Intuition. Carol Ericson
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I guess it is sort of like meditation.”
He snapped his fingers. “See? I did have it right.”
“I close my eyes. I concentrate. Tonight at Columbella…” She hunched her shoulders and gulped another mouthful of wine.
“Rough, huh?” He skimmed his cool fingertips along her forearm. “That house is enough to raise the hackles of someone who isn’t even sensitive…like me.”
She stared into Matt’s dark eyes and got a little lost. At this moment, with his fingers lightly resting on her wrist, Kylie couldn’t completely dismiss his sensitivity.
“So you were in one of those optimal states and hightailed it to Columbella—to do what?”
“I already told you, Matt. My mom hung herself from that landing. I went there to…get some closure.”
“And instead you fell through the railing.” He tapped her wrist bone once before withdrawing his hand. “That’s some kinda closure.”
“I sensed fear when I was up there.” She traced her finger around the base of her wineglass. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Anyone who commits suicide has to experience some fear, or are you implying your mother didn’t kill herself?”
Was she? That thought had been a niggling doubt in her mind for a while. “I don’t know. The fall didn’t give me a chance to sense much more than a swirl of emotions.”
“And to sense someone behind you before the fall.”
She raised her brows. “Oh, you believe me now? I thought you figured that was a bunch of bull.”
“I thought your suspicions of me were a bunch of bull. The rest? You’re the medium.”
“You’re good.”
“Excuse me?” He choked on his drink and grabbed a cocktail napkin to wipe his mouth. “I’m good at a lot of things. Which talent are you referring to?”
Her cheeks grew warm in the dim light. Why did everything Matt said have a sexual connotation to it? Or was that her spin?
“When I first told you Mrs. Harris hired me to find out what happened to her daughter, you weren’t too happy about it, implied I was a fraud. Now you’re cozying up to me and opening your mind to my gift.”
His slow smile twisted his mouth, and he waved his hand in the space between them. “This ain’t cozy.”
“You know what I mean.” She crumpled a napkin in her clammy hand. Matt had sex appeal coming out of his pores, but she didn’t plan on becoming one more conquest for him. “Why are you so interested in my psychic powers now when fifteen minutes ago you were scoffing at them?”
He hunched a broad shoulder and drained his glass. “I’m a realist. Mr. Harris hired me and Mrs. Harris hired you. Even though I’m not too keen on having a partner, my goal is to give peace to the Harris family, to find out what happened to Bree, get the girl some justice.”
Slapped her down. Now her infantile comment about not working with partners sounded…infantile.
“Deal.” She extended her hand for a shake. His large hand engulfed hers and he applied a quick pressure to her fingers. She extricated her hand from his grasp and drummed her fingers on the bar to keep them busy. “Do you have anything?”
“Just got here yesterday, but I was wondering about the possibility of Brunswick being involved.”
“The algebra teacher?”
“The serial-killing algebra teacher.”
“Yeah, I heard all about those women he murdered just to prove something to Michelle Girard. Creepy. But how would Bree Harris be a part of that?”
“You know Brunswick also murdered two prostitutes, don’t you? A guy like that doesn’t decide one day to start killing to impress a woman.”
“Have the cops or the FBI looked into a connection between Brunswick and Bree’s disappearance?”
“Not that I know of.” He tipped his chin at the bartender. “I stopped by Coral Cove P.D. yesterday to request access to the Brunswick files and the Harris report. The chief is a piece of work.”
“I haven’t heard good things about him since I’ve been here. Chief Reese’s son, Dylan, is supposed to come back for the job.”
Matt grinned as he slid the check in front of him. “I had a very close relationship with Chief Reese.”
“How many times did he pull you over on your bike or ticket you for playing your music too loudly or pick you up for being out after curfew?”
“Too many times to count.”
“Yeah, I knew that rumor about your being a cop couldn’t be true.”
Matt’s hand, holding the pen, froze over the check. Then he signed it. “Where’d you hear that bit of nonsense?”
She scooted her stool back and hopped off. “I don’t know. Through the grapevine.”
Matt rapped his knuckles against the mahogany and called to the bartender. “Thanks, man.”
Matt maneuvered her through the bar tables with his hand on the small of her back. He left it there when they hit the lobby. And she let him leave it there.
He dropped it all too soon to stab the elevator button. When the doors whisked open on the empty car, he asked, “What floor?”
“Third.”
He pressed the number three button and leaned against the elevator car, hands behind his back, a grin claiming his face. “Guess the hotel put everyone working for the Harrises on the same floor.”
Kylie’s belly flip-flopped. Not only did she get to work with this hunka, hunka burning manhood, she’d be living a few doors down from him. “Coincidence.”
“You disappoint me, psychic lady.” He reached forward and touched the tip of his finger to her cheekbone. “I thought you’d call it fate.”
She held her breath as the rough pad of his finger brushed her skin. If he was trying to seduce her just like he’d done with all those silly girls in high school, he hadn’t lost his touch. Not one bit.
He held up his finger. “You had a black speck on your face.”
She wiped her hand across the spot, still tingling from his caress…touch…poke. “Probably a flake of mascara. It’s been a long day.”
The elevator jostled and then settled on the third floor. As he pinned the door open and gestured her through, he said, “Do you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning and go over a game plan?”
“You’re serious about working together?”
“Deadly.”
“All right.” Her steps slowed as she reached her hotel room. “I’m in three-twenty-six.”
“How about that?” He slid his card key out of his back pocket and flicked it. “I’m in three-thirty-six. Fate strikes again.”
She slid her key home and turned her head toward him, her shoulder wedging against the door. “See you tomorrow in the hotel restaurant at nine?”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks again for rescuing me at Columbella. What brought you there anyway?”
“Research.” He called over his shoulder as he ambled five doors down.
Kylie slipped into the darkened hotel room and pressed her back against the door. What was she doing? Mrs. Harris had sent her to Coral Cove to do a job, and she’d planned to combine that job with a little investigation of her own into Mom’s suicide.
Now