a Touch of Ice (2 page)

Two

“It’s safe here, you know. I can avoid people.” My words flittered away on the breeze as I inhaled the scent of the ocean. The salt air filled my nose and left the flavor of brine on my tongue. I licked the saltiness from my lips and tried one more time to explain the cluttered mess in my head to Violet, my only real friend—also my neighbor—and at the moment my five a.m. escape-to-the-beach buddy.

“It happened three nights in a row before yesterday’s session from hell with client S. Count them. Three nights without being able to sleep more than a few hours before the nightmares hit. Not that I can remember any details, but still, this kind of thing only happens to me when the universe is trying to slap me upside the head with something. And then there was the…vision. And the collage. It’s always a mistake to argue with the universe. I know better. Bargaining never works in my favor. Not ever.”

Violet slowed her pace and raked me with her too-wise, moss green eyes. “Uh-huh. You do know you’re not making any sense, right? I sort of get it about the nightmares and the old lady vision, but the collage could mean anything. Art interpretations are subject to personal whims. And Everly, the universe doesn’t talk to people. Not unless they’re locked in a small room with soft walls.”

Was I going crazy? A shiver rushed through me. No way. I would not succumb to a soft-walled existence. “A cleansing ritual. That’s what I need. No, more than that. A new beginning. Time to be done with the cold-sweat, heart-pounding, head-throbbing wake ups.” I veered from the shoreline and dove into a wave. When I came up for air, Violet stood on the shore, arms crossed, blonde curls whipping in the wind, and the elegant lines of her face compressed with worry. “Talk.”

I shivered, sloughing water from my arms and legs, wringing out the hem of my t-shirt. “That déjà vu vision thing happened in the middle of a client session. It was me, Violet, me sitting in that rocking chair, my life totally blah. Dead. I need to face whatever badass fear is nipping at my heels. Obviously something to do with death. Mine and someone else’s.”

She eyed my wet shirt, squinting through the gray streaks of barely-dawn light, and then reached to give me a sloppy hug. “We’ll work this out, Everly. Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out, because, hey, soul sisters. ”

I stepped back, avoiding her open arms, her loyalty a sweet sting behind my eyes. “Thanks, I…no reason we should both shiver our way through the drive back to Cary. Even with the ninety degree day they’re predicting, it won’t be enough to dry me out.”

She opened her mouth, snapped it closed, and frowned.

“Violet?”

“Hmmm?”

“What’s wrong with me? Aside from the touch thing. I’ve learned to live with that, and oddly it’s why I’m a good coach. Makes me exceedingly objective about life on the outside of my picture window. But why is it suddenly such a big deal that I change how I do things? And what’s gonna happen to my business if I do?”

“Best guess as to what’s wrong with you: a rapidly ticking biological clock, and if you want children—”

“No. No children.” A shaft of loneliness left a hollow trail in my chest. “I couldn’t do that to an innocent child. What if they inherited the ESP fingers and couldn’t live a normal life? There’s no way it can be that.”

“Well, maybe your decision to protect the world from your fingers has worked a few brain cells loose. You’ve been hiding from the world since college, and that’s not exactly learning to live with your gift.”

“Gift. Right.”

She ignored my sarcasm. “You didn’t say, but I assumed that’s why you suggested this trip to the beach—that you were finally ready to expand your boundaries—and FYI, I don’t think it’ll change your business much. You’re still you, and that’s what your clients depend on.”

“Yeah. Maybe so. But because of the…vision. And the murder thing. Shouldn’t I try and figure out who’s going to be murdered? Stop it somehow? Use my gift for more than coaching people through the blips in their lives?”

We ambled along the shoreline, quiet except for the shrieks of gulls and the pounding of the waves. My anxiety settled into the pit of my stomach, leaving behind a dull ache.

Violet coupled a long-suffering sigh with a brief headshake. She knew the details of my problem. How I see images when I touch people, usually about whatever’s dominating their thoughts—like where they’ve been or what they’ve been doing. Once in a while something will pop in about their future. Ditto when my fingertips brush over objects. I try not to trespass, to only use it with clients so I know how to help them.

The wind brought shivers to my skin. Obviously, my dip in the ocean had not been the brightest move, to say nothing of… “Oh, damn it all to perdition. There isn’t supposed to be anyone on the beach this early on a Saturday morning.”

“He is not perdition.” Violet’s sigh held a hint of curled-toes lust. “He is one fine specimen. Wish I were the one with the camera because that body should be recorded for all eternity.”

I’m not into the cover model look, but since this guy tripped my heebie radar, I catalogued the obvious and had to agree with Violet’s shallow assessment that we were witnessing a bit of male perfection. Tallish at around six feet, sandy brown hair curling around his neck, and with enough dark and broody in his aura to add some mystery.

She grabbed my arm. “Hold on. The camera is pointed at you. You know him?”

I met his gaze and broke into an instant replay of my nightmare symptoms. Fear clawed at my spine and my vision went hazy, like I was looking through the old woman’s eyes. What the hell? I’d never reacted like that to anyone, not even when I inadvertently touched a stranger, and I definitely wouldn’t have forgotten this guy. Not good. Wrong in oh so many ways.

Violet headed in his direction, determination in every step. I hung back, struggled to root my feet in the sand, but couldn’t. My legs moved of their own accord, hustling to catch up with her. It was one of those moments when I would gladly have traded my ESP fingers and the unfortunate dip in the ocean for a snappy outfit, some make-up, and a hairbrush. Armor against the heebies? Or was it something about him?

My attention wandered back to the shaggy curls skimming his neck, and my heart went into a slow meltdown.
NO. No, no, no. This is not okay, Everly. You cannot have the hots for some guy who triggers your nightmare response. You can’t have the hots for anyone. Period.
I had learned about brief romantic interludes the hard way. My hinky fingers interfered with any chance of a “normal” date and totally wiped out anything fling related. But this guy…

I shut off my hormone-induced thoughts with a virtual head-desk thud. Not more than five minutes ago I’d christened my new beginning and had the salt film on my skin to prove it. This was the perfect opportunity to step forward, to find out if he held the answer to the badass fear disturbing my nights.

I caught the back of Violet’s sweat-damp t-shirt and tugged. “Hold it. There’s something going on with him.”

She didn’t take her eyes away from camera guy. “Yeah. I see that. He’s taking pictures of you without permission, and he looks—”

“No. Not that. He’s connected to my universe problem. I’m sure of it. And if touching him will give me a full night’s sleep, then it’s worth trespassing in his life, don’t you think?”

“You’re going to
touch
him?” Violet’s normally dulcet tones held a touch of shock.

I didn’t bother to answer her, just plastered a determined grin on my face and marched up to sculpted cheekbone guy, my right hand outstretched in greeting. “Everly Gray. Looked like your camera was aimed in my…”

Our skin touched and the image ricocheted through my head. I snatched my hand from his grasp and double-timed a few backward steps. I’d barely touched him. The image floated in front of my eyes with sickening persistence, slammed my heart rate into berserk, and I couldn’t grab a breath.

A dead body.
The
dead body. From my vision. Sprawled on an ugly brown sofa. Male. Arms and legs akimbo. Blank eyes staring into nothingness. A beer bottle tumbled at his feet.

Definitely. Dead.

I clamped my hand over my mouth, biting into the soft skin of my palm. The heavy taste of the sea brought reality into focus, and I swallowed a scream. Better to have it tear at my throat than let it escape, since a sprinkling of beachcombers were in the near distance. None of whom could see the body.

As impossible and improbable as it seemed, I couldn’t deny what my touch told me. I gave him a surreptitious once-over, searching for a convenient fantasy to maintain my sanity. Maybe he could be a private investigator like Violet. They take pictures and come across the occasional dead body. It sort of made sense.

My head spun, but I retained enough common sense to know my actions were noticeably odd, and that Violet had stepped up to introduce herself and cover my aberrant behavior.

“Why didn’t I keep my fingers to myself?” I must have muttered out loud, because potentially murderous, possibly PI, photographer guy shot me a leery-eyed frown.

Violet rested her hand on his arm, distracting him. “Aren’t you Mitchell Hunt? And didn’t I see your work in the latest issue of
Global Survival?
”

What was she doing, touching him? The man was associated with dead bodies and she was chatting him up like an old friend about…what? Damn it all, did she say something about survival? I’d totally spaced out on the fantasy of him being a PI with potential killer instincts and missed their conversation. Two slow breaths later the potent mix of surf, creosote, and…oh hell, was that his clean, first-snowfall scent clearing the dead body image from my head?
Focus, El. Now would be a good time to focus.

“Yeah, I did the photo essay on Afghanistan.” He took a step back, then did a vague nod in Violet’s direction. “Nice meeting you.”

The timbre of his voice tripped down my spine, leaving tingly goose bumps behind. It should have had me snatching Violet away from him and dragging her to the car. But no, it kicked my curiosity into overdrive. Not that I’m attracted to dead bodies. Not my thing at all.

Until the vision and the collage. Until now.

Words weren’t forming in my mind quickly enough to keep him from leaving, so I did the only thing possible—gave my best impression of a dead faint. Poor choice of words, but hey, they fit. I flopped, banged into his denim-clad legs just as he bent to jump out of the way, tripped him, and landed in the sand next to his flailing body with enough force to knock the air out of my lungs. Not exactly what I’d planned. But I couldn’t allow him to get away until I worked my hands out of the sand so my fingertips could do their thing. This time, I’d hold on to him long enough to get the full story on the dead body.

Violet nudged me with her toe. I opened my eyes to find her baby greens shooting sparks as she offered me a hand up and whispered in my ear, “We
will
talk about this later.” I hate being caught out when I’ve done something totally crazy. Still, it worked. Mitchell Hunt untangled himself, stood, and caught me beneath the arms, then lifted me to my feet. I managed to suck in a lungful of air. And choke.

He gave me a quick pat on the back. “Looks like you’ll be okay. Just a hard landing.”

And then he smiled. Deep enough to chase the murkiness from his eyes, turn them to autumn brown, and bring out the hint of a dimple in his right cheek.

Maybe I’d been premature with the murderer assessment.

I pulled out my modern woman attitude and turned my smile up a notch. “Sorry about knocking you down. Guess I’m lightheaded from lack of sleep, or maybe from missing breakfast.”

My peripheral vision caught Violet’s expression as her mouth dropped open. I stepped in front of her so Mitchell wouldn’t notice, then pointed toward his camera. “Want to share those pictures with me? Seeing as how they’re of me?” I
needed
him to hand me the camera so I could cup his hand in mine and bring my fingertips in contact with something connected to him, skin, clothes, whatever.

“Thank heaven for digital cameras and instant gratification.” Perky. I sounded overly perky. Barely recognized myself, and it’s no wonder he backed away before I could make contact.

He busied himself brushing the sand from his jeans. “I’m okay, and yes, you can see the pictures.” Was that a sheepish grin making his lips quiver? “Thing is, I’m not here to do a piece on water nymphs. You just…”

Guilt. His voice positively reeked of guilt. My breath caught somewhere behind my heart. Could he be interested in me? No, not possible. Probably it was my lack of foresight in forgoing the bra this morning. My wet t-shirt was on the clingy side and probably triggered a dose of testosterone. The picture taking had to be a guy thing. A reflex. Or something. I slowly released a breath...
Dead body, El. Remember the collage and the image of the dead guy. Those are the only reasons you need to touch Mitchell Hunt.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted toward us from the Starbucks on the boardwalk. I took a deep breath, savored the fragrance, and plunged ahead. “How about I treat for coffees and you can show us the pictures?” A series of shivers rippled through my muscles and my jaw clenched with the chill. Or was it fear that he’d turn down my invitation?