Touching the Past (2 page)

Not Zac. Detective Herrera. He wasn’t the kid she’d tutored anymore.

Excitement and nervousness mixed in her stomach, creating a fluttering sensation. What would he be like—now that he was a man?

She’d seen him at her father’s funeral. His was one of the few faces that had stood out clearly in the seemingly endless line of friends, colleagues, and former students who’d offered their sympathies. Zac’s had been the warm grip that broke through the numbness that held her. It hadn’t sounded like a platitude when he said, “Call me if you need anything.
Any
thing.” At the funeral dinner, she’d hoped Zac would sit beside her, that his presence would give her some respite from all the kindly meant inquiries of what was she going to do now and was she all right.

But he wasn’t there. She’d lost track of him in the crowd. In the days after the funeral, when Mallory was trying to adjust to being completely without family, and dealing with the paperwork that comes with every death, she’d wanted to call him. Not for advice. She and her father had talked and planned when Bill Woods first realized he didn’t have long to live. She knew what to do. No, she’d wanted to call Zac to hear a friendly voice.

She never had, though. Embarrassment and fear held her back. They hadn’t talked since high school. She’d gone to his graduation, but she doubted he knew that. His family had carried him off before she got near him.

And they hadn’t been friends, really. She was his tutor. His mentor’s daughter. What would he think of her calling out of the blue?

She laughed to herself. The year she’d spent tutoring Zac had been as close as she’d come to having a boyfriend her entire high school career. The girls in her class had thought she was using the tutoring as an excuse to be with him. Zac might have been a poor student, but he’d been good-looking. If he’d shown the slightest interest, she might have—

No. She shook her head. That would have been taking advantage of someone she was supposed to help. Her father would have had her hide for doing something like that.

The doorbell chimed.

Pushing her hair back behind her ears, Mallory hurried to open the door. “Za—Detec—” Her face warmed. What was she supposed to call him?

“Zac’s fine.” His smile was a white slash in his soft brown face. “We’re…almost family. Bill was like a father to me.”

Mallory blinked back sudden tears. “He…he thought a lot of you, too.” She forced a smile. “He was so proud when you went into the service.”

Zac gave her a crooked grin. “Even if it wasn’t the Marines?” He took her hands in his.

Something leaped between them as his warm hands pressed hers. A spark went from the top of Mallory’s head to the tips of her toes and back again, leaving her with a tingling awareness of the strength of Zac’s hands and the feel of his flesh against hers.

Her laughter hitched in her throat as she tried to regain her equilibrium. “Even if it wasn’t the Marines.” Bill Woods had devoted his life to the Marines and, later, teaching, but he’d never tried to make the countless boys he’d helped follow in his exact footsteps. He was satisfied if they found their own path.

The shared laughter died. “You look good, Ma—Mis—You look good.”

“You do, too.” Zac wasn’t tall. In heels, Mallory would tower over him, but the plain black suit he wore emphasized his lean strength. The years and the service had melted away the baby fat that once rounded his face, leaving behind strong planes. The rain had stopped earlier, but it was still misting. Droplets of water beaded in the neatly cut blue-black hair. His dark eyes were bright and alert. The cute boy had become a handsome man.

Mallory looked away, afraid she’d been staring. Suddenly aware that they were still holding hands, she gently tugged. Zac released her so fast she wasn’t sure if it was in response to her action or if he’d noticed at the same time.

Feeling awkward and too conscious of the man in front of her, Mallory stepped back. She lifted a hand that felt oddly empty to her hair in a nervous gesture, then dropped it. “Come on in.” She motioned toward the living room. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Diet Coke?” Her heart was fluttering.

“Coffee’s fine.” His voice sounded stilted. His face was turned away from her.

She moved toward the counter and coffeemaker. “You go ahead. You remember the way. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached into the cupboard for cups. She balled her hand into a fist.

What was wrong with her? It was Zac. The kid who’d never been able to keep concave and convex straight.

Except he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a man. A very attractive man.

“Do you want cream? Or sugar? Both?” She raised her voice. It sounded high and nervous to her ears.

In contrast Zac seemed to have relaxed. His deep voice floated in from the other room. “Black is fine.”

“Right.” She grabbed the pot and sloshed coffee into the cup, then hissed as drops bounced back and burnt her hand.

She shook it, bringing the hand up to her mouth. She pressed her lips against the stinging spot and drew a deep breath.

Get it together, Mallory.

It wasn’t like she was a stranger to attractive men. She’d met her fair share of them over the years. A couple of the clients who came to her to have their taxes done were as good-looking as any movie star.

But none of them was the man she’d had a teen-age crush on. And none of them were in her living room right now.

She grabbed the Coffeemate from the refrigerator and splashed it into her cup. “So, how are you? What are you doing these days, Zac?” The name felt strange on her lips.

“Aside from work, not much. You?”

Mallory carried the mugs out of the kitchen. “Oh, you—” She stopped. Zac hadn’t gone into the living room. He’d gone into the study. The room they’d spent the majority of their time together in. Seeing the man running his hand over the mahogany desk they’d shared for so many hours caused her heart to do a strange flip.

Zac’s head came up. “Yes?”

Mallory tried to remember what she’d been going to say as she looked into his dark eyes. “You know.” She handed him his mug. “Work. This and that.” She shrugged. “Nothing earth-shattering.” She sipped the coffee and had to force herself not to gag. She’d put too much creamer in it.

“You had the desk refinished.” Zac ran his finger along the carved edge.

She corrected him. “
I
refinished it.”

“Really?”

Mallory smiled. His surprise and her pride in her work replaced the awkward shyness she’d been feeling. “Really.” Her smile faded slightly. “It was something to do after the funeral.”

Her mother Ryuuko had died when Mallory was young. Bill Woods became her father, mother, and best friend. When it became apparent the aggressive cancer treatments he was undergoing were only delaying the inevitable, Mallory returned home, leaving the life she’d built in Seattle, to take care of her father and spend as much time with him as she could. When he died, she remained in Michigan, looking for something to fill the hole in her life.

She didn’t give Zac a chance to offer sympathy. “What did you want to see me about?” She dropped into the low fan chair in front of the desk, sinking into its over-stuffed cushion. “You said it was important.”

She’d been so surprised by Zac’s call and flustered by his appearance that she hadn’t given much thought to it. Why
had
Zac called? No,
Detective
Herrera. That’s how he’d identified himself. He’d sounded so stiff and formal on the phone. Had called her Ms. Woods. Was it some kind of police business? She hadn’t—

A chill ran down her spine. It couldn’t be
that
. He didn’t know.

Mallory’s fingers tightened on the mug.

But he’d been there. And she’d—

She pushed the memory away. It
couldn’t
be that.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even.

Instead of answering, Zac chewed the inside of his cheek. The action sparked Mallory’s memory. She had to have seen him do that same thing hundreds of times before in this room. It was something he did when he didn’t have an answer or didn’t want to commit himself to one. It used to drive her nuts.

Seeing that bit of the boy in the man eased some of the tension from her shoulders, though it increased her confusion. What was he doing here?

Zac had moved to the small half-table set against the wall. A milk-white vase with a single red carnation in it stood beside an iron-framed photograph of a smiling Japanese woman. “You still give your mother a flower.”

“Yes.” It was a tradition Bill Woods had started after his wife died. Wherever they were stationed, he would set up the small table and photograph of his wife. Each day he and Mallory would say good morning to it. Each evening, good night. He always made sure to place a red carnation, Ryuuko’s favorite flower, beside her picture. After he died, Mallory continued the ritual. Her mother’s ashes had been spread over the Pacific Ocean years ago, but the photograph and flower helped Mallory feel close to her.

Zac turned from the picture. He seemed to have decided something. Mallory watched, wondering, as he sat down.

He sat down behind the desk, opening the thin leather case he’d brought in with him. “I need your help.” He pulled out a set of pictures and slid them across the desk.

Malloy didn’t touch them. She looked across at Zac and away. “I don’t understand.” She forced the words through lips that had gone stiff. She tried to smile. It felt like she failed. “I’m not—”

“I need you to do what you did for Evie Martin.”

He knew. Mallory closed her eyes. He
knew
.

From the time she was a small girl, Mallory had been able to touch objects and see images in her mind. And not just images, but the feelings that went with them. She knew if the person the object belonged to had been happy or sad.

She couldn’t do it with every object. New things told her nothing. But old objects, objects that held particular meaning for their owners told her life stories.

At first it was a game. A way to impress the other kids. Bill Woods’ military career kept his family on the move. Transferring from base to base, country to country, Mallory had found her gift an easy way to break the ice.

But as she grew older, kids started regarding her as a freak. Maturity also made the images and emotions more vivid. Things she hadn’t understood as a little girl became clearer to the older Mallory. Not every object closely associated with a person had a happy history.

She started to actively avoid using her gift. Then, during her senior year of high school, Evie Martin disappeared.

Evie was six years old and borderline autistic. While her mother was away from home, Evie vanished. Her grandmother and the mother’s boyfriend, who shared the house with Evie and her mother, said the little girl must have wandered out of the backyard while playing.

Everyone in the area started looking for her. As the Martins lived a quarter mile from Mallory’s home, Bill and Mallory had joined in the search. While Bill helped set up search grids, Mallory went to a rotting tire swing that hung in the narrow back yard that bordered a wooded area. She’d thought she could get a clue as to where Evie had gone. That it would be easy.

Mallory’s stomach churned at the memory.

Images flooded her mind when she touched the old rubber. Emotions. Fear. Terror. Evie’s emotions.

They came to Mallory in sharp, sudden bursts, but she could put it together easily enough.

Evie hadn’t wandered away. She’d run in fear from her grandmother. The child ran to her safe place. The swing. But it hadn’t been a safe place that day. It was the place she died. Her neck broken by the woman now crying and begging the searchers to find her precious grandchild.

Once Mallory felt that peculiar mix of fear, anger, satisfaction, and shock that the grandmother had left behind, she was able to follow it across the yard to the porch Evie’s family stood on.

Through the nausea that threatened to send her to her knees retching, Mallory made herself ask, “Did anyone look under the porch?”

Bill Woods sent a sharp look in his daughter’s direction. He knew about Mallory’s unique gift.

The grandmother answered before anyone else could. “We looked. She’s not there.” She waved a heavy arm covered with tattoos and bracelets. “She’s out there somewhere. Won’t someone find her for me?”

With another look at Mallory, Bill stepped forward. “We should look again. In case she came back. She might have fallen asleep.”

Despite the woman’s protests, Bill pushed aside a piece of broken trim and went under the porch. He backed out a few moments later and spoke to the police officer directing the search.

He kept Mallory out of it. Kept anyone from suspecting what Mallory had done. What she could do.

She’d been afraid ever since that someone would find out about her abilities. That they’d ask her to touch the past. To relive someone else’s pain and terror in order to find them. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t open herself up to something like that again.

But someone had found out. Zac.

She looked at him. “How did you know?”

“You just told me.”

Chapter 3

Mallory went pale beneath her light golden skin, then flushed. Her slightly-tilted dark eyes widened, then narrowed. A spark of anger replaced the haunting sadness that had filled them a moment ago. “
I
just—You said—”

Zac wanted to lean across the desk and take her hands in his again. He tried to tell himself it was because he wanted her to calm down and listen, but that wasn’t the real reason. He just wanted to touch her. A sharp thrill of physical attraction had shot through him when she reached out to him at the door. It had left him feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut. It had been a while since he’d felt such an intense, immediate attraction to a woman.

He cleared his throat, pushing the thought away for later examination. That wasn’t important now. He had a job to do. He needed Mallory’s help. He had to make her see that.