скачать книгу бесплатно
If only Shauna had the right to try to ease his pain that way…
No. Not now.
She had to escape the emotional involvement that would swamp her if she stayed here.
Elayne was the first to back away. The pale, drawn skin of her face contrasted with her short mop of curly hair that was probably too dark to be natural for a woman in her late fifties. It had looked the same from the time Shauna had met her eight years ago. In fact, little had changed about Elayne’s appearance during the time they’d been friends, except for the multiplication of tiny lines radiating from the edges of her eyelids and the deepening of the creases framing her mouth.
“You belong in California, son,” she said, “looking for Andee.” She held his arms and looked up, studying him.
“I’m here just for a couple of hours, Mom, on a stopover between planes.” His sweeping gaze seemed equally concerned about his mother. “Meantime, I called my best operative, and he’s started our search for her. He’s already talked to Margo and the cops. I’ll jump in soon, but for now I came to see how you’re holding up.”
Maybe. But though he might not admit it, Shauna figured he was also there to see if she had information that could help him.
“I’ll survive,” Elayne said. “Shauna promised to stay with me until I heard again from you. I guess you don’t have any news.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She undoubtedly could read it in his stark expression as easily as Shauna could. “As long as you’re here, come in.” She turned her back and motioned for him to follow her toward the kitchen. “I’ve got steaks in the freezer. It won’t take me—”
“No need to feed me,” Hunter said. “A cup of coffee would be great.” He put one arm on his mother’s shoulder as he accompanied her down the hall.
Shauna remained in the entry, feeling so alone that tears welled in her eyes. She had once been close enough to both of them that she would have tagged along and gotten drinks for them in their own house. During that time in the past, Elayne had been like a mother to her, for Shauna had lost her own when she was very young.
Now, mother and son needed time together to deal with a situation that could have no happy ending. Shauna had suggested so in what she’d said to each of them.
Neither knew just how bad it was…
Help me, Daddy!
Damn. The tears she’d held back flowed down her cheeks. She reached into her pocket for a tissue and swiped them away, even as she pulled the front door open again. She had done what she had to. It was time to leave.
“Shauna?” Hunter’s voice stopped her. He filled the end of the hallway.
He still was such a good-looking man…
“Join us.” It wasn’t an invitation, but a command. “We need to talk.”
She owed him that, at least. Not that she could describe what had happened, at least not coherently. And she absolutely didn’t want to provide any details about the ending of the story she had written.
But she was a psychologist. Her practice was very limited, of course. She made her living from Fantasy Fare. But she had gotten her license, become a therapist, to help people in crisis.
To help a select group of patients. Patients selected for her, by her stories. Though she had been sought out by former school colleagues to join their practices, she never took them up on it.
She maintained her license for the counseling she did intensely, but as infrequently as possible, when her writing called for it—mostly to work with strangers whose stories had swept through her without warning.
She had craved that kind of help when Hunter had left seven years ago, and when, soon after, another story had spewed from her fingertips, a tale as unbidden as the ones that had driven him away. As unbidden as the one she had written today. As unbidden as so many of them…
In that one, her father had died of cancer.
She hadn’t been able to help Hunter before. Or her dad. Not even herself.
Now she had the resources to at least try to make it a little less agonizing for Hunter.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll talk.”
He stood still until she had passed him. After all this time, she was finally so close to Hunter that she could have touched him. Wanted to…but didn’t. He followed her down the hall. For an instant, panic throbbed through her. She felt trapped. She couldn’t get out.
But then they reached Elayne’s cheerful, bright kitchen. She had remodeled it since Shauna had last visited her. The painted cabinets along the wall had been replaced by light pine ones that didn’t quite reach the ceiling. Along their tops was a collection of antique pans. The new kitchen table was pine, too, with matching chairs on wheels pushed under it. The refrigerator was the same as before—a gold side-by-side.
On the new tile counter closest to the table, framed photographs, some of Hunter, were arranged in irregular rows. Nearest Shauna was a picture of an absolutely adorable cherub, a small girl with hair as dark as Hunter’s and as curly as Elayne’s. This had to be Andee. Her eyes were the same shade of green as her father’s and grandmother’s, too.
Shauna looked away quickly, her eyes dampening again. Her attention landed on Hunter. He was watching her. She turned away quickly, to help Elayne with their refreshments.
Soon all three sat at the table. The herbal tea Elayne and she had sipped earlier as they had talked had been refreshed several times, so Shauna opted to join Hunter in drinking fresh-brewed, strong coffee from large mugs.
And mother and son, black haired and with symmetrical facial features that resembled each other, trained similar emerald eyes on Shauna.
She looked back. Waited. Made herself remember every iota of her training as a psychologist. Compassion, yes.
But also detachment. Distance.
Please…
“Tell me more about this story you called me about,” Hunter commanded.
“All right,” Shauna began. “It came unexpectedly.” She watched those brilliant green eyes study her critically. Otherwise, he seemed emotionless. Cool.
Cold.
“They’re always unexpected, aren’t they?” Elayne asked. “This kind of story.”
“Pretty much so,” Shauna acknowledged, looking at her friend’s pale face instead of at Hunter.
Elayne, at least, believed in Shauna, for they had first met when a story had, long ago, caused Shauna to contact Phoenix’s Human Services Department. Elayne, a social worker, had been Shauna’s contact, and her kindness and curiosity had led Shauna to let down her guard and reveal—accidentally—the source of her knowledge about domestic violence in a child’s home.
Which was what had made it particularly hard to call Hunter’s mother today. Shauna hadn’t divulged the story’s contents over the phone but had come right over to be with Elayne. To stay with her.
To get Hunter’s current phone number from her so she could call him, for she alone had to be the one to relay this horrible news to him.
Even though she knew full well, because of the way he had acted in the past, that he wouldn’t buy it. Or at least he wouldn’t want to.
“Where were you when this story came to you?” Elayne asked.
“Better yet, why don’t you just tell us what it said?” Hunter’s arms were folded as he sat back on his chair. His blunt chin was raised belligerently. Talk about expressive body language. Shauna sighed inwardly. Sure, he would listen to her, but he would fight any belief in what she said with all his innate stubbornness. That, apparently, had not changed.
Trying for therapeutic distance, Shauna briefly responded to Elayne’s question first, needing to work into the rest. She explained that she’d sat down at her computer fully expecting—hoping—to write something especially for one of the kids who frequented the story time at her family restaurant, Fantasy Fare.
Instead, that hellish narrative had spewed from her fingers.
Looking unwaveringly into Hunter’s skeptical stare, she finally responded to his demand. She described the story but only sketchily.
“I realized at once who the kidnapped child was,” she finished, “and knew I had to notify you.”
“The story said she was my child?”
“Not exactly.” She had kept up with what was happening in Hunter’s life in a manner she did not want to mention, so she didn’t explain how she knew who Andee was. Instead, she asked questions for which she already knew the answer. Otherwise, why would Hunter have come here? “Hunter, have you called whoever’s supposed to be watching your daughter in L.A.? Maybe this story is wrong.” From experience, though, she knew better. “Do you know where she is?”
His strong features went as blank as if he had suddenly turned to stone. “She was with her mother. We’re divorced. I have primary physical custody, but Margo watches Andee when I travel. And yes, I’ve spoken with Margo.” His tone sounded bleak. “But no, I don’t know where Andee is.” He paused as if marshaling his internal forces, then demanded, “Is there anything helpful in your story, like something to identify the kidnapper?”
“There’s one thing,” she said slowly, rehashing the narrative in her mind. “The person—a man—thinks of himself as ‘Big T.’”
“That’s all?” Hunter sounded scornful. Damn, but his scorn, the same derision he had leveled on her just before he had exited her life for what she had believed would be forever, still had the power to wound her. “It’s got to be a pretty short story. I want to see it.”
“No, you don’t,” she replied quietly.
She hadn’t intended to injure him by a thrust of her own, but pain briefly shadowed his face, and Elayne’s, too.
“Shauna, don’t you think—?” Elayne murmured.
Her son interrupted. “Did you arrange to have Andee taken so you could impress me, after all this time, by proving one of your damned stories was coming true?”
Shauna’s sudden intake of breath was echoed by Elayne’s gasp. Another direct hit, right to her gut.
Similar accusations had been hurled at her by strangers when she issued warnings about other situations she had written about. She was a psychologist. She understood that people lashed out in fear and hurt. She had remained calm and soothing and understanding.
But seven years had passed since her last confrontation with Hunter. Seven years, two months, and—
Enough.
She stood. “Why on earth would I? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt a child. Or you, for that matter. Not now. And certainly not Elayne.” Hunter opened his mouth as if ready to interrupt, but she pressed forward, not letting him. “I know you didn’t believe in my stories years ago, and what I did at the end wouldn’t exactly encourage you to trust me. But I didn’t set out to write a story that’d come true this time, any more than I did then. I never do. This one involved you and your daughter, so I had to let you know. That’s all. Except that I’m very, very sorry.”
Hunter also rose. “Hell, me too. I was out of line.” He shook his head slowly. “I only wish the solution was that easy. If you took my daughter, I could just ask you to give her back.” The anguished smile he gave Shauna nearly broke her heart.
“You know I would if I could,” she responded softly, her voice hoarse with the moisture she held back. She turned away. Elayne, too, was standing, and tears flowed down the older woman’s cheeks. “I’ll leave, now that you won’t be alone,” Shauna told her. “If it’s not too hard for you, I’d like to keep in touch so I can learn how things turn out. And if there’s anything I can do—”
“There is,” Hunter interrupted. “Let me read your story.”
“Hunter, I’m not sure you—”
He didn’t let her speak. “You asked what you can do. Well, that’s the only thing you can do. Let me read it, Shauna. If it’s as you’ve always said, something that comes to you from the emotions of the participants, maybe it’ll have something to help me find my daughter. Let me see it now, so I can get on my way to L.A.”
Chapter 2
Shauna had argued with him, of course. Hunter, expecting it, hadn’t budged. He’d won. His mother had understood and said she’d had a bridge game planned with friends that evening. Not that she’d play, but at least she wouldn’t be by herself. She had encouraged them both to leave.
Hunter was so antsy to get on his way to L.A. that he ground his teeth together in frustration. Still he followed Shauna, in his rental car, along the streets of Oasis toward her home.
In the old days, he had enjoyed arguing with her. Shouts had led to surrender. Surrender had led to—
Damn. This was the present. His daughter’s life was in danger. That, and only that, was his focus.
Shauna had even tried to convince him that, for his own good, he should just trust her. She’d told him she’d written the damned story and had given him the only possible clue in it. Wasn’t that enough?
Hardly. She might be a professional shrink now—his mother had let that slip a few years ago—but he was the professional investigator. Shauna might have overlooked something that could lead to his daughter.
Except…others on the force had believed wholeheartedly in Shauna’s stories when Hunter was with the Phoenix Police Department. And sometimes even he couldn’t discount them entirely.
But Andee was all right. She had to be.
Hunter pounded one fist on the steering wheel of his rented sedan, then twisted it to follow Shauna’s little blue sports model down a street on the outskirts of town. She turned into a driveway, and he pulled in behind her.
Nice house. One story, not very big, but pretty. It was the obligatory Arizona earth-tone color, but brighter in shade than customary, almost red, like rich clay.
The garage door opened automatically, and Shauna pulled in. He parked outside and grabbed his cell phone for one more call.
“Simon? What’s happening?” Simon Wells, a Rolls-Royce of a British import, was Hunter’s second-in-command at Strahm Solutions, his P.I. agency. Hunter had called him first thing when he’d learned about Andee, got him started doing all the things he’d do himself if he was in L.A. His complete trust in Simon was the only reason he’d been able to convince himself to indulge in this delay.
“Nothing new yet,” Simon replied in his unabashedly English accent. “Soon, though. Banger’s on his way.” Strahm Solutions had developed an excellent working relationship with Los Angeles Police Detective Arthur Banner, whose nickname, perversely, was “Banger.” Straitlaced and all cop, he was the furthest thing imaginable from a gangbanger, though his nickname was also used to refer to those street toughs.
“He’s from LAPD’s West Bureau,” Hunter pointed out. “You sure he can deal with this? Margo’s place is in Sunland. That’s Valley Bureau. Foothill Division, I think.”
“You know Banger. He’ll figure it out. He understands this is high priority and low profile, so he’s called one of the best FBI agents he knows. A rare one who’s discreet. So far, the press hasn’t gotten wind of what’s happened. Where are you?”
Hunter told him. “I’ll be here for another hour or so, then grab a flight back to L.A.” A thousand instructions slammed through his head, but he left them there. Simon was smart. He worked well with minimal direction, and the others on Hunter’s staff at Strahm Solutions knew to listen to him.
“Good. I’ll let you know if I learn anything more in the meantime.”
“Thanks.” Pushing the flap down on his cell phone to hang up, Hunter looked toward the garage. Shauna had exited her car and stood beside a door that opened into the house. Slender and poised and utterly sexy, she was watching him. Warily. As if she expected him to pounce on her the moment they got inside.
Didn’t he just wish…?
Instead, he got out of the car, cursing himself silently for still wanting her. Cursing her. For looking so good. For inciting ideas inside him that he had no business feeling.
She stirred him still, as no woman had. Not even Margo. He wanted Shauna.
Was there some other way that Shauna had really known something had happened to Andee? So much about her stories had always seemed true, too much to be coincidental. Yet he’d always prided himself on being a realist, had never wanted to buy in to the idea.
Yeah? Well, if he hadn’t bought in to it, why was he here, when what he really wanted was to be home, looking for his daughter?
He closed the car door and hurried toward Shauna. He’d accused her earlier of having something to do with the kidnapping. That had just been his anxiety lashing out, and they’d all known it. Apologies didn’t come easily to him, but he’d owed it to her.
Years ago, though, he wouldn’t have put such a terrible hoax past her, not if it would have gotten him to admit that she had the power to write stories, out of the blue, that came true. She’d always been upset when he didn’t believe her.
And maybe if he had been more accepting, he’d still be living here in Oasis, his job with the Phoenix Police Department intact.
“Were you talking to someone in L.A.?” she asked when he drew near her. Her scent was much as he remembered it. Something too soft to be exotic, too spicy to be sweet and feminine. But very appealing. It suited the mystery of her.
“Yes,” he said. “My assistant, Simon. He’s with my ex-wife, trying to get better information. So far, there’s nothing of use.” He let his tone turn scornful. “Your story’s as likely to tell me something helpful as Margo is.”
Shauna’s eyes blazed, but only for an instant. Saying nothing, she led him inside.
They entered the house through her kitchen. It was a lot smaller than his mother’s. A lot more like a small, homey forest. Shauna had plants everywhere—on her tiny kitchen table, along her gold-tile counters, even on top of the refrigerator. A few had flowers. Most were simply large and leafy and green. The place smelled more like a garden than a kitchen.
