Through Her Heart (Mind's Eye Book 6)

by Deborah Camp

  She eyed him. “With Christopher Reeve? You’ve seen it before, right?”

  “No, but I want to.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already watched this one.” As she said it, she realized why he hadn’t seen it. The movie was made years before he was even born. Lord, suddenly she felt ancient! Of course, come to think of it, she’d seen it the first time on television, so it was probably made before she was born, too!

  As the movie started, Stuart lifted the lid off of a crystal candy dish and grabbed some M&Ms.

  “Hey, go easy on those,” Trudy cautioned, then slapped her thighs in a moment of determination, “What we need is popcorn and root beer.”

  “Yeah!” Stuart agreed, bouncing on the couch cushions,

  “Okay, buddy. I’m on it.” Trudy left him watching the beginnings of the movie while she placed a bag of kernels into the microwave and grabbed a couple of cans of root beer from the refrigerator. As she waited for the corn to pop, she thought about peeking into the living room to see what Levi and his “guest” were doing.

  She wouldn’t. She would not. Oh hell, she would. She marched in just in time to see the back of Sissy’s tight, hot pink dress before the front door closed. Levi spun around to face her, one brow arching, his eyes asking her What gives?

  “What did she want?”

  “She heard about us being foster parents.” He shrugged. “I guess she wanted to confirm that it was true. And she wants me to be on her show Friday.”

  “Who told her about Stuart, I wonder?”

  “Word gets around.” He spread a hand across his chest. “It wasn’t me.” He studied her and his mouth tipped up at the corners. “You don’t like her.”

  “I will never, ever like her.”

  “Trudy—.”

  “Don’t Trudy me, Levi.” She held up her hands, palms out, and ducked her head. “Just don’t. Not about her.” Pivoting away from his startled expression, she went back to the kitchen for the popcorn. The small explosions were diminishing. “We’re watching a movie!” she called out to him as the microwave switched off.

  “I know.”

  She jumped, startled that he was already behind her. “You want a root beer?”

  “Yes.” He caught her around the waist. “You want to tell me why you dislike Sissy so much? Can’t be because we used to do the dirty mambo.”

  “I don’t like the way she looks at me and I especially don’t like the way she looks at you.” She shook her head and flattened her hand against his chest, giving him a little push. “Let’s not talk about her.” She lowered her voice. “Stuart had a fright. He thought he saw a man . . . a bald man . . . who reminded him of that night.”

  “Reminded him . . .” His brows shot up. “He saw the killer?”

  “I think so.” She pressed her fingertips against his lips. “Let’s watch the movie with him and I’ll talk to you about it later. Okay? I don’t want to stir things up again before he goes to bed.”

  He kissed the pads of her fingers before she drew them away. “Good plan. What is the feature tonight?”

  “Superman. The old one with Christopher Reeve.”

  “Hey, watch what you’re calling ‘old.’”

  She giggled, then squealed when he slapped her backside. “You’re going to get it, buster.”

  “No, baby, you’re going to get it.” He winked as he thrust his pelvis at her, prompting a roll of her eyes. “And you’re going to fucking love it.”

  Chapter 9

  Flipping through her email and calendar on her tablet, Trudy didn’t have to look away from it to know when Levi entered the bedroom. Her heart gave a little kick and the room seemed to grow a degree warmer. If those weren’t symbols of soul-deep love, she didn’t know what were.

  “Stuart looks up to you. He feels safe with you.” She felt the bed shift when he sat down. “Tonight when he was frightened by the memories of that night, he wanted you.” She lifted her gaze from the screen to his dubious expression. “No, it’s true. He wanted to hurry back to the apartment and find you.”

  He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, shaking his head fractionally. “That makes no sense to me.”

  “You’re as close to a superhero as he has, I guess.” That earned her a scoffing laugh. “He was looking down at the crowd around the Ferris wheel and he spotted a bald man. He went as white as a ghost and trembled. He said he thought it was the man from that night, but he was wrong. When I asked him to tell me more, he backpedaled and said he didn’t see anyone and he didn’t know anything.” She closed the notebook and set it on the bedside table. “I think you could get him to open up if you talked to him about it. He trusts you.”

  “He trusts you, too.” He stripped off his shirt.

  “Some, yes. But he’s really taken to you, Levi. You thought you’d have difficulty relating to a child. You were so wrong. You should question him. Get him to open up.”

  He balled up his shirt and sent it sailing across the room to land in one of the arm chairs near the windows. She stared pointedly at his discarded shirt and bit back her recrimination. The man simply refused to put his clothes in the closet hamper!

  “That’s not what we’re supposed to be doing with Stuart. Dr. McClain will deal with his trauma.”

  “Stuart is our responsibility now, Levi. That changes the game plan.”

  “Says who?” He stretched out on his side and propped his head in his hand. “I haven’t received any new instructions from Althea. Have you?”

  She mirrored his position in bed, facing him. “No, but it stands to reason. Everyone wants Stuart to tell what he knows about that night. It’s in his best interest. So, if you can get him to talk about it, you should do it.”

  “What else did he have to say?”

  “First, he said the man that night was bald and then he said he didn’t see him or anything else.” She followed the outline of a cream paisley print in the sheet. “But he did see someone. I’m certain of it now.”

  He covered her hand with his. “I’ll discuss this with Althea and see if she thinks it would be a good idea for me to question Stuart about what he might have witnessed.”

  She fell onto her back. They were quiet for a few minutes. Her mind drifted from Stuart to her upcoming appointments. “Hey, I noticed that we have a charity cocktail party and concert of some kind coming up soon. Should I ask if Mya and Wes could watch Stuart that evening?”

  “Good idea. Maybe he could spend the night there and Wes could drop him back here the next day. It’s on a Sunday night, right?”

  “Right. I’ll run it by Mya. Which charity is the concert benefiting?”

  “The Atlanta Symphony.”

  She gave him the side-eye. “I suppose we have season tickets to that, too, that I never knew about.”

  He chuckled. “We do. I’m sorry. I should have mentioned it before. We have season tickets to the symphony, the opera, the ballet, the whole shooting match.”

  “You are quite the arts patron, aren’t you?”

  “I am. People appreciate receiving tickets to events like that. They come in handy for the business.”

  “But you never attend any of them?”

  “I’ve been known to, occasionally.” He ran a fingertip down her arm, shoulder to wrist. “Sometimes I’d take a lady friend to one. Any time you want to go, say the word. I’m at your command, sweetheart.”

  She started to comment, but pressure behind her eyelids gave her pause. Reaching out, she blindly grasped his arm as her stomach lurched and a dark curtain lowered in her mind.

  “Levi . . . it’s . . . I’m . . . he’s . . .” Her tongue pressed up against the roof of her mouth, cutting the stumbling words. In her mind’s eye, she stared at a charming bungalow that reminded her of the house where she’d lived in Tulsa. The porch light was on, illuminating a couple of chairs and some flower pots.

  Like a veil lifting from her face, her vision sharpened and she was no longer herself. Her muscles tensed as she crouc
hed behind a car in the driveway and listened to her pulse boom in her ears. Keeping low, she crept along the driveway to the two-car garage and backyard gate. Still unlocked. Good. Opening the wooden gate, she glimpsed her hand. Gloved hand. Black cloth glove. She scanned the dark yard. No dogs. No noise. Her . . . no, his rubber soled shoes squashed brown grass noiselessly as he moved to the storm door. A flimsy thing, at best. He slipped the tip of a tire iron between the metal door and facing, near the latch, and gave it a quick, purposeful wrench. Metal screeched for a moment as the lock popped open. A dog barked in the distance. Half a minute ticked by as he waited to hear any movement inside the house, but all was quiet after the dog shut its trap.

  A smile flitted across his lips. Propping the tire iron against the outside wall, he opened the storm door and entered the enclosed back porch. In two steps he’d reached the interior door leading into the house. As he grasped the door knob, he held his breath and hoped it would be unlocked as usual. The knob turned and he pushed open the door on hinges that he’d oiled himself. There weren’t any security alarms to worry about. Just one of those doorbell camera things at the front of the house and he’d been careful to stay out of its range.

  God, he loved it when a plan came together!

  Walking quietly, he traversed the kitchen and dining room. In the living room, he went to the fireplace and gazed up at the painting above it of an English hunting scene. He removed a slender flashlight from his jeans pocket, switched it on, and placed it between his lips to keep his hands free. Gripping the corner of the gold frame, he tugged and it swung away from the wall on silent hinges. Behind it was the safe. He had no clue what might be in there, but he knew the combination. He pressed the correct numbers on the panel.

  12, 50, 18. 3.

  A soft click and he opened the safe. The thin, bright light illuminated the interior. He removed a stack of papers and glanced through them. House deed, car titles, insurance policies, and passports. His fingers closed on a small, velvet pouch, its contents heavy. Inside it, he found twenty silver dollars and a few other coins he didn’t recognize. He examined a jewelry case that housed a diamond and ruby necklace and earrings. Two impressive stacks of money were at the back of the safe. He flipped through them. Hundred dollar bills, mostly. Probably around ten thousand.

  Not bad. He’d figured that they were the type to keep some mad money around.

  He yanked a cloth pouch from his pocket, shook it out, and stuffed the money, the jewelry, and the silver dollars into it. Then he closed the safe and swung the painting back into place. The creak of bed springs set his teeth on edge. He froze and strained to hear the slightest of sounds as he reached behind him to grip the handle of the gun tucked in his waistband.

  Part of him hoped the preppy bastard would walk in so that he could fire. Visions of that other house flashed in his mind like film segments. The woman’s startled expression before he shot her. The man starting to spring from bed, but then falling back as a faint mist of blood lifted from his chest and dribbled from the hole in his throat. A surge of power filled him and he tightened his grip on the gun and curled his finger around the trigger.

  Come on, asshole. I’m ready for you.

  This guy was younger than that other one. Him and his snooty, live-in girlfriend were probably in their mid-twenties. He was a loan officer and she was a flight attendant. They both thought they were filet mignon and he was a Spam burger. But he knew how to cut them down to size. He grinned, pointed the gun at the hall doorway, and hoped to hell Robby Junior showed his face so he could blow a hole in it. She’d be next. No kid to worry about this time, either.

  Disappointment filtered through him when he heard nothing more from the bedroom. A ticking clock somewhere gobbled up a minute before he shoved the gun back into his waistband and let himself outside again. He grabbed the tire iron and walked down the driveway and away from the house. He’d parked two blocks away. Under a streetlight, he paused to check the time on his wristwatch. Twelve-thirty-three. That whole job had taken him no more than fifteen minutes.

  “Nice work,” he whispered under his breath, then chuckled as he hoisted the sack in his palm. A down payment on a Jaguar or a trip to a Mexican resort. Hell, maybe both!

  His long legs ate up the sidewalk until he reached his truck. White. Chevy. Gray interior. A rip in the front passenger seat. A Confederate flag sticker on the dashboard. He switched on the radio and a country song poured out of it. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, he grinned and glanced in the rearview mirror at the empty street behind him. Perfect. Just perfect.

  Running a hand over his short, blond hair, he winked at his reflection and his teeth flashed in the dark interior. Damn, he was good. Robby Junior didn’t know it, but he was one lucky motherfucker this evening. If he’d showed his face, he would have had it blown off, goddamnit! Blown the fuck off. He laughed, throwing back his head, and enjoying himself as his adrenalin spiked again. He needed a beer and a pussy . . . that’s what he needed!

  The veil, black as night, covered her eyes again, blocking everything for a few seconds before the lights exploded behind her eyes. The world righted itself. Trudy realized that her eyes were tightly shut. When she forced them open, they focused on Levi. He sat on the bed in front of her and held her hands. Hers were ice cold. His were warm.

  “Are you back with me, Tru?”

  She nodded and cleared her throat. “He robbed a house just now.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “A little. It’s dark out.” She glanced toward the windows. “No moon and cloudy.”

  “No violence?”

  “No. The couple he robbed never woke up. Thank God.” She shivered. “He was hoping they would so that he could kill them.” Ice formed on her heart. “They didn’t have children. He thought about that. How they didn’t have a kid he had to worry about.” She squeezed Levi’s hands. “I think he’d kill Stuart if he could find him.”

  “Shhhh.” He slipped one hand free and cupped the back of her head, bringing her closer so that he could kiss her temple and hug her against him. “What did he take?”

  “Money. They had money and a necklace in a safe. He knew where the safe was and he knew the combination.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. He must have worked in the house. He oiled the hinges on the door so that they wouldn’t squeak when he opened the back door.” She fell back on the bed, feeling queasy. “He called the man ‘Robby Junior.’ He knew that the home owner is a loan officer and his live-in girlfriend is a flight attendant.”

  “Damn. You think he’s friends with them?”

  “No. He doesn’t like them. He thinks they’re snobby. That’s a thing with him. He feels that people look down at him and that infuriates him.” She massaged her temples again and went back over what she’d seen. “He’s driving a white Chevy pickup. An older model. There is a tear in the passenger side of the seat and a Confederate flag sticker on the dashboard. The interior was gray, I think. He has short hair. Light colored. He isn’t a big man, but he’s strong.”

  “Way to go, babe!”

  She opened her eyes to see Levi’s smile, which made her feel ridiculously proud. “The couple lives in a house that looks a lot like mine in Tulsa. A bungalow with a two-car garage.”

  “And he just broke in the back of it?”

  She nodded. “He’s obviously been there enough to know where the safe was and its combination and that he didn’t have to worry about tripping an alarm.”

  “Myers will be thrilled to get this report from you. They’re stymied.”

  “It should be relatively easy for them to locate the couple. Should I call him now or send him a text? An email?”

  “Text him. Let him know that you witnessed the guy breaking into a house just now.” He reached across her and grabbed her notebook off the bedside table. “Go ahead.”

  She opened the notebook and sent the detective a text. “I’m worried about Stuart. That man thought o
f him again tonight. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to find out where Stuart is so that he could threaten him or worse.” She closed the notebook and set it aside.

  “Don’t get all worked up over this. Stuart is safe.”

  “For now.”

  “He’s safe.” He brushed her hair off her forehead and his expression softened to tenderness. “I’ll have a talk with Althea tomorrow, I promise. Okay?”

  She nodded and sighed when his arms closed around her. She snuggled closer to him, breathing in the lingering scent of his aftershave. Her cellphone came to life on the table and she glanced at Levi, getting his answering nod. “That has to be Myers.” The caller ID confirmed it as she took the call. “Hi, I’m glad you got my text. I’ve had a most interesting evening . . .”

  Whatever progress the police were making after the information she’d imparted about the robbery wasn’t being shared. Dismayed, Trudy stared at the text she’d received two days ago from Bill Myers.

  No such robbery has been reported yet. We’re still checking into it. Hang in there.

  The couple probably didn’t know they’d been robbed. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed that their back door had been jimmied open. One winter she’d had her bike stolen from the garage and hadn’t even realized it until spring when she’d decided to take a ride on it. So, it was entirely possible that the victims wouldn’t even know things were missing in their safe until they needed something out of it or when they saw the damage to their back door.

  She’d told Myers that the robber had referred to the owner as Robby Junior and the couple’s occupations. That should narrow the search considerably. New leads would emerge soon, she told herself.

  Sitting in her car in the driveway of what was destined to be her new home, Trudy made herself think about the happy side of her life rather than its opposite. She expected the real estate agent any minute with a report from the exterminator and the structural engineer who had been hired to inspect the property.

  Gennie Germaine’s white Lexus pulled up behind the black sedan, driven by Lora Gleason, Trudy’s current security guard. Lora emerged from the car and nodded as Gennie glanced curiously at her before waving at Trudy.