Sex & Sensibility Read online

  “He needs to give me a break. Or I walk.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Really.” She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, as if she were measuring him up against some invisible standard. “The minute I start feeling uncomfortable, I’m out of here.”

  “Suit yourself. But give it a chance first.”

  Give it a chance? Was he nuts? He was the last person who would give a psychic a chance or put the least amount of stock in anything she said. How had he found himself in the position of advocating for her?

  Fifteen minutes later, when he’d calmed Jay enough so that the angry color had faded from his face and his boss could be rational, he was still wondering.

  5

  THIS IS A MISTAKE.

  Tessa’s backless tennies slapped on the marble as she followed the Latina in the black slacks and white shirt up the spiral staircase. She tried to convince herself that a fast dash for the Mustang and a quick escape were not the professional thing to do while every instinct she had was hollering, Betrayal! and Danger!

  So what was she doing? Meekly trailing after the maid—sorry, Lucia—like an obedient child while a human thundercloud clomped up the steps behind her.

  The 24/7 plan had been discarded, but she still had to deal with the twelve or eighteen or however many hours a day he was going to shadow her.

  The back of her neck and the skin down her spine prickled, and she was intensely aware of the sway of her hips as she climbed each step. From prior experience she knew that meant someone was watching her—in this case, that Griffin Knox was eyeing her butt. She was under surveillance, plain and simple. She’d be lucky if she got to brush her teeth and go to the bathroom by herself. As soon as she could, she was going to sit down with Mr. Closed-Up-Fort-Knox and set a few simple ground rules, because the sooner she defined “personal privacy” for him, the better.

  Family pictures, mostly of Christina, were framed on the walls of the hallway down which Lucia led them. An internal urge prompted Tessa to study them, and she resolved to do that as soon as she found out where they were going.

  There were four closed doors in this wing. Lucia opened the last door on the left. “I hope you will be comfortable here, Ms. Nichols.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled at the young woman as she passed her, then stopped and blinked.

  She’d been given a corner room, which meant windows on two sides, which meant a wraparound view of the Pacific, the beach, and the lawn below. “Holy cats.” This was supposed to help her concentrate? She had pictured darkness and soft cushions and candles. An environment that included Christina. Not this stark brilliance where nothing was left in doubt. This was all wrong.

  The walls were pale blue and the thick carpeting a soft oyster-gray. Matching blue drapes formed swags between sets of windows. Her rolling suitcase sat on its wheels at the end of a king-size bed. Robin, it appeared, had managed to get half his job done. She was just going to have to undo it all, and the person to start with was probably Lucia.

  She heard the door close, and turned to stop Lucia from leaving. But Griffin Knox leaned on the door and crossed his arms. One side of his mouth turned up in an insincere smile.

  “Alone at last,” he said.

  What was he still doing here?

  “I figured we should take this opportunity to get a few things straightened out,” he went on.

  “I’m totally clear on what I’m supposed to do.” She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and rolled it toward the door. “If you’re not, you’d better talk to Mr. Singleton.”

  “Speaking of Jay, it’ll be interesting to see what kind of hocus-pocus you plan on laying on him.”

  If anyone was going to do the straightening out, it would be her. “I don’t plan on anything,” she said evenly. She sat on the bed and gazed at him. “Whatever is going to come to me comes when it wants.”

  “So you say. But since no one can see inside your head, you can pretty much say what you want for sixty bucks an hour, can’t you?”

  She tipped her head to one side, as if that would help her to see him better. But all she saw was a long-legged, blue-eyed man with strong hands, a long jaw, and a mouth made for sin. He made a very sexy picture—if you liked the type and didn’t count the distrust hovering around him.

  “You know, I have a lot more reason to dislike you than you have to dislike me,” she pointed out with a reasonable attempt at calm. “After all, I’m the one who got arrested.”

  He stared at her. “What are you talking about? I don’t dislike you. I don’t trust you. I think you’re a fraud. But I don’t dislike you.”

  She shook her head. “Not true.” She paused, sorting through impressions taking shape in her mind. “It has to do with your mom, doesn’t it? Do I look like her or something?”

  He pushed himself off the back of her door and stalked to the window, where the percussive sound of the breakers boomed just below hearing range and reverberated under her ribs.

  “Let me tell you how it’s going to be.” His shoulders were rigid under his shirt and she made a mental note not to bring up the subject of his mother again.

  The shoulders were very nice, though, some part of her noted. As was the rest of the rear view. Some men wore jeans as though they were a second skin—a soft, worn skin that moved and breathed and told you everything you wanted to know about the fine structure underneath. Griffin Knox, black cloud of disbelief that he was, was one of those men.

  Oops, he was talking again. Pity.

  “You’re right, I arrested you for fraudulent activity two years ago, and I don’t imagine you’ve changed your stripes since then. Your sister got you out of the charge, but I still believe you were involved in that whole Solstice Festival scam. So don’t believe for one minute that I’m going to fall for it like those little old ladies getting their palms read.”

  “I don’t read p—”

  “Since I won’t be around while you sleep, if you don’t mind having your visions during day shift we’ll both be happy.”

  “It’s not something I can contr—”

  “In the meantime, I’ll take you to Christina’s cottage because he’s expecting it, not because I think you’ll get anything more from the crime scene than I—”

  She shot off the bed. “Would you stop interrupting me!”

  Thankfully, he said nothing, just leveled another granite glare at her.

  “First of all,” she said clearly, before he opened his mouth again, “the thought of you anywhere near me at night gives me the creeps. Second of all, I’ve explained twice now that I need a safe, nurturing environment to open myself up in, and I am not getting it in this room or in present company. I need to be somewhere connected with Christina. Third, if there was some kind of scam going on at that festival, I was not involved in it and you have no right to convict me on no evidence, thank you very much. So if I can put aside the way you manhandled me and falsely accused me, then you can put aside your suspicions and just get over it, okay?”

  “I do not convict people on no evidence,” he said through his teeth.

  Blood raced through her veins, powered by her pounding heart. Her breath was short, hot color came and went in her cheeks—classic “fight or flight” symptoms. She was dancing with danger here, and it was giving her an endorphin high.

  Or something was. Something was driving her to challenge him, some reckless impulse that made her push him to see if she could get a bolt of lightning out of the thundercloud.

  “If we are going to be stuck with each other until we find Christina, you will keep your opinions to yourself and do your job as recording secretary while I do mine.” She stepped into his personal space and felt a ripple of satisfaction when he moved one window’s width away. He pretended it was to open it, but she knew better. No problem. He could let the universe in if he wanted. It was on her side.

  “Recording secretary.” His voice was muffled with disgust. “My job is to find evidence, not babysit
a fake psychic.”

  “I’m not a psychic, fake or otherwise. I’m a sensitive.” He shrugged, clearly not interested in the distinction, but she plowed on anyway. “I see things sometimes, like when I saw Christina tied up with the scarves, but mostly I get impressions from people’s possessions or photographs.”

  “Impressions about their possessions.” He smiled, another humorless facial movement. “And how to get your hands on them, right?”

  She didn’t bite. “I don’t have telekinetic powers or a big suitcase, so you can get that out of your head. I don’t read minds, I don’t bend spoons, and I don’t see dead people. I don’t deal well with sarcasm—and authority figures make me twitch.”

  “That’s a lot of don’ts. So what do you do?”

  “I connect,” she told him simply. “That’s why it’s important that I go to Christina’s room. I’m probably going to need to sleep there, too, because there is nothing in here—” she glanced from the ceiling to him to the floor “—that’s going to help.”

  “Not gonna happen.” He registered the subtle insult and his body radiated resistance, as though he were personally going to guard the place before she burgled it.

  “It has to happen if I’m going to do my job.” She got off the bed and rolled her suitcase to the door. “I’ll ask Lucia to show me the way.”

  He had to hustle to beat her to it, and they both reached for the door handle at the same time. His hand covered hers and pressed it into the antique china ball, and a zing! of sensation whipped up her arm. He jerked back as if he’d been burned and she took the opportunity to slip past him and out the door.

  The sound of her suitcase’s wheels on the Mexican slate brought Lucia out of one of the rooms, and in the end it was Griffin who brought up the rear as Tessa explained what she needed and they trooped down the stairs.

  Which would have made her feel triumphant except for the fact that, once again, he was staring at her butt.

  TESSA TOOK ONE LOOK at the cottage and knew this was the place where she needed to stay.

  The problem was convincing everyone else.

  They’d picked up Jay Singleton on the way down the stairs, so the two men least likely to promote a calm, nurturing atmosphere accompanied her out to the little Spanish casita on the other side of a flagstone patio off the main house. When Singleton forged ahead and reached for the wrought-iron door handle, Tessa stopped him.

  “Mr. Singleton, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go in alone. First impressions matter.”

  She heard Griffin Knox mutter “I’ll keep an eye on her,” as if she were an ex-con likely to make off with the silver, and resolutely blocked him out. She wanted to go in here like an empty slate so the impressions she got would have more impact. In fact—

  “The two of you need to stay outside.” She parked her suitcase beside a butterfly bush and put one hand on the door handle. “I can’t work if your influence is interfering with hers.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Griffin began, but Singleton held up a hand and cut him off.

  “We’ll stay right here.” He indicated the step. “But I want to be able to hear what you have to say.”

  “Fair enough. Just don’t come into the room.” Tessa blocked them both out and focused her concentration on what lay ahead as she pushed open the door.

  Color first: purple bedspread, gray walls, black furniture, all at odds with pale paint and the white light streaming in the windows.

  Then scent: a protein bar left on the dresser, cosmetics, something heavy and musky—ah, perfume. Plants everywhere, giving off a rich scent of soil and green leaves.

  Then details: college applications, all blank, tossed on a desk. A printer on the floor. A walk-in closet on the opposite side. A stuffed toy between the pillows.

  She picked up the glass bottle of perfume on the vanity table, then looked at her reflection in the mirror. Tucked into the sides of it were snapshots of Christina—she recognized the dark eyes and wide mouth from her initial vision—with various people, including two girls around the same age. Tessa reached out and touched one showing Christina with a tall, dark-eyed woman.

  “She’s homesick,” Tessa said slowly. “She misses her mom and nana. That’s part of the reason why she won’t pick a college. She doesn’t want to commit to living out here.”

  She didn’t turn to see how her words were received. Instead, she moved toward the closet. Clothes were the most intimate part of a person’s environment. Besides what they told you themselves about the subject, impressions remained, hanging around them like old perfume.

  Tessa studied the tops and dresses hanging on the rods, and the pants and sweaters stacked in cubes on one wall of the walk-in. She had no idea if Christina had duplicates at her mother’s home, but there were enough clothes here to keep a couple of teenagers going for a year. After a few moments, it became clear there was a change in the wardrobe. There were the usual sporty things suitable for days at the beach, school clothes and sloppy things to hang around the house with. Then there were clubby things with spaghetti straps and without, black jersey galore, spandex, even rhinestones. High-end labels with a few price tags still on the pieces. But what was this?

  She touched one of the dresses, a taupe jersey, and a defiant voice clearly said in her head: Do you see me now? Will this make you look?

  O-o-o-kay. So, was this the kind of thing you reported to a teenager’s father?

  “She wants somebody’s attention,” she called finally, her voice muffled in the depths of the closet.

  “What?” Singleton’s voice came from the doorway, impatiently.

  Tessa walked to the closet door and craned around the corner until she could see the two men still standing obediently on the mat.

  “She’s trying to get someone’s attention,” she repeated. “Someone older, I think. A man.”

  Singleton swore. “Who?”

  Tessa shook her head. “Don’t know. It could be you, for all I know. But the clothes she’s using are pretty revealing, so I doubt it.”

  “The kidnapper, maybe?” Griffin put in. “In most abduction cases the perpetrator is someone the victim knows.”

  Tessa considered this. “It’s impossible to say. But we can keep it in mind.”

  “Anything else?” Singleton wanted to know.

  “Not from first impressions. That’s why I’m going to stay here. Sometimes these things work in layers. Once the first layer says what it has to, the other layers get a chance.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Griffin clench his jaw, as though biting back what he wanted to say. Unfortunately, the message his body language sent came through loud and clear: I don’t believe one word.

  Too bad. Jay Singleton believed her, and his was the only opinion she cared about.

  Really. If all she ever saw in Griffin Knox’s eyes was contempt and disbelief, that was fine with her. His opinions were totally irrelevant.

  Singleton had just processed what she’d said. “Stay here?” he repeated. “I thought a room had been made up for you at the house.”

  Tessa braced herself. So much for believing in her. Maybe it had its limits. “You think I brought my suitcase all the way over here because I’m attached to it?” With no help from any of the males present.

  Clearly, Jay didn’t get rhetorical questions. “No, I thought you had equipment in it or something. You can’t stay in my daughter’s cottage. It’s out of the question.”

  “Can you think of a better place for me to get impressions of her, to listen to what her living space has to tell me?”

  “You’ll have access to it anytime you want. But you’re not sleeping here.”

  “Why not?”

  Jay stared at her as if the last time someone had questioned one of his edicts was in the previous century. Maybe it had been. “Because I said so.”

  In spite of herself, she laughed, and the color mounted in his cheeks. “You sound like such a dad.” Then she sobered. “But I�
�m not a child. I’m being paid to do a job, and this is how I’m going to do it. Something inside me is urging me to stay here.”

  Go on, argue with that one.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her, boss,” Griffin said.

  “Oh, you will, will you?” she demanded. “Do you think I’m going to make off with her jewelry or something? Can I remind you that most business relationships are based on trust? So far I’m the only one doing any of that around here.”

  Singleton rubbed his face and sighed.

  She sensed victory only seconds away, if she could keep her temper and resist the childish urge to throw the glass perfume bottle at Griffin Knox’s head. “I know you’re only thinking about Christina’s feelings, about me invading her privacy,” she said to Jay. “But I’m not going to go through her drawers. I need a place to get close to her, and this is the place. Nowhere else is going to work half as well.”

  “You’re right,” he said at last. “Fine. We’ll deal with Christina’s feelings when she gets home. For now, do what you have to do.”

  “Thank you.”

  Singleton nodded, then turned and strode across the patio and out of sight, leaving her alone with Fort Knox. She moved around the living room/bedroom combination, carefully keeping her back to him. Not that it made a bit of difference. A tingle began between her shoulder blades, right about the place where his gaze was probably boring a hole in her T-shirt.

  Keeping an eye on her, indeed.

  “Why do you come up with this stuff?” he said from his post by the door. “Just to upset the guy?” He leaned casually on the wall, but his tone was anything but casual.

  “What stuff? You mean, about staying here?”

  “Yeah. That and the thing about the person whose attention Christina wants. Stuff that’s hard for a father to hear.”

  For a moment, Tessa debated the wisdom of defending her gift to someone who so obviously discounted it. But this was a cop. Maybe if she talked to him the way she talked to Linn, she could at least get through.