Her Sister (Search For Love series) (23 page)

Taking
a slow breath and maintaining eye contact, she slid her hands into the pockets
of her white apron.  Nathan Bradley wanted something from her, all right, and
she couldn't give it.  Not right now.

"Ms.
Moore."

It was
more statement than question.  She nodded.

"Could
we talk for a few minutes?"

She gestured
to her desk.  "I'm working, Mr. Bradley.  I really don't have time--"

"You
don't have a client at the moment," he countered, his blue eyes steady,
his voice firm.

This
man could be intimidating.  But she was used to dealing with hard-nosed cops, jaded
private investigators, and a disbelieving public who wanted her help anyway. 
"No, I don't.  But I am working.  Now, if you'd like a manicure..." 
She almost had to smile at his expression of distaste, but then his next words
made her heart beat faster.

"I
want a few minutes with you.  You're the last option I have."

"For
what?" she asked, though she sensed what he needed.

"My
two daughters.  I need you to help me find them."

As she
stood, Gillian glanced around the shop to make sure no one was listening. 
"Where did you get my name?"

"Does
it matter?"  As he asked, he slipped a photo from the inside pocket of his
jacket.

His
movement was quick, but Gillian caught a view of a narrow waist, slim hips, and
a physique probably as taut as his demeanor and voice.  When he offered her the
photograph, her attention returned to the situation at hand and she took a step
back.

The two
young girls in the snapshot had their father's blue eyes and brown hair.  She
could tell that he loved them from the way the camera had caught Nathan
Bradley' expression as he crouched down between them, one arm around each
daughter.  The pain in his eyes now attested to the fact.

He
tried to hand Gillian the photo, but she wouldn't take it.  She knew what might
happen if she did.  She might see images and feel emotions she didn't want
right now.  Folding her hands in front of her, she said, "I'm no longer
doing that type of work."

But it
was difficult for her to tear her gaze from the picture.  When she did, the
sadness in Nathan Bradley's eyes was almost as difficult to ignore.

"Why?"

For
some reason, she couldn't hedge or lie to this man.  Checking again to be sure
no one eavesdropped, Gillian lowered  her voice anyway.  "Since I was
sixteen, Mr. Bradley, my life hasn't been my own.  I came to L.A. to escape the
type of work you want me to do and to make decisions about my future." 
She stopped and tears pricked her eyes as she thought about the last few months
before leaving Indiana.

Regaining
her composure, she swallowed and went on, "For almost ten years, I've
helped others when they've asked.  Now I need time and breathing room before I
decide if and how I want to use my gift again."

As she
spoke, she could tell he listened.  There was a spark of empathy in his eyes,
but, of course, his need was more important.  "Take this one case,"
he insisted.  "I'll protect your privacy if that's what you're concerned
about.  Your help doesn't have to be public knowledge.  I'm an internet
security specialist.  I know what safeguards we can take.  No one else has to
know you're here."

She
steeled herself against the man's masculine appeal and turned away from the
wonderful smiles of the children in the photo as well as the hurt still
lingering in her heart.  That hurt sprang up every time she remembered Brian
Reston and the search for his son, the months she'd dreamed about a future for
the three of them.

Despite
the time that had passed, despite the miles between L.A. and Deep River,
Indiana, she knew she wasn't ready for Nathan Bradley and his search...for any
of it.  The general public thought psychics could "know" anything
they wanted, that they could answer any question, even their own personal
ones.  That just wasn't true.  Gillian had realized early on that she couldn't
use her "gift" for her own benefit or to predict events.  All she
could do was tune into impressions and use them along with her intuition. 
Words, pictures, and sounds sometimes popped into her head, but she never knew
when that was going to happen.  It hadn't happened since she'd left Indiana.

With
the need for self-preservation being her overriding concern, she said, "If
you found me, others will be able to.  And I'm not only concerned about
privacy.  You make my help seem simple, as if all I have to do is close my eyes
and give you the answers you want.  The process is much more complicated than
that.  Try a private investigator, Mr. Bradley.  It will be best for both of
us."

"A
private investigator gave me your name."

She
sighed and shook her head.  "Then he can find someone else who does my
kind of work."

"It's
difficult to find a reputable psychic," Nathan almost growled as his
frustration became evident.

Worry
stabbed Gillian.  "Sh..."  All she needed was her co-workers
knowing. 

Nathan
lifted his hands in exasperation and in a loud whisper asked, "Why is it
so all-fired important for no one to know what you do?"

Anger
bubbled up inside her because this man knew nothing about the hundreds of
letters she received each year, the sleepless nights, the burden of parents and
brothers and sisters and children depending on her to find someone they loved,
or someone who was missing.  What irritated her the most were those who wanted
a plan for the future without formulating it themselves.  "If they knew
what I was able to do, most women in this salon would want a reading.  They'd
line up for hours waiting with bated breath for me to tell them their future. 
And if I couldn't tell them anything, they'd say I'm a fraud.  My gift creates
a three-ring circus, Mr. Bradley.  No, thank you."

Harriet
came in from the front desk.  "A walk-in for nails is waiting, Gillian. 
How's your schedule?"

Gillian
accepted fate's offer of a neat, non-confrontational way to end this
encounter.  "Tell her to come in.  I don't have another appointment until
four.  If it's all right with you, I'll take my supper break at five."

"No
problem."  Harriet's interest in Nathan was obvious as she gave him a wink
and returned to the front room.

He
faced Gillian.  "I'd like to continue our discussion."

"There's
nothing more to say.  I have to get back to work and I'm sure you do, too. 
Call your P.I.  He'll find someone else."

The
look the man gave Gillian was not resigned.  If anything, it was more
determined than ever.  But he didn't argue.  "I'll call my P.I.  But I'll
be talking to you again.  Soon."

With a
lift of his brow and a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Gillian
first felt relief, then a strange sense of loss.  But she was used to feelings
and images not clicking.  Eventually they became part of a bigger picture, and
then she'd understand. But there was no bigger picture where Nathan Bradley was
concerned.  There was no picture at all.

****

The
instant Gillian stepped outside of the Hair Happening, she saw him.  He stood
beside a gray Mercedes in the parking lot. She should have realized this man
wouldn't give up so easily.  Ducking back into the salon was an option.  So was
ignoring him as she walked to the enchilada and chili stand across the parking
lot of the strip shopping center.  But she had the feeling when she returned,
he'd still be waiting, and not quite so patiently.

A group
of teenagers on roller-blades skated by, one of them holding a miniature
schnauzer on a leash.  She smiled at the sight, something she'd probably never
see in Deep River.  But her smile slipped as she spotted the handsome, very
sexy man walking toward her, and an excited little shiver zipped up her spine. 
At least six-two, lean and fit, with long legs that quickly covered the
distance between them, he was the type of man who could attract a roomful of
women without trying.  It wasn't only his looks but his confidence, his
dominating male presence.

When he
stood before her, he asked, "Can I buy you supper?"

"If
I hadn't mentioned my break, you would have waited till I quit for the day. 
Right?"

"Yes."

"Mr.
Bradley..."

"Nathan. 
You have to eat supper. I have to eat supper.  Is  there any reason we
shouldn't talk while we do?"

"You
have an ulterior motive.  This won't be much of a break for me."

"It's
not an ulterior motive because you know what I want."

"Obviously,
I need to watch what I say with you," she murmured.

The
corners of his mouth twitched up.  "Is that a yes or no?"

"If
I say no, you'll be back.  Let's get this over with."

The
curve of his lips turned into a frown, indicating he was uncomfortable with her
frankness.  Gillian's gaze wanted to linger on those lips.  They were full
enough to be sensual, narrow enough to enhance the handsome aesthetics of his
face.  She could imagine one of his kisses--dominating, forceful, passion-filled.

The
image startled her.  She hadn't thought about kissing a man in over a
year--since Brian had decided to reconcile with his ex-wife.  She'd not only
lost Brian but his son, too.  At the time she'd thought her heart would break. 
But she'd buried herself in her work until she'd realized she no longer had a
life outside of her work.  Not eating, not sleeping, working twenty hours a day
was a one-way road to disaster.  Thank goodness she'd recognized her
destructive direction in time.

"I
don't know what you have in mind," she said, "but the chili and
enchiladas are good at that stand over there."

Nathan
perused the truck/restaurant set-up near an island with palm trees and
benches.  "I haven't had an enchilada in..."  He shrugged.  "Too
long."

They
walked side by side for a few moments, Nathan slowing his stride to Gillian's. 
The breeze ruffled his hair, making him look less formal and imposing.  She
thought he'd start making his case for her help, but he didn't.

His arm
brushed hers, his suitcoat rough against her skin.  "Have you always done
manicures for a living?"

She
registered the texture of the material, the strength of his arm, and her heart
jumped at the contact.  Managing a smile, she responded, "Would you
believe I have a degree in business?"

"Neither
seems appropriate for a psychic."

Her
smile faded.  "And what does?  Theater arts?"

He
stopped and faced her.  "Okay.  I stuck my foot in it.  I didn't mean to
insult you.  But all this is strange to me.  I'm a logical man.  I make
decisions and judgments from facts.  I've always thought psychics were frauds. 
But my private investigator told me about crimes you've solved and people
you've found.  Even if I don't believe in it or understand it, what you do
works."

"I
don't understand it, either," she said quietly.

Nathan
had been fascinated by the woman since he'd set his eyes on her.  Looking at
her now, her soft, long hair, those wonderful brown eyes, her slender curves
wrapped in a pink cullotte dress with a white collar and lapels, his muscles
tightened and he felt pangs of arousal.

Crazy. 
That usually didn't happen simply from looking.

Her
soft voice, her calm wonder, urged him to step closer, to find out more about
her.  "Tell me about it.  Were you born with this ability?"

She
shook her head and pointed to the supper truck.  They began walking again. 
"I don't think I was born with it.  If I was, I didn't know it until I was
ten.  I was sitting on a dock fishing and a storm came up.  The thunder and
lightning hit fast.  The next thing I knew I was lying flat on the dock, the
rain pouring down on me.  My head hurt and I was shaking all over.  Mom found
me that way, took me home, and put me to bed.  We thought that was the end of
it."

His
P.I. had told Nathan that Gillian was from Indiana and had lived there all her
life.  She traveled often but had never moved from the town where she'd grown
up.  L.A. must be quite a change for her.  "When did you realize something
was different?"

"A
few days later.  Aunt Flora came to visit.  When she hugged me, I saw this
picture of her sitting at her kitchen table crying.  I didn't understand it. 
Later, I overheard my aunt and my mother talking.  My cousin had dropped out of
high school and my aunt was terribly upset."

"And
there was no way you could have known that."

"No."

"Did
you tell your mom?"

"No.
I was afraid of the pictures when they came and uncomfortable with the
feelings.  I kept it a secret until I was sixteen."

They
reached the vending stand.  Gillian ordered chili and cornbread while Nathan asked
for an enchilada.  She opened her purse, but he closed his hand over hers.  Her
skin was soft and warm and a jolt of desire more powerful than before stabbed
him.  "I've got it," he said, unable to keep the husky rasp from his
voice.