie’s stomach fluttered. “I…sure…yes,” she stammered.

  “Good night, Miss O’Neal.”

  “Rennie,” she corrected.

  “Good night, Rennie.”

  She watched him walk away, feeling more than a little giddy. A date. Good Lord, how long had it been since she’d gone out on a date? Forever, it seemed; not since that disastrous evening with Frankie-the-wife-beater almost six years ago. She’d met him at an art gallery back when she first moved into her house and was looking for just the right piece to hang over the fireplace mantle. He approached her while she was admiring a painting depicting a herd of wild Mustangs thundering across an open prairie.

  “Simply breathtaking,” he’d said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the painting, though it’s quite stunning too.”

  Rennie smiled shyly and mumbled, “Thank you.”

  “I’m Frankie DiCarlo.”

  “Rennie O’Neal,” she said, turning back to the painting and blatantly ignoring the hand he held out to her.

  “If you’re really interested in this piece, I can get you a good deal.”

  Keeping her eyes on the magnificent horses, she let out a small sigh. So he wasn’t coming on to her after all. He was merely one of the gallery employees looking to get a sale. Still, the painting would be perfect. She smiled up at Frankie.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Free…if you’ll have dinner with me tonight.”

  Rennie laughed. “I’ve seen the price tag, Mr. DiCarlo, and I can assure you my company at dinner would hardly be a fair exchange.”

  “Ah, but I know the artist,” he grinned and pointed to the signature.

  Rennie’s eyes widened in surprise. “You did this?”

  “Yes, and I would considered it an honor to give it to such a beautiful woman.”

  “In exchange for one evening,” she added.

  She had taken the painting with her and spent the afternoon in a dreamy haze. Frankie was handsome and charming and extremely talented as an artist. And weren’t artists considered more open-minded and accepting of things that were out of the norm? She’d had such high hopes that he would see she was just like any other woman. Well, almost anyway.

  She was still floating above the clouds as he drove her home from their date. They’d had a wonderful time and he seemed genuinely intrigued by her confession that she was psychic rather than repulsed by it, and she’d been delighted when he took her hand and asked her to try to pick up something about him.

  Rennie had honed in on a childhood fear of dogs that still lingered and a distant cousin who was killed in a drive-by shooting, but nothing else of any consequence. He’d been impressed by what she’d told him, but seemed highly amused that she hadn’t mentioned his two ex-wives.

  “I usually only pick up on things that have been extremely traumatic or caused a great deal of fear.”

  “Oh, they certainly scared the hell out of me,” he said with a laugh. As he walked Rennie to her front door, he asked if he could see her again.

  “I’d like that,” she’d said, her heart fluttering when he gently pulled her into his arms.

  And then Frankie DiCarlo kissed her. It was like taking a jolt from a live wire, and she’d jerked away, staring at him in horror.

  “Rennie, what’s wrong?” Frankie reached out for her, but she stumbled back, shaking her head.

  “You killed your own child,” she choked out.

  Frankie’s face darkened. “Are you crazy? I don’t even have a kid!”

  But Rennie had seen it all; the battered face of his wife, the pain, the fear, the vicious kick to her abdomen as she lay helpless on the ground. The horror of what he had done sickened her.

  “She was pregnant and you kicked her. You kept on kicking her until she was bleeding and unconscious and the baby…my God, how could you?”

  He glared at her with a sadistic twist to his lips. “You think I’m a monster? You think I’m some sort of freak? What about you, Rennie? What kind of freak are you to pick people’s brains and then pass judgment?”

  She had steered clear of men and dating ever since that night. Maybe it was wrong to even consider going out on a date again, but the thought of spending time alone with Mac Logan sent her heart racing. And Mac wasn’t anything like Frankie DiCarlo, of that she was certain.

  Rennie snapped off the lamp and then curled up on her side. In spite of all the horrible things that had happened tonight, she was smiling as she drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Ryan Stone leaned back in his chair with an I-told-you-so grin on his face. “So, O’Neal is the real thing. What made you go out and see her anyway instead of passing it off to Missing Persons?”

  Mac ignored his partner’s smug expression. “I’m not sure. I guess it caught me off guard when Janice handed me the sheet on Angel Starr and I had to see for myself what Rennie could do to find her.”

  Ryan arched a brow. “Rennie?”

  This time it was Mac’s turn to grin smugly. “You should have volunteered for this one, buddy. Rennie O’Neal is a very beautiful woman.” He proceeded to describe her to his partner.

  “Hmmm, maybe I should offer my services and do a follow up interview with her,” Ryan said.

  “As usual, you’re a day late and a dollar short. I’ve already asked her out to dinner tonight.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but he planned on calling her shortly, so it would be true soon enough.

  “Aren’t you a little concerned she may use her psychic ability to pick up on your deep rooted fear?”

  “What deep rooted fear would that be?”

  “The fear of commitment, of course.”

  Mac scowled. “I do not have commitment issues. I simply haven’t found a woman I care to spend a lot of time with.”

  “A lot of time,” Ryan repeated with a laugh. “Mac, you haven’t found a woman you want to spend more than one night with.”

  Mac had a feeling Rennie O’Neal would be the exception, but he didn’t dare voice that to Ryan. “I’m too busy to worry about a relationship. It’s too…exhausting.”

  Ryan stood up and headed for the door. “You
need to stop living and breathing for this job before you find yourself a lonely old man.” He stopped at the doorway and looked back at Mac. “I hope this O’Neal woman really is psychic. Maybe she can tell you why you’re so afraid of making a commitment.”

  “I am not afraid of commitments,” Mac snapped, but he was talking to thin air. Ryan had already made a hasty retreat.

  He sat at his desk for several minutes, stewing over what Ryan had said. So what if he’d never made an effort to have a real relationship before? It didn’t mean he was afraid of having one; he just didn’t care for the idea of being accountable to someone other than himself. Which made his attraction to Rennie a definite problem.

  He’d been drawn to her in a way he couldn’t explain and, for once, he was actually interested in knowing a woman, this woman, on something more than a physical level. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t lain awake last night conjuring up images of Rennie and how tantalizing she would look lying in his bed with her hair splayed out on his pillow like a golden halo. But his sexual desire for Rennie was secondary to his desire to know more about her. And that disturbed Mac a great deal.

  He wasn’t sure he was ready to jump into a relationship, and that is what he would be doing if he went out with Rennie O'Neal. She wasn’t the type of woman a man could spend one night with and then just walk away. Hell, he hadn’t even kissed her yet and his mind was consumed with thoughts of her. Mac raked his fingers through his hair irritably; he didn’t know anything about her and already she was complicating his life!

  This, he thought, was exactly why he didn’t allow himself to get involved with a woman. He didn’t want to worry about how she would react when he got called away in the middle of dinner or a movie or, heaven forbid, making love. Would she pout, get her feelings hurt, be angry? And sometimes, he was out all night investigating a crime scene. Would she understand or would she be upset when he had to cancel any plans they had made?

  Damn, he really wanted to see her tonight, but there was only one way to put her to the test. Mac picked up the phone and dialed Rennie’s number.

  ***

  Rennie answered the phone with a smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Detective Logan, I was just thinking about you.”

  “How…how did you know it was me?”

  “Don’t act so spooked,” she said with amusement. “I have caller I.D. on my phone.”

  Mac chuckled. “I guess I walked into that one. Listen, Rennie, I hate to do this to you but it looks like the case I’m working is going to keep me busy for the rest of the day and probably half the night.”

  She was disappointed but could hardly blame Mac. Obviously, tracking down a murderer was much more important than sharing a meal with a woman he barely knew.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Rennie said. “I’m sure crime doesn’t stop just so you can go on a date. Another time maybe?”

  Mac was floored. Double damn. Now he would have to spend the evening alone. He needed an out. “If it wraps up early, would you mind if I gave you a call?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, wincing at the breathless tone of her voice.

  “So how are you holding up after last night?”

  “I’m pretty resilient, I’ll be okay. How is she, Mac?”

  “Angel is already back home. And what do you mean, you’ll be okay? Aren’t you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, really,” she insisted.

  It was a bold faced lie. She felt like hell and the assault was still fresh on her mind. She’d stayed in the shower for nearly an hour trying to scrub the feel of that vile monster’s hands from her skin.

  “I won’t keep you from your work any longer,” she told Mac. “Call me if you get the chance. I’ll be home all evening.”

  After they hung up, Rennie made another pot of coffee. She’d slept well enough for the first few hours after Mac had gone, but had been plagued with nightmares for the rest of the night. She woke up feeling sluggish and disoriented and hadn’t felt human again until after she had taken a shower.

  Though she was no longer linked with Angel, she still felt the young woman’s pain. It was hard to let it go. Sometimes after a particularly emotional episode like this one, a blanket of darkness dominated her, lingering for days or even weeks. It was probably just as well Mac had to bow out on their date. She didn’t think she would have been very good company anyway.

  Rennie poured a cup of freshly brewed coffee and took it back to her study. She set the cup on the desk then went to the file cabinet, randomly selecting a few files and took them back to the desk. It didn’t really matter which file she chose; there were so many and the cases had long since gone cold.

  She smiled to herself, wondering what Mac would think about what she did for a living. Rennie could only imagine how shocked he would be to learn that nearly every precinct in the city utilized her services to assist in unsolved homicide cases. Of course, none of them would admit to it. People simply weren’t ready to accept that their tax dollars were used to pay for a psychic, no matter how many cases she had helped solve.

  Technically, she and Mac were in the same line of business, although she doubted he would see it that way. They were both committed to solving murders, of course, but she was at the mercy of whatever powers brought the images to her, whereas Mac relied on skill, experience, and instinct to bring a criminal to justice.

  She admired him for what he did, admired the inner strength it took to go to work each morning knowing he would have to face yet another day of grisly crime scenes. He was a good man, one who had a kind heart in spite of the atrocities he witnessed on a daily basis, and for the first time in her life, Rennie wanted to pursue a relationship with a man.

  Chapter 3

  With a regretful sigh, Rennie forced thoughts of Mac to the back of her mind and opened the first file. Normally, she wouldn’t risk her health working on a new case so soon after having her strength zapped from such a strong link with the victim, but she needed a distraction and working the files would certainly do the trick.

  Inside the file was a manila envelope containing the items she needed to help her make a connection; a photograph of the victim, a scrap of material cut from the clothing that was worn at the time of death, and a hair sample. There was a second manila envelope inside the folder, sealed per her instructions, but she didn’t bother to take it out. It contained all the details from the investigation and what evidence was found at the scene, but Rennie rarely opened it. She didn’t want any of the information they had gathered to cloud her own impressions of what happened.

  As she studied the picture of the elderly lady in the photograph, the familiar tingling in her fingers began. Within seconds, she could hear the woman’s light, musical laughter as she mixed the cake batter and chatted with her friend. Estelle. That was the woman’s name. She was a kind woman, giving to others in any way she could. The cake was for a church bazaar and it was only the first of several she intended to make that day. She never got the chance to finish any of them.

  Rennie set the picture aside and picked up the scrap of material. She placed it in the palm of her hand, curled her fingers around it and watched a hazy image of Estelle’s last minutes play out in her mind. The woman with her was much younger, but they enjoyed each other’s company and Estelle thought of her as a daughter. Linda. The last name was more elusive. Del something.

  Linda was apparently making pies because there were pie tins on the counter and she was cutting apples on a wooden block beside the sink. She had her back to Estelle and was chatting about something that made both women laugh. The knife, Rennie realized when she saw Linda brandish it through the air like a swashbuckling pirate. They were laughing about her using a butcher knife to cut up the apples.

  Rennie gasped and pitched forward, clutching at her chest as a sharp pain suddenly pierced her heart. Estelle opened her mouth and tried to tell Linda that something was terribly wrong, but the only sound that came out was a small gurgling noise that went unhe
ard by her chatty friend. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, splashing batter all over the floor.

  The pain was intense, blinding, and the bowl slipped from her hands. She took a few steps towards Linda, grateful that the loud clatter of the bowl had drawn the younger woman’s attention. The smile on Linda’s face faded. What’s wrong? Rennie heard her cry in distress. Estelle took another step and slipped on the spilled batter, her body lurching forward just as the heart attack she was having squeezed the last breathe from her lungs. Her lifeless body fell heavily into Linda, impaling itself on the butcher knife the younger woman held in her hand.

  Estelle was dead.

  Rennie felt the hollowness deep in her own soul. She never actually experienced the death itself, at least she didn’t think so. There was always just this...emptiness inside which told her the victim was gone. In this case, however, Estelle hadn’t really been a victim at all. Linda stared in horror at what she had done and panicked. After frantically wiping her fingerprints off the handle of the knife, she fled Estelle’s house.

  Rennie opened her hand and let the material drop onto the desk, drawing in several deep breaths of air to calm herself. She gulped down the rest of her coffee, grimacing at how cold it had grown, then pulled out a pen and paper and began to write. She hoped they could find Linda. The case was over six years old and the poor woman had to be carrying around an enormous amount of guilt. It would be a relief to know she hadn’t really killed Estelle.

  It wasn’t until Rennie finished jotting everything down that she realized how late it had gotten. In her mind, the scenes that reenacted themselves took only a few minutes to play out, but in reality she often lost as much as four hours before they finally faded and she came back to the real world. She rose wearily, intending to call it a night when the phone rang. Her stomach fluttered when a quick glance at the caller I.D. told her it was Mac.

  “I hope it’s not too late to call,” he said when she answered.

  “No, I was just doing a little work and was about to take a break anyway. I hope your evening hasn’t been too awful for you.”

  It had been agonizing actually, because he’d spent the hours after getting off work forcing himself not to pick up the phone and call her. He kept thinking about those beautiful blue eyes and how soft her hair had felt when he’d briefly touched it while brushing it off her face. He’d also remembered how intoxicating her scent had been and berated himself for wasting the evening when he could have been enjoying her company.