Lucky's Woman. Linda Winstead Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ table. Annie looked as if she might fall out of her chair at any moment, and that wouldn’t do. If she was putting on an act, it was a damn good one. If she wasn’t…

      He preferred not to think about that possibility too intently. “Come on.” He helped Annie to her feet, steadying her. She felt fragile beneath his hands, soft and tiny and breakable. He liked his women the way he liked his guns—solid and dependable. Annie Lockhart was neither.

      But she was a client, and she looked as if she was on the verge of falling apart.

      “Enough for tonight,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll go over the notes tomorrow afternoon.” After he’d had a chance to check the facts of her so-called visions and see if she’d told him anything that wasn’t common knowledge. He didn’t think she was lying to him. Not exactly. Maybe she’d read about these unfortunate deaths, and her overactive imagination had supplied the rest. That didn’t explain the bit about Sadie, but there had to be a logical explanation for that, too.

      He’d find that explanation, sooner or later. Cal wouldn’t stoop so low even if he did know something he shouldn’t, but Sean Murphy…This sort of prank was right up Murphy’s alley. Lucky tried to recall if he’d ever said too much, after one too many drinks at the end of a tough job. Nothing came to him, but maybe later.

      Dante? No, even if Dante knew he wouldn’t tell. Had to be Murphy. Nerds were not to be trusted.

      Lucky led Annie into the bathroom off the hallway. She sat on the lid of the commode, while he grabbed a handy washcloth and ran some cool water. With the damp washcloth in hand, he knelt before her and gently wiped her face. No makeup, he noted as he ran the washcloth over her cheek. The flawless complexion was real.

      She closed her eyes and allowed him to tend to her, for a moment. He saw and felt her breathing change, as she began to regain her energy. He lowered the washcloth to her neck, and she tilted her head back while he wiped the length of her throat. Maybe Annie wasn’t gorgeous, but she had a fine, slender throat. Everything about her was feminine, in a very different way from the women he was usually attracted to.

      As he cooled her throat with the washcloth, she smiled. “It’s good that you’re here,” she said softly.

      “I’m not so sure about that,” he responded honestly.

      Annie’s smile widened. “You’ll see.”

      He didn’t like the way she said that, as if she knew something he didn’t.

      Since she no longer looked as if she might fall apart, he dropped the washcloth into the sink and stood, then moved away from her. Fortunately, this was a good-sized bathroom, and he wasn’t forced to remain too close to her.

      Her eyes—bluer than ever, it seemed—looked at him with an odd mix of fearlessness and innocence. “I’m not lying.”

      Lucky sighed. “I know.”

      “I’m not crazy, either,” she added crisply.

      As far as Lucky was concerned, the jury on that one was still out. “I’ll come by tomorrow after lunch.”

      Annie stood, steady and much stronger than she’d been just a few minutes ago, and passed by too closely as she made her way to the door. Lucky found himself holding his breath as she walked past him and her arm brushed against his.

      “Maybe you’ll believe me tomorrow,” she said with confidence. “I’m sorry to be the one to shake your reality, but…well, maybe you’ll believe me tomorrow. I think it’s up to us to find him, and we can. I know we can.” She sounded less than confident as she made this statement.

      In the hallway, she turned away from the den and the front door and headed for what he assumed was her bedroom. A few minutes ago she’d looked to be on the verge of breakdown, but now her stride was steady and even. There was a hint of a womanly sway in her walk. Just enough to make everything in him tighten.

      “Let yourself out,” she called lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      Lucky was immediately incensed. “You hardly know me. We met a few hours ago, and now you’re instructing me to let myself out? Have you lost your mind? Sorry, wrong question to ask.”

      She turned, and even in the dimly lit hallway he could see her smile. “You’re gruff, and skeptical, and occasionally rude. You have little respect for women, even though you claim to like them well enough. I don’t think you like me very much. At the very least, I confuse you. You’re slow to give your friendship or your trust, and…with good reason, I suppose.” She sighed deeply.

      “But you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body. I have nothing to fear by asking you to let yourself out. I don’t even have to remind you to lock the front door, because I know you will.”

      “You don’t know me,” Lucky insisted.

      Annie turned away and continued her slow, tired, annoyingly sexy walk to her bedroom. “Lucky Santana, I know you better than you know you.”

      Annie stripped off her clothes, pulled on an oversize T-shirt that had Drama Queen emblazoned across the front and fell into bed, exhausted. A moment later she heard the front door open and close, and she knew Lucky was gone for the night.

      Calling up all those memories of two violent deaths had drained her. She had known the task would be unpleasant and difficult, but until her head had begun to swim and she’d looked across the table to see two Luckys as her vision doubled, she hadn’t known how difficult.

      Twice in her adult life, this inherited ability had surfaced in spite of her refusal to accept and hone it. In Nashville, as now, a murder that might’ve gone unsolved had been the crux of the problem. The dreams were bad enough, but they didn’t come alone. They came with draining, uncontrollable, unwanted glimpses into the minds and hearts of others. It was as if the dreams unlocked a gate bursting through the defenses she’d so carefully constructed.

      Maybe once she completed this mission—if that’s what it was—the visions would cease again, for a while. Being tortured with vivid and all-too-true nightmares, and suffering from unwanted flashes of precognition once every four or five years, was doable, she supposed.

      Annie sank into her soft mattress, relaxing completely. She’d done all she could to find the truth, so maybe tonight she wouldn’t dream about the murdered couple. That would be nice. Maybe instead of death she’d dream about life. Maybe she’d dream about Lucky.

      It had been a long time since she’d found herself face-to-face with a man she was attracted to. True, she wasn’t his type—and he wasn’t hers. Gorgeous or not, he was stodgy and conservative, and he liked his life neat and orderly and without surprise. She was too peculiar for him, even without the psychic ability. She was creative; he was logical—and she suspected he was quite the control freak. They probably didn’t like any of the same movies or books.

      But there was something between them—something besides a creepy killer. Chemistry. Hormones. One lonely person sensing another and reaching out in a primal, unmistakable way.

      Lucky would never think of himself as lonely, but in his own way he was every bit as lonely as she was.

      Too tired to think clearly any longer, Annie drifted toward sleep. As she fell into a slumber she remembered what it had felt like when Lucky had taken her СКАЧАТЬ