Through Her Touch (Mind's Eye Book 5)

by Deborah Camp

  “No, of course not. I had an early meeting and I needed to prepare for it. I had some blueprints and expense sheets to go over. That’s why I couldn’t meet your plane and had to send Wes. I was in that meeting. Tell me more about the conference. Did you get on all right with the other panelists?”

  “Yes.” She threw him a baffled glanced. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  “No, but sometimes you go into situations thinking you’re low woman on the totem pole. I was hoping you’d let them and everyone else in the room know that you’re the superior psychic in that bunch.”

  She sat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk and crossed her legs. His gaze went immediately to her knees and calves, so she swung her foot, flexing her muscles and giving him a show. He swallowed and his gaze bounced up to hers.

  “In some ways, you’re so predictable, Wolfe.”

  He smirked and stretched his neck against his starched shirt collar. He wore one of his new suits he’d had tailored at a Savile Row shop in London. Black with a thin chalk stripe, it was double breasted with a gunmetal gray vest. His tie, a gray and silver paisley, and matching pocket square were dashing, but not as much as the silver, black pearl-tipped tie bar, a recent gift from her, or his platinum wedding band with its vertical line of three, small, blue sapphires. She let her gaze drop and chided herself for putting off the inevitable.

  “Which is why I’m stalling here,” she said. “I know how you’re going to react when I tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” His brows dipped.

  “Chason Bolt was there.”

  She watched his jaw tighten and his dark blue eyes go black with rage. It was like watching the first eruptions of a volcano.

  “He wasn’t on the program.” His words were clipped, bitten off, one by one.

  “No. He came to the conference to talk to me.”

  Levi looked away from her and his chest rose and fell beneath the expensive material of his London suit. She remained quiet, letting him grapple with self-control, knowing he’d lose.

  “I’m going to beat the motherfucking shit out of him.” His voice was so cold that she shivered from it.

  “No. No, you’re not. It was nothing. Well, no, that’s not true. It was amusing.”

  His blue/black gaze swiveled to her. “What was?”

  “Him showing up like that and thinking he could impress me, nudge me over to his side.” She shook her finger at him, smiling, trying to cajole him into a slightly less dangerous mood. “Because, you’re right, there are sides to this. He wants to poke at you, rile you, get your goat. I don’t understand why, other than he’s an attention hog and he can’t stand anyone sharing his spotlight.” Since he was still seething, the muscles in his jawline ticking like a bomb about to go off, she adopted a calm demeanor and matched her tone to it. “He wanted to tell me that he was almost run over by someone in Chicago.”

  Levi drummed his fingers on his desk, his demeanor reminding her of a predator. Watching patiently, but ready to draw blood.

  “Someone in a small car with no tag tried to run him down in an alley in Chicago. He wanted my opinion about whether he should tell the police. I told him that he should.”

  “He hadn’t gone to the police.” A statement, not a question.

  “That’s right. He said he didn’t want to draw any more attention to the incident than was prudent. If word of it got out, the publicity might make him an even bigger target. That was his concern.”

  “Have you had any more visions from the killer? Did you sense any of that happening to him?”

  “No.”

  “Where did this meeting take place?”

  She gripped the chair arms in an attempt to prepare for the detonation. “He came to my hotel room.”

  Silence. Stone-cold, deadly silence. It was so quiet that Trudy could hear the faint tick tick of her wristwatch. Then a flurry of movement as Levi brought one fist down on the desktop, rattling the pens and decorative crystal ball there. He towered to his feet, his face flushed with fury.

  “Goddamnit! That slimy sonofabitch.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d shut her eyes until she forced them open. Levi swayed, his gaze darted left and right as if he were looking for something to destroy. He flexed his hands at his sides. An uncivilized beast wrapped in a civilized suit.

  “He knew that would piss you off, Levi. That’s why he did it. He asked around, finagled my room number out of someone, and just showed up. Remember when we were talking on the phone and someone knocked on the door? I thought it was Rita, the conference coordinator. It was him.” She shifted in the chair. “I handled it, Levi. You should be proud of me.”

  He cut her a dark glance. “Why did you open the door to him?”

  “Curiosity. I do find it interesting that someone tried to run him over.”

  “I find it a damn shame they were unsuccessful.”

  She had to smile at that. “I can’t decide if he was being totally truthful about the incident. The one thing that did ring absolutely true to me was that Sunshine Marmalade phoned him and warned him to be careful. Then Chason was almost run over.” She folded her arms against her chest.

  “Nice try.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Trying to veer away from my desire to rearrange Bolt’s face.” His voice was still dripping with icicles.

  “Look.” She stood and went around the desk to him. Easing her hands under his suit jacket, she pressed her palms to his sides. His shirt was silky soft. “He was showboating and I torpedoed him. He made some lame excuse about wanting to learn from me how to catch killers. I told him bluntly that I knew he was only trying to piss you off and that he needed to make tracks. He left with his tail between his legs.”

  “He wasn’t only trying to piss me off. He was trying to seduce you. Take you from me.”

  A harsh laugh burst past her lips. “As if.” She stared into his angry eyes, letting him see the truth of her love for him, her utter devotion. Gradually, the shadows dispersed and she was gazing into navy blues.

  His hands slid up her back of her dress and into her hair. “I hate that bastard.”

  “Go ahead and hate him. Just don’t take his bait. Supreme confidence in your woman’s love for you will pulverize him.” When he gathered some of her short hair between his fingers and gave a tug, a current of hot longing zipped through her core and settled between her thighs. “Kiss me.”

  He lowered his mouth slowly to hers, keeping his eyes on hers. He tipped her head to the angle he wanted before his lips heated hers and she closed her eyes. The throb between her legs intensified. He tasted of mints and coffee; candy with a bite. She pressed her body against his and caressed his shoulders under his suit coat. One of his hands let go of her hair, snaked down her body, hooked her knee, and hiked her leg up. He rubbed his erection against her, aiming for that burning, throbbing ache in her.

  She tore her mouth from his to draw in an unsteady breath. “Do you have any idea how hot you are in this suit?” Her fingers located his shirt collar and the tie bar. “And out of it?”

  He kissed her again, his tongue licking and teasing the corners of her mouth. He sucked on her upper lip and rubbed his lower body against hers. A flash of passion made ashes of her rational self. She forgot where she was and why she should care. Pushing back from him, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly before his hands closed over hers.

  “Baby, wait.”

  She shook her head, adamant. “We’ll be quiet.”

  “I can’t, Trudy.” He moved her hands aside and zipped up. A breathy chuckle rumbled in his throat when she sent him a scathing glare. “Baby, I really can’t. I have a meeting in about two minutes. In here. With five guys. Even though all I want to do is bury my aching dick inside your sweet, perfect body, I can’t.” He buckled his belt, then snagged a comb from his breast pocket and ran it through his black hair. She hadn’t realized that her hands had rearranged the carefully combed strands. He t
ucked the comb back where it belonged. “Am I wearing your lipstick now?”

  The smoking passion that had overtaken her dissipated enough for her to think again. She traced his lips with her fingers, taking her time, admiring the shape of them, the way they curved into a smile just for her. Her fingertips came away slightly peach colored. “Not anymore. That’s a rotten trick you just pulled. Turning me on and then turning me out. I’ll remember that.”

  He palmed her butt and gave it a squeeze. “You know there is nothing in this world I’d rather do than make love to you.”

  “Obviously, there is. Taking a meeting with five guys seems to be your preference.”

  “Don’t be that way,” he growled at her.” He cupped her face in one hand and kept his other planted on her rear. “I’m still going to loosen some of Bolt’s teeth.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes so far back that it unbalanced her. “I can’t get through that caveman head of yours, can I? There is nothing to fight him about! I’m yours. Done. Zippo. Over and out.”

  He caught her up in his arms, holding her tightly as she pretended to resist. “Stop. Be still.” When she surrendered, he touched his forehead to hers, staring deeply into her eyes. “I know you’re mine, okay? But when a man challenges me like that, I’m not going to ignore it. He has to answer for it.”

  “By fighting?”

  He glanced up, considering. “Depends on my mood. He better hope I’m having a good day the next time I see him.”

  She released her frustration in a half moan, half grunt and wiggled away from him. “Take your meeting. I’m going home to Mouse, my faithful, little dog that obeys me.” She slid past him, trying for a clean escape, but the flat of his hand connected smartly with her rump.

  “You’ll pay for that,” she flung over her shoulder.

  “Gladly. Hey, Tru! Congratulate Darla on your way out. You’re right. She’s pregnant.” He chuckled warmly at her shriek of delight.

  Chapter 9

  The dream ended as it had begun, with a jolt. Trudy sat up in bed, eyes wide open, her body humming like an electric transformer. She gripped the sheets, took gulping breaths, and waited for her heart to resume a more normal pace. The dream came back in bits and pieces. At first, she thought it was a repeat of the one about Glenn, but now she realized that the car ahead of her was different. Glenn’s car was small and dark colored. This was a white sedan, newer model. It’s narrow taillights glowed orangy-red when the driver applied the brakes.

  This wasn’t a twisty Ozark highway, either. She’d been driving on a straight Interstate with light traffic. But the driver . . . the driver was the same. Loud, metal music blasted from the sound system; more yelling than singing lyrics.

  The driver was happy, almost deliriously so with the game of roadway cat and mouse. Running right up to the rear of the white car, dropping back a little, then accelerating to the bumper again. The other driver tapped the brakes, signaling to end the bumper car routine.

  Am I psyching you out? Didn’t see this coming, did you? Some psychic you are!

  Their bumpers tapped again. The other driver swerved onto the shoulder, came back onto the highway, slowed down to forty-five.

  Want me to pass you? Uh-uh. I like it back here.

  The driver of the white sedan pulled onto the shoulder, slowed, and idled at a stop.

  Okay. I’ll play along. I can sit here right behind you. You can’t see me because the windows are tinted. You’ll have to get out of your car and walk back here. You brave enough for that?

  After another minute, the white car pulled out onto the Interstate again. Trudy felt the driver laugh as the game commenced. God, this was fun! Who would have thought it could be such a kick?

  Her car’s bumper advanced to within inches of the white car’s and stayed there. Amusement cavorted through her with the knowledge that the other driver had to be panicking. She could almost feel it, seeping from that car into hers. Suddenly, the brake lights flashed and the car swerved off the highway, taking a sharp exit.

  Damn it!

  That’s when the dream had ended and Trudy had found herself sitting up in bed, shaking, her hands fisted in the sheets. The mattress moved and Trudy looked over her shoulder at a sleeping Levi. He emitted a muffled noise and shifted onto his side, facing away from her.

  She lay back down and closed her eyes, going over and over the visions. Who had been in the white car? She hadn’t a clue. A psychic. Must have been. Had to have been. But which psychic? She tried to recall highway signs to give her an idea of where the cars had been, but she couldn’t remember seeing any. She’d been too focused on the car ahead and in traumatizing its driver. Was Chason in the white car? Was he really the next target? Should she try to call him or text him to see where he was, if he was on the road right this minute?

  Her intuition told her not to, that he wasn’t the target. Not tonight.

  An hour passed before her mind shifted to a lower gear, allowing her to drop into a dreamless sleep.

  The next day Trudy had waited for some word from someone about being bullied on the highway, but there had been nothing. No phone calls, texts, or other such messages. She’d told Levi about the vision and he’d assured her that the Eureka Springs psychics would let them know if they’d been in the white car. She hadn’t told Levi that she’d almost texted Chason last night to see if he’d been on the road. No use in poking an already touchy bear.

  By that evening when Levi had come home from work, she’d managed to put the whole episode behind her, lulling herself into believing that whoever was in the car was safe and not any of the ones they’d been with in Eureka Springs. Her day had been busy and boring. Levi had asked – insisted, really – that she take his place at a luncheon where plans were being made for a fundraising event at the Wren’s Nest, the Joel Chandler Harris House, for the Humane Society. Levi had been strong-arming her into taking over more charity and civic work from his calendar.

  While she could appreciate the good he was doing and she loved helping animals, she also felt woefully inadequate at such events, although she had to admit, they were getting easier for her. She’d even spoken up today to suggest an art exhibit featuring animals at the event. A percentage of the art sales would be donated to the Humane Society.

  Levi came into the kitchen. He’d already ditched his suit for jeans, black t-shirt, and bare feet. “Hey, sweet cheeks. What’s cooking?” His cool lips touched the nape of her neck.

  “Pasta primavera, thanks to Wes. I’m just warming it up. You’re late.” She glanced at him, wondering how he could look so freaking hot with no effort. Even his messed up hair, strands of it falling onto his forehead, was sexy.

  “Yeah. My meetings all went over today. How was the board luncheon?”

  “Okay. They served rubber chicken, unseasoned green beans, lumpy potatoes, and cold yeast rolls.”

  “They whipped up the good stuff, did they?” He reached around her to pluck a broccoli floret from the bowl she’d removed from the warming oven.

  “Oh, and sponge cake with some kind of watery chocolate poured over it.”

  “The pièce de résistance.” He said it with a perfect French accent and popped the broccoli into his mouth. Grabbing the two plates and cutlery she’d set out, he made his way to the dining table. “Was it that bad? I like most of the people on that committee.”

  “Yes, they’re all friendly. We exchanged dog and cat pictures.” She glanced down at Mouse, who was sitting on the floor and waiting for her to drop some food. She took pity on her and let a slice of carrot fall off the serving spoon. The Chihuahua gobbled it down as if it were filet mignon. “I made some suggestions they liked.”

  Levi sent her a quick smile. “Good for you! Why is it bad when I feed Mouse our food, but it’s okay when you do?”

  She ignored that, having no good answer for it. “Several of them asked about you. I explained that you’re ungodly busy and I agreed to step in for the time being.” She opened the oven and rem
oved a loaf of French bread, then carried it and the bowl of pasta to the table. “Nobody objected or seemed unhappy about it. Hey, what do you want to drink with this?”

  “Water is fine and let’s open a good bottle of wine, too.”

  “I will leave that up to you since it all tastes bitter to me.”

  He shook his head good-naturedly and jogged up the three steps to the elevated kitchen. Studying each of the eight bottles in the rack, he selected a red wine, opened it, and returned carrying a tray with the bottle, two wine goblets, and two glasses of iced water with lemon slices.

  “This is a 2007 Brachetto d’Acqui wine called Passione,” he said, pouring some into a glass and handing it to her. “Taste it. It’s sweet and fruity.”

  She took a sip and black cherry and grape flavors blossomed in her mouth. “Mmm. You know, that’s not half bad. Good choice.”

  “Thanks.” He poured some into his glass and then sat down. “I’d say I’m getting to be an expert in what kind of alcohol I can ply you with.”

  “As if you need to get me plastered before I’ll allow you to ravish me.” She chortled at that as she maneuvered a serving of the spaghetti, plum tomatoes, broccoli, sliced carrots, and lemon and capers sauce onto his plate.

  They dropped into silence for a few minutes as they savored the delicious dish Wes had created for them. Trudy sipped at the wine, but decided she still preferred water.

  “I was thinking that one night we might have Wes and Mya and Gonzo and Anna over for pizza. Maybe have a game night.”

  “A . . . a what?” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, giving her a quizzical glance.

  “You know, games. Like maybe we’d play Charades or Pictionary.”

  “Ummm . . .” He cleared his throat and his brows made a V between his eyes. “Why would we do that?”