Undeniably Yours (4 page)

Her jaw dropped, then she spun around and went back out the door, slamming it behind her.

Ava’s body jerked at the loud noise, but she didn’t wake up. Thoreau started barking, and Sean shushed him.

Aiden shot me a look. “I told you she was going to freak—” Once again, he was interrupted by the door flying open.

Em rushed inside, her red hair flying out behind her, and stared at him. Then at me. Then at Sean. Thoreau leaped to the ground and ran over to her, his short tail wiggling happily.

Finally, she said to me, “I thought I might be hallucinating, but Aiden’s really standing there holding a little girl that looks exactly like him, isn’t he?”

“Yep,” I confirmed solemnly. “But you can pinch him if you want. Hard.”

He shot me an annoyed look.

In a flash, her distress switched to anger. Color a few shades darker than her hair rapidly infused her cheeks. Oh-so-slowly, her bright blue gaze—made even bluer by a sheen of tears—slid back to Aiden and narrowed dangerously. Her hands fisted tightly. Through clenched teeth she said, “I’ve been worried out of my mind. You’ve been missing for days on end. Not returning my texts or calls. Now this…?” She gestured wildly toward Ava. “Aiden Holliday, you have some explaining to do.”

“Y
ou’re not calling about the coffee date yesterday are you?” Jeremy Cross asked me a half an hour later. “Because I don’t kiss and tell.”

Jeremy was as mysterious as a person could be. In fact, Jeremy wasn’t even his real name.

It was Jeremiah Norcross.

But he didn’t know I knew that.

I sat on my porch swing, looking out over the ocean. It was a bright clear day, and the water looked like a wavy sheet of glass. Several barges floated on the horizon, dark blobs. A seagull swooped low and disappeared over the edge of the cliff. If Ava was going to be around much, we were going to have to make sure she didn’t wander near the edge. It was a sheer fifty foot drop to the water, which might be fun for cliff diving, except for having to dodge rocky outcroppings below. There were only a few places safe to jump—and then only at high tide.

Inside the house, I heard Sean trying to get Ava to eat some scrambled eggs. So far, she was refusing his airplane attempts. He switched to tug boat noises.

Aiden and Em had left for the time being. I wasn’t sure exactly what had been said between them. For privacy, they’d gone for a walk. But, as soon as they returned, Em was smiling and announced that she had some shopping to do. Then she would split the time caring for little Ava with Sean (he’d watch her only while Em was studying or at school) until this whole matter was settled.

Before Aiden left to shower and stop by his office, he’d confessed he begged Em for forgiveness, which had been the smartest thing he could have done. He’d been instantly forgiven. If he had any lingering concerns about involving Em he was smart enough to keep them to himself.

“There was kissing?” I asked, hopeful.

“No,” Jeremy stated.

“It didn’t go well?”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

Smiling, I could picture him, all tall, dark, and brooding. His grass-green eyes narrowed in annoyance. For some reason, irritating him amused me.

“No second date?” I pressed.

There was silence.

Fine. He could be that way. I’d just get the goods from Marisol later. “I wasn’t calling about the date.”

“I’m listening.”

After playing a role in Sean’s and my rescues from the arsonist, Jeremy had admitted ties to the FBI. He had to say something seeing as how he’d “borrowed” an FBI helicopter. But that was all he’d said. Not that he’d once been a profiler…or still might be. Not about having an alias. Not about what happened to his family. I’d learned that information on my own, and didn’t feel the need to blab it. I hoped, as our friendship grew, that eventually he’d tell me everything.

“I need a favor,” I said.

“You’re high maintenance, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you’re grouchy.”

He laughed. “What do you need?”

When it came down to it, we psychics stuck together.

Well, mostly. I shuddered at memories from the past week.

I gave myself a good mental shake. “The security team to come back.”

There was another stretch of silence before he said, “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

I wished I knew, but until I did, I had to prepare myself for the worst.

Later that afternoon, Aiden held open the door of the Channel 3 studios, an eight-story building located on always-busy Mass Ave. Cars honked, T buses rumbled by, and pedestrians rushed past keeping their gazes fixed straight ahead.

The door behind us whooshed closed, blocking out the noise, insulating us against the roar of the street’s hustle and bustle. Piped classical music serenely filled the cavernous lobby, bouncing off stately dark wood-paneled walls. As Aiden strode to the reception desk, I watched people zip in and out of the building. With each opening of the door, staccato bursts of city noise mingled with Mozart, creating an interesting harmony.

Frenetic energy swirled in the air. It had been a heavy news week due to the heat wave, the brownout, the fires, and the looters. The city had been through hell and back, but if there was one thing Boston had proven time and again, it was that it could—and would—recover. Stronger than ever.

Since the fires broke out, news coverage had been continuous and, for a Sunday afternoon, this place was hopping. As people hurried past me it felt as though it would be a long time before life around here returned to normal.

I glanced at Aiden and wondered when, or if, his life would ever be normal again. With a ramrod straight back, he waited in a long line for his turn with the receptionist. To a bystander, there was nothing on his face or in his stance that hinted at his impatience, but knowing him well, I could see it clearly. The thin stretched line of his normally relaxed lips, the intensity in his eyes, the way his shoulders looked starched rather than comfortable. Except for the badge clipped to his belt, and the gun in a hip holster, he looked as though he could be just another executive in his gray suit, baby-blue shirt, and striped tie.

Before coming here, he’d filed the missing persons report on Kira. Subpoenas and search warrants were being sought; the search for her car was on. Our investigation had truly begun. This building was our first stop. We hoped Kira’s producer, a woman named Nya Rodriguez, would have some answers for us as to what was going on in Kira’s work and personal life when she disappeared.

During the ride here, I’d kept up a mostly one-sided conversation, telling him what he’d missed while holed up with Ava. He showed mild skepticism at Ebbie’s arrival into my life; didn’t question at all my newfound psychic ability to see scenes through scents (a bizarre mash-up of clairvoyance and clairalience); managed only a small smile during my anecdotes about Boobalicious Annie and ghoulish Dr. Paul of the Diviner Whiners; and appeared extremely troubled at the level of deception orchestrated by the arsonist. Yet Aiden said almost nothing in the hour-long trip into the city.

As he moved up in the reception line, I found myself worrying for him. He was a good man. Honest, decent, hardworking, and caring. I hated seeing him so…derailed. His life had gone off the tracks, and I had the uneasy feeling that he hadn’t seen the worst of it yet.

After we were done here, we planned to search Kira’s house and interview her neighbors. It was her home I was most eager to visit. With my new ability to read scents, I should be able to find Kira fairly easily by sniffing an item of hers. A pillow. A blanket.
Something
. Through her scent, I’d be able to see through her eyes—if she were still alive.

At this point, it was a big if.

The towering walls of the Channel 3 lobby were filled with massive photos of its broadcasters, and it didn’t take long to find Kira’s image among them. Dressed in a sporty black skirt suit, she leaned against an old brick wall, her arms folded across her chest. A flash drive dangled in her hand. She was notorious for keeping all details of her investigations on the techy tool, taking it with her wherever she went, and never letting it out of her sight. The station played up the quirk. It had become something of a gimmick.

A heavy-handed edit had heightened the green coloring of her hazel eyes and added a bit of a mischievous sparkle to her irises. Her head was tilted in an I-dare-you kind of way. Her hair was styled in perfect waves around her shoulders, and her full lips were pressed into what seemed like a smile resulting from a private joke. Printed in big letters at the top of the poster was her name. And at the bottom was her tagline.

Uncovering the truth on what matters.

“Lucy?” Aiden touched my elbow. “Ready?”

If he’d noticed Kira’s photo, he didn’t comment on it as he led me to a bank of elevators, slowing his gait to match mine as I crutched along. As the heavy doors slid closed, I couldn’t help but feel that Kira’s hazel gaze was watching our every move. It was a creepy feeling, and I shuddered.

“Cold?” Aiden jabbed the button for the fifth floor as others joined us, going up.

“A little,” I lied. I didn’t want to sound like a complete nutter telling him the truth.

As the elevator rose slowly, stopping and starting at each floor, my heart beat a little faster. Sweat dampened my hairline, turned my hands clammy. I was trying my best to breathe normally.

The city wasn’t the only thing that had been to hell and back recently. I had been as well.

Yes, my foot would heal, but I was afraid my emotional recovery would take longer than I ever imagined. Because, with each stop of the elevator, the dings of arrival, and the sliding of the doors, more and more anxiety crowded out rational thought.

Inhale, exhale
.

It was in an elevator at Valentine, Inc. that I had come face to face with the demented arsonist who’d almost killed Sean and me. There had been a life and death battle. Good versus evil.

Even though I’d ultimately won, it was not without acquiring a few scars, both physical and emotional. Scars so deep I was afraid to fully explore them. Afraid to discover exactly how painful they might be.

81/9 is 9.

Lately I’d been doing so well trying to break my habit of turning to simple math problems in times of stress. It was an idiosyncrasy I’d had since childhood and was proving to be a stubborn trait.

I shouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. Valentines were nothing if not stubborn.

As the elevator stopped on the fourth floor, I silently told myself to get a grip. Squishing my eyes closed, I focused on breathing instead of math and bad memories.
In, out. In, out.

“Lucy?”

I cracked open an eye. Aiden stood in the opening of the elevator, waiting for me by holding the door open with his body.

Feeling silly, I tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a squeak. I quickly crutched into the open, airy hallway and sucked in a lungful of chilly air-conditioned oxygen.

A shiver rippled through me as the elevator doors slid closed behind Aiden. He studied me carefully. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” Biting the inside of my cheek, I struggled with what to say. How to explain. Letting out a windy sigh, I finally said, “Elevators.”

Understanding dawned in his red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Neither did I.” I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt. “It’s new.”

I could have sworn I heard him mumble “son of a bitch is lucky to be dead” under his breath as he strode over to the reception desk for this floor.

Truthfully, I’d been expecting to see a fully-operational TV news studio when those elevator doors opened, but apparently this floor was solely made up of office space. From this central spot, three corridors branched off, all nondescript in their
beigeness
. There was no piped music and no one around except for the receptionist, who had promised she’d let Nya know we were here. I found the silence unsettling and suddenly missed the chaos of the busy lobby.

Aiden popped a Tic Tac in his mouth, then jammed his fists into his pants pockets and rocked on his heels as we waited. It wasn’t long before I spotted a woman hurrying down the carpeted hallway, her dark hair trailing behind her, her high heel strikes silent on the beige carpeting.

Startling white teeth gleamed against beautiful light caramel-colored skin as she approached and said, “Lieutenant Holliday?”

“Yes. Ms. Rodriguez?”

“Nya, please.” She shook his hand.

Nya Rodriguez was a beautiful woman. Late thirties to early forties, with high cheekbones, dark intelligent eyes, and ruby-red lips. Her hourglass figure was shown off in a tight-fitting violet wrap dress that hugged her generous curves. She turned her attention to me.

Before I could say a word, Aiden said, “This is my colleague, Lucy Valentine.”

Fortunately, she didn’t reach out to shake my hand—a perk of the crutches, no doubt. Though the extent of my abilities was still being explored through psychic lessons from my mentor, Orlinda Batista, and the other Diviner Whiners, my primary skill was being able to see lost objects via the energy in someone’s palm. When shaking someone’s hand I never knew what would be thrown my way.

Nya tipped her head. “Have we met? Your name and face are familiar.”

“I don’t think so,” I said, not elaborating. I had no doubt she’d put it together soon enough. I’d been in the news frequently over the past year. Until then, however, I didn’t want to volunteer the answer…and have to face the inevitable questions.

“Hmm,” she said, still eyeing me suspiciously.

Aiden saved me from explaining by saying, “Thanks for agreeing to meet us on such short notice.”

“I have to admit your call came as quite a surprise,” she said. With a jerk of her chin, she motioned for us to follow her down the hallway. “You neglected to tell me what this meeting was about exactly, Lieutenant. Has Kira somehow offended the state police?” She glanced back, a wry smile on her lips. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”