Cold Touch (14 page)

found after the bar fire. It hadn’t, however, been that the lead detective on the

case would practical y pick her up and push her out of the interview room in

his rush to get away from her, like she was contagious, her madness catching.

Yet that’s what he’d done.

“You could have given me the benefit of the doubt,” she muttered, stil

bothered by his reaction, hours later. He hadn’t even asked her why, hadn’t

demanded an explanation. He’d heard her proposal, decided she was—what

had he cal ed her?—a whack job, and said goodbye.

After leaving the police station, she’d been so bothered by the whole thing,

she hadn’t even thought about going in to the office for a while. That, despite

the fact that Julia had cal ed and left two worried messages on her voice mail

this afternoon. She had cal ed her boss back, assuring her she was fine and

would tel her what was going on soon. Then Liv had come home and busied

herself doing laundry and washing her kitchen floor—anything to avoid

thinking for a while.

It hadn’t helped. She’d thought. A lot. Mainly about him.

Why she’d been so upset about the good-looking detective’s reaction, she

couldn’t say. It had felt almost personal. She’d expected suspicion, perhaps.

Disbelief. Not dismay. But dismay was what she’d swear she saw in Cooper’s

eyes before he’d launched himself out of his chair, thanking her for her time

and saying he’d be in touch.

Digging out Steven Ames’s business card had been an impulsive act. She

hadn’t seen or spoken to the FBI agent in at least two years, though he used

to cal to check up on her once every six months or so. She honestly didn’t

know why she stil had the man’s card in her wal et. Or why she’d thought of

him when she realized Detective Cooper might need some outside

convincing to let her do what she knew she had to. Now, though, she decided

the impulse had been the right one. If there was anybody who would want to

know for sure whether Dwight Col ier had had an accomplice, it was Special

Agent Ames.

She used to think Ames had taken a fatherly interest in her. Now, though,

she had to wonder. Had he ever real y, ful y believed it was over? Or had those

phone cal s, that tenuous connection, been maintained because, deep down,

he feared it wasn’t?

Ames had thought from the time he’d come to Georgia to work on her case

that the man responsible for her kidnapping had committed that kind of crime

before. Not just with Jack, but other for-ransom jobs on the southeast coast.

Kidnappings of people with wealthy family members, al of which had ended

in murder. Except hers.

Not for lack of trying
.

Looking back, she remembered how surprised he’d been when he’d read

the profile of Dwight Col ier, the man Savannah police had kil ed that night

twelve years ago, when he’d come to pick up the ransom money. The agent

had acted as if he just couldn’t believe the petty thug/drifter could have been

working his kidnapping schemes for several years, staying ahead of the

police and the FBI. Ames, more than anyone, had wanted her to study pictures

of the man, to see if there was anything at al familiar about him.

She’d agreed, but it hadn’t helped. There hadn’t been anything familiar.

Nothing to rule him in or out, actual y, as the monster who’d taken her from her

bed. Having heard but not seen him, she’d had no way of knowing for sure

without hearing his voice. Even that might not have been enough, since she’d

heard him say so little and then only when she was terrified.

Not that he’d been alive to say a word.

Of course, that had al been before she’d known about the dark ability she’d

acquired during the last night of her captivity, so she had never considered

examining Col ier’s remains, just to be sure. By the time she had discovered

what she could do, a year after the kidnapping—
God, Grandmother, I’m so

sorry I got hysterical at your funeral
—Col ier had been cremated, his ashes

spread who knew where.

For years, she’d accepted what the police and her family and almost

everyone else had told her: Her attacker was dead. Now, though, she kept

thinking about those smal remains, entombed in a wal . She kept considering

that night. The locations. The time line. And she had to wonder if Ames had

been on to something al along.

Deep in thought, she hadn’t even heard anyone approaching the front door

of her house until the doorbel rang. Poindexter, who’d been delicately licking

his paw as he watched her clean, hopped down from the top of the

entertainment center and sauntered toward the door, putting on that feline
I’m-

not-up-to-anything
air.

“Forget it, cat,” she muttered, knowing he would love to dart outside. During

his last joyful romp out of the house, he’d found himself a comfy spot right on

top of the cage housing a rabbit owned by the little girl next door. Hearing his

plaintive, hungry meows from al the way up on the balcony off her bedroom,

she had raced into their backyard to retrieve him. She’d been caught red-

handed by Lenny, the lawn guy, who’d eyed her in shocked disapproval from

behind his push mower.

Wonderful. Just what she needed to enhance her reputation: the pale,

secretive redhead with a bunny-stalking black cat who trespassed in other

people’s backyards.

She’d been very careful to make sure he didn’t escape again.

Scooping him up, she held him tightly, made sure the door’s chain was

fastened, then pul ed the door open and peeked out. She didn’t know who she

had expected, Julia maybe? The UPS man?

Definitely not Detective Gabe Cooper. Yet there he stood, the strong, solid

form unmistakable. His shoulders and hair—i.e., the back of him—were the

first things she saw. While he’d waited for her to answer, he’d turned to look

around the yard, so he faced away from the door. That gave her a moment to

note the way the lazy, end-of-the-day light brought out gold highlights in the

thick, coarse hair.

When he didn’t turn around, she took another moment, stil peering through

the few inches of open doorway, mental y noting a few more things—real y

attractive, interesting things.

Olivia’s breath got trapped in her throat as she again acknowledged the

breadth of those shoulders, which were covered in a lightweight dress shirt.

He’d eschewed the loose-fitting, slightly rumpled suit jacket he’d had on

earlier, and she couldn’t say she minded. As impressive as he’d been at the

police station, he was even more so, now. The powerful creature free from his

cage.

Al broad at the top, he was slim-waisted, positively lean at the hip, and his

trousers did nice things to the taut backside. His long legs were slightly

bowed, braced apart, and with his one fisted hand on his hip, he looked

almost like a sea captain at the helm, master of al he surveyed.

You’ve got to stop reading those epic historical novels
, a voice in her head

whispered.

They were her secret indulgence, and swashbuckling pirate stories her

favorite of al . She couldn’t imagine what people who probably thought of her

as the chick who got off on dying would make of her being a closet romantic.

Final y managing to breathe again, she took one more rueful look, then

gave herself a little break for being wowed. Because Gabe Cooper was

absolutely stunning to stare at from behind, and every feminine inch of her

responded instinctively to al that strength, the male power evidenced by the

rock-hard form.

But it was time to stop playing voyeur and let him know his knock had not

gone unanswered. Careful y balancing Poindexter under her arm, she gently

pushed the door in a few inches, slid the chain free, then reopened it al the

way.

He stil didn’t notice, probably deafened by the early-evening cicadas that

were serenading the entire planet from this little piece of Georgia. His

attention remained focused on the treelined yard, the quiet street and the

nearby houses. She wondered what he was thinking, if he’d made any more

judgments about her based on the fact that she lived in a big house on an

exclusive street in the Victorian District.

She also wondered what he’d say if she told him she’d inherited the house

and everything in it from her paternal grandmother. The house had been in the

family for generations and traditional y had been passed down to the oldest

daughter or granddaughter. Her father had only had a brother, so it had come

to her in a trust when she’d been only sixteen. She loved the old place but had

to work a ful -time job just to afford the taxes and upkeep on it.

Realizing she was already on the defensive, she shoved al random

thoughts aside and cleared her throat. “Detective? What are
you
doing here?”

He spun around, eyeing her from behind a pair of dark sunglasses, familiar

ones, the ones she’d handed him earlier today. He was probably wearing

them to break the ice—a backhanded way of thanking her—because he

didn’t technical y need to have them on. Not here on the porch and not this late

in the day.

But he didn’t take them off, which was just as wel . The man’s eyes were a

little too distracting. Of course, that just left the rest of his face to look at: the

strong nose, slashing cheekbones, truly sensual mouth.

Hel . She real y didn’t want to like his looks, not after he’d treated her like

some kind of leper this afternoon.

“Would you believe I was in the neighborhood?”

“No.”

“Wel , how about that I needed to see you?”

“Why? Did one of my neighbors cal and say my cat’s been stalking their

bunny?”

One corner of his mouth went up. “You know, that sounds like a euphemism.

A kind of salacious one.”

“
Ooh
, big words for Mr. Average Joe street cop,” she said, knowing she

sounded bitchy but unable to help it.

“Can you take out the angry eyes, Mrs. Potato Head, and just let me talk to

you?”

She clamped her lips together, tempted to laugh, which wasn’t fair when she

wanted to stay mad at him. “So talk.”

“I’m sorry I showed up unannounced. I did try cal ing.”

She’d ignored the phone, not even glancing at the cal er ID, sure it was her

sister cal ing to talk about her latest wedding plans. Olivia wasn’t much in the

mood for cheerful, happy-happy-joy-joy sister talk. It was going to be hard

enough to go to the engagement brunch tomorrow and face the family with al

this going on.

“How about letting me in so we don’t give your neighbors more to gossip

about than your bloodthirsty cat?”

Oh, she had no doubt they would already be burning up the phone lines if he

were in a marked car. Fortunately, the sedan parked out front was plain,

unidentifiable as a police vehicle. She hoped.

“Please, just give me a chance,” he added, his tone gentle, reminding her of

the kind streak beneath that tough outer shel .

“Al right, come in,” she said, stepping back and letting him enter.

Poindexter stiffened for just a moment, eyeing the newcomer. When Olivia

firmly closed the door, the feline lost interest, leapt from her arms and

sauntered away, ignoring their visitor, obviously not caring that he could be an

ax murderer or something. A guard cat, he wasn’t.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she said.

“Yeah, wel , believe me, I wasn’t expecting to come here, either.”

She stared at him. Hard. “So why did you?”

He final y pushed the glasses up, revealing those springtime green eyes.

Such soft, gentle-looking eyes, meant for a man of good humor. Which she

definitely hadn’t seen much of in him, with the exception of those brief

moments of near flirtation back at the station. It was those moments she’d

replayed in her head more than once since she’d gotten home. She’d found

herself wishing, not for the first time, that they’d met under different

circumstances.

When he didn’t reply right away, she prodded, “Are you here to Baker Act

me right into the psych ward?” She was trying to be light but heard the edge in

her own voice. He’d hurt her earlier. That he’d had the power to hurt her after

she’d known him such a short time surprised her, but it was true.

“Nah,” he said. “You could go around cal ing yourself Mrs. Santa Claus and

nobody in Savannah’d raise an eyebrow.”

“But they wil if I say I can use my psychic abilities to help in a murder

investigation?”

He sighed, obviously realizing she had her defenses up big-time. “Which is

why I came. I’m here to finish our conversation.”

“The one we couldn’t finish because you practical y threw me out of the

police station?”