Harmonized (3 page)

And there it was, that zing of awareness that had always existed between them. It sizzled in the air, confusing the hell out of him. He needed distance. Stepping back, he started to close the door.

“Ziggy,” she began then stopped, shifted in her seat, and then spoke more quietly. “I hope you've had a good life. You may not believe it, but leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done. If I could do it over—”

“Okay, Ms. De La Cruz, you've got our attention,” Reynolds said, cutting her off and pushing into the room with O'Dell on his heels.

“Get that on your way out,” O'Dell said to Zig and pointed at the door.

Zig closed the door quietly and headed back to his computer. Her words playing over and over in his mind. What did she mean by coming in here and dropping the bomb that leaving him was the hardest thing she'd ever done? Did the damn woman do anything subtly?

He wanted to be pissed at her. Hating her made her leaving him bearable, made it possible for him to go on with his life. Okay so he was a bit commitment-shy, but what man in his twenties wasn't? And fuck it! Her words plucked at his dumb-as-sea-glass heart.

And like sea glass, if he let her matter to him again, when she walked away this time, his heart would shatter.

***

“You saw the baby's aura? Not in person. Not since the delivery. But you saw it in a
picture
?” asked the cop with the bushy mustache. If disbelief walked around incarnate, it would inhabit the two cops who'd been grilling Karma for the past forty minutes.

Her plan had been to show them the diary she'd found in Gwyn's place but Zig's ominous warning about breaking and entering played through her mind as she stared at their collective aura. It pulsed an ugly crimson, tinged with a putrid shade of dark green—vanity, resentment, and disbelief pooled around them like awful mood lighting.

Since their auras showed contempt for her, Karma kept the diary in her purse and focused on the auras instead.

“Yes. I saw Wesley's aura the day he was born. And I see it now, in that picture.” She tapped the photo with her finger. “It's what alerted me to the fact that the world is going on the assumption that he went off that bridge with Gwyn. He couldn't have. His aura wouldn't still be in the picture if he were dead. So, you need to open the case again. Wesley is alive, his aura is blue-silver, and it's fading.”

“We have three witnesses who saw your friend jump with her infant in her arms. One of those witnesses tried to stop her and got scratched up in the process. Gwyn Bremer was fished out of the Chesapeake when she and her baby were swept out into historically rough current. But you
see
an aura in this picture, so naturally we should assume the baby is what, part fish, and still paddling around the bay?” The shorter one frowned at her then gave his partner the
this-woman's-effing-nuts-look
.

“No. I'm not saying he's in the bay. If I knew where he was, I'd get him myself. Just look at his picture, it's in his eyes.”

Karma tapped the photo again. Sometimes, even mundanes could see a flash of auras in photos. She prayed one or both of these men would really look. Reynolds—or was it O'Dell?—picked up the picture. They hadn't bothered with introductions, so she wasn't sure which one was which. Instead, they'd hammered her with questions, in tandem, hardly giving her ample time to answer.

“There's life in his eyes,” she said the moment a look of surprise briefly lit the mustache cop's face. Now was the time to show them the diary. Reaching for her purse she added, “It was brighter earlier. A warm ocean blue–green. Kind of peaceful.”

“Are we talking about the kid's eye color?” Mustache cop gave her a frown so deep it created a vertical crease between his equally bushy eyebrows. Suspicion darkened his expression as he watched her lift her purse from the floor and set it on her lap.

“No, not his eye color.” She shifted in the seriously uncomfortable chair, clutching the diary through her handbag. “There's a vibrancy in his eyes. Most people see it. I just see it with color. If he were dead, the vibrancy wouldn't be there. It would be like looking at a photo. All flat and no life. No color. It's weird because his eyes were brighter an hour ago—”

“But we
are
looking at a photo and I sure as hell don't see anything in this picture but a blue-eyed baby and his batshit-crazy mother.”

“She's not crazy!
¡Madre de Dios!
” Karma slapped one hand on the table in frustration.

“You want to keep your temper under control.” Short cop pointed a finger at her that had her biting back her words. When she put her hands back in her lap and clutched her purse, he added, “What is it you want, Ms. De La Cruz?” He'd said her name like he had a bag of dog crap under his puglike nose. “What do you want from us?”

“It's obvious, isn't it?” Her temper spiked again, but she reined it in. Exhaled a slow breath and added a softness to her voice that didn't quite mask her accent. “I want you to find the baby.”

For a moment they said nothing. The cops glanced at each other, their expressions as disbelieving as if she'd said she had a unicorn in her car. She needed to make them understand. These jerks had to help find Wesley, since Ziggy obviously had no intention of helping. Throwing caution to the bitter February wind she began, “There's something you should know—”

“When we find him, you expect to be compensated, right?” Short cop gave her a grin that was nothing short of wicked.

“No! I—” Panic clawed at her. They not only didn't believe her, they thought she was here for financial gain. “I don't care about money. It's the baby. He's—”

“Dead.” The mustache cop pumped a fist on the table. “Gwyn Bremer jumped off a bridge with her kid in her arms, in front of witnesses. You should have done your homework on the suspect before you danced in here with some cockamamie story about being friends and seeing auras. You have to be the worst psychic we've ever dealt with.”

The short one laughed. “Yeah, you
see
auras but you suck at judging people.”

His barb hit a little too close to the truth. Or what had been a truth long ago. Today, her vision and judgment were in perfect accord.

The smug cops thought they were so funny. What they didn't know was she saw their auras; the same color as when they'd sauntered into the room, looming like the Incredible Hulk of intimidation.

Her belly jittered with nerves. They didn't believe her. They didn't want to believe her. Their suspicious, ant-size brains couldn't comprehend someone like her being out for anything but money. She recognized the color of distrust, disbelief. Still, she had to try, for Wesley's sake. For Gwyn's.

“Did you know Gwyn was afraid for her life?” The cops shifted back in their seats, and crossed their arms over their chests, like synchronized dancers. “It's why I came to Tidewater last month. Gwyn had a problem with her birthing coach and needed me to fill in.”

“What sort of problem?”

“I don't know. She never explained.”

“Huh. So we have a jumper who, according to you, was afraid for her life.” Mustache cop glanced at his partner. “You hearing what I am?”

“Yeah, Esmerelda here knows she's missing out on money and coming up with a new story.” He pulled a face and nodded as if begrudgingly agreeing. “We could arrest her for filing a false police report. What do you think?”

Her heart took a swan dive into her belly. The hostility in the room ratcheted up eighty percent.

“No need for that. I'm going.” Karma was smart enough to know when to back down. José, her dickhead of a stepfather, had taught her that in spades back in Mexico. Rising to her feet, she tugged on her coat and shouldered her purse. “I can see I've taken up enough of your time.”

“Don't you want to tell us our fortunes before you go?”

“Yeah, tell us about another case you can help out on? There are some missing dogs that need to be found. I'm sure I have a photo of some lost fidos around here somewhere.” The shorter one snorted.

Karma inhaled through her nose and refused to let their jabs affect her. Much. “The only dogs whose auras I see are the human kind in this room.”

She strode out of the room, her head held high. She didn't look around for Ziggy, but hurried out of the station. She kept her pace brisk all the way to her car. When she climbed inside and slammed the door, all of her strength sapped from her. She didn't have the energy to spend the five minutes it would take to convince the engine to turn over. And she seriously wasn't in the mood to listen to it make a cadre of obscene noises before it chugged painfully to life. Instead, she pressed her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Exhaustion swamped her. She'd hardly slept since Gwyn's hospitalization. Sick with worry for the baby and for her friend, Karma gave herself a few minutes.

It made her think of something her mother had always said: “Don't stew the grief, Carmelita. Do something about it.”

And do something about it she would, just as soon as she figured out what to do. Maybe she would need to go to her father. He had been a well-respected member of the police before he retired. If anyone could get the cops moving on Gwyn's case, it was Daddy.

Her stomach rolled over at the thought of facing him again. The last time she'd seen him had been the beginning of the end of her life in the United States. The bitter words she'd said to him that day still haunted her.

Well, facing her father couldn't be worse than seeing Ziggy again, could it?

The cold disdain in Zig's beautiful eyes cut her sharper than any Henckels knife. The idea of him finally being near her again and hating her did something she didn't think was possible. It broke her heart all over again.

It was ridiculous to be hurt after all this time but deep down she had always harbored a secret hope that when she saw Zig again, he'd still love her.

What an idiot.

And the disgust she'd seen on Zig's face only stole away her will to face her father. If she couldn't face Daddy or the rest of the family, where would that leave Gwyn and the baby?

Well, she'd just have to suck it up.

In a few minutes.

“How am I going to find Wesley now?” she mumbled into the cold car.

Zig changed out of his uniform in the locker room of the station. Dressed in his street clothes, he was ready to call it a night. Maybe he'd go to the bar and get a beer or go back to his place and watch some basketball. Anything to take his mind off seeing Karma again. God, he hated that being in her presence for fifteen minutes had eviscerated him. And he'd thought he'd gotten over her long ago.

He was a freaking fool.

The door to the locker room opened, jarring him from his thoughts. Reynolds and O'Dell strode in, laughing. The pair of idiots stopped in the doorway, seemingly oblivious to Zig's attempt to exit. His shoulder ached. His good humor a thing of the distant past, he shifted the duffle on his right shoulder and stared at them. “Excuse me.”

They ignored him. Or knowing them, they were ignoring him to try to make him say “sir.” He wouldn't do it. Not this afternoon. He was done.

“Did she really think she could con us?” Reynolds's laughter, edged with bitterness, bounced off the walls. “Comes in to tell us about a case where we have the killer cold. And what was that bull about auras? Crazy bitch.”

Zig tensed and reminded himself to keep his mouth shut. These two were his superiors. Still, he wasn't going to stand there and listen to them dis Karma. He needed to check on her. Assuming she was still here. “Excuse me,” he said, louder than before.

They continued ignoring him.

“You know, I think she called us dogs.”

O'Dell's words brought a silent smile to Zig's lips and made standing there tolerable.

“She rattled something off in Spanish at the end; I don't know what she was babbling.”

“
Perros
means dogs, doesn't it?” O'Dell propped his hands on his hips. “She did call us dogs.”

“Ah, now my feelings are real hurt. I don't think I'm gonna see her no more.” Reynolds pulled a mock frown, then laughed. He clapped O'Dell on the shoulder and nudged him through the locker room door. “Come on, let's go home. Tomorrow we'll come back and work on a real case that isn't already closed. One that actually needs solving.”

Without ever acknowledging Zig, the pair headed toward the back of the locker room, presumably toward the backdoor exit. Their departure made him twice as happy to leave through the front, despite his truck being parked around back.

Zig could tell himself that he took another route to avoid the asshole twins, but he knew himself too well. He had one reason only for going out the front door. Karma.

He shouldn't do this. Hadn't he just tried to dump her on Reynolds and O'Dell? Not really. They were never gonna believe her. No, right now, he was the only cop at the station with the ability to trust in Karma's visions.

Barely through the front door and Zig saw her car. The beat-up ancient Toyota Karma had driven in college. The freakishly ugly car she'd bought freshman year, painted herself, and dubbed the Purple Monster. That beast barely ran a decade ago, how she kept it going now, had to be nothing short of the grace of God.

The gloomy afternoon had slipped into a morose, dark evening. The street lamp hummed to life beside the Monster, casting Karma's silhouette in a depressing shadow. In the driver's seat, head bowed, shoulders sagging, she appeared utterly defeated.

His damned fool heart ached in sympathy. He was actually moving toward her before his brain had engaged. Once his gray matter kicked in, his strides shortened but didn't stop. He needed the extra few seconds to think. Really think about getting involved with her again, especially on a case that Reynolds and O'Dell had already declared closed.

She'd left him. She hadn't come back for him. She'd only spoken to him because she had no one else.

And yeah, maybe a part of his brain was in agreement with the need pulsing through his chest to comfort her. Her father was a respected, retired lieutenant from the Oceanfront division. After she'd taken off, he'd learned from one of her many cousins that she and dear old Dad had had a serious falling-out. Serious enough that she'd broken off contact with the entire McKinnon clan. Had they ever patched things up?

If not, then she truly was alone.

And needed him.

The only way to know for sure was to ask.

He rapped his knuckles twice on the driver's-side window.

Karma's head snapped up so fast, she banged it against the headrest. She mumbled a curse then sighed.

Trying not to laugh, Zig gestured for her to roll down the window.

He shuffled from foot to foot, the cold seeping through his cheap canvas sneakers while she fought with her window. It lowered an inch. She continued to struggle with the crank until there was a distinctive snap.

Seconds later, Karma held up half of a broken handle. Her beautiful eyes filled with chagrin, she tossed the handle into the backseat, and shoved open the car door.

Rising like Aphrodite from a purple car, Karma faced him. “You've come to have a go at me now?” She spread her arms wide. “Go for it. I probably deserve it. Just know that I came to you and those jerks for help. Not for me but for a defenseless baby. But if you want to grind my nose into the pavement for old hurts, fine.”

Karma jutted her chin out defiantly and shut her eyes, arms still spread as if expecting crucifixion. She shivered in her ridiculous excuse for a coat. The material was too flimsy and thin for a winter in Virginia. No doubt she'd put it on because it matched her shoes. Another old, familiar habit of hers that touched a space inside of him he'd hadn't believed still existed.

Zig dropped his bag to the ground and shucked off his leather coat. He started to slide it onto one of her arms when her eyes flew open.

“What are you doing?” She tried to pull back, but was pinned between the open car door and him.

“Putting a coat on you. You're shivering.” He managed to get one sleeve on her and went to work on the other one when she dropped her arms.

“I have a coat on.”

“No, you have a jacket.” He continued to slip the coat on her. “This is a coat. It keeps you warm, even in the sleet.” When silence followed his statement, he searched for something else to say. “Unless you've put money into the Purple Monster, it probably still doesn't have heat.”

“It didn't need a heater in Mexico. Why do you care if I'm cold?” Her words came out soft and heavily accented. It wasn't anger tinging her tone, but sadness. And damn if that didn't piss him off.

He shouldn't care if she was sad or angry.

But he did. Not that he had to tell her.

She looked adorable in his brown leather coat. Not that he'd tell her that either. It confused the hell out of him. Not because he hated her but because he didn't. Why didn't he hate her? Because he fucking wanted to. Instead, he was freezing his balls off because he'd lent her his coat.

He took two steps back. “Does it matter why I care?”

“Yes.” There it was in her eyes: that look of trust and freaking hope. “I thought I was all drama to you.”

“You are all about the drama.” He instantly regretted his quip when she sucked in a breath. Reaching for her hand, he said, “But generally psychics have that around them in spades, so it's only fair it spills out sometimes.”

Karma pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze bore into him, assessing, analyzing.

It was a look that had him doubting his decision to check on her. She appeared almost calculating. Something in his gut jolted. Could she really be here for some nefarious reason?

“Will you come with me?” she asked after several intense moments.

“Where?”

“I want you to see Gwyn for yourself. It will convince you that I'm right and that Wesley is still alive. I didn't get very far with the cops inside.” She muttered something under her breath in Spanish then added in English, “They were too busy mocking me to hear what I had to say.”

“I take it the journal didn't convince them?”

She bit her lower lip. “I didn't show it to them. After what you said, I didn't want to risk getting into trouble for how I came by it. But if you come with me now, I'll show it to you. Maybe between that and seeing Gwyn for yourself, you'll believe I'm right. Will you come? Trust me to show you the truth.”

Zig stared into her warm, hopeful eyes for a long time. God, it would be so easy to fall for her again. They'd hardly spoken a civil word to each other earlier, yet he came running out here to check on her after he'd heard the assholes inside joking about her.

And hell, he was still half aroused seeing her in his coat. Only the chilly February sleet cooled his skin.

Zig doubted seeing a jumper in a coma would convince him of anything. But the hope lighting her eyes had him nodding. He wasn't sure if he was humoring her or using her request as an excuse to stay with her a little longer.

God, he was so screwed up. He didn't know what the hell he wanted. But if there was any chance that the baby was alive, he had to help.

“All right, two conditions.” He pointed at her car. “I drive. That thing wasn't safe a decade ago. There's no way I'm riding in that in this weather.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but nodded. “Deal. What's the other condition?”

“Show me what's in the diary before we get there.”

“And you'll come see Gwyn?” Relief lit Karma's eyes. “You'll trust me?”

“Sure, I'll come.”

Trust her again? Never gonna happen.

***

“What's in the diary?” Zig asked in that smooth, sexy tone of his. Crazy that just hearing his voice in person again could rev Karma's engine.

“Lots,” she said as Zig merged into traffic and headed toward the highway.

Karma had twenty minutes to explain her theory before they pulled into the hospital parking lot. She hoped twenty minutes was long enough.

Taking the journal from her purse, she opened it to an entry from six weeks earlier. “Before I read what's in the diary, you need a background on Gwyn, since you clearly don't remember her from school.”

Zig grunted, shrugged casually. “Go for it.”

“Gwyn is a single mom. Her mother is very religious. Very, very religious. The moment she learned Gwyn was pregnant and unmarried, she disowned her. I'm talking old school, turn-your-back-on-someone dead-to-me disowned.”

“That must have been hard for her.” Zig stopped for a red light. “You realize you're giving me a possible motive for her to kill herself and the baby, right?”

Frustration bled through Karma. “Just wait and hear the whole story before you make up your mind.”

He shrugged and then turned the truck onto the highway.

“Anyway, Gwyn and I had been in touch. She mentioned she was doing well, despite being alone. She said she liked her new apartment. Her job as a computer programmer meant she could work from home while she got ready for the baby. Her biggest complaint was that she was lonely.”

“Again, motive.” His words were tinged with sympathy.

“People don't murder children because they're lonely.” Karma hissed a breath between her teeth.

“Karma, people kill themselves every day because they feel alone.” Zig must have seen the impatience leaching out of her because he added, “Tell me why this wasn't a suicide attempt.”

“About six weeks ago, I got a phone call from Gwyn. She sounded worried; frightened, really. She said she'd had to part ways with her birthing coach and needed help.” Zig cut a questioning gaze to Karma then whipped his focus back to the road. Before he could voice his concerns she said, “No, I don't know what happened or the person's name.”

He flashed a grin at her. “You got one question right. I was also wondering why she called you.”

“Probably because I'd been a nursing student.”
Before I left you.
She didn't say it, but she hadn't needed to. The sudden tension in the air was filled with a heavy, awkward silence.

Determined to keep the focus on Gwyn Karma flipped through the journal. “She also didn't have many friends. Whatever happened with that coach really freaked her out. She said she didn't trust anyone else. Gwyn was so desperate, she even offered to pay for my plane ticket and hotel stay.”

“Really?” Zig's brows drew together. “But she never explained what happened?”

“No. Just told me she was worried.” Karma found the page she wanted to read aloud and used her finger as a placeholder. “It's also why I didn't hesitate. I flew up and stayed with her until the baby came. While she was in the hospital resting, I bought my plane ticket back to Mexico. Gwyn said I could have stayed at her place but she needed time with her son, you know. Time to get used to being a mom.”

“You haven't seen them in four weeks.” That darned frown line in Zig's forehead increased. “You didn't call?”

“I left messages. We kept playing voice mail tag. I had to pack up everything to move back home. It took longer than I thought it would. Plus, I couldn't move up here until I was sure the Purple Monster could make the trip. I figured she must have understood because her messages were always happy, if exhausted. And now that I hear myself saying it out loud, I realize what a crappy friend I've been. I didn't do more than drop Gwyn and Wesley off at her place before I left town again. Yeah. Real crappy friend.”

Guilt had her knee jiggling and her heel tapping on the floorboard.

“Where do you get that? You got a call six weeks ago from someone you haven't seen in years, asking you to come back to the States to help her deliver her baby. I'd say that makes you the opposite of a crappy friend.”

“Yes, but she'd asked me to come back to Virginia because she was worried about something or someone and I never made her tell me what that was. Now she's in a coma and her baby is missing.”

“Presumed dead,” he countered, turning the truck into the hospital parking lot. “And in spite of what the world thinks, you're determined to find him. I'd say that proves you're a great friend.”