Touching the Past (7 page)

He didn’t want to talk about the case right now. Even though it was why he was here with Mallory. He just wanted to pretend, even if it was only for a half hour, that they were two people attracted to each other and getting to know one another. Not a detective and a…a psychic consultant working together. It was selfish, he knew, but it was how he felt.

“I thought gluten-free was the big thing.” Zac pulled a drawer open. The silverware was still where it’d been back in his high school days.

Mallory snorted. “Keep up with your trends. Gluten-free is so last year.” She dished the quinoa onto the plate. “There’s coffee. Or tea, if you—”

“Water’s fine.” Zac helped himself to a glass from the cupboard. “You?” At her nod, he pulled out another glass and filled them both from the tap.

“Quinoa’s pretty filling on its own, so I wasn’t planning on having anything with it.” Mallory put the dish on the table and turned, bumping into Zac. “Oh. Sorry,” she breathed.

Zac stood still and looked into her eyes, feeling his body react to the brush of hers against his. He wasn’t. If he hadn’t been holding two full water glasses, he’d have wrapped his arms around her and made sure she wasn’t sorry either. “It’s okay.”

She must have seen something in his face. Something of his feelings. Her own face flooded with color. She backed up. “I’ll just get the...the silverware.” She sounded breathless.

“Already have it.” Zac waited by the table.

“Oh.” She hesitated, as if she didn’t know what to do next. She looked at the plates and then him. “Is this enough for you?” She half turned to the refrigerator. “I can find—”

“It’s fine.” The quinoa didn’t look like much, but it smelled good. “Sit down. I’ll be fine,” he repeated, when she still hesitated.

She slid into the chair across from him, a slight, troubled frown still creasing her forehead.

Zac held out his hands. “Grace?”

Chapter 8

Mallory laid her hands in Zac’s. As she repeated the familiar words of the childhood blessing, she was aware of the warmth and strength in the hands that held hers. The same hands that had moved over her and pressed her against his length as he kissed her.

The memory of the kiss was enough to make her toes curl. If she’d known Zac Herrera could kiss like that…

“Amen.”

“Amen,” she echoed. She opened her eyes. Zac was looking at her, a slight smile curving his lips. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” Zac cocked his head, his expression becoming quizzical.

“You’re smiling. I just wondered what you were thinking about.” Mallory ducked her head, feeling suddenly shy. Which was absurd. She’d just played tonsil-hockey with the man. She shouldn’t feel embarrassed about asking him what he was thinking.

She realized her hands were still clinging to his. She tugged on them. Was it her imagination? Or did Zac’s grip tighten for an instant before he let go?

“I was just thinking it was nice to have someone to eat dinner with.” Zac took an experimental bite of the quinoa. “This is good.”

“Thanks.” Mallory had some of the quinoa. Not enough carrot. “I know what you mean. It can get kind of…tiring eating by yourself all the time. You’re not involved with anyone?” Too late, she clamped her lips together and inwardly rolled her eyes. Nothing like being obvious.

Zac looked at her and then down to his plate. “Not…exactly.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice.

“Oh.” What exactly did “Not exactly” mean, she wondered. And was he laughing at her? She pushed that thought aside to concentrate on the more important one. Was Zac seeing someone, but they weren’t in a committed relationship? And if he
was
, why was he kissing Mallory the way he had?

“You?”

“Me?” She looked at him blankly for a second before she understood the question. “Oh. No.” She shook her head. “I haven’t been seeing anyone lately.” That sounded pathetic. It was true, but pathetic. She made herself smile. “I’ve been busy with work.” Even worse.

Zac was nodding his head. “I’ve got the same problem. When I’m not working, I pretty much hole up at my place and veg.” He held up his empty plate. “I don’t mean to be a pushy guest, but is there any more of that?”

“Sure.” Mallory took the plate to the counter. “Do you spend much time with your family?” She scooped the warm grain onto the plate. “You must have nieces and nephews by now.”

“No.”

Mallory shot Zac a quick glance as she handed the plate back. His expression was… She didn’t know what, but she got the idea he didn’t want to talk about his family.

She wondered why. She knew Zac had a couple younger brothers and sisters and older sisters and brothers. She’d known all the brothers by sight back in high school, but the older sisters had dropped out of school. She’d never seen them. Zac had never mentioned his family when she was tutoring him. Even then, they must not have been close.

He must have realized how abrupt his answer had sounded. Shifting in the chair and not looking at her, Zac added, “I haven’t seen much of any of them since I graduated from high school.” Something like a sneer twisted his mouth, though his words were oddly emotionless. “They didn’t think much of my career ambitions.” His tone changed. “What about you? It was just you and Bill, right?”

It was an obvious change of subject, but Mallory let him make it. She didn’t want to push. They were really just getting to know one another. There was no need to get into sore subjects.

“Um-hmm.” Mallory pushed the quinoa around on her plate, suddenly losing her appetite. “Mom’s family cut her off when she married a
gaijin
. A foreigner.” She looked down at the swirling pattern she’d created. “They didn’t even respond when Dad contacted them after she died.”

“That’s rough.” Zac’s voice was warm with sympathy.

Mallory shrugged. “It’s just the way they were, I guess.” She looked up at Zac and offered him a weak smile. “I never met them, so it’s not like I could ever miss them.”

It had hurt, though. Knowing that her grandparents wanted nothing to do with her. Or her father. Bill Woods had been a wonderful man, and young as she’d been when her mother died, Mallory had known Ryuuko Otonoshi was deeply in love with her husband. It had to have been difficult for her mother to choose between her family and the man she loved.

“Hey.” She looked up as Zac’s warm hand covered hers. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“They’re not bad,” she assured him. “I was just remembering how much Mom and Dad loved one another.” She smiled. “When they were together, they couldn’t keep their hands off one another.” She flushed as she realized Zac was still holding her hand. She tugged it away, clearing her throat. “And they…they liked being with one another.” The way she liked being with Zac.

“It sounds like a good marriage.”

She lifted her gaze to meet Zac’s. “It was. I don’t think Dad ever recovered from her death. Oh, he kept himself going for my sake, but I think if it wasn’t for me, he would have been just as happy dying with her.”

“You only have the one picture of her, don’t you? Was that because Bill—”

“That was my fault.” Mallory played with the spoon beside her plate. “Dad put away all her things because he was afraid if I touched them I might…” She let the sentence trial off. She’d always felt guilty about that. That her father hadn’t been able to keep his beloved wife’s things close by. But she’d been afraid, too. Afraid of being swept away by the memories and emotions those objects held and of not being able to find her way back.

She flipped the spoon over again, sighing. “I can’t control what or how much I feel or see when I touch something. We were both afraid—”

“I’m sorry, Mallory.”

Mallory looked up at the sound of Zac’s voice. There was something about it. A self-loathing quality. His face showed disgust. Her heart started to race. What was wrong? What had she said? Had Zac finally realized how odd she was?

She licked her suddenly dry lips. “What? What is it?”

Zac wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t know how—what it was like for you. Using your gift.” He rubbed his hand over his face and back into his hair. “
Dios!
And I made you—”

“Zac. Don’t.” This time it was Mallory who reached out to Zac, putting her hands on his. “It’s okay. Really. I didn’t mean—I’m glad you asked me to help. I am.”

“Does it—” Zac looked into her eyes, his expression intent. “Does it hurt? You, I mean. When you…touch the past. Do you actually feel what they did? Or is it more like watching a movie? You’re caught up in it, but it isn’t
your
emotion.”

Mallory hesitated. She didn’t want him to feel guilty. But how could she explain it? The easy, quick answer was “Yes, it hurts.” But there was more to it than that.

It was too long. Zac closed his eyes and pulled away from her, falling back in the chair. “
Damn it!
I’m so sorry, Mallory. I really didn’t understand what—” He broke off. His eyes opened. He pushed himself out of the chair. “Look. Forget about helping anymore. I’ll take it from here. You just…I’m…I’ll go.” He started to turn.

Mallory was around the table, reaching for his arm. “No. Wait.” In her hurry, she stumbled.

Zac caught her, his hands gripping her arms.

Mallory’s heart seemed to stop, then start pounding double time as she looked into his eyes. He was hurting.
For her.

“I…” Zac cleared his throat. His hands dropped to his sides.

She couldn’t let him leave. Not like this. Mallory put her hand on his arm. She could feel the tension in the muscles beneath the shirtsleeve. “Don’t. Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to.” Zac snorted. “You don’t need to. I bullied you into—”

Mallory put her hand over his mouth. “Will you just shut up a minute? I
want
to explain.” When his mouth remained closed, she dropped her hand. “It’s hard to explain what I…do. I’ve never really talked about it to anyone before.”

“Your parents?” Zac was watching her with that intent gaze again. As if his every particle of his attention was fixed on her. It was unnerving, but exhilarating, too.

She met his look. “They knew what I could do. They saw it, of course. When I was small, they thought I was making up stories. Imagining things. But then I told them things that were too close to the truth. Things I couldn’t possibly have known. So they knew something was going on. But we didn’t talk about it. Like I said, my mom took me to a psychic fair once. She didn’t tell me why, but I figured it out later.”

“And Bill?”

“He—” Mallory looked away, laughed slightly as she realized they were still standing in the kitchen. “Let’s go sit down.”

In the living room Mallory paused, unsure of where to sit. If she took the couch, Zac could sit beside her. She could lean into his strength mentally, if not physically.

She took the chair. It would be better to have a little distance as she explained.

Zac dropped into the corner of the couch. His face was expressionless. Did he think she was rejecting him? Before she could worry about it, he said, “You were saying about Bill?”

Mallory curled her legs under her. “Dad loved antiques when I was little. Maybe because he’d never had a settled home.” She answered Zac’s inquiring look. “His family was career military. When he was transferred to a new base, he’d hit the antique stores as soon as he could.” She smiled, remembering her father when he was younger. “And he’d bring something home. A chair, end table, painting, knick-knack. Whatever caught his eye.” The smile faded. “He stopped doing that once he figured out I was…picking up…emotions…from them.” She shook her head. “Everything that came into the house after that was factory new.” She looked down at her hands in her lap. She’d clenched them without realizing it. Her nails were digging into her palms. She opened them. “When I got older and knew why he’d done it, I felt... He’d given up something he loved for me.”

“He didn’t mind.”

The sound of Zac’s low-voiced words startled her. She’d forgotten he was there for a moment. She looked up at him, lifting an eyebrow. “You think so?”

He gave a sharp nod. “I know so. I watched him with you. You were the light of his life. He’d have done anything for you and never cared about the cost.”

She laughed nervously, but Zac’s words soothed her. She hadn’t known she’d felt so guilty about her father’s loss of his precious antiques until this moment. It was something she’d have to think about later and deal with.

“You still haven’t told me what happens when you touch something.”

Zac’s words pulled her back to the present. “Oh.” Mallory looked at her fingers. “It’s…it’s not always the same. Sometimes it’s just a general feeling. An impression. Almost like a sense of
déjà vu
.” She looked at Zac. “That generally happens with things or places that have some casual connection to a person.”

“Like the things you touched the other day in my office.”

She nodded. “Right. But when something’s belonged to someone for a long time or it means a great deal to them, it gives off a clear…” She shook her head. “Picture isn’t the right word for it. Neither is feeling. It’s something that falls in between.”

“You feel it though.” Zac’s eyes were narrowed. “What the person felt. You felt…Evie Martin die.”

“I felt what she was feeling before she…before.” Mallory kept her gaze focused on Zac. “And I experienced what Theresa Martin felt as she…” She closed her eyes, remembering against her will that sick exultation the older woman had felt. “The closer I am in time to the event when it happens, the stronger its echo is. But violence lingers. It hangs in the air afterwards.”

“Mallory.” Zac’s hand touched her face.

She opened her eyes to find Zac’s face inches from hers. She inhaled the scent of his aftershave and felt her head start to spin as she looked into the warm depths of his eyes.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You should have told—” He broke off with a chagrined laugh. “You did tell me. I just didn’t listen. I’m sorry. Sorry that I’ve put you through this.