MIND READER (25 page)

Ah, pride. Mary Beth wouldn’t let Charles Nivens help
her financially. “I understand.”

Caron watched Mary Beth leave through the front door,
then sat watching the window, her pie and coffee untouched. Her hands hurt too much for her to try lifting the
fork or the cup. Remembering how Parker had fed her, she eyed the pie longingly. He’d be here in a few minutes. That
thought made her feel much better than it should have.
Accept it, she told herself. There’s something very special
about Parker Simms.

And something very weird going on with Keith Forres
ter.

He had a scheme. He’d gotten Decker involved. And learning about it had made Linda Forrester, Decker’s sister, a very unhappy camper. Vanessa, whoever she was, hadn’t been happy, either. She’d had cold feet.

Caron rubbed her wrists, then stilled. If she had one, she’d bet another fifty that Vanessa was Forrester’s redhead. That she was involved, and the scheme was Misty’s
abduction.

Unfortunately, Caron would also bet that she wouldn’t get far talking to Linda. The woman wasn’t apt to point a finger that would land her husband and brother in prison.
What could Caron do? She could, via Mary Beth, ask Niv
ens about Vanessa. But he was a stickler about confidential matters, and getting the mob interested in what was
going on was a very bad idea, especially when five million dollars was the sum being thrown around. No, that was too
dangerous; Misty would surely be killed. To confirm her suspicions, Caron had to get Linda to talk. The question
was—
how?

Parker swaggered in through the front door. Spotting her, he smiled and started over to her.

Female heads turned to watch his progress. Caron’s
spirits lifted, and she smiled. Of course. Parker.

Parker got into Caron’s car. “Okay, Snow White.
Forrester just called me back on my mobile. I told him we
wanted to meet his and Cheramie’s wives before deciding which man we’ll hire to broker our investments.”

“Didn’t he wonder how you knew he had a wife? It wasn’t in his dossier, Parker.”

“Sure he did.”

“Well, how did you explain knowing?”

“I didn’t
explain
anything. I reamed him a new rear end for not
telling
us about her.” Parker slid her a wicked grin.
“When in doubt, attack.”

“Your mother’s washboard philosophy.”

“Right.” He checked his watch. “Cheramie isn’t mar
ried. But I’m meeting Linda at the caf6 in fifteen minutes. I want you to go stay with Fred until I get back.”

“I’m going to stay here.” She looked through the
Chevy’s window, past Parker’s shoulder to Decker’s door. Killer was running along the fence, deepening the ruts.

“Caron, don’t be stubborn, okay? You can’t even use
your hands without hurting, and you know Decker isn’t going anywhere. He never goes anywhere except to the
corner store for more beer and chips.”

Misty wasn’t in the house.
 
That much she knew.
 
But the house was a link to her.
 
“I’m staying, Parker.” Caron propped her wrist on the steering wheel.

“Don’t be stubborn about this.
 
I—I need to know you’re safe.”

She looked up into his eyes, smiled and rubbed his jaw with her wrist.
Parker was worried about her, and he wasn’t used to being worried. Well, she understood that. She was worried, too. She hadn’t forgotten that someone wanted her dead. But if
Decker moved, Caron wanted to know
it. He was their di
rect link to Misty. “You’re going to be late.”

Parker squeezed his eyes shut for a scant second. “All right. But by tomorrow morning, you’re going to have a
phone in that car, and if you say one word against it,
I’m going to tape your mouth shut.”

He was still upset because she’d been less than enthusiastic about the new dead bolt he’d had installed at her apartment. He cared. He didn’t want her, but he did care. She forced herself to act indifferent. “If you want to waste your money buying me a phone, it’s fine with me.”

“Be careful.”

“All right, Parker.”

She
watched him walk back to his Porsche, muttering something god-awful about a woman testing a man’s san
ity.

Smiling, Caron leaned her head back against the seat,
and
watched Killer hike his leg against Decker’s truck tire.

A man down the street was mowing his lawn. The gentle
breeze carried the smell of freshly cut grass back to her.

At twenty past one, the growls in her stomach grew to roars. She worked with her forearms to get a Butterfinger
out
of her purse.

Her hands started tingling, then burning like fire. She
gasped and dropped the candy into her lap, started rub
bing her hands together. For a moment, she panicked, and
then it hit her. Tingling. Burning.

Blood circulation.

The ropes were off. Misty’s hands were free—and she
was swallowing some pills!

Horrible visions of Sarah flooded Caron’s mind. She
cranked the engine and rushed toward police headquar
ters. She needed to talk to Sandy.

At midnight, down from Decker’s house, Caron pulled
up behind Parker’s car and cut the engine. Her head swam.
Her leg throbbed. She was queasy and in a cold sweat.

Parker stormed up to her window, his expression as grim
as death. “Where have you been? I’ve been half out
of my mind—Caron, what’s wrong?”

Caron tried to talk, but managed only a whisper. “She’s
sick.
 
So...sick.”

He opened the driver’s door, slid into the car and scooted
Caron over on the seat. “You’re burning up.”

“Misty.” Through glazed eyes, she looked at him. “Misty has a fever.”

Parker cranked the engine. “It might be Misty, but
you’re
going to the hospital.”

It took a monumental effort, but Caron managed to
squeeze his arm. “Institute. Dr. Zilinger.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll buy that.” He slammed the gearshift
into Drive and peeled out, leaving fifty dollars’ worth of her
tires on the street.

Parker walked into the institute carrying Caron in his
arms. “Dr. Zilinger,” he said to the nurses at the desk.

The heavier of the two stood. “Bring her this way.”

Parker carried Caron through the brown swinging doors
and into a room filled with machines and instruments built
into the wall. “Where’s Zilinger?”

“We’ll take care of the patient, sir. As soon as we fill out
the paperwork.”

Parker gently put Caron onto a gurney. Then he turned on the squat nurse. “You have three minutes to get Zilinger in here, or I’ll buy this hospital and fire you.”

She squared her shoulders and glared. “Who are you?”

“Parker Simms.” He pointed to Caron. “The patient is Caron Chalmers. Now move it.”

Dr. Zilinger barreled into the room. “Ah, Mr. Simms. I thought I recognized your bellow.” She looked up at him
through smudged glasses. “What’s wrong with Caron?”

“She’s sick. She says it’s Misty—the girl supposedly abducted. But Caron’s the one with the fever.”

The doctor put the earpieces of her stethoscope in her ears and listened to Caron’s heart. She checked her pulse,
then her eyes and ears and her throat.

Parker cringed with every grunt.

Finally the tiny Austrian turned and craned back her neck to look up at him. “Caron’s fine.”

“What? She’s unconscious, for God’s sake. How can you say she’s fine?”

“It’s not Caron who’s ill, Mr. Simms. It’s Misty. To cure Caron, Misty must receive the medication. We can medicate Caron and numb the pain, but we can’t eliminate it.”

Caron groaned. Parker stepped closer, took her hand. “It’s okay. We’re at Dr. Zilinger’s.” He hoped Caron took
more comfort in that disclosure than he did. Personally, he
thought the doctor was a quack. Caron was fine? Right.

“Dr. Z.,” Caron whispered faintly. “Explain. He doesn’t
understand.”

“All right, Caron. I’ve ordered something for the pain.
Just try to rest now. I’ll talk to your young man.”

The doctor looked up from the chart where she’d been busying herself scratching notes that, to Parker’s way of
thinking, only a chicken could read.

“Well, Mr. Simms. It appears that you’ll finally be get
ting your answers.”

* * *

Half an hour later, Parker frowned. “So what you’re
telling me is that she’s worked a lot of these cases, and suc
cessfully solved them?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.” The doctor refilled her coffee cup.

Parker felt hollow. Harlan had been so sure. Parker
himself had been so sure Caron was a con artist. He dragged his hand through his hair. No, he hadn’t been.
From the start, he’d had a hard time reconciling the woman
Harlan had thought Caron was with the woman he’d been
getting to know.

She was
not
a fraud.

God help him, he had to tell her the truth.

And the truth was that
he
was a fraud.

“Parker—” Dr. Zilinger joined him at the window,
“— Caron’s resting comfortably. The medication blocks the
pain. It’ll make her woozy, so I’m keeping her overnight.”

“Okay.” His heart felt wrung out, and he admitted what
his heart had known for some time. Somewhere between
coffee at Shoney’s, oatmeal at her apartment, and here,
he’d come to care about her. He didn’t love her; he’d never allow himself to love her. “She’ll be all right, won’t she?”

The tiny Austrian met his gaze. “I’m not sure.
 
Honestly, she can’t take much more.
 
Neither, I’m afraid, can Misty. You know that we almost lost Caron when Sarah died?”

He snapped around. “Almost
lost
her?”

“When Sandy brought her in, Caron was in respiratory distress.” The doctor laced her hands behind her back. “It
was close. Too close. Caron’s empathy with the victim is so
strong that she suffers their trauma.” The doctor let out a
heartfelt sigh. “I was hoping...”

“What?” Parker stuffed his hand in his jacket pocket.
God, but he felt helpless. He was out of his depth here. He
understood too little. And he had no one to blame but
himself. Caron had tried to explain. But he’d refused to
listen.

“I was hoping Caron’s gift wouldn’t return.”

Return.

The word echoed in his mind like a death knell, and the
hollow pit in his stomach filled with a leaden knot. Parker
swallowed hard. “What do you mean—return?”

Dr. Z. tugged on her stethoscope. “From the night she saw Sarah, until this started with Misty, Caron suffered
from traumatic psychic burnout.”

“In English?” Parker prompted her, motioning with his
lifted hand.

“Seeing Sarah mutilated shocked Caron. So much so
that she subconsciously blocked her ability to receive any
psychic images.”

“Oh, God.” Every ounce of strength ebbed right out of
his body.

The doctor frowned up at him. “What’s wrong, Mr. Simms? You’ve gone pale.”

“You’re telling me that for a year Caron hasn’t im
aged.”
 
Oh, no.
 
It all made sense. She hadn’t been pretending, she hadn’t
been imaging!

“That’s correct.” Dr. Zilinger’s frown turned curious.
“Where are you going?”

His stomach hanging somewhere around his ankles, Parker cleared his throat. “To see Caron.”

“I’m right here, Parker.”

He turned around. In a white hospital gown, she stood
not ten feet from him. He rushed forward, took her by the
arm. “Are you all right?”

She gave him a weak smile and rubbed her hand over his
jaw. “I’ve had better days.”