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It struck her that he sounded certain he’d reached her. He’d done that last night, too. She glanced at the clock. It was barely noon.
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
“I can call back later.”
“It’s okay. What can I do for you?” She pushed Spike off her foot. He gave her the stink eye then headed back to sleep. She stretched and rolled her shoulders, the headed downstairs for coffee.
“I wanted to ask you about Kirlian photography. It takes pictures of auras.”
She started to make coffee. “It’s bunk. All it takes pictures of are water molecules reacting to an electrical charge.” She scooped an extra spoonful of coffee into the filter. She hadn’t gone to bed until five this morning. “Dallas has collected a lot of research about auras and aural photography. Anything you want to know about the subject is on the Web site.” She started the coffee brewing and yawned. “Why are you asking about Kirlian photography?”
“I caught part of a TV show about psychic healers. It mentioned Kirlian and I was wondering about it.”
There were millions of Web sites on the Internet with information about aural photography. Buck didn’t need to ask her about it. She had to admit it was much nicer to wake up to Buck’s warm voice than it was to hear about her sister’s latest haunted treasure or to get a call from a panicky client with lost receipts or a bounced check.
“I’d look it up on the Internet,” he said, “but my laptop is an antique and the connection is so slow it drives me crazy.”
She opened the pantry door and studied the contents.
“Or I’d go to the library, but I’m working. Do you mind me asking questions?”
A crash made her jump and she almost dropped the phone. At the sight of the coffee can on the floor and coffee spilled everywhere her jaw dropped. “That damned cat!”
“What happened?”
“Spike just knocked a whole can of coffee on the floor. I hate that cat sometimes.” She stood on tiptoe, trying to see over the breakfast counter. Spike had disappeared. The coward. “I have to clean up this mess. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.” He sounded uncertain. “Later.”
She set the phone on the counter and cursing the cat, began sweeping up the mess. She’d opened the can only two days ago. Ten dollars down the drain. Spike was darned lucky she’d already started a pot brewing, or he’d have to face her caffeine-deprived wrath.
By the time she had the kitchen floor cleaned, Spike still hadn’t shown up. Usually he took great pleasure in watching her clean up his messes. She began to worry that maybe the coffee can had struck him and he was hurt. She went looking for him.
Sound asleep, Spike lay curled in the same spot he’d been in when she got out of bed.
B UCK PARKED THE PATROL CAR in the space next to the little red Subaru. He got out and watched Desi crossing the parking lot. She lugged a box of paper. She frowned at his approach, but willingly allowed him to take the heavy box. She pointed a remote at the Subaru and popped open the trunk. She looked him up and down, taking in the uniform.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, and stepped aside so he could put the box in the trunk.
He pointed at Garden of the Gods Road. “This is my beat. I made my quota of speeding tickets, so thought I’d take a break and say hi.”
He sensed a shimmer of energy around Desi. The entity felt female, motherly, and he got the distinct impression she noticed him. It would be easy to make contact. Easy that is, if the entity weren’t attached to Desi Hollyhock.
“How…?” She looked around the parking lot of the office supply store. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He’d stopped worrying about the source of his knowing a long time ago. “I was cutting through the parking lot and saw you come out of the store.”
She closed the trunk, her face wary. “And you just happened to park right next to my car?”
He shrugged. He listened to a call from dispatch coming through the radio earpiece. Nobody needed him. “Your license plate number.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s a gift.”
“A psychic gift?”
“Only if all cops are psychic. We tend to notice license plates.”
She wore a black peacoat and a cream-colored knit cap. Her cheeks were pink with cold and her eyes were bright, the bluest blue he’d ever seen. They rivaled the winter sky. She was so pretty, he could stand here and look at her all day.
“What a coincidence,” she said. “Especially since I don’t usually shop at this store. They’re having a big sale. If you need computer paper, now’s the time to get it. Can I ask you a question? What do the people you work with think about your abilities?”
“Do you admit I have abilities?”
She smiled. “No.”
“I don’t tell them.”
She looked surprised. “Huh.”
“You don’t want to know what cops really think about mediums. Every time there’s a big crime, especially a murder or missing child, 911 is flooded with calls from people who’ve had visions and dreams.”
“I see.”
“I wish I did. See, that is.” He hunched deeper into his coat against the cold. “I figured out I’m a freak a long time ago. Different. I still don’t know what it means. I still don’t know why me and not everybody. I spent a lot of years trying to hide from it.”
He sensed her uncertainty, read it in her expressive eyes.
“I’ve done some good with it, helped some people. Some bad things have happened, too. Rampart looks like a good opportunity to figure myself out. Maybe if I know what I’m doing, I can do something useful.”
“Get your own television show?”
“Ouch.”
She folded her arms. In the busy parking lot pedestrians and people in cars stared. A cop and a civilian always drew curiosity.
“Okay,” she said. “Just so we’re straight. I’ve run across a lot of so-called psychics, mediums, fortune-tellers, channelers and even a few telepaths. I consider every single one flat-out evil. They exploit the grieving, greedy and just plain dumb. I admit that Rampart has collected some really good evidence about the paranormal. I’ve seen a lot of things that can’t be explained and I’m willing to accept that there may be something out there. What I have never seen is evidence of any type, under any circumstances, that anybody can communicate with the dead.”
She was honest about her feelings. He liked that about her.
“Fair enough. So tell me, if I promise to not talk about my adventures with dead relatives, will you go out to dinner with me?”
He liked her open surprise, too.
A call came over the radio. Dispatch wanted his location. He thumbed the radio transmitter clipped to his shoulder and responded. A business reported a break-in.
“I have to go. I’ll call you.”
“Okay.”
As he pulled out of the parking lot he watched her. With her head cocked and wearing a bemused smile, she watched him. She definitely liked him, even if she didn’t realize it yet. Sometimes, he thought with a chuckle, knowing things came in handy.
Chapter Four
Wishing her town house had an attached garage, Desi lugged the heavy box of paper toward her house. At least, the weather had been dry and she didn’t have to fight ice and snow piles to get from her car to the front door.
Her next-door neighbor came outside, spotted Desi and made a small sound of surprise.
“Hi, Annaliese,” Desi said. “Could you help a girl out and unlock my door?”
“You have been out?” the older German woman asked.
Desi shifted her grip. The sun was blindingly bright, but the temperature was about twenty degrees and her hands were ice. “Yeah, and I’m about to drop this box.” She moved so Annaliese could take the keys clipped to her purse.
“Well!” Annaliese hurried to unlock Desi’s door. The concrete porch was too small for more than one person at a time. Instead of letting Desi enter, Annaliese stood there and frowned.
Desi adored her neighbor, but the box was growing heavier by the second. “Go on in,” Desi said, and put a foot on the concrete step. “Please.”
Annaliese shook a finger. “I thought you were home. I was coming to tell you to turn down the television. It is so loud!”
“I never leave the TV on.”
“Oh, yes, you are such a good neighbor. Never any noise or parties.” She clamped her hands over her ears and swayed side to side. “Oh, oh, oh! My walls are shaking.”
Now Desi realized the noisy television she assumed came from another town house in the row actually came from her house. “Let me in. Go. I’m about to drop this on my foot.”
Annaliese went inside and held the door for Desi. Sure enough, her television blared at full volume. Desi put the box on the floor, dropped her purse and rushed to turn it off. The silence was instant and blessed. She stuck her freezing hands under her armpits and turned to her neighbor.
Annaliese smiled, showing very white teeth. “This is so unlike you, Desi.”
The television remote lay on the coffee table. Spike. Desi couldn’t remember if she’d been watching the news before she left to run her errands. If she had forgotten to turn off the TV, and the cat walked on or sat on the remote, he could have pressed the volume control.
“It won’t happen again,” Desi said. “I promise.”
Annaliese blew air between her teeth. “I believe you. All done now. You must promise to come over later. It is so cold I have to bake. I am making olive bread. Old, old family recipe from Germany.”
Annaliese loved to bake, but she always claimed an excuse for it—it was a holiday, or somebody’s birthday, or it was raining. She even said once that it was so miserably hot she might as well make cookies to justify the heat.
“I can’t wait,” Desi said. “I’m sorry about the noise. It will not happen again.”
Desi followed the older woman out, returning to her car to collect the rest of her bags. It was definitely possible Spike had turned up the volume on the TV. The more Desi thought about it, however, the more positive she felt that she had not left the TV on in the first place.
After carrying the rest of the bags inside, she called, “Spike? Here, kitty. Where are you, bad boy?”
A meow answered. She looked around and heard paws pattering frantically against the basement door. She opened it and the cat sauntered out, his tail flipping in annoyance about being locked in the basement.
D ESI SANG ALONG to the golden oldies radio station as she keyed numbers into a spreadsheet. Piles of receipts were spread across her desk. She’d spent an hour organizing scraps of paper for her client. She liked Joe. He always fed her a big plate of his special lasagna whenever she visited his Italian bistro downtown. She hated his habit of filling a paper sack with receipts without making the slightest effort to sort them by type or date. He was almost as bad as her sister. But at least she didn’t have to scour his restaurant to find mislaid papers the way she had to at the antique store.
Spike jumped onto the desk. She picked him up, again, and set him on the floor. He stretched against her leg, unsheathing his claws. “Ow!” She shoved him away. He sat and glared at her, tail twitching. “What do you want? You’re driving me crazy this morning. I already fed you.” As soon as she began typing, he stretched against her leg again. His claws pricked through her jeans. “Ow! That’s it!” He tried to run, but she caught him, tossed him onto the basement stairs and closed the door. “Cat jail for you.”
The phone rang then, so she settled back in front of the computer and answered.
It was Gwen. “Guess what?”
“I’m busy, Gwen.”
“You’re always busy. But you’ll never guess who I ran into at Chico’s.”
“Paul Newman.” Desi peered closely at an invoice. The printer ink had been low and the numbers were only partially printed.
“Didn’t you hear? He passed away months ago. I saw your cute cop friend.”
A ripple ran through Desi’s chest and belly. Buck had called but, uncertain if she wanted to go out with him, she’d let it go to voice mail. She hadn’t listened to his message yet. What if he ate with his fingers or flirted with servers or was a lousy tipper?
“The girls and I stopped in for nachos and a beer. There he was. He’s even cuter out of uniform. He was with a friend. Will. Have you met him?”
A most unpleasant image of beautiful Gwen chatting it up and laughing with Buck formed in Desi’s head. Buck drowning in Gwen’s eyes, and sneaking glimpses of her ample breasts while she charmed him into following her to the ends of the earth and slaying a few dragons along the way.
“Buck and I don’t have a personal relationship,” she said. “I don’t know his friends.”
“You should. Will’s a hoot. He had me laughing so hard I almost peed my pants.”
The scene in Desi’s head shifted to the Mexican restaurant with its cozy booths and dim lighting. The girls, as Gwen called them, were her two best friends. The Three Blonde-keteers, Grandma used to call them when they were in high school. In her mental scenario they charmed Buck and his friend with intimate conversation and lots of flirting.
“I really am busy, Gwen. Let me call you later.”
“Buck asked about you.”
“He did?” She winced at the eager squeak that came out of her mouth.
“He wanted to know what you do for fun. I told him you’re a total stick in the mud, but you like to hike. Turns out he hikes, too. He likes you, sweetie.”
Warmth replaced the sourness in her stomach. She went into the kitchen to make a fresh cup of tea. “I barely know him,” Desi said. She studied boxes of herbal teas. She bet Buck would be an excellent companion on a mountain trail. He wasn’t the type to run his mouth and make a lot of noise, and he sure wouldn’t have any trouble keeping up no matter how tough the trail.
“The girls and I voted,” Gwen said. “You two are meant for each other. It’s unanimous.”
Laughing, Desi selected blackberry tea, filled the cup with water and put it in the microwave.
“Don’t laugh,” Gwen said. “When’s the last time you had a boyfriend? Or even a date? Maybe a little… sugar would loosen you up.”
Gwen didn’t get it. Gwen never lacked for male companionship. Sometimes she had three or four men vying for the chance to take her out for dinner and dancing. But Desi was a loser magnet. She could easily imagine Buck Walker as a buddy, but as a boyfriend? He could have any woman he wanted. Not even Gwen was out of his league.
The microwave dinged. “I have a ton of work to do,” Desi said. “I’ll call you later.”
There was silence on the line, then Gwen said, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I was just teasing. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“It’s okay, Gwen. Really. I’ll call you later. Maybe we can watch a movie or something.”
