On the Scent (19 page)

He gasped, not expecting her to be so willing to let him explain, and he knew by her reaction to his expression that he must have looked as guilty as hell again. “You heard her correctly.” He nodded. “Until I started working this case, I didn't know I was psychic. I faked it. I was acting on the TV show. I was acting when you came into my office to hire me. I was—”

A tear slid down her cheek as she jerked away from him again. “You were
acting
?”

“Hannah—”

Her damn phone began belting out a ringtone again. Wiping her face, Hannah reached for it, glanced at the caller ID and turned away from him to answer. “Sarah,” she said. After listening for a few seconds, she returned, “Okay. Hold on a minute.”

Pressing the phone to her chest, she told him, “We'll talk about this when I get finished talking to my friend.”

He watched, feeling gutted and helpless, as she disappeared into his room and shut the door. How was he going to dig himself out of this one?

“Hannah, please listen to me,” Sarah said.

There was something about the sound of her best friend's voice that was off. Panicked, even. She'd asked Hannah if she was alone—and if she wasn't, to find privacy because it was “really, really important.”

Hannah felt disoriented with racing thoughts—had she fallen for some elaborate con Zach and his associates had set up to get her money? She could have sworn he'd been sincere when he'd said he'd loved her, but she'd thought the same of Eric once. Her judgment was awful. She'd actually believed he was psychic, too.

She wanted to trust him, but…

But first, she had to find out what was so urgent with Sarah. Was it Sarah's mother? Had the last chemo treatment not gone well?

“I'm alone.” She moved to the bed. “Sarah, what's wrong?”

There was the sound of muffled movement.

The voice of a man she didn't recognize greeted her. “Hello Hannah. How are you this evening?”

“I'm sorry. Who is this?”

A lazy, menacing chuckle raised goosebumps along Hannah's arms. “I'm the man who has your little friend, and if you want to see her alive again, you'll do exactly as I tell you. Understand?”

Hannah's heart quickened its beat. “What?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes. Where's Sarah. Who is this?”

“Do you know where Oakland Cemetery is?”

Instinct told her not to question him or argue. “I've heard of it. I've never been there.”

“Find it,” the voice growled. “Nine a.m. tomorrow. There will be a note with directions for you at the Bell Tower Ridge, at the observation point of Confederate Commander John B. Hood. Repeat it back to me.”

She did. “How will I find it? I've never been there.”

“You're a smart girl. You'll figure it out. Follow those directions if you want to save your friend.” He paused and there was a whimpering sound in the distance. Was that Sarah crying? “Oh and Miss Dawson?”

“Yes.”

“Come alone. Tell no one. I'll know if you're being shadowed. Understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“Nine o'clock. Don't be late.”

“I want to talk to Sarah. Please.”

Hearing no response, Hannah glanced at the phone. The call had already ended.

Someone had Sarah.

A wave of panic threatened Hannah's air supply, but she quelled it with deep breaths. What should she do? Should she risk telling someone? This was that awful scenario in books and movies where Hannah always wanted to scream “Don't listen to the kidnapper. Tell the freaking police, for Pete's sake!” because the characters on the page or screen always tried to handle it on their own with disastrous results.

Who could help her? Zach? She wasn't even certain at this point that he wasn't involved. A pang of hurt stabbed into her chest at that truth. She could call Detective Ryan, but the man had done nothing to instill confidence in her so far.

Think, you idiot. Think.

Who should she tell?

Maybe Sarah's brothers, get their input on what to do. And then what? The Taylor men would charge off, fueled by rage and emotion, without thinking of the consequences.

Bad idea.

Hannah lifted her phone with trembling hands to scroll through the contact list, desperate for someone, anyone, to call that she could trust with this. By the time she neared the Qs she wasn't even seeing the names anymore. The sinking realization that she had absolutely no one in her life to count on besides Sarah weighed down on her heart. How pathetic was she?

No.

She squared her shoulders as she concentrated on the contact list in her phone. She could count on herself, which meant she needed to make smart decisions. This was about more than her pride. This was about saving her best friend's life.

Finding the detective's name and number, she pressed Call.

She reached his voicemail, so she began by reminding him who she was. “I need your help. It's urgent. Please call me back immediately.” She listed her number before hanging up.

Now she had to wait.

And figure out what to do about the man in the next room.

Abbott had had enough of being carried around and petted, and with a hiss and a swipe of his claw, let Zach know he wanted out of his hold—immediately. That, and his forceful
Put me down now, you idiot, or I'll kill you
did the trick
.

Dammit.

Zach let the cat drop to the floor before he swung back toward the closed bedroom. It was well after midnight now, and Hannah still hadn't so much as peeked out the door. Alexandra had left hours ago, and Zach had been reciting in his mind ways to explain everything to Hannah to convince her he was a different man than he'd once been and she could trust him.

Metal jiggled, and he turned to see the bedroom door slowly open. Finally.

Hannah wouldn't meet his eyes when she stepped forward and into the living room. She bent and stroked Abbott's back when the cat brushed against her legs and gave Costello a ferocious head rub when the dog bounced over to where she stood.

“Have you taken him for a walk?”

That wasn't the first question he'd been expecting. “Yeah, not too long ago.”

“A walk, or did you let him do a quick pee?” she asked doubtfully.

Dammit. She must have been listening to his movements, just as he'd been trying to listen to hers. She'd been quiet. The only sound he'd heard had been her hushed murmuring a couple of times, and he'd suspected she'd been talking to Sarah again.

“Will you take him for a longer walk please? I don't feel up to it.”

Her polite coolness was almost worse than the hurt he'd seen in her expression earlier. Almost. He took a careful step toward her. “I will, but I'd like the chance to explain some things first.”

She opened her mouth to speak and hesitated. She finally looked at him for the first time since entering the room. With dark and guarded eyes, she gave him a small nod and moved toward the sofa. “I suppose that's fair.”

He followed her, perching onto the seat opposite her.
Here's your shot.
Make it count, Collins.

“A long time ago, I taught myself how to survive by being dishonest with people. I'm not proud of that, but it's part of a past I can't deny.” She sat, arms crossed, without looking at him, so he could only hope she was actually listening to what he said. “I pretended to be psychic because I needed the money. My family's home was being foreclosed.”

Her shocked gaze lifted to his, but she said nothing.

“I'm telling the truth.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away. “When we started the agency, I wasn't above using my minor fame to establish the business. It was like a gimmick to let people think I was psychic. But I've never accepted a job from anyone expecting me to use my psychic abilities to solve a case. Never, Hannah.”

Her eyebrows perked up. “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

“Not true, Zach. You took my case. Mine.” She bit the word out between clenched teeth.

Dammit. “Never
until
you—and if you remember, I tried hard to discourage you on that front. I don't recall you hiring me for my psychic abilities. I thought you hired me for protection.”

“You pretended to know what Abbott and Costello are thinking. You lied to me, Zach—just like everyone else I've ever cared about, except Sarah.” Her voice trembled a little at the end, and tears caused her expression to glaze over. She quickly wiped them away. Her voice was raw when she spoke. “I'm sorry. Lying to that extent is the one thing I can't forgive.”

She still refused to look at him. Tough, cause he wasn't done yet. He slid forward until he was on the edge of his seat. “Remember how I got hit on the head at your house?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“I don't know what the hell happened to me after that, but since then, I
can
communicate with your animals. Hell, I'm hearing and feeling all kinds of things when I'm around different animals and people. I thought I was going crazy at first. Took me a while to figure out the thing I've been pretending to be for so long might not be so off base.”

Her lips and brow turned downward. “You mean, suddenly you think you're psychic?” She shook her head. Her tone was harsh, but her beautiful face looked like it would crumble at any second. It broke his heart. “Nice try, Zach. I'm not buying it.”

He swore and searched his mind for a way to convince her. “It's true. I called Alexandra for help because she's the only legit psychic I know. She helped me figure some things out.”

“I'm sure.” She snorted.

“Hannah, I barely know the woman, but I promise you we're not trying to scam you. None of us are.”

One of her shoulders lifted in a weak shrug. “I'll admit, I can't figure out how you knew some things, but I'm sure I probably give away some info without realizing it. Everyone does, don't they? That's how you did the show?”

He sighed. “Yes, but—”

“You could've told me you weren't really psychic, Zach. It wouldn't have mattered to me. I get that a lot of TV shows are staged. We could have laughed about it. I probably would have still hired you because of your agency's reputation.” She tore her gaze away again. “That's what I'm having trouble with—that you lied to me from day one. You continued to lie to me after I thought we had a connection. How do I know I can trust you?”

“Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“How?”

He'd decided to use the cat and dog to perform a show-and-tell to convince her he could read their damn thoughts, maybe ask them some questions he couldn't possibly know the answer to. Glancing around, he wondered where the hell the cat had gone. Costello was lounging between them on the floor. The dog would have to do.

Zach whistled and patted his leg. “Come ‘ere, boy.” The dog's ears perked up and he ambled over. “Let's ask him some questions only he knows the answer to. Okay?”

She said nothing, looking down at the cushions beside her.

“First question, Hannah. What is it?”
Please. Give me a chance.

With a heaving sigh, she glanced toward the ceiling. “I don't know. Ask him … ask him what day of the week Ellie and I brought him home from the shelter.”

Damn. Would a dog even understand that question? Zach lifted Costello's muzzle, looked the mutt in the eye, and repeated it aloud.

Huh?
Costello opened his mouth and panted.

Zach repeated the question.

I saw a squirrel today. Can we eat now? Can I eat the squirrel if I see it again?

“Can't you think of something easier?” Zach scanned the room for the cat. The cat might understand. The cat was scary intelligent in a diabolical kind of way. “Something more recent? I don't think he understands the question.”

“Of course he doesn't.” She reached up a hand and wiped away a tear. She was
crying
?

“Hannah—”

She scooted off the sofa. “Forget it, Zach. Just give me some time to think. I want to believe you, but I don't know.” Pushing her hair back with one hand, she looked composed and unaffected. Maybe he'd imagined the tears. “Will you please take Costello out for a walk, or do I have to do it?”

Her tone implied she was a powder keg about to explode if he said no. He held up his hands in surrender. “I'll take him.”

“Thank you. I'm going to bed. I need to think about some things.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she turned away quickly.

The hours had ticked by at an unbearably slow rate.

Double checking her bag that she had everything she needed—her ID, her phone, the directions she'd scribbled down—Hannah rubbed at her tired eyes and reached for the keys to the SUV she'd swiped from Zach's room last night while he'd been walking Costello.

She'd been as nervous as a kitten in a dog pound all night, expecting him to barge into the room and demand to know why she'd taken them, but he'd remained in the other room, making little noise, oblivious to her devious planning.

She'd also borrowed his laptop to look up information about Oakland Cemetery and to email Detective Ryan, who had yet to return her two phone calls and messages. Her fingers had wanted to type
Why the hell haven't you been returning my freaking phone calls?
but her mind had reined in the panic and kept it cordial. She was hoping and praying he was waiting until the morning to call her back, because she didn't know what to do if she didn't hear from him. Her plan was to proceed with the kidnappers' instructions until the detective told her otherwise. It might not be the smartest thing she'd ever done, but what was she supposed to do? Ignore the call? Not show? Those weren't options. Sarah had always been there for her, and she sure as hell wasn't going to leave her best friend in the hands of a maniac when Hannah was the reason Sarah was there in the first place.

She'd also spent most of the night debating telling Zach what was happening. In the end, she didn't know if she could trust him, especially after that ridiculous scene with Costello last night. Why was he trying so hard to convince her he was psychic when he'd already admitted he wasn't? He was trying to con her again, but why?

Abbott jumped onto the bed and sat on her bag, demanding attention. The cat had been in her hair all night, walking across the computer keyboard while she used it, rubbing against her elbows seeking adoration as she typed. Hannah picked him up and cuddled him now, finding comfort in his vibrating purr against her chest. “I love you so much, kitty. I'm sorry I have to leave you here, but it's the only way.”

The cat pushed his head against her neck and nuzzled her. He was being unusually affectionate. She really did hate to leave him, and Costello too. She hadn't heard the dog all night pawing at her door to get in, so she knew he'd stayed with Zach.
Traitor.

At six-thirty, she quietly made her way out of the room, pausing to listen for any movement from Zach. All was quiet. She half expected Costello to come bouncing at her in early-morning greeting, but he didn't. She hated not telling the dog goodbye, but she couldn't risk searching him out. She had to stick to her plan, or everything would fall apart. Hurrying to the front door, she reached into her bag for the note she'd written and slid it onto the entryway table. She steeled her nerves and refused to look back as she slipped outside, shutting the door behind her as softly as she could manage.

Stay calm. You can do this. Zach is still asleep. You're good
.

She slid into the driver's seat of the SUV, adjusted the seats and mirrors and turned the ignition over. It wasn't until she was on the highway that she stopped glancing in the rearview, expecting Zach to be behind her.