Deeply, Desperately (11 page)

Looking around, Faye said, "This a beautiful place."

"Thank you."

Her gaze landed on my Christmas tree, and she
tipped her head at the same angle as the tree. "Is that going to fall over?"

"Hopefully not, unless Grendel climbs it. It's the trunk that's crooked."

"Grendel? What an unusual name."

"It's from
Beowulf
," I said, understanding her need for small talk. "He was quite a hunter."

"Is yours a hunter?"

"Genetically, yes. But my Grendel only likes to hunt Cheerios and cheese squares and, when he's really desperate, kitty kibble."

She smiled. "You're not like I imagined."

"No?"

"It's silly. I pictured more of the boardwalk fortuneteller. Yet you have no crystal ball or turban."

"Every medium is different," I said.

"But you're so ..."

I raised an eyebrow. "Normal. Glamorous even. You could model."

I fidgeted. "Thank you."

"Sarah wanted to model. Petite catalogues."

The Christmas lights twinkled, and the electric candles in the windows glowed behind the drapes. "Why didn't she?"

"She met Scott when she was eighteen. He was twenty-four. Within a year they were married and had a baby on the way. She never had the chance." Faye drew in a deep breath. "Do you think you can find her?"

"I don't know. But I can try. You gave her an ankle bracelet?"

"For her sixteenth birthday. It was a--" She broke off.

"It's okay," I said. "You don't have to tell me what it is."

"I just don't want--"

"To influence me. I know. It's okay that you don't trust me. It really is."

"It sounds harsh."

Grendel, never tired of affection, leaped onto the arm of the chair. "It's human," I said. "You can push him away."

"He's just fine."

"Are you ready?" I asked.

She nodded.

I rose and sat on the edge of the coffee table, in front of her. I held out my hand. "Think of that anklet."

Worry creased her forehead as she slipped her hand into mine.

I closed my eyes as visions flashed like colorful lightning. The images took me north, into New Hampshire, to a high school in Portsmouth. Inside a crowded gym, past a basketball game, to a cheerleader on the sidelines. Blond, blue-eyed. Glitter eye shadow. Small stud earrings. Heavy chain of silver around her wrist with thick links, a fancy clasp and a dangling heart. It was engraved with an
S.
I recognized it immediately as a Tiffany piece.

I pulled my hand back, steadied myself. Vertigo washed over me. My stomach rolled with the dizziness, and when I blinked the lights in the room blurred together as if I'd been rubbing my eyes too hard.

"Are you okay?" Faye asked.

"I'm all right. It just takes a second ..."

I drew in a deep breath, rose carefully and sat on the couch. When I regained my bearings, Grendel was on my lap, pushing his nose into my stomach.

I rubbed his head. "Did you ..." Faye started.

"Did you say it was an anklet?"

"Yes," she said, sitting on the edge of her seat.

"I saw a bracelet, not an anklet."

She covered her mouth with her hand. "It was a bracelet, Lucy. But it didn't fit Sarah's wrist. So she always wore it around her ankle."

"That makes me feel better. I was worried I wasn't seeing the right thing."

"Can you describe it?"

"It was a Tiffany bracelet. A chunky silver piece with a dangling heart."

Her voice wavered. "Anyone could have one of those."

"It was engraved with an
S.
"

Keening forward, she wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Oh God, oh God, oh God. Where is it?"

I swallowed hard over the lump in my throat. "All I can tell you is that a teenage girl has it."

"But where? But how? Sarah never took that piece off. Ever. It was her lucky charm."

"It will be looked into," I said. My agreement with the police was that Sean and I had free rein to investigate my visions, without interference. Previously I'd been put in the position of implicating an innocent man through my visions. I didn't want that to
happen again. Until I had valid, relevant information, the state police would be kept in the dark.

"Did ... did you see Sarah at all?" she asked.

"I'm sorry."

She steeled her shoulders, but her bottom lip quivered. "I made a lot of mistakes with her. Too many. I wish I could apologize, take back everything, and start new. I know that's not going to happen." Rising, she straightened her skirt. "I lost hope a long time ago that I'd ever see my daughter alive again. I just want to bring her home, bring Scott to justice, and make sure my grandchildren are safe. I'm putting my faith in you, Lucy. Please don't let me down."

"This has been the most boring two hours of my life. I wish you were here." Marisol's voice carried loud and clear through the phone.

"To be bored with you? No, thanks."

She groaned. "I'm cold. I'm hungry. I need to pee. This is no fun. This is supposed to be fun."

"What's he doing?"

"He went straight home from work. He's been inside since. Do you think he's up there with someone?"

"Other than Em?"

She growled. "Of course, other than Em."

"No."

"Really?"

"He's not that stupid."

"You may be right."

I sorted through the stack of mail delivered today. A few Christmas cards, one bill, some junk mail, and only one request, which went into the Can't Help file. Someone wanted to know if Elvis really was alive. I wished I had an Amused file. That letter would go in there.

No Handmaiden letter. Thank goodness. "Maybe we're wrong about him," I said, making sure I used "we" and not "you" so she wouldn't get pissed off at me.

"We're not wrong."

"How long are you going to stay outside Em's place?"

"I don't know. I really have to pee. You know what we need? Someone on the inside."

"To let you use the bathroom?"

"No, though that's a good idea. Someone who can tell us things. Be a spy."

"Like?" We certainly couldn't ask Em.

"I have an idea." I heard her engine turn over. "I've got to go."

"Marisol? Marisol!" But she'd already hung up.

I didn't want to know. Did. Not. Want. To. Know.

I'd defrosted some leftover marinara Dovie had made. It simmered on the stovetop. Water had risen to a soft boil. I was just waiting for Sean to get here before I put the pasta in.

I dropped several Cheerios in Odysseus' cage and filled his water bottle. Grendel eyed me, hoping a wayward Cheerio would fall--or maybe that I'd leave the cage open and he could get rid of his competition once and for all. On the safe side, I dropped a Cheerio on the floor and he dragged it under the flimsy dining table.

I stared at it, picturing the table I'd seen at the antiques shop in its place. A girl could dream.

A knock sounded on the front door.

I checked my reflection in the mirror hanging above the mantel. Yes, I'd changed into a lovely wrap dress. Yes, I'd done my hair, working my natural waves into bouncy curls. And I'd shaved my legs to smooth perfection--the number-one mistake in any girl's handbook when
not
wanting to sleep with a man.

What this told me--well, that was easy to figure out.

I was ready to sleep with Sean.

And more than willing.

I tried not to think about Cara or what might be wrong with her or anything other than Sean undressing and having his wicked way with me.

I flipped the dead bolt, opened the door. Sean stood on the porch, the breeze ruffling his hair, his eyes on me. In one hand he held a poinsettia. In the other, a leash. Thoreau barked and leaped and tugged. Sean let go, and the Yorkshire rushed into the house to find Grendel.

The two were crazy for each other.

Sean stepped onto the threshold, said, "I've been looking forward to this all day," and kissed me.

If not for the shriek of the fire alarm, we might not have stopped. "The bread!" I ran into the kitchen, pulled the smoking Italian loaf from the oven.

Sean set the poinsettia on the counter, grabbed a dishtowel, and fanned the alarm until it silenced. "Raphael warned me about your cooking."

"He did not!" I said, dumping the charred bread in the sink.

"He did." He glanced at me. "You look adorable all dressed up and in bare feet."

Adorable?

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Adorable? I didn't spend half an hour doing my hair to look adorable."

"Okay, then," Sean said, coming up behind me. "How about good enough to eat?"

Hard. To. Think. Especially with him nuzzling my neck that way, nipping at the sensitive skin at my nape. And oooh. His hand slid down my rib cage, grazing my breast.

The bread wasn't the only thing smoking hot.

I turned in his arms to face him. "Better."

Unbuttoning his shirt, one slow button at a time, I reached in, skimmed my hands over his chest, over his scar. My fingertips glanced over his nipples and he sucked in a breath.

"You like that?" I asked.

"Love that."

Behind me I heard the splash and gurgle of the boiling water as I tugged on the hem of his shirt. I desperately tried not to think. Just to be. To let it all go and trust that everything would work out. Leaning on my tiptoes, I kissed him, pulling gently on his bottom lip while my hands roamed.

Everything I felt for him came out in that kiss. The love I couldn't share, the hopes I didn't dare hold on to. All the things I couldn't say, all the things I dreamed of one day.

He held me close, letting me explore. His kiss
went from tender and sweet to heady and passionate. It was getting seriously hot in the kitchen. Really hot.

Really, really hot.

The fire alarm shrieked again.

Flames shot out from the bottom of the pasta pot. The water had boiled over and the oil had caught fire. "Oh no!"

Sean quickly put the pot in the sink, and turned off the gas, but the flaming oil danced.

"Baking soda?" he asked.

I opened a cabinet and grabbed a box of Arm & Hammer's finest. It seemed an odd choice to me, but as a former firefighter I figured he'd know how to put out a grease fire. He sprinkled the baking soda over the flames and they immediately died down.

I checked the sauce. A burned layer coated the bottom of the pan. "I know when to give up. Takeout?"

"I'll call."

I frowned at the dishes in the sink. They could wait. Sean, much to my dismay, buttoned his shirt.

I supposed the moment had been ruined.

Probably Cupid's Curse at work. Or fate. Either one. And at this point, I hated them both.

I poured us both a glass of wine and took mine to the couch. Flames leaped at the gas logs, and Christmas carols played softly.

Thoreau and Grendel were already curled by the fire. "I'm jealous," I said, nodding to the pair.

Sean sat down next to me, curving my body against his. He kissed my temple. "You haven't had enough fire for one night?"

"Not near enough," I told him, loving the way his eyes darkened.

"I like the sound of that."

My cell phone rang. I dropped my head back against the couch.

"Not going to get it?"

"The only person I really want to talk to is my dad, and it's not likely to be him."

Sean swirled his wine. The color danced in the firelight. "What's going on with your dad?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. He has a new girlfriend, he might be Preston's father."

Sean choked on his wine. Coughing, he said, "You don't really think that, do you?"

"I don't know. She's asking strange questions. How long my parents have been married, if I ever wanted brothers and sisters. And then she was acting all strange when Leo made that comment about us being related."

"It does seem strange."

"It
is
strange. And I can't exactly ask Preston outright. Although she's pretending to be all friendly, she's a reporter at heart. She'd give just about anything for that kind of headline. Dad is the only one who has the answers."

The phone on the kitchen wall began to ring just as the doorbell sounded. Thoreau jumped up, yapping.

Grendel streaked to my bedroom.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"You get the phone," Sean said, "and I'll get the pizza."

I answered on the fourth ring.

It was my mother. And like I thought, the call wasn't good news.

After hanging up, I grabbed my coat. "We have to go."

Sean set the pizza on the coffee table. "Where?"

"That was my mum. She and Dovie are in jail."

Sunbeams stealthily slipped in between my drawn curtains, teasing me awake. I rolled to look at the clock. Almost eight
A.M
.

Grendel swatted my face with his paw. I rubbed his head.

I curled my arms around my pillow and a small part of me--okay, a big part of me--wished to stay in bed all day. Rest. Relax. Chill out.

Not worry about my father, or Sarah Loehman, or if my mother and grandmother would face serious jail time.

Coffee. I needed coffee.

I threw back my covers. Grendel wiggled out from beneath the pile and thumped to the floor, charging ahead of me into the kitchen. He gleefully ran figure eights around my feet until I popped open a can of cat food and plopped it into his bowl.

He attacked with vigor.

I washed my hands, set to grinding coffee beans.

My cell phone rang as the coffee perked. I frowned at the display, but knew I had to answer.

After requisite niceties, Faye Dodd said, "Anything, Lucy?"

I didn't want to tell her that I hadn't had a chance to follow up on my vision yet. "Nothing overtly useful," I said, pulling open the drapes in my bedroom. Sunlight exploded into the room. The ocean was still sleeping, calmly swaying in rhythm with the currents. The flurries that fell yesterday covered the grass in a thin white sheet. So much for a doozy of a storm. "But we're still looking into it."

Barring any complications from Cara, Sean and I were taking a trip to Portsmouth today.