An Inner Fire (12 page)

“You can let Mitzi off the lead.” She bent to pet Mitzi, needing time to settle herself. “Please sit down.”

Mitzi licked Grayce’s hand before rejoining Davis at the chair.

She walked to her desk. “Obviously, Mitzi’s feeling better? No limp?”

“Obviously.”

Grayce glanced up. Davis leaned nonchalantly back in his chair. Although he positioned himself in a relaxed pose, with one leg crossed over the other, tension radiated from him. His shoulders and jaw were set in hard, stiff angles. His whole body was ready, ready for action, ready to jump out of the chair. Grayce could feel his stare as she made her notes.

She focused on Mitzi, ignoring Davis’ scrutiny and waited for him to give her an opening to discuss Mitzi’s tension. “She’s settled down?”

“She seems calmer. There haven’t been any more episodes of her howling, or chewing things up.” His tone was jagged, impatient.

“It does sound like she’s calmer.” She didn’t look up but proceeded to rearrange the sheets of paper on her desk. The interview was bordering on the absurd. It would be a lot easier if she could blurt out “your dog is anxious because someone wants you dead.”

“She’s back to her old self. Except, I don’t know, it’s as if she’s always on alert.”

She wanted to high five or shout out “finally,” but instead she leaned forward across her desk. “Dogs can pick up on their owner’s mood. You’re in the middle of a dangerous investigation. Mitzi is picking up your anxiety.”

Looking at Davis was a mistake. The space between his eyebrows had disappeared into a harsh furrow. His mouth was clamped together. No hint of a crooked smile. “Anxious? I’m not anxious.”

She was usually so facile communicating with people and their pets but not with these two. Connecting Mitzi’s symptoms with her owner had been a tactical error.

“I’m not trying to imply you’re anxious, but, if an owner is surrounded by danger like you are, dogs can pick up on the tension. They do read people’s emotions.”

He now sat upright. His light playful eyes were dark and directed at her. It didn’t take an intuitive to know that he was a bit aggravated, maybe more than a bit. Not the way to begin an important discussion with a forceful male, by making him defensive and suggesting something girly like he might be nervous.

“I don’t think Mitzi needs any treatment for her injury but she…”

“You’re going to put yourself right out of business if you heal your patients so quickly.”

Now, she was starting to get aggravated. The man was stubborn. He wasn’t listening to her.

“As I was starting to say… I think Mitzi is still…” She had almost slipped and used the word anxious. “I think she is still hyper-vigilant. I would like to treat her today to help her relax.”

Grayce looked at Mitzi, who sat erect next to Davis. She refused to dissect or analyze her gifts. This man was in danger and his dog knew it.

Grayce needed to retreat to her inner quiet space to do the treatment. After the treatment, she would try again to warn Davis. Taking a deep breath, she stood and went to the cabinet to get the needles. She focused on Mitzi and what the dog needed to feel safe and protected—if only she could do the same for her owner.

“Okay, Mitzi?” Centering, she sat down next to the dog to begin.

* * *

Mitzi’s chi was low from her constant vigilance, the cost of protecting Davis. Grayce needed to balance and replenish Mitzi.

She closed her eyes and visualized Mitzi running in a field of tall grass, the sun shining on the poodle. The air was fresh, clean and the light was hot, bright and surrounded Mitzi. Grayce placed the needles, directing her energy as the heat of the sun.

She envisioned Mitzi rolling in abandonment on her back in the grass, her legs pumping, pointed to the sun, to the center of all life force.

Prepared this time for the rush of fear being released from the stressed dog, she didn’t resist the negative force. Grayce breathed in and out in a slow, steady, deep rhythm and allowed the dark currents to flow around her.

Like in her dream, a black mist whirled about her, but unlike in her dream, she was present and in control. The mist remained at her feet, unable to suck her into the void, into the fear.

She continued to rotate the needles, envisioning Mitzi in the field, in a cocoon of heat, light, and safety.

Completing the treatment, Grayce removed the needles from the sleeping poodle. When she stood, she realized how exhausted she had become from the treatment. She walked to the cabinet to dispose of the needles.

She kept her back to Davis, grappling with the evil that hovered around him, like circling vultures waiting to attack.

His voice was gentle, clearly concerned. “Grayce, are you alright?”

Lost in sorting out Mitzi’s treatment and a way to approach Davis, she hadn’t realized how long she had been standing at the cabinet. She inhaled and turned, attempting to appear composed. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day.”

“You look done in. Can I take you out for a drink, dinner?”

An opportunity to speak to him—this is what she wanted. She couldn’t allow him to proceed blindly in his investigations.

“Right now, I could eat a horse.” He patted his stomach. “I guess I shouldn’t talk about eating animals in this office.”

“Most of my clients are carnivores.”

They both laughed.

“So, what do you say? Mitzi’s been stuck in the truck all day. I’ll walk her and come back.”

“Okay.” She was worn out from trying to support his dog. She didn’t know if she had enough energy to take on the owner.

“I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. We’ll walk to one of the places around here.”

She watched the odd couple leave her office. Davis’ massive frame dwarfed the gigantic poodle. With her head and nose pointed upright, Mitzi promenaded next to Davis. Her perfect carriage reflected centuries of careful breeding.

She wasn’t fooled by the elegance. Poodles had been bred to be hunters. Mitzi’s alert, close proximity to Davis clearly demonstrated her role as defender. Watching them leave, Grayce felt a need to shield them. She had to help Mitzi protect him.

It sounded so dramatic, but she knew it to be true. Davis wouldn’t accept it. He would want an explanation. He would want proof. She had none.

Communicating with animals was simpler.

Chapter Twenty-One

He sat knee to knee with Grayce, squeezed in a corner of the hectic Thai restaurant. The smell of lemongrass mixed with the sweet smell of Grayce Walters made him ravenous. The intimacy of their small corner and the light touch of her knees softened his mood. He enjoyed touching her. Oblivious, Grayce stared at the menu.

“How was your trip?”

“Great.”

“Was it another cure?”

She didn’t look up from the menu. “I think I helped.”

“I’m sure you did.”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Thank you.”

He was getting better at reading her. She was upset. He didn’t blame her. He had acted like an ass in her office. He had been looking forward to seeing her, but she had ignored their connection, ignored the way the air seemed to constrict when they were together like an oxygen deprived fire ready to combust.

“You’ve really made a difference to Mitzi.”

“About Mitzi…

An eager waiter appeared. “Would you like to begin with drinks?”

“Grayce, how about Grey Goose?”

“No, I don’t think it’s a martini night.” She was pale with violet smudges under her eyes.

“Wine, then? Red or white?”

“Either. I don’t care.”

The waiter hovered. “Would you like to see the wine list, sir?”

“Sure.”

Grayce sat studying the menu as if it were an instruction manual.

“Are you going to return to LA?”

“Next week.”

“Sir, the wine list. Would you like to start with some appetizers?”

“I’m starving. What do you recommend?” He was hungry, but mostly for Grayce’s attention.

“The spring rolls are our house specialty.”

“Bring two orders.”

He leaned across the table and tried to find a way to lighten her mood. “I warned you, I’m hungry, and I could devour…” He couldn’t finish because erotic images danced before his eyes. His heart pumped fast. His face must be the color of a department rig. The erotic images wouldn’t go away. He reached for his water glass.

“Have you decided on a wine?” God, he might have to kill the waiter.

“How about a Syrah? Grayce?”

“Sure.” She gazed at the crowd behind him.

“I think you will be quite satisfied with your choice, sir.”

Satisfied? Hardly. He couldn’t even get Grayce to look at him.

She smoothed a nonexistent crease on the tablecloth. Her nails were clipped short with no bright polish like other women wore. “How is the investigation going?”

He had no desire to talk about work. He wanted…He didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew who he wanted. She had agreed to the dinner, but, as in her office, she was keeping him at a distance. “Grayce, what’s wrong? Something’s bothering you?”

She shifted in her chair, pulling her knees away, avoiding his touch. “I need to talk to you.”

Her forehead was puckered into a fretful shape. He had never seen her anxious. She chewed on her lower lip. He knew what was coming. She was going to tell him she wasn’t interested in a relationship. He wasn’t either. But when she was close, with her knees pressed against his, he forgot all of his logical rationale against involvement.

“Have you heard what happened to the man who assaulted you?”

What? She was still upset by Friday night?

“Grayce, I’m sorry you had to come in contact with that creep.”

Her wide eyes stared at him, but she wasn’t really seeing him. She was lost in thought, probably reliving Friday night, remembering the crazy.

“Witnessing violence is disturbing,” he said.

“It wasn’t the violence. Well, it was the violence. But that man. Have you heard anything? What’s happened to him?”

“The guy escaped, got away in Harborview’s Emergency Room. Lewis was embarrassed to tell me.”

She hugged her arms around herself. Her pale eyelids fluttered. “The man escaped,” she whispered. “He’s back on the streets.”

“He won’t bother you. He doesn’t know who you are.”

She looked up. For the first time since they arrived at the restaurant, she really looked at him. “You think I’m worried for myself?”

“I’m not sure what you’re worried about. I’m trying to figure it out.”

She gave a little shake of her head.

“What is it Grayce? Tell me.” He wanted to touch her, soothe the crease in her forehead, kiss away the worry in her lower lip.

The waiter arrived with their wine.

Davis poured Grayce a glassful, hoping it would help restore her to the vibrant, laughing woman he first glimpsed on the floor in his office.

“You have nothing to fear from that guy.”

She sat taller. “I’m not afraid of the guy. Well, I’m afraid, but not for myself.”

“You’re not?” He wasn’t sure if she heard the disbelief in his question.

Restless, she shifted in her chair. She took a deep breath and held it too long, like a swimmer dreading the jump into freezing water. “I’m worried for you. I tried to tell you the night of the attack. The guy wanted to hurt you.” She was back to fingering the tablecloth, not looking at him.

He reached over and took her hands between his—so small and cold. He rubbed his thumbs on her palms, pressing deep, wanting to take all her troubles. He never had anyone who worried about him. “Grayce, you’re amazing. I’m really touched.”

She pulled her hands away. “You don’t understand. The guy is dangerous. I can sense it.”

He wanted to take her hands back, to stay connected. “I know how sensitive you are. I’ve seen you with Mitzi.”

“I don’t mean sensitive in the way you mean.” Her eyes flitted, inspecting the crowd. “Davis, listen to me.” She spoke in a hushed voice. “I feel things other people don’t.”

“You’re not telling me you’re a psychic? Do-do-do-do, Do-do-do-do,” he hummed the Twilight Zone music. “My aunt calls herself a witch—once she takes a few shots of Glenrothes whiskey. In fact, every time a cups comes up while she’s reading the cards, she tosses back another.”

Grayce closed her eyes. Her chest moved in her prim green sweater. She seemed focused on her breathing. She opened her eyes and reached for his hand. “This isn’t about me or my gifts. The guy isn’t crazy; he was on a mission, like a hired killer.”

He didn’t want to laugh, but a hired killer was too much. He lowered his head, but Grayce must have caught his smile. She pulled her hand out of his and leaned away.

“Grayce, what you saw was the meth pushing him to violence. He was in his own drug-induced world.”

Her eyes were shining but with the dim candlelight, he couldn’t be sure if there were tears. “He wanted to kill you.”