The doorbell rang. Her heart skipped a beat. She drew in a deep breath and headed for the foyer. When she opened the front door, the aroma of spicy, Italian sausage wafted through the air.
Her mouth watered, nothing to do with the pizza John held in his hands, but the man himself. Not only was he heart stopping sexy as hell, beneath his rugged exterior she sensed so much more. A good man, strong, honest, dedicated, he’d never lied about his opinion regarding psychics, and while he hadn’t wanted her involved in the investigation, he’d included her anyway. He’d offered her comfort when she’d needed it. In his arms she’d known what it was like to truly feel protected, wanted, desired.
She leaned against the door jamb. “Hi. Thanks for bringing dinner.”
He responded with a noncommittal grunt. His body rigid, his eyes unreadable, and a frown furrowing his brows, he moved passed her toward the kitchen. She shut the door, then leaned against it.
He was worse than she’d thought. Today had to have been pure hell for him. First, Garrett Winston, then the body in the bog. She desperately wanted to offer him the same comfort he’d given her yesterday. To ease him, let him know he wasn’t alone in this.
With a deep sigh she followed him and the zesty scent of pizza, to the kitchen. “John, I know—”
He dropped the pizza on the table. His files, which had been tucked under his arm, fell and scattered across the smooth surface.
Instead of straightening the mess, he moved to her, cupped her cheeks, then crushed his mouth to hers. Desire replaced the worry and fear that had been tormenting her since she’d learned about Winston and the latest murder victim, especially when John’s firm lips parted.
Cradling her face, he deepened the kiss. His tongue dominated and possessed. With each demanding stroke of his tongue, she swore she sensed his fear and his relief. Almost as if touching her, kissing her assured him she was safe.
Breathing hard, he tore his mouth away, and grazed her lips with his thumb. “Celeste, I’m sorry,” he whispered, and met her gaze. “I shouldn’t have...”
Running her fingers through his hair, she pulled his head down and silenced him with her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She didn’t want to talk, not right this second. His eyes had told her what she’d needed to know. He’d faced a killer today only to discover there was another one out there. He’d seen what she’d seen, only worse.
Moving her hands along his biceps, she gave him a soft, lingering kiss, then leaned back in his arms. “Are you okay?”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “I am now.”
A deep rumbling exploded from his stomach. Grinning, she ran her hand along his cheek, loving the rough, end-of-the-day beard stubble tickling her palm. “You’ll be even better once you’ve had something to eat.”
His smile filled her hand.
With reluctance, she stepped away. While she’d desperately wanted to offer him the same comfort his mere presence seemed to have given her, now wasn’t the time. He needed to eat. She was just as hungry considering she hadn’t had a bite since breakfast and it was almost seven o’clock. Plus there were the files scattered on the table. Case files on yesterday’s murder victims, she assumed.
Neither spoke as she rummaged through her utensil drawer, and he poked around her cabinets, bringing plates and glasses to the table. As they worked in tandem, she couldn’t help but enjoy the simple domesticity of the moment. Their shoulders brushed as they moved around the kitchen, their fingers touched as they reached for the same things. Small smiles, hints of desire were shared. As much as she’d love to see this man in her kitchen every day, explore the heated desire and comforting emotions she’d found whenever she was with him, she had to caution herself. After the investigation ended, he would leave.
Just like everyone else.
Once they were both seated, John pulled a piece of pizza from the box. The mozzarella cheese stretched taut then snapped. Before placing the greasy slice on her plate, he raised a dark brow. “Gnome plates?”
“Don’t make fun, they’re cute. My sister gave them to me for my birthday last year. They’re
supposed to be one of a kind.”
He smiled as he placed a slice on his own plate. “Really, you don’t say?”
She ignored the teasing sarcasm and eyed the pizza. “Sausage, my favorite.” As she was about to take a bite, she caught sight of the scattered papers lying next to the pizza box. Her stomach tightened when she saw her handwriting and realized he’d brought copies of her visions. The pizza fell from her hands and dropped on the plate.
He looked to her, his concerned gaze searched hers. “I thought we could talk about a few things over dinner.” He frowned, his eyes penetrating. “Unless it will ruin your appetite.”
“I’m fine.” She started to lie, but couldn’t under his scrutinizing gaze. “Okay.” She blew out a deep breath. “Not really, but it’s important we get through this.”
“A lot has happened today.” He stacked her notes, and shoved them on the other side of the table. “This can wait.” He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers, then gave her fingers a light squeeze. His touch inspired and stimulated, gave her strength and renewed her confidence.
You can do this, she told herself. You have to, for John, for those women, for yourself.
She twisted her wrist then twined her fingers through his. “Thanks, but I’m okay.” Releasing his hold, she picked up the pizza, which now seemed as appetizing as ketchup covered cardboard. “How did things go in Eau Claire?”
He paused, the gooey pizza inches from his mouth. “How did you know...never mind, I get it. Small town,” he said, then took a bite.
“Pretty much. You can’t empty the trash without everybody knowing what’s in it.”
“That was much more eloquently put compared to how Roy described small town life.”
Knowing Roy, and his way with words, she laughed. “Regardless of how either of us describes it, it’s true. For the record, though, Lloyd told me. He was at the diner with Dan for breakfast when he got the call from Bev.”
He frowned. “Lloyd told you?”
“Sure, he knows I’m involved, and we’re tight. I’ve known him forever.” She shrugged. “Besides, if he hadn’t told me what had been going on, I might still be wondering if we were ever going to finish our
discussion,
” she said, hoping to ease the sudden tension emanating from him.
The corner of John’s mouth kicked up in a slow grin, his dark eyes sparkled and teased. “If you weren’t so popular, we would have finished last night.”
She playfully batted her lashes. “What can I say?”
“That you have no regrets.”
Did she? Yes. No. She wanted him, no doubt about it. But to get involved with a man who was basically passing through?
“Nope.” She wiped the grease from her hands on a napkin. “And you?”
“Nope,” he answered back, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Good, so tell me about today.”
He pulled another slice from the box. As they ate, he told her about Garrett Winston, the little evidence they’d found and how the sick bastard had signed a confession.
Using her fork to shove the pizza around her plate, she rested her chin in her hand then met his gaze. “What about the girl today?”
“Between your notes on the first vision and what you told me yesterday in the car...” He puffed his cheeks and blew out a deep breath.
“You believe me now?” She studied him and held her breath, waiting for an answer she wasn’t quite sure her heart wanted to hear.
John reached for his glass, then drained the soda in a couple of quick gulps. After he’d witnessed firsthand the results of her nightmares, he couldn’t dismiss her predictions as merely a state of psychosis or some sort of strange need for attention. Besides, in the short time he’d known her, she’d shown no signs of mental imbalance, and her character spoke of nothing disreputable.
She was an ordinary woman. Honest, decent and respectable. Well, not
exactly
ordinary. She was a beautiful woman full of surprises. Like the fact she was an accountant turned talented baker. Or that she had a houseful of creepy gnomes and liked it. Then there was her passion.
He hadn’t been lying last night when he’d told her she’d made him feel alive. Her arousing caresses had brought out a desire he’d never experienced before. They were making it difficult for him to remain detached, to keep his feelings for her filed away in their rational, logical place.
There had been nothing rational or logical going through his mind when he’d kissed her today, or even last night. Unfortunately, he wanted to kiss her again. Fortunately, she seemed to like kissing him as well. Or was that unfortunately? He’d leave after the investigation, then move on to the next case. Where would that leave them?
Alone.
He stared into her expectant eyes, which didn’t hold an “I told you so” triumph, but instead, understanding. Then she offered him a small smile, and shook her head.
“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot,” she said, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”
“Yeah, I do.” He reached for her hand. “I believe in you, Celeste. I can’t discount what you’ve already done for this case. Without your help, Winston might have been released on a DUI, then likely disappeared without a trace.”
“Thank you.” Relief flashed in her eyes as she gave his hand a squeeze. “Now that we have that out of the way, how should we start?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said you’d read some of my notes, you’d also witnessed my trance. The one I don’t remember and that you were
supposed
to tell me about.” She cocked a brow. “Now you’ve seen the results, how should we start?” she repeated.
He hesitated. “I haven’t had a lot of time to correlate between your visions and your trance. But as I reread your notes, I think we might have a few leads to follow.”
“Really? Okay, lay it on me.”
This was what he admired about Celeste. She seemed game for anything, open and honest, blunt to a fault. He liked that. Hell, he liked her and the last thing he wanted to do was recreate her nightmares and put her through any kind of trauma. He wanted to protect her, not use her to track down a killer.
He had little choice in the matter, though. If she was right, there were three more bodies waiting to be discovered. Leaning into his chair, he scratched the back of his head. “Let’s start with the car ride. You’d said that had never happened before, the trance I mean.”
“Not that I’m aware of, but how would I know if I didn’t remember,” she said, her brow creasing.
He nodded and tossed his napkin over his plate. “Okay, in the car, sometimes you’d described the scene as you saw it, while at other moments you’d become the victim. You’d started talking about your long hair, how you should have listened to Judy when she’d suggested you cut it. You’d also talked about how you should have listened to your parents and how you wished you could smell your mother’s prized gardenias and the Old Spice cologne your father wore.”
“Really?” She frowned. “I didn’t get any of that in the original vision. Did the girl you found today have long hair?”
He nodded as the memory of the dead woman surfaced. Ink black hair floating in a bed of red cranberries. Ebbing and flowing against a sliced, bruised and ghostly pale face.
“Were you able to identify her?” she asked, and although she appeared nonchalant, fear and anxiety showed in her eyes. Her angst caused a trickle of worry to run through him. Were the murders going to take a toll on her vivacious personality? Change her? He hoped not, but he’d seen it happen before. Witnesses, victims, spiraling into deep depression or worse. The question was how to protect her from the repulsive details of this case. Better yet, how to protect her from her own mind.
“No, not yet.”
She shoved her plate away and stared to the window at his back.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm. I was just thinking that if Roy checks all the surrounding counties for missing young women...”
“He has Lloyd and Jesse already on it, and I gave them the leads on the hairdresser and the gardenias. Any bit of information, as insignificant as it seems, may give us a break in the case. Could be she knew the attacker or someone saw him with her before she died.”
“During the trance, did I say anything about what the killer looked like? Because I honestly never felt as if the victim knew her attacker.”
“I asked you to describe him, but you said he wore a ski mask. The only other thing you said as a way to describe him was that he smelled.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Did Winston stink?”
“Like alcohol, from what I understand. I never actually interviewed him. He’d confessed to Highway Patrol before Roy and I had arrived.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean, why confess without even knowing the kind of evidence you have on him.”
“Roy and I have been wondering the same thing.”
“Is it possible Winston killed the woman in the bog?”
“We’re not ruling him out, but I don’t think so. The girl wasn’t killed in the same fashion. Besides, the road to the bogs isn’t well traveled, and it has a weight limit, one Winston’s truck, even without a trailer, wouldn’t meet.” He held up his hands. “It just doesn’t make sense. Considering the other victims were prostitutes, I believe Winston killed when the opportunity rose and would stick with his original dumping grounds or at least something similar. He needed a clean getaway. This one was different.”