Authors: Vicki Hinze
He loved the way she touched him. He covered her hand
with his and pressed his lips to her palm. “You shouldn’t
be up. You look like hell.”
Her smile reached her eyes. “Quite the charmer, isn’t
he, Dr. Z?”
“Indeed.” The doctor stepped closer, studying Caron intently. “And he’s also right. You should be resting.”
“I can’t. I have to go.”
“Go?” Parker frowned. “Go where?”
“To Decker’s.” She looked up at him. “I have to touch
Misty’s bike.”
Dr. Z explained. “The images are strongest when she’s touching something that belongs to the victim.”
Parker clenched his jaw. “You’re not going back in there.”
“I have to, Parker.”
“Then let’s call Sanders and get a warrant. We can do
this right, without endangering you.”
“He won’t do it. You know that as well as I do. Without a missing-persons report, Sandy would be putting his career on the line—and he won’t do that. And you shouldn’t
blame him for it.”
“Be reasonable, sweetheart. You can’t expect me to let you go back into that house, knowing what I know about
Decker. He could be the man who left the message on your
door.”
“I’m not asking for your permission. Don’t you see? I
have no choice. I have to risk it.” She stroked his face.
“Look at me. No, Parker, really look at me.”
He did. Her eyes were dull, listless. The dark circles be
neath them were deeper now, and strain etched her face.
She looked weary and worn out.
“Misty is worse,” she said. “If I don’t find her soon, she’s going to die.” Caron swallowed hard. “And,
this time, so will I.”
Chapter 7
Caron rested her head against Parker’s shoulder and
watched the city lights twinkling below. There wasn’t a
prettier view of New Orleans than from the bridge. With a
little shiver, she prayed this wouldn’t be the last time she
saw it.
“Cold?” One hand on the steering wheel, Parker reached
with
the other and rubbed her thigh.
“No,” she said, wondering why it was so easy to confess
her deepest feelings to him. “Scared.”
“Me, too.” He tapped the signal, then switched lanes.
She had a hard time imagining Parker Simms afraid of anything. It was comforting, having him admit to a weak
ness.
“I can’t stand the thought of you going back into that
man’s house, Caron.”
Scooting closer, she linked their hands. He laced their
fingers and pressed their palms together. A knot shifted
into her throat.
Too tender!
She changed the subject. “You didn’t tell
me.” The
medication had kicked in. But was that why she was feel
ing better? Or was it
Misty? “How’d the meeting go with
Linda Forrester?”
“All in all, I suppose it was productive. She’s hiding something, and she’s scared witless.”
As soon as Misty crossed her mind, the pain redoubled.
Was focus the key to controlling the pain? “For her brother, maybe?”
“I don’t think so.” Parker braked, slowing the car. “It-Hell, I don’t know. You’re the one who senses things.”
So finally he’d accepted it. She gave his fingers a little squeeze. “Maybe she’s worried about Forrester.”
“That was easy enough to pick up on,” Parker agreed. “I don’t know about that fling we suspected with Vanessa,
though, sweetheart. Forrester’s wife’s a knockout, and
she’s crazy about him. From her clothes, they’re loaded, too.” Parker grunted. “What else could the man want from
a woman?”
“I don’t know.” Caron felt oddly content. Considering their situation, she should be frantic, but she wasn’t. Parker’s endearment soothed, mostly because it had rolled so
naturally off his tongue. “Do you have something of hers?
Something she touched?”
“No.” Parker passed a truck, then eased back over into the right-hand lane. “Wait. Yes, I do.” He pulled some
thing from his jacket pocket. “This.”
Caron took the book of matches, closed her eyes, and
concentrated. Fear flooded her. Anger followed it. Then the
images were coming so fast, she couldn’t decipher them,
just soaked them up like a sponge.
She dropped the matches and opened her eyes. Parker
was about to exit onto Belle Chase Highway. “Don’t turn,”
Caron said, her voice pitched high.
“Why?” He glanced her way. “Caron, what is it?”
“The woman you met wasn’t Linda, Parker. I don’t
know who she was, but she wasn’t Linda.”
“Okay, but—”
“She’s the woman who took Misty to Decker.”
“Oh, God.”
“She knows where Misty is.” Caron’s heart nearly thud
ded out of her chest. “Turn around.”
“Where are we going?”
“First to my apartment.”
Parker whipped off the road, waited until it was clear in
both directions, then turned and headed back toward the bridge. “I don’t get it.”
Caron kissed his shoulder. “When in doubt, attack.”
“That I get.” He lifted his brows. “But attack
who?”
Parker looked out Caron’s window. The sun had come up, streaking the sky with soothing golds and pinks. The shower had stopped a few minutes ago; Caron had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. She hadn’t said any more about what was going on, and, though he hated to admit it—and he’d thought of nothing else—he still didn’t have a fix on exactly who she meant to attack.
Trust her.
The thought came and held. Parker stared at
the sign at the store across the street. He was more than re
lieved that she hadn’t gone back into Decker’s to touch Misty’s bike—especially after Dr, Z. had told him that
they’d nearly lost Caron when Sarah died.
His stomach curled and rumbled at the thought, and his
chest felt compressed. If he lived forever, he’d never forget
Caron telling him that if Misty died, this time she’d die, too.
He’d nearly crumbled, nearly fallen to his knees the way
Harlan had in the morgue.
Frowning, Parker watched two kids ride by on bicycles.
A man wearing red suspenders hung up the phone on the
outside wall of the store, then shuffled to the bench near the
door. How could Parker not trust her? She’d been willing to
risk her life. She’d known the danger in touching that bike,
but she’d been willing to do it—for Misty.
The objective man in him should have admired her
courage. But where Caron was concerned, there wasn’t any objective man in him. And the unobjective man was terri
fied of losing her, and forbidden to tell her or show her how he felt, because he hadn’t been honest with her. It was an awful
dilemma.
The man on the bench rose, looked at the sign and
scratched his head, then sat down again.
“I’m ready to get started,” Caron said from behind him.
Parker turned and caught his breath.
Caron stood beside the sofa, wearing a white sundress with thin straps and a scoop neck. Her skin was flushed from the shower, and she’d brushed her hair until
it gleamed. She looked beautiful. If he hadn’t seen her just
hours ago at the institute, he wouldn’t have believed how
sick she’d been.
Perplexed by it all, he frowned. “What happened?”
“Excuse me?” Now it was her turn to look confused.
“Caron, a few hours ago you were unconscious. I feared
for your life. Now...” His voice trailed off.
“Now, what?” Her skirt swished against her thighs.
“Now you look...healthy.”
“I think I figured out something in the car. It’s a matter of focus. If I concentrate on Misty’s condition, the empathy pains control me. But if I think about you or the case, I can minimize the effect—at least sometimes.”
If she spent half as much time thinking about him as he did thinking about her, she might just make it through this case unscathed. “I’m glad.” And then he gave her some
thing he’d never given anyone else: power over him. “You
scared me, Caron.”
“I’m sorry.” The look she gave him was genuine.
She knew, and she wouldn’t use it as a weapon against
him. “What now?”
“Let’s put on a pot of coffee and make some plans. First on the list is Sandy. It’s time we filled him in.”
In the kitchen, Parker noticed the answering machine. “Maybe you should answer your calls first.” He pointed.
“Light’s blinking.”
Caron rinsed the coffeepot, then filled it with water. “I
will in a minute. Can you grab a filter for me? Second cab
inet on the left.”
Parker opened the cabinet door and pulled out a box of filters. They clung together. He raised a small stack and blew on them until one broke free of the rest, then passed
it over. When she took it from him, Caron smiled. He
smiled back. There was something good about being in her
kitchen together, about them smiling at each other.
They were on their fourth pot of coffee after an all-night
vigil of studying documents when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Parker shoved back from the paper-strewn table, then went out to the living room. He glanced at his watch. No wonder they were wired. It was nearly noon.
“If it’s a solicitor, give him an earful.” Caron’s voice
followed him. “I put up a sign.”
“Okay,” he called back, then cracked open the door and
stepped aside. Sanders. And from the look on the detective’s face, this wasn’t a social call. Parker decided to dis
pense with the amenities. “Come in.”
“Where’s Caron?”
Caron recognized Sandy’s voice. The little hairs on-her
neck lifted. Logically, she knew that Misty was safe for the moment; she’d imaged her sleeping comfortably not more than three minutes ago. But emotionally, Caron knew nei
ther of them was safe—not yet. Not until everyone involved in Misty’s abduction was behind bars.
Caron walked into the living room. Sandy was chewing
on a stubby cigar. He never took his cigars out of the of
fice...unless he was deeply disturbed.
Misty!
Fighting a sense of panic, she focused every ounce of concentration she could muster, every fiber of energy, on
Sandy. “Is Misty—” She couldn’t say it.
“I don’t have any word on Misty, Caron.”
Parker shut the door. It took a full minute for Caron to
calm down. Seeing her that way grated Parker’s insides raw.
One second she was fine, the next she was devastated. Her eyes held as much fear as he’d ever seen in any human being, and she was shaking like a blender on the high setting.
Dr. Z. had warned him of what to expect; during a case,
Caron always stressed out. But his instincts were telling him
that her reaction was more than anticipated stress.
To cut the tension, Parker offered Sanders a chair.
He took one, a chair beside the sofa. “Parker tells me
you had a close call yesterday.”
“I’m fine now.” Her voice was strained.
She wasn’t fine, Parker thought; she was falling apart
before his eyes. Parker led her to the sofa, sat down beside her, then lied with a clear conscience. “We were just about to leave, Sanders. Did you need something, or is this a so
cial visit?”
“I was hoping you’d fill me in on what’s been going on.
I’ve left several messages, but—”
“We’ve been out,” Parker said. Caron was as white as a sheet, and if she held her back any stiffer it might just snap.
Caron put her hand on Parker’s thigh. Her grip was strong, but when she spoke, she sounded at ease. “We
know about Decker and Linda and Keith Forrester, Sandy.”
“I figured you did.” He looked toward the window.
The sense that Sandy had done something seriously
wrong grew thick, palpable. Parker looked at Caron, but
she stared straight ahead at Sandy.