Clouds In My Coffee (24 page)

“No shit?”

“Yep. And I want you to know that we interviewed Kim. She told us about her and Keith picking Marshall up that night after he’d pushed your car over that cliff and, somewhere along the way, he told Keith everything that he’d done to both you and Angie.”

“That’s far-fucking out!” she replies, clearly excited.

“Yeah, well not so much. Keith is dead so it’s hearsay.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah, I know. But hey, don’t sweat it because I know that Marco will get the son-of-a-bitch.”

“So, you will come back and keep me informed of your progress?”

My heart sinks. I can’t lie to her; she’s a ghost for Chrissakes! “I’m done here, Cece. Marco has made it clear my assistance is no longer needed.”

“No,” she says quickly, “You’re my
only
hope of knowing that it all gets resolved. Please don’t go.”

I look over at her, seeing a soul that has wandered for forty years trying to get resolution. “What about Angie?” I ask. “Why is it that she could go on, but you couldn’t?”

She lowers her eyes to her white tennis shoes. “Because she didn’t pass still loving someone on earth more than she loved herself. I did.”

“Erik,” I say exhaling a breath. “Oh God, I meant to tell you that we talked to him as well.”

I can see her perk up, her ponytail bounces as she looks to me for more. “How…how is Erik?”

“Still loving you,” I reply and it’s the truth. “He’s never had children, only one failed marriage and he spoke of his love for you. He even opened that diner he showed you on Route 189. Named it ‘Clouds in my Coffee’.”

“Ooh,” she says, smiling, “That’s after one of my favorite songs.”

“I know, remember?”

“Far out. Thanks for telling me this. It helps.”

“You’re welcome, and Cece?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I have an answer for you, I promise.”

“Dig that.”

I’m on my way back home after leaving the cemetery when my cell beeps with a text message, it’s from Marco: Mia Caro—I have news. Please call me when it’s convenient. -M.

He has my cell number in his contacts list?

I never realized that because he’s never texted me before, only phoned. And while I know that it’s no big deal, it does please me that Marco had added me to his phone at some point. I had added his name after the first time we’d met.

As soon as I’m home, I give him a call.

“Hey,” he answers, “I’ve got some news.”

“Yeah?”

“Agent Matthews and I are going to Denver tomorrow to interview Judge Rydell. We’ve gone over everything since his arrival. He’s built a profile of sorts on Marshall Rydell, which helps when interviewing.”

“That’s great,” I reply, “I just got home from the cemetery. I…uh…visited Cece. You know, I wanted to fill her in.”

“I understand.”

“So, hey, that’s great because I promised Cece I’d let her know what the end result is on this.”

“Would you like to accompany me?”

“To Denver?”

“Yes.”

“But I’m not allowed to be present, am I?”

“No, not during the interview, but afterwards I may be able to share certain things with you.”

“Well what time would I need to be there? I’ve got to see if I can borrow Sheila’s car and I’m not even sure how long of a drive it is or anything.”

“Parrish,” he interrupts. “I’ll pick you up in an hour. Have your bags packed. We’re going together, leaving early in the morning. It only makes sense we get a good night’s rest being that we have to be up so early.”

I feel my belly tingle and I realize that this is as good as it gets for Marco…at least for now. “I’ll be ready,” I reply softly.

I’m sitting alone in my hotel suite at the Hilton North. Dumbass that I am, I had insisted on booking my own accommodations, even though I knew Marco wanted me staying with him.

Pride is a funny thing. It can get in the way of pleasure sometimes. I’ve heard that it goeth before the fall, whatever the hell that means!

Dad had raised his brow in fatherly concern when I explained I’d be gone overnight. Sheila had thrown him one of her looks, so he hadn’t voiced his opinion one way or another.

Marco had spent the better part of the afternoon video conferencing with Trace Matthews—or ‘Taz’ as he calls him, on developing the questions that will be posed to Judge Marshall Rydell tomorrow afternoon during their interview. Marco had clued Taz in about my special gift, promising me that, as an FBI agent, he would respect the fact that I didn’t want it to be public knowledge, for obvious reasons.

I asked Marco if Agent Matthews had seemed skeptical. “Not really,” he replied, “Sometimes agents find themselves working with psychics that have actually provided sound information to help solve cases, so we’re all fairly open-minded.”

So, here I sit, having just ordered my dinner from room service and having no further plans for this evening after that. My mind drifts to Marco and I’m curious as to what he’s doing at the moment.

There’s a soft knock on my door. When I open it, there stands Marco looking sinfully handsome—even for a man whore. He’s wearing jeans and a white pullover sweater that does nothing to hide his hard-muscled physique.

I sigh involuntarily. “Yes?” I ask.

“May I come in?” he asks, giving me a sexy smile.

“What for?”

“Just to talk, Parrish. I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself, even though you know damn well that’s not really what you want,” he replies.

Pompous ass!

“Come in,” I say, backing up to let him in. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Our flight leaves tomorrow at seven-thirty in the morning. We’ll go to the FBI Field Office in Denver to meet Taz. He may want to go over some of the details of your...episode with you, ask questions and so forth before we head out to interview the judge.”

“Fine,” I reply curtly. “Glad to help. Anything else?”

“You mind if I sit down?” he asks, nodding toward the bed since I’m sitting in the chair at the desk where my laptop is open. I’d been checking emails before he showed up.

“Go right ahead,” I reply, turning my full attention to him.

He takes a seat, leaning forward and steepling his hands under his chin. I notice his thick eyelashes as he closes his eyes for a moment, apparently trying to choose his words. No man deserves long, thick eyelashes like that, I think to myself.

“Parrish…I’m a bit
baffled
, I guess, by your reaction the other evening when...”

“Michelle,”
I provide a bit sarcastically.

“Okay,
Michelle,
” he repeats just as sarcastically, “stopped by my hotel suite. I thought we were both on the same page.”

“What page is that, Agent Trevani?”

“No strings. No complications, right? I mean, you’ve been pretty damn adamant about it if I’m correct.

I nod.

“So, then why the attitude and quick flight out?”

He’s got me there. I can’t really justify it myself.

I shrug, “There’s a difference between ‘no strings’ and ‘staggering,’” I reply, hoping like hell it sounds feasible.

“Hell,” he growls, “I met the woman the first week I arrived in Salt Lake. It’s not like she and I are
involved
or anything. We’ve gone out once or twice, that’s it.”

“Gone out? What does that mean, Marco? You’ve
fucked
her once or twice?”

He quirks a brow and I can see his jaw tighten. I’ve pissed him off, I can tell. “What business is that of yours? We have no exclusivity clause that I recall. Besides that, I haven’t touched her since...well, since you and I fucked, so there’s been no
staggering
or whatever the hell you want to label it!”

I stand up now and cross my arms, giving him a glare. I’m tapping my foot impatiently just like Ma does when she’s ticked off about something. “You’re right, it isn’t any of my business. And, for the record? Don’t stop fucking her on my account, Agent Trevani. It’s kind of a moot point, as they say, because you sure as hell won’t be getting in my knickers again.”

He stands up, getting a bit of a wicked smile on his handsome face and takes a step closer to me. He’s close enough that I catch the scent of his sexy cologne, as he rubs a hand along his jawline, where his five o’clock shadow is driving me to fucking distraction. “Don’t bite off your nose to spite your face, babe,” he murmurs huskily, “You’re only fooling yourself if you think the next guy in your bed can fuck you the way that I can.”

I feel my jaw drop at the audacity of his words and, before I can snap a sarcastic comeback, he’s gone, cheating me out of getting the last word.

But somehow I know that it’s more than that bothering me at the moment. There is truth in his parting words, but damn him for saying them to me.

It’s been a grueling morning and it’s past noon when Agent Matthews stops grilling me on the details of my episode as Cece. Marco’s assertion that he might have some questions for me was a huge understatement.

My God!

This profiler, for lack of a better title, not only asked for exact dialogue spoken, but also all sorts of things about the way Marshall had dressed, his body language, the way he drove his car, his grooming, how his voice had sounded, his interactions with other teenagers back then.

His interest piqued when I told him about Christmas Eve when Erik and Cece had been decorating the tree and I heard Marshall’s voice on the radio with a song dedication. It had seemed prophetic after learning later that night that Angie had died. He grilled me for five minutes on that alone.

Finally, he and Marco left the conference room to discuss changes in questioning. They’re meeting with Marshall at two o’clock and I’m to stay put here until they return.

I’m disappointed, in a way, because I would love to see what Marshall looks like these days, but I suppose I can find him by Googling, which is probably how I’ll spend my time alone here anyway.

Agent Matthews is pretty hot. He looks like he might be a couple of years older than Marco, but damn if he isn’t well-muscled with some fucking sexy green eyes.

What the hell is wrong with me? I’m like a bitch in heat!

Trace—or Taz, as Marco calls him, wears a wedding band and is all about business, I can tell. Not that he isn’t really nice, because I think he is, but I also think that Marco could take a lesson from Taz in that respect.

Speaking of Marco, he is barely acknowledging me today and, when he does, it’s in a very brusque way. I’m pretty sure Taz noticed because a couple of times, I caught him studying Marco when he snapped at me about this or that during questioning.

Asshat.

So, what if I
couldn’t
remember the
exact
fucking song Marshall had dedicated to whomever forty years ago? I mean, what the fuck? Even Taz hadn’t acted all pissy about that! Marco sure did though. Shaking his head and turning his back to me, his hands on his hips like he was disgusted.

Now I continue to rack my brain trying to remember that dumb-ass song for my own peace of mind. Maybe I
should’ve
written it in my notes while it was still fresh in my mind the way Marco had chided me.

Fuck me!

I keep trying to recall it. And then, just as the song title from Marshall’s dedication is on the tip of my tongue, my cell phone starts playing Ryan’s ring tone! As if I even want to think about him at the moment. I’ll never be able to hear that song and not think about the cheating fuck!

Damn!

‘Make it okay, I swear I’ll behave…’

I quickly mute the phone and then stop cold. I suddenly have a brilliant idea. I get up and grab Marco’s black wool overcoat from the back of the chair he had been sitting in. I remember that he had shoved his cell phone into the pocket once Taz had started the interview this morning.

I pull it out and am thrilled to see it’s an Android—similar to mine. Hot damn! I won’t need a password to download a ringtone and, luckily, he hasn’t deleted me from his contact’s list yet.

Awesome.

It takes me all of thirty seconds to download a song as a personal ring tone for my number in his phone. Song choice? “Angie,” by the Rolling Stones. A 1974 classic, along with having the same name as Marshall’s murdered ex-girlfriend!