Lucky's Woman. Linda Winstead Jones
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of a grocery list, or his love life, or shoplifting. Instead he was thinking about her and this case and how much he didn’t want to believe her. A part of him did believe, though, and that scared him a little. She didn’t want him to be scared of her.
She also didn’t want to spend her life seeing into other people’s hearts and minds. Sitting there, Annie did her best to shut Lucky out. She did everything she could to quiet the ability that had brought him here. After a moment, it began to work. She could shut down her abilities. She could put up a shield that would keep Lucky, and everyone else, out of her head. She erected that shield now, basically separating herself from him and everyone else. A moment of calm descended, and she breathed a sigh of relief, even though she had no idea how long the shield would last.
If she wanted this thing to go away altogether, she had to help Lucky find the man who had murdered Trey and Jenna Huff.
“I understand your reasoning, but I still think we should take what we have to the sheriff,” Lucky said after a long moment of silence. “Without the case files I can’t—”
“No!” Annie came up out of her chair. “Didn’t you hear a word I said about what happened in Nashville? Do I have to go into detail to make you understand? Fine. I lost the man I loved, my friends, my job, my life. I won’t go through that again. I hired you, Mr. Santana. You work for me, and I will not allow you to take what I’ve told you to the sheriff or anyone else. Is that clear?” When he didn’t respond she asked again, more loudly. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Lucky answered sarcastically. “I’ll just sit on the knowledge that a man has gotten away with murder.”
Drained and frustrated, Annie sat once again. “We have to stop him, I know that. I’m not suggesting that we do nothing. With what I’ve told you, you should be able to find out who the killer is and collect some hard evidence and then take that to the sheriff.”
“You want me to work the case backward.”
“Sure. Why not?”
Lucky leaned back in his chair and thrust out long legs. He appeared to relax, but in truth he was still wound tight. It took no unnatural gift to see that fact. Was he always so tense?
“It’s going to take time.”
Annie closed her eyes. She had some money saved, and if she held off on opening the third store she could afford to keep Lucky on the payroll for a week or two. Would that be enough? The Benning Agency didn’t come cheap, and while she had money, she was far from independently wealthy.
“Do it,” she finally said. What choice did she have?
She heard the rustle of papers, and opened her eyes to see Lucky spreading his notes across the table where they’d worked last night. Relief spread through her, warming her body from head to toe. This time she wasn’t alone. This time she had Lucky Santana to help her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he responded dryly, without pausing in his work. When he had the papers arranged in a manner that suited him, he turned to her. “I’m not saying that I don’t believe you, but I still think it’s possible that there’s a reasonable explanation for the way you figured this out. You read the articles in the newspaper, you saw the relatives on television, you…you put two and two together, and the pieces came together in your dreams.”
“If that’s what you have to believe in order to do what has to be done, then do it. I don’t care.”
“Just one thing,” he said too casually. “Who told you about Sadie? Not that there’s anything to tell, mind you, but she is my old partner, and there was a time when…well, someone might’ve thought that I…So, who told you about Sadie? Cal? Dante?”
“You told me,” Annie answered in a lowered voice.
Lucky glared at her. He was, at this moment, a little angry, very puzzled and more than a little determined. Determination on a man like Lucky Santana was very appealing. There weren’t very many men like this one in the world, and wasn’t that a pity.
“Fine,” he snapped. “If you’re really psychic, then get me something I can use. How about the killer’s address?”
The rain started to fall while Annie studied his notes and—on occasion—touched them. Lucky kept his eyes on her face. He saw her anxiety, her indecision and her dread at the job she had before her.
He’d asked her to try to see more, in order to give him something to work with. She didn’t want to, but she’d consented. They had come to a compromise. He wouldn’t mention her name to the sheriff; she would try to bring on the visions that she obviously didn’t want.
Her reluctance made him think maybe…just maybe…she had an ability he didn’t understand. Then again, she might just be a very good actress.
He didn’t think she was acting.
The most logical explanation for Annie’s suppositions about the Huffs’ deaths was the one he’d put to her earlier; she’d put two and two together in the back of her mind and came up with dreams that seemed real. She didn’t believe that explanation, but the brain was a complicated machine, and anything was possible. Well, almost anything.
For the moment, he was stuck here. Not because Cal had sent him here, not because Annie had hired him. He felt responsible for Annie Lockhart. She needed him, and he couldn’t turn his back on her. That was his downfall. Always.
She even looked like a kook. Today she didn’t wear low-rise jeans and a snug T-shirt, but instead had dressed in a long, full bluish-greenish skirt, a white blouse with a touch of ruffles and sandals. The toenails were still pink, but the yellow toe ring had been replaced with plain silver. Her short blond hair looked purposely mussed—he supposed it was meant to be trendy—and long silver earrings dangled almost to her shoulders. Everything about her screamed damsel in distress. His weakness.
Even when she attempted to be tough, as she had when she’d put him in his place a couple of hours ago, there was a vulnerability in Annie Lockhart that appealed to his hero-complex. Save the girl, allow her to get as close as was wise and then walk away before she got too close. Wasn’t that the way it always worked? For the past few years, anyway. At least he had learned to walk away before everything went to hell.
“He watched them,” Annie said softly, her fingertips tailing across a sheet of paper. “For a long time, he watched. He was drawn to their happiness because he has none of his own.”
“That’s fine,” Lucky said in a reassuring voice. “Good. What else do you see? Can you look beyond his mind to what was going on around him? What does he look like? Did the Huffs know him? Did they trust him?” How else could the killer have gotten so close?
“He watched from a distance at first, and then he moved closer.” She shivered, almost uncontrollably. “They knew him. They weren’t afraid until it was too late.” She closed her eyes and swayed slightly, and Lucky immediately placed his arm around her and drew her away from the table.
“That’s enough for now,” he said. “I don’t want you passing out on me.” He lowered her into her chair, and there she leaned her head back and took a deep, cleansing breath. He watched her closely, as the color returned to her face.
“We’ll do this in stages,” he said. “I don’t want you trying to do too much at once.” Whether her ability was real or imagined, she did exhaust herself when she reached for visions.
A timid smile transformed her face. “You’re very protective.”
“It’s my job.”
“But this isn’t a normal job, is it?” she asked.
“Not even close. In Nashville, you knew who the killer was. This time, things seem to be less clear. Why?”
Annie shuddered. “Back then I saw it all, as if I were a fly on the wall. Now I seem to be watching