Parker And The Gypsy (15 page)

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Authors: Susan Carroll

BOOK: Parker And The Gypsy
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But it wasn't the case that made Mike seem so drained, so edgy tonight. Something else was going on behind those deep brown eyes. It took all Sara's willpower to not probe more deeply.
“Anyhow, that's about it for now,” he concluded. “Sorry to disturb you so late. Detectives keep such odd hours, we tend to forget that the rest of the world is usually in...bed.”
Mike's lashes drifted down as he took in the details of her nightgown. The garment was certainly demure enough—white cotton, swirling down to her ankles, flowing sleeves that covered her arms, the shirred bodice exposing not a hint of cleavage.
But for a moment, Mike looked at her with a raw hunger, a depth of longing that seemed to reach inside of her, stirring her own desires, touching the most intimate part of her heart and soul.
Averting his eyes, he backed off, saying, “Uh...anyhow, I—I better be going.”
He probably should. But as he shifted a step toward the door, Sara cried out, “Oh, no. Please don't.”
“But it
is
late and I shouldn't have bothered you.”
“It's all right. I like being bothered.” She flushed. “I—I mean as long as you're here, you might as well take off your trench coat and dry out a little.”
“It's not a trench coat.” Mike waved his hat in an impatient gesture and almost knocked several glass cannisters off one of the counters. He frowned, as though for the first time noticing the absence of light. Locating the switch near the door, he flicked it futilely several times.
“Power out?” he demanded.
“It always happens here during storms.”
Mike eyed the candle askance. “You got something against flashlights?”
“Yes, batteries. I always forget to replace them.” She snatched up the taper and used it to light several other of the large, scented candles from her display case. She hardly knew why she did so except out of an inexplicable sense of desperation. Give Mike enough light and maybe he wouldn't just vanish again, back into the dark and the rain.
He hadn't moved out of the shadows by the doorway, but she could feel the weight of his eyes on her. Turning back to him, she asked softly, “So what really brought you here tonight, Michael?”
“I just got done telling you—”
“No. You didn't come all the way out here in a storm only to tell me about not being able to talk to Mr. Kiefer.”
Mike stood there for a moment, fingering the brim of his hat. “And I guess with the power out, I can hardly get you to believe that I was just passing through town and happened to notice your lights on.”
“No, Michael.”
“Well, the truth is...” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking mighty uncomfortable. “Dammit! The truth is you've been in my head again.”
He knew! Sara gave a guilty start, whipping her arms behind her back as though caught with her hands full of his stolen memories. She started to babble out an apology when Mike went on. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day.”
“Oh.” Sara breathed, realizing he hadn't meant what she'd thought.
He drifted closer until he stood inside her ring of candlelight. “You've even been wandering into my dreams, angel.” Mike used his forefinger to give her nose a gentle admonishing tap. “Earlier tonight, I dreamed we were locked together in my office. How's that for a hoot? Pretty crazy, huh?”
“Completely,” Sara said, but her voice lacked conviction. No, it couldn't be, she told herself. He couldn't possibly have had the same...
“And you were wearing this sexy black dress and nylons with seams up the back,” Mike continued.
“And you?” Sara asked weakly. “You—you weren't by any chance wearing your trench coat, were you?”
“It's not a trench coat.” Mike frowned down at her. “But yes, I was.”
“And—and the only light in your office came from the neon sign across the street. And you pulled me into your arms—”
“And you knocked my hat off and buried your fingers in my hair.”
“You kissed me and—and then we...” Sara faltered.
Their eyes met and Mike's widened in alarm. Sara didn't blame him. She felt thoroughly shaken herself.
“Oh, hell!” Mike groaned. But he made a valiant effort at recovery. “It's a coincidence. Just a coincidence. We probably both watch the same old detective movies.”
“I never watch any.”
“So you're saying we're even starting to share each other's dreams now? What does that mean, Sara?”
“I don't know,” Sara said, but she was beginning to have her suspicions about the nature of this powerful link between her and Mike. An idea that she feared he would never accept. One that even stunned herself.
She bit down on her lower lip, trying to puzzle it through. “But wait. We couldn't have been sharing dreams because I was the only one asleep. You were out on the road somewhere...” Sara trailed off as Mike shook his head at her.
“I pulled over for a while because of the storm. I was so damn tired, I nodded off behind the wheel and—” Mike left the rest of his explanation dangling, but there was no need for him to finish.
She was certain Mike would go bolting for the door, and she wouldn't have blamed him one bit. But instead, he rubbed his jaw, asking almost too casually, “So—uh. What'd you think of the dream? The part where we were kissing, I mean.”
Sara's face flamed. “It—it was good. Very good,” she confessed shyly. Then a chill swept through her. “That is until it all changed and I found myself in the alley.”
Mike's face went ashen. “Oh, no. You...you didn't dream that part, too?”
Sara nodded, unable to repress a shiver. “I was lost and couldn't find you, Michael, and when I did ... he was there. The man with the silvery gray hair. And his knife. He... It was horrible, terrifying.”
“Oh, God!” Mike paced off a few agitated steps, then froze, whipping about to stare at her, his eyes narrowed with deep suspicion. “Wait a minute. How'd you know about the color of his hair? That's never in the dreams. He's always in the shadows.”
“Well, I—I—” Sara stammered.
Mike strode forward and seized her shoulders in a bruising grip. “You
really have
been in my head again, haven't you?”
Caught. There was nothing she could do but nod miserably.
“Dammit, Sara. You promised me.”
“I couldn't help it. I thought I could. But then you kissed me and—I'm sorry, Michael,” she whispered.
He released her and said acidly, “So what color undershorts was I wearing this time?”
“None. I—I mean none that I was aware of.”
“So you managed to strip me naked at last. And what else did you see besides my bare butt, Sara?”
Nothing. Nothing at all, she wanted to say. But she'd never been good at deception.
“I saw the man who attacked you when you were a little boy. His face.”
“What about his face?” Mike demanded.
“It looked familiar somehow. Like—like yours. Only older, harder.”
“Not a very flattering comparison, angel.” Mike's jaw tightened into a knot. “I always did worry about the physical resemblance, wondering if I was going to end up the same as my old man some day.”
“Oh, no. You never could....”
“Never could what, doll?” Mike sneered. “Wind up looking like the kind of guy who could plan the murder of his own son?”
Sara winced. She'd guessed the truth about Mike's father from her vision, but it was so much worse somehow hearing him say it flat out that way, his face a cold, hard, bitter mask.
She wished she could think of something to say to him, to take away the pain of her intrusion, to take away even more. That night in the alley. The scar that disfigured his shoulder, the memories that poisoned his mind.
“I'm s-sorry,” she whispered, the inadequacy of the words weighing heavy on her heart, bringing tears stinging to her eyes.
Mike watched her in stony silence for a moment, then his anger slowly dissolved. He made a helpless gesture in her direction.
“No, don't do that, angel. It's not worth crying over.” He jammed his hands into his pockets, his eyes darkening with some inner struggle. A deep, tired sigh escaped him. “Well, hell. Since you've already found out this much, I guess you might as well hear the rest of it.”
“Oh, no, Michael.” Sara swiped furiously at her eyes. “I never wanted to force you to share your memories with me.”
“It's okay. It's really not that big of a deal. I don't know why I've always been so touchy about discussing my old man with anyone.”
Maybe because the memories hurt too much, Sara thought. No matter how Mike tried to shrug and pretend they didn't. But maybe, just maybe he'd carried the pain around buried deep inside him for far too long.
Sara held herself very quiet and still, patiently waiting while Mike roved about her shop, fidgeting with things on the counters as though searching for someplace, some way to begin. He paused before an incense burner shaped like a dragon with scales of iridescent green, purple and gold, a creature more whimsical than fierce looking.
Mike ran one finger along its outstretched wings and gave a smile that was more of a grimace. “I guess my old man was a lot like this fellow here. A lot of flash and color, but when it came down to it, full of hot air. He had a million dreams, all of them involving ways to get rich quick with as little work as possible.
“After my mother died, he dragged me up and down the coast pursuing his schemes. Schemes that weren't always especially ... honest. He landed himself in jail for brief spells and I did time in foster homes. But my dad always managed to convince some judge to hand me back over to him. That was one thing Robert Parker was real good at—conning people into believing he was sorry, that he was going to go straight
this time
.”
From the bitterness in Mike's voice, the disillusionment in his eyes, Sara wondered how many times during his boyhood Mike had been conned into believing the same thing.
“Anyhow,” he went on, “by the time I was twelve, I pretty much had my hands full trying to keep him out of more trouble. I was worried he'd be sent up for good the next time.
“Not that I cared that much about my old man,” Mike added quickly. “I just didn't want to go back to any foster home.”
No, Michael, Sara thought sadly. You cared. You cared too terribly much. But she kept this perception to herself, allowing him to continue.
He moved restlessly away from the dragon figure. “About that time, my dad got involved with a real rotten crowd. I'm talking some hard-core criminals here. And my old man started bragging to me about how we were finally going to end up on easy street.
“I got scared stiff. I knew something major bad was coming down and somehow I had to find out what it was and keep my father out of it. So that's what I was doing the night I almost got myself killed. Playing detective.”
Sara gripped her hands together, able to envision too clearly the sort of boy Mike must have been, street tough beyond his years, but still a child underneath it all, frightened, vulnerable. Stealing into the night in a desperate attempt to save his father, braving dangers grown men would have flinched from. Her heart ached for that twelve-year-old boy, for the man that now stood before her, his face turned toward the shadows as he relived his darkest memory.
“I broke into the law offices of one of these shady crooks I knew my dad was dealing with. But clumsy kid that I was, I got caught before I could find out anything. By one of Dad's charming new friends. A creep known as Sully ‘the Switchblade' Voltano.
“I tried to fight him off, but he dragged me out into the alley behind the office. Then he....” Though Mike's features remained steely, impassive, his hand crept involuntarily toward his shoulder. “He came at me with his knife. But he had the misfortune to stick it to me near this back room where some of the local cops had joined in a game of craps. Sully the Switch got busted. And I got saved. End of the story. Or it should have been.”
Mike raked his hand back through his hair, his words coming faster like he wanted to get it all out and be done with it. “The Switch sang for the D.A. like the fat lady at the opera. He said my old man had sent him to follow me that night, put a permanent end to my nosing around.”
“By—by having you killed?” Sara whispered, still unable to fully grasp the horror of it.
Mike nodded jerkily. “I guess nobody was going to be allowed to get in the way of Robert Parker's big score. Not even me.”
“Oh, Michael,” Sara breathed. It all seemed almost too incredible, like the plot of one of those old movies Mike had talked about. But the scar, the dull pain in Mike's eyes were far too real.

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