A Reason to Believe (21 page)

she was trying to secure them a compartment on the

Amtrak destined for San Francisco. They’d be able

to catch a flight from there to Los Angeles.

“You never did tell me how you got the list from

the guy at the door,” Matt said, forcing a casual

tone. He didn’t want to think about them leaving.

He saw Kiernan shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“He was checking me out when I came through.

All it took was a bit of flirting.”

“Checked you out, how? You were almost

completely covered.”

“My ass wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Matt’s voiced sounded clipped even to

him.

Kiernan pinned him with a wry look. “You find

that hard to believe?”

“No, not at all. I just…” He cleared his throat,

suddenly uncomfortable. “No, I don’t find it hard

to believe.”

Kiernan’s look slowly evolved into a knowing

smile. “Thanks. I think. Anyway, he was more than

happy to help me out.”

“I’ll just bet,” Matt couldn’t help grumbling.

“And I’m not leaving, by the way.”

The statement came so out of the blue that Matt

looked over at him in surprise. “What?”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to send Aidan on

home. She’s got a boyfriend waiting for her. But

I’m not leaving. Not as long as everything with

Abby is up in the air.”

Matt didn’t know what to say, but he could

breathe fully for the first time since Kiernan told

him of Aidan’s plans. “You don’t have to stay.”

“Yeah, I do.” His expression was earnest. “One

of the things I’ve always believed is I have this…

thing, this ability, because I’m supposed to help

people. Leaving now, with her caught in limbo,

goes against everything I believe in. Aidan will

pitch a fit, but she’ll get over it.”

“I thought she was checking you guys out of the

hotel,” Matt said carefully.

Kiernan shrugged. “She can check me back in. I

can afford it.”

They settled into silence. Matt hesitated, but

curiosity drove him to speak again. “Can I ask you

a question?”

“Sure,” Kiernan answered.

“Why did you lie to Karen Reynolds?”

Before they left the house, they’d had a private

word with Karen to fill her in on what Kiernan had

picked up on while they were in Abby’s bedroom.

Kiernan had told her that the child wasn’t aware of

what happened to her, that the drugs in her system

had kept her from being frightened.

After a short but intense silence, Kiernan sighed.

“What would have been gained by telling Karen

the truth? She wants to believe her little girl didn’t

suffer, that she wasn’t afraid. The truth would only

torture her. Her daughter would be no less dead,

and her grief only magnified.”

“So, you revise what you get from your

readings?”

“Not usually, no. But I try not to be unkind. In

the case of a murdered child—” Kiernan paused.

“Those are the worst. They’re always the worst.”

Matt glanced at Kiernan’s profile, pale in the

unnatural light. For lack of a better term, he looked

haunted.

“Most of the time, when a murdered child comes

through for their parents, they want to provide

reassurance they aren’t gone forever, that they’re

okay. In a case like Abby’s, where the memories

are still so vivid and they haven’t crossed over, I

try to edit for the parents’ sake. No one needs to

know all the details of a loved one’s violent death.

No one needs to try to live with it in their head.”

He turned, and Matt could feel his eyes on his face.

“Not even a cop.”

Matt was startled, and he gripped the steering

wheel hard. Staring out at the swirling snow, he

was unable to speak past the lump in his throat or

breathe through the sudden ache that filled his

chest.

Kiernan was right. No one needed the images of

a dead loved one in their head.

On that horrendous summer afternoon, once he’d

regained the ability to move, he’d tried to go to the

scene where Brad had died but his family took his

keys. He went to the hospital but because he

wasn’t next of kin he hadn’t been allowed to see

the body. He’d almost torn the tech’s head off. If

his brother hadn’t been with him, he might have.

He hadn’t seen Brad until he’d been laid out in his

blues, and then he’d looked more like a wax

figurine than the man Matt loved. It hadn’t been

Brad, it had been the shell that had housed Brad.

Never before had he understood so completely

what dead meant. He’d seen bodies, but never of

someone close to him. That day changed his

perception forever. Dead meant whatever had

animated the body—the spirit, the soul, whatever

—was gone. Just…gone.

When he went back to work after his fateful

performance at the funeral, most of the men he

worked with pretended he was invisible. But they

were all united in their efforts to prevent him from

seeing Brad’s case file. It had been kept under lock

and key, and he’d had to wait until late on a Friday

afternoon, when he was nearly alone, before he’d

been able to get his hands on it.

He’d been a detective for five years, a patrol

officer for five before that. He’d seen about

everything. And the crime scene photos weren’t

any worse than those he’d seen a hundred times

before. Except…except…

He blinked quickly as the images flooded his

mind.

“Don’t.”

He jerked when a firm hand closed over his

rigid forearm.

“Don’t go there. I didn’t say it so you would go

there, and he wouldn’t want you to remember him

that way. I only said it so you would understand

why I said what I did to Karen.”

Matt looked over, surprised to find Kiernan’s

eyes so close. He’d taken off his seat belt and was

leaning across the center console. His expression

was filled with both understanding and concern.

Unexpectedly, Matt felt a surge of irritation.

“What do you know about it?” he snapped. “So

you talk to dead people all the time, but do you

know any of them? Or do you just make shit up in

order to perpetuate your scam?” His voice shook

and he looked away, staring angrily through the

windshield. He tried to shake off the hand on his

arm, but Kiernan’s grip tightened.

“Take a deep breath,” Kiernan said, his voice

low and soothing. “And then pull over and stop.”

Matt inhaled deeply. He pulled over to the curb,

allowing the Bronco to idle, and rubbed his gloved

hands over his face.

“I’m sorry.” Kiernan moved his hand up and

down Matt’s arm. “I never should have said it

while you were driving. It was thoughtless. I’m so

sorry.”

Matt let his hands drop into his lap. “No, I’m

sorry. There was no need for me to be such an

ass.” He looked over at Kiernan and found him

studying his face with understanding. “How did

you…? Sheila.” An alarming thought entered his

head and his eyes sought Kiernan’s. “It was Sheila,

right? It wasn’t…”

“Yes, Sheila told me.”

“I was afraid…” Matt stopped, chagrined. He’d

just accused the man of being a fraud, and now he

was wondering if he’d chatted up his dead lover.

“She told you—when?”

“This morning, on the way to the station. I knew

there was something and someone, but she thought

I should know the details. I think she sort of

hopes…” Kiernan let his voice trail away and

leaned back into his seat.

“Yeah, I’m sure she does,” Matt said dryly.

“So,” he swallowed heavily, unable to prevent

himself from asking, “he isn’t…”

Kiernan held his gaze for a suspended moment

before slowly shaking his head. “Not that I’ve

seen.”

Matt felt a baffling mix of disappointment and

relief. “Why, do you suppose?”

“I imagine because he was satisfied with his

life. Oh, I don’t mean the way it ended. I don’t

believe for a moment he was ready to be done, not

at his age. Not with you to come home to.” A soft

smile pulled at Kiernan’s full lips. “But he’d loved

completely, hadn’t he? And been loved the same?”

Matt hesitated briefly and nodded.

“In my experience, that’s the deciding factor. If

we love, and are loved, then our journey on can be

made without regret. That’s why he could move

on.”

Matt studied him in the dim light, taking in the

intelligent eyes, the even, handsome features. “I

guess those are all the same reasons I haven’t been

able to,” he admitted finally. “I miss it, having

that.”

“There’s nothing says you can’t have it again.”

Matt licked his dry lips. “The idea of trying

terrifies me,” he confessed, surprised he’d said it

aloud. He hadn’t said it to anyone. But every time

anyone approached him, and men had, he hid

behind his grief. Unable to bear the idea of putting

himself out there again, or opening himself up to

renewed

pain,

he’d

studiously

avoided

entanglements.

It was easier to be alone.

Kiernan leaned forward, his elbow on the

console between the seats, and propped his jaw on

his hand. “You know, there’s this great movie.

Strictly Ballroom.
Have you seen it?”

Matt frowned, startled at the turn in the

conversation. “I…don’t know. I might have.”

“If you had, you’d remember,” Kiernan said

brightly. “There’s this guy in it, Paul Mercurio.

Used to be a professional ballet dancer. Has an ass

you could bounce a quarter off of.” Matt huffed out

a surprised chuckle. “Anyway, there’s a line from

it I’m going to paraphrase because I don’t

remember it exactly, but the sentiment stuck with

me because I agree with it. Basically it goes, ‘A

life lived in fear is a life half lived.’”

Matt felt his stiff facial muscles begin to thaw.

“Sounds like something you’d have on a T-shirt.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” His smile remained as his

eyes searched Matt’s face. “But it’s true. You

deserve better than half a life. I understand why

you’re scared. It’s a perfectly natural response to

what’s happened to you. But I think you’re missing

out on opportunities to find happiness again by

closing yourself off.”

Matt stared into the blue eyes, studying the

steadiness of them, the openness. He was sure he’d

never looked so trusting, or allowed himself that

kind of unflinching vulnerability. His gaze dropped

to the full lips.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he murmured, lifting

his hand, hesitating just a moment before touching

Kiernan’s cheek. Kiernan turned his face into

Matt’s palm, and he felt a surge of tenderness

mingled with desire. His thumb stroked the skin

just beneath Kiernan’s soft lower lip. “Closing

myself off?”

Kiernan slid his fingers around Matt’s wrist.

“You have been. And no man as beautiful as you

are should be alone.”

Kiernan’s eyes were riveted on his, and Matt

finally understood the possibility of getting lost in

someone’s eyes. He also wanted, for the first time

in a very long time, to kiss someone.

He angled his head, closing the distance

between them with little effort, and brushed his

lips against Kiernan’s.

It was less a kiss than a caress, and when he

drew back, Kiernan made a soft sound in the back

of his throat. It was amazing, what he managed to

convey with the sound—relief, longing, desire. It

was the desire that affected Matt the most, and he

felt the reassuring tingling of an uncomplicated

want.

“Again?” he whispered.

“Oh, yes,” Kiernan answered. Matt slipped his

hand around Kiernan’s neck, cradled the back of

his head in his palm and pulled him back in.

There was nothing tentative about the next kiss.

Lips merged and opened, and Matt sought the

heat of Kiernan’s mouth with his tongue. He tasted

of red wine and dark chocolate, and Matt sought

out the flavors, savoring them. Kiernan’s tongue

was slick and as mobile as the rest of him, circling

Matt’s, stroking, catching it for a moment to suck.

Heat surged in Matt’s groin, and his fingers