Sudden Insight. Rebecca York
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Morgan. Lying in a pool of blood, her limp body on the floor of her hotel room.
Jake stared at him, struggling not to let the shock he felt show on his face.
“Got work to do,” Moynihan said and pulled away, making for the hotel, leaving Jake alone with the woman.
“Let me go,” she demanded.
“Not likely.”
When she tried to wriggle out of his grasp, he held on to her, afraid she might run if he gave her the chance. Or was that her thought?
He wasn’t sure. He’d never been less sure of himself in his life. Well, not in years.
He steered her a little way down the street, under one of the balconies that ran along the second floor of the buildings, providing shade during the day and shadows at night. His head was pounding, making it hard to think.
When they were alone, he dragged in a breath and let it out. “What just happened?”
“Evelyn Morgan was murdered.”
“You picked that up?”
“Yes.”
He hadn’t been asking about the murder. That was a given. He was asking about the two of them.
“Will you take your hand off me?” she asked.
“Why?”
“You’re making me nervous.”
He dropped his hand to his side, ready to reach out again if she decided to turn and dash away. At least she looked as confounded as he felt. That was something.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She looked as if she didn’t want to answer, but she finally raised her chin and said, “Rachel Gregory.”
“You have a shop in the French Quarter,” he said slowly as he recalled the mental images. “You read tarot cards.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him. “You researched me?”
“No. I picked that up from … your mind.”
“Impossible!”
“Is it? Are you saying you didn’t learn anything from me? You’re the … psychic.”
She sighed. “You’re Jake Harper.”
“You got that from my thoughts?”
“Actually, no. From the newspapers. You’re a local celebrity.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What would you call yourself?”
“A businessman.” He swallowed hard. “Let’s cut to the chase. What’s Evelyn Morgan to you?”
“She had a tarot reading yesterday, then asked me to come to her hotel room tonight.” When he raised an eyebrow, she asked, “You don’t believe me?”
“Actually, I do. Did she say what she wanted?”
“No.”
“What time was that? I mean, the reading.”
“Three o’clock. Why?”
“She had a busy afternoon. After she left you, she came to my restaurant, Le Beau, looking for me. She also asked me to come to her hotel room tonight.”
This time it was Rachel who asked, “Why?”
“She said it was something personal. Something she couldn’t tell me at the office. She said she wanted me to meet someone.” He kept his gaze fixed on her. “I’m assuming it was you.”
They stared at each other.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She considered that. “What if I don’t want to?”
“You’re afraid?”
“Aren’t you?” she retorted.
He gave her a hard look. “I always hope for the best and prepare for the worst.”
“Which is what in this case?”
He waited until a couple walking along the street passed them. “I don’t know. Let’s get off the street. Le Beau is only a block away. We can talk there.”
His heart started to pound as he watched her considering the suggestion. What if she said no?
What if she walked away from him? That thought made his chest feel hollow, but he told himself he knew where to find her.
When she finally said, “Okay,” he relaxed a little, yet his nerves were still humming as he turned in the direction of the restaurant.
They walked through the darkened streets, neither of them talking nor touching each other, yet each of them giving the other sideways glances as though that would lead to a sudden revelation.
The restaurant was crowded when they entered, but the maître d’ nodded at Jake as he headed straight toward the back, reassured by Rachel’s footsteps behind him.
They walked into the same office where he’d talked to the now-dead woman.
In addition to the desk and chair, the room contained a small, comfortable seating area with a modern leather sofa, antique tables and an Oriental rug that he’d gotten from an estate sale. To the right of the sofa were a bar and lawyer’s bookcases filled with old, leather-bound volumes that he’d bought when the aging resident of a Garden District Victorian had moved to a nursing home.
Rachel looked around with interest. “You’re doing well for yourself.”
He shrugged. “Moderately. Make yourself comfortable.”
She sat down gingerly on the edge of the sofa, looking as if she could spring up and bolt at any moment. He understood why. The atmosphere in the little room had turned supercharged, as though their very proximity was about to set off sparks.
“I think we could both use a drink,” he said.
“You have some wine?”
“Of course. What would you like?”
“Merlot.”
“You have good taste,” he said, thinking that sounded inane.
Turning, he opened the bar, got out a high-end bottle and removed the cork before pouring them each a glass. When he held one out to her, she said, “Put it on the table.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently we read each other’s minds when we’re touching.”
She’d said what they’d both been thinking.
He kept his gaze fixed on her as he sat down on the sofa, keeping several feet of space between them, even though he wanted to test the theory again.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked.
“Aren’t you?”
“I know what happened, but I’m having a little trouble believing it.”
“Me, too.”
He wanted to ask what she thought had happened, but he kept the question locked behind his lips. Instead, he studied her, trying not to be too obvious. She looked to be in her late twenties, with long dark hair pulled back into a French twist that was a bit undone so that a few wisps of hair hung down fetchingly. Her face was oval, her eyes large and blue. Her lips were very appealing. Too appealing.
He hadn’t brought her to this private room for seduction. Or had he unconsciously had that in the back of his mind? Not a good idea. If touching her hand opened his mind to her, what would kissing her do? What about more than kissing?
He ruthlessly cut off that line of speculation before he