Come Hell or High Desire (4 page)

Zero, zilch, zippo. Only a raging headache. And don’t forget about the heaping dose
of mortification. You knew it was a pointless “gift.” Now knock it off
.

A large shadow fell across her lap. She didn’t have to look up to wonder what he was
probably thinking. Weirdo came to mind. How about freak? That had been a crowd favorite
during adolescence.

Agnes hurried over to them, water sloshing over the sides of a glass. She thrust it
at Sloane, then pressed her hands to her chest, her breathing so labored Sloane wondered
who needed the water more.

Zack extended a hand to help her up, his eyes questioning as his hand curled around
hers. Once on her feet, she walked to her vehicle to wet-wipe her hands, swill some
water, and swallow half a dozen breath mints. She returned to the site of her gutting
and poured what remained of her water bottle onto the sloped pavement.

Sucked to have someone you wanted to impress witness your humiliation. Sucked worse
when that same someone pulled you through it.

And wasn’t it petty to be pissed about that?

She watched the pair talking on the grass between the two condos when suddenly Agnes
pointed at the logo on his tinted truck window. Her words carried all the way over
to Ann’s driveway. “Oh would you look at that! Samuel’s Construction. No wonder Ann’s
name always niggled at the back of my brain. John was her father, wasn’t he?”

Sloane plucked up her courage and headed their way. Agnes was on a roll now. “That
Johnny Samuel was quite the catch in his day. Didn’t he court that high fallutin’
belladonna who was a visiting professor at North Dakota State? Sang opera or something.
I met her once at a banquet. Prissy as all get-out. He never did marry her, though.
Wait! Ann…was she?” Agnes blinked, then smiled, nodding and posturing like a rooster
in a henhouse. “
Ah.
John and the opera diva ate supper before they said grace. Happens to the best of
‘em. But, don’t you worry, the family secret is safe with me.”

Sloane snorted.
And safe with her bridge club, and her knitting cronies and…

Zack elbowed Sloane. “Listen, Mrs. Bailey, have you spoken with Ann today?”

“I haven’t seen her since yesterday when that storm was rolling in. I saw her looking
out her front window when my son, Baker, picked me up.”

“So, that would have been about six-thirty? Did you see her later, too, when you got
home from your son’s?”

“I’d say more like seven. And no, I didn’t see her later. She wasn’t home. I noticed
right away that only the front door light was on. She usually has them all on. And
I mean every last light. Real wasteful-like, you know.” Agnes sniffed, and Sloane
felt Zack go very still.

“Do you remember what time you got home?” he asked.

“Maybe around ten. What’s this about, anyway?”

“I’m just taking care of a few things for Ann. I appreciate your time,” he said.

After Agnes returned inside, Zack stepped away from Sloane. “I’m sure Ann’ll show
up soon.”

She wondered if he was reassuring her or himself. “No you’re not.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets in a gesture she was coming to realize he used
when he was disconcerted. “It’s a good thing you own your own business because you’re
not only bossy, but nosy as well.”

They observed each other for a few moments. Important moments. See-under-the-skin
moments.
People often attack when they feel most vulnerable.
Funny how so many of her mother’s words were coming back to her today.

He apologized, and though his jaw was still set, his eyes had softened. “I’m used
to working alone.”

“Working alone isn’t always good for a person.”

He arched a brow. “Oh, I don’t know. Beats getting tangled up in other people’s BS.”

“That’s not only a lousy attitude, but one guaranteed to make you lonely.”

The warmth seeped from his eyes, leaving her strangely sad.

“Probably.” He turned toward Ann’s front door. “If you want to take a look around
for that rhino, now’s your chance.” They had started up the walkway when a thud and
shattering glass rang out from the garage.

Chapter Five

Damn cat.
Zack wondered how he could have forgotten about Ann’s scrawny tom. He and Sloane
had entered Ann’s front door that he’d left unlocked and hurried through her massive
kitchen into the garage to find the trash can upended with colored glass, white plastic,
and a mish-mash of garbage strewn across the concrete floor. The cat perched on the
lone intact bag, staring at Sloane. When Zack shooed him away to chuck the bag in
the can, the tom sashayed over to Sloane to rub against her golden legs.

“Naughty kitty, look how dirty you are. Ann’s going to scold you for sure.” She scratched
his head as his motor sawed.

“He doesn’t belong to her.”

“Why’s he here then?”

“How should I know? When I broke in earlier, he was just here.”

Sloane’s hand paused on the cat’s back. “
Broke
in? I thought you had a key.”

“I didn’t stop home to get it.” Which was dumb because he needed to let the dogs out
pretty soon.

She frowned. “Oh, look, the poor thing only has two claws in his right front paw.”

“No wonder he’s so scrawny. Can’t hunt.”

She raised an eyebrow. “This is a real drawback if he’s an outside cat and can’t properly
defend himself.” She continued petting the cat. “So, when was the last time you spoke
with Ann?”

“Last night after the storm. Around seven-thirty.” Had she left with her date after
that? And did her date leave this morning’s note? He could take that note to the cops,
but what could they do when there was no evidence of foul play?

Sloane came over, standing close enough that he got a whiff of vanilla. He wondered
where she applied it—in the valley between her breasts, a spritz across her neck,
lathered into her hair? She had really pretty hair. So silky and shiny a man could
probably run his fingers through it without snagging on any calluses.

She bent over the garbage on the garage floor, searching for who knew what, but careful
not to touch anything. He made himself look away. “This isn’t your problem, you know.”

“You want me to leave?” she asked.

Why couldn’t he say yes? He didn’t want another female to worry about, and he certainly
didn’t want any extra complications. The deeper you let someone in, the more opportunity
they’d have to deceive you. He managed a slight nod. From the corner of his eye he
saw her stand and place her hands on her hips.

“You want to be alone then?”

“I can take care of this myself,” he replied.

“Lose the attitude. I’m concerned about her, too.”

How was he going to make her leave? He kicked at a piece of broken glass. “Ann was
upset when I talked to her on the phone last night.”

“Something you did?”

Her tone was neutral. His shoulders unwound. “No. She didn’t talk about it, and I
didn’t ask.”

“Then how do you know she was upset?”

He thought about it for a moment. “She had that stuffy-nose, bright-voice combo that
doesn’t fool anyone, but everyone plays along because aren’t we all so proud to be
stoic? You know how it is.”

She nodded, but didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago never to take things
at face value. What someone presents on the outside generally provides no indication
of the subtext buried within.

When Ann had returned his call, she’d assured him everything was all right, so he’d
taken the easy way out and didn’t press. Now, he wished he would’ve done what was
right.

Driven over to her place and found out what had made her cry.

Gotta be present to mine the subtext.

Birds chirped outside. They sounded so content. A long-ago memory of black plastic-covered
basement windows chased the warmth from his hands. He looked back at Sloane, wishing
she would just go. She was making him think.

And he was better off not thinking.

Or feeling.
Dammit.

“We’ll figure this out,” she said.

Her soft murmur punched a hole in his gut. “Why do you care anyway?”

He saw an intriguing spark of irritation come and go in her eyes. “Because Ann’s more
than an employee, she’s a friend.” She watched the cat crash his wiry body into her
shins. “And maybe because I get the feeling there aren’t too many others you reach
out to.”

“You think I’m reaching out to you?” If she only knew how much, she’d be as surprised
as he was.

“Totally. Whether you realize it or not.” She looked around. “Okay, I’m going to look
for the rhino, then let’s review what we know about Ann.” Without waiting for a response,
she turned and walked through the garage door into the house.

He followed and waited in the kitchen, listening to her poke around until the silence
indicated she’d moved on to another room.

He’d hurt her feelings. But when most women would’ve either flipped the bitch switch
or subsided into an all-out pout, she hit back with a good dose of reason that made
a man tuck his tail between his legs.

The more sides of this woman he saw, the more he was charmed. And that kind of landmine
he
didn’t
want.

“Zack.”

He hurried into Ann’s bedroom where Sloane stood holding a photograph, her face as
gray as a corpse’s. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s that on Ann’s sweater?”

Her whisper raised the hair on the back of his neck. He looked at her for a moment
before glancing at the picture of Ann, John, and himself. “The pin? John had it custom
made with nineteen tiny crystals for her nineteenth birthday last year.”

Sloane visibly swallowed. “So there’s probably only one like it?”

“Yeah. John always said Ann was one of a kind, so her jewelry should be, too. What’s
going on?”

“Probably nothing. I thought…wondered if maybe I’d seen it somewhere before.” She
chewed on her lower lip and set the frame back on the nightstand with trembling hands.

“If you know something about Ann, you’d better tell me now.” The old fashioned wind-up
clock on Ann’s nightstand ticked off at least half a minute in the quiet room.

“Tori—my manager—found
that brooch
at the store under a display table. We thought a customer had lost it, so we kept
it at the store for weeks. When no one claimed it, I finally brought it home.” She
swung toward him, her eyes a gunmetal gray. “Why didn’t Ann tell me it was hers? It
was lying in plain sight in the stock room.”

The uptick in her voice made his pulse climb. “You know something.” She moved to the
bedroom door. He realized he wanted her to stay as much as he wanted her to leave.
“Out with it. You’re no coward, Sloane.”

She stopped in her tracks. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. Twenty bucks
said she’d start crying any minute. He looked around the room for something to distract
her, something else to say, but came up with nothing. He’d always sucked with words.
His gut all but ordered him to pull her into his arms and soothe her fear—because
she was afraid of something—but he’d kick his own ass before he pulled a stupid move
like that.

Which left no safe options, so he stared at her bent head. When she moved gracefully
back to the bedroom’s French doors to peer outside, he felt like Neanderthal man trying
to understand modern Homo sapiens.

Coarse. Bush-league.

Still, he couldn’t stand seeing her so upset. There was just something about her that
made him want to
act
. Hold her hand. Slay her demons.

Something about her told him she deserved that. Big hearts always had a way of showing
themselves. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.

He rubbed his chest and made himself look away from where she still stood by the door,
because this was all getting a little too close.
Remember what Kasey did.

He’d trusted her, and she’d dropped him into the lion’s den.

Needing some outlet for his restlessness, he left the room.

Soon he returned with the cat in a football hold and walked to stand beside Sloane.
As soon as he transferred the tom into her arms, the cat’s motor fired. She brought
him up to her neck for a snuggle, grungy as he was. Then she glanced at Zack and back
out the French doors. “I sometimes have these…uh, dreams?” She cleared her throat.
“Dreams about things I really shouldn’t know about.”

“Dreams. Like when you’re asleep?”

“No.”

“You dream awake?”

“Not exactly,” she said.

“Daydreams.”

“No.”

“Fantasies?”

She massaged her forehead. “No.”

“Delusions.”

“Oh, for heaven sakes, no!”

“Dreams that aren’t night dreams, daydreams, fantasies, or delusions. Help me out
here, Sloane.”

“Oh!” She swung toward him, tears on the verge of spilling over. She swiped at them
with one hand, looking at it like it was offensive.
“Shit.”

His lips curled upward in spite of himself. “My sentiments exactly.”

She closed her eyes. “Okay.” She gathered a deep breath, and Zack had second thoughts
about hearing what she seemed ready to confess.

“That brooch on Ann’s sweater? Two nights ago I dreamt about it. In the dream, I heard
someone say,
‘Help her. She’s in trouble.’
At the time, I didn’t know who the voice was talking about. Now…” She looked at the
floor.

What?
He wanted to laugh. “That’s crazy.”

Her head whipped up, her eyes darkening to nearly black. A sliver of energy ran down
the length of his spine. Creepy, but exciting in a messed up sort of way. Maybe she
was part of that new group the Fargo PD had their eye on. Some weird cult activity
was attracting notice a few miles south of town. He made a mental note to keep his
dogs inside at night from now on. They’d love that. He smiled.

It seemed to piss her off more.

“You don’t want to believe me, that’s your problem. But know this, Goldman. In all
my life, my visions have never been wrong.”

“
Visions?
Now you’re calling this…this dream-business…a vision?” Nothing in all his soul-sucking
years of living on the streets could have prepared him for this. She was talking about
some kind of ESP. It was so farfetched he had trouble even imagining it. What did
he say to
that
without offending her?

“Zack, when I touched your truck door handle, I saw a beefy, blond man in a navy pin-stripe
suit encourage you before you stormed into a floor-to-ceiling windowed conference
room. There were two older men in sport coats—one gray tweed, the other beige. I felt
your contempt for them. Those were the most recent memories of the person who last
touched the door handle, which I’m assuming was you. Now you tell me, how accurate
are my visions?”

How perfectly accurate, indeed? No way could she know those details. And if she was
spot-on about his earlier meeting with Benji’s henchmen, that meant there was either
some logical explanation for how she knew…

Or, Ann was in a scrape.

“WHERE IS SHE?”
the note had said. Good goddamn question. “Well…
huh
.”

The fight went out of Sloane so fast her shoulders slumped and her eyes fluttered
shut. When she finally opened her eyes, they were that intriguing gray-brown again,
though more brown than gray this time, like felled tree trunks, long forgotten on
the forest floor. The knots loosened in his gut in spite of his growing fear for Ann.

“Thank you.” She resumed petting the cat, blinking rapidly as though trying to hold
back some big emotion.

His heart kicked. “For?”

“For believing me,” she whispered.

He nodded vaguely, but did he? It simply wasn’t logical. Yet, there was no other way
she could know about his meeting at the office unless she’d talked to Ross. But his
CFO had never mentioned her. Then again, Ross wasn’t known for gossip.

He watched Sloane pet the cat. She seemed so unsettled—scared even—of revealing herself
to him. No surprise there, though. An ability like that would pretty much ostracize
you from the rest of society. But did that mean he really believed her? He’d have
to proceed carefully here. “Ann can’t be in trouble. She would’ve told me.”

“You really want me to believe you’re her confidante? Based on things Ann has mentioned
at the store, Tori doesn’t think you two are exactly BFFs.”

Direct hit. He felt the blow rattle him from the inside out. The worst part was that
someone else—someone who was making him feel things,
dangerous things
, he hadn’t felt in a long time—had finally verbalized his failure to carry out his
duty to John’s daughter.

It was time to stop being so selfish. There was a baby in the equation now, too.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “In your…vision? How did it end? Did it
tell you anything about who or where…” God, this conversation couldn’t possibly be
about Ann.

“No, I’m sorry.”

He made a sound of frustration, then turned to walk to the kitchen. Sloane murmured
to the tomcat and followed him. He could feel her even though she wasn’t touching
him. Was that part of her “ability”? She must radiate low-level energy or something.
Couldn’t have been easy growing up knowing you were different like that.

Man, he was probably imagining all this kooky stuff. Energy and E-fucking-SP.
How?
The question rolled around in his mind as he rifled through Ann’s cabinets until
he found some instant coffee and mugs. When the water was hot, he stirred in the coffee
and handed the cup to Sloane. “Look, I’ve never met someone before who has…powers
like yours.” She winced, but he had to know. “Can you, I don’t know, hear other people’s
thoughts?”

“Oh my God, no!”

Well, that’s a hell of a relief.
“But you can touch something and know its back story.”

“I…” She looked ready to bolt. Her gaze kept wandering to the front door.

“Tell me.”

When her eyes met his, they were luminous. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“It’s called psychometry. Every object has a soul that retains a memory of sorts.
If I try, I can usually…read the most evocative impressions of an object’s history.
Especially if the object is metal, and only when it has received strong emotion. But
I don’t. I can usually control it now that I’m older. It’s not who I am. I…I
hate it.
It has never,
ever,
served a useful or happy p-purpose. It’s only brought…pain.”