Mind Games (4 page)

He left the room, and she surveyed the plaques and framed diplomas. Law books lined the bookshelves. No law degree on the wall, though. Two framed photographs perched on his desk: one of him as a child with his parents, she assumed, and another with his wife and three young children—two boys and a girl. Well, that answered that question. Too bad.

Lucier reentered the room accompanied by another man he introduced as Detective Sam Beecher. Beecher, who looked like he’d been on duty since Christmas, condescended to a perfunctory nod, then opened a folder.

“Detective Beecher will show you some photographs. Tell me if you recognize any of the women.”

Beecher spread photos of four women about her age on Lucier’s desk. Diana studied each one, moving them to the side as she eliminated them.

“No, the woman I saw in the water is not here.”

“You’re sure?” Lucier asked.

“Positive.”

Beecher opened the next folder and repeated the display.

Again, she scrutinized them, moving each one away until one photo remained. Diana looked at the two men. “That’s her.” She tapped the photo. “Her hair looked darker in the water, but that’s her. I’m sure.”

Lucier and Beecher exchanged glances. Beecher collected the photos and put them back in the folder.

“Would you excuse us, Ms. Racine?” Lucier asked.

“Sure, go talk it over, but I know what I saw.”

The men left. Though Beecher never uttered a word, Diana felt his disdain. The gist of their muffled conversation filtered from the office next door, especially the words
phony
and
coincidence
. She’d heard those words before but rationalized the cynicism and suspicion directed at entertainers, specifically psychics. Of course they’d think that way. They had every right. She was a phony.

But not tonight.

Lucier returned to the office, laid the photo in front of her, and sat down. He stared at her. She didn’t flinch.

“You identified Buffy Tyler. Her parents reported her missing this morning after her horse wandered back to the stable alone. Searchers have been out all day looking for her on the trails. No luck so far.”

“Damn. I’d hoped I was wrong.”

“Do you know where this water is? Anything identifiable,” Lucier asked.

“No, all I saw were a man’s hands and the woman. She wore a plaid shirt and blue jeans.”

“Any telltale signs on the hands or arms of the person putting her under?”

She caught his eye. “You sound like you almost believe me.”

The cop rubbed his eyes and sighed long and deep. “You’re more than I’ve had to go on. As a matter of fact, you’re all I’ve got.”

“Lieutenant, it’s after midnight. Have you been here since this morning?”

“Buffy Tyler is the daughter of Sam Tyler. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Is her mother’s name Claire?”

“Yes.”

“She’s a client. I met her a few years ago at the Marigny ball. Nice lady. Probably met the daughter, but I really don’t recall.”

Lucier snorted. “You wouldn’t have met Buffy at any ball. She doesn’t go in for that sort of thing. She’s into riding, barrel racing, and men. Not necessarily in that order. She wouldn’t be caught dead at a ball. The other side of the moon from her parents.”

Diana clasped her hands around the back of her neck and massaged, still feeling a twinge from the zap of pain earlier. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, picturing the woman in the water. “Married?”

“Not if she can help it. She’s a wild one, though some people around here use other names. Buffy likes cowboy types, and isn’t very discerning about which ones, as long as they’re not men her parents would approve of. The man you met tonight, how tall would you say?”

She scaled her hand above her head. “Hmm, he stood almost a foot taller than me. Around your height. Six-two?”

Lucier nodded.

“I wore heels, but yeah, that’s about right. He had a strange voice. Deep and sexy. I couldn’t tell whether the mask distorted or altered his voice. No rings. I always check that.” She answered the quizzical look on his face. “Hey, I’m single. It’s something I do, okay?”

“I give up.” He put up his hands in defense. “Anyway, you offered the information about the ring. I didn’t ask.”

“So I did.” She grinned. So did he, and with the greatest smile. And those eyes.

“Besides,” he said, “because a guy isn’t wearing a ring doesn’t mean he’s not married.”

“True enough. I’ve known a few of those. Look, what else can I say? If I’m right, your Ms. Tyler is somewhere under water. I hope I’m wrong.”

“But you don’t think so, do you?” Lucier focused on her.

She held his gaze for a moment. “No.”

Lucier stacked some loose papers on his desk. “From what I remember reading, Ms. Racine, you used to be able to locate someone through an article belonging to the missing person. Would you be willing to do that if we get you something—clothing, for example?”

Diana hesitated.

Lucier arched one eyebrow. “What’s the matter? I thought you wanted to help.”

“I do, only―”

“Only what?”

She heard the challenge in his tone and knew what was coming. “I haven’t done this in a long time, and for a very good reason.”

“I can think of two. One, you can’t, or two, you don’t want to. Which is it?”

Oh, there are so many m
ore, Lieutenant Lucier
. Diana thought back twenty years.

“You’re not a little girl anymore, Ms. Racine. We could use whatever help you can give us.”

Twenty years. Pictures flashed, one after another. Scenes of mangled bodies and blood she’d forced from her memory but that attacked her consciousness with unforgiving regularity.

The cop pushed the pile of papers to the side. “Look, if you don’t want to help, I’ll understand.”

“Ha! Would you? Would you really? I don’t think so.” She caught the skeptical look on his face and knew she’d read him perfectly.

“No, you’re right. I wouldn’t.”

She shook her head, knowing he had her in an inextricable bind. “I’ll try on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I know keeping this quiet will be hard, but I don’t want my part leaked to the press. Cyrano knows I know. What he did tonight was very bold, and he did it purposely to see if I would pick up any vibes. He doesn’t know I can’t identify him. I never could do that. I saw only the victim.” She leaned across the table and put her hand on Lucier’s arm. “
Felt
only the victim. He touched me with hands that killed that woman. That’s what I felt. Her, not him.”

Lucier pulled his arm away and distanced himself from Diana’s grasp. “Interesting.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I reserve judgment.” He picked up a pencil, studied it, then met her gaze. “So you know, I don’t believe much of anything. I’m a born skeptic, and being a cop for fifteen years hasn’t converted me.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Your partner in there is worse, though, isn’t he?”

“I don’t answer for anyone. You’ll have to ask him yourself. That’s another thing I’ve learned being a cop.”

“Well, I hope you’ve learned to think for yourself because you’re in for a conversion.”

Lucier dropped the pencil into a holder on the desk. “You’re certainly sure of yourself, Ms. Diana Racine.”

She got up, threw her jacket over her arm. “I’ve had to be. Too many people were always trying to prove me wrong.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why
did
you stop helping the police? People were paying you big bucks to find their missing kin.”

“You want to know why, Lieutenant? You’ll see tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Lucier picked up the phone and called the front desk. “Brady, have a car take Ms. Racine back to her hotel. I don’t want her alone on the streets this late.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“I know my way.”

“Do you argue about everything?”

This time she laughed. “Most of the time.”

“Come on.” He put his hand on her arm and led her out of the office and down the hall to the front of the building. His hand felt hot where he touched her, but she also felt a flash of sadness. She didn’t want to feel this man inside her head, but she did. They got to the front.

“Car’s waiting,” Brady said.

“Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“See you in the morning, Ms. Racine.”

“Diana,” she said, and flashed him a smile as she headed outside.

* * * * *

L
ucier walked back to his office, avoiding Brady’s quizzical stare. Exhausted, he collapsed into his chair, inhaled a deep breath, and whistled it out.

Wow.

Diana Racine was everything he’d heard and more. For such a tiny woman, she packed a hell of a wallop. Her effect at first hit him in his solar plexus, then it shimmied down to his groin. He hadn’t experienced that feeling in quite some time, and he couldn’t now. Not with a white woman. That was against his self-imposed rule, and he had good reason for making it.

The light scent of her spicy perfume lingered in the air, taking his thoughts back to that little firecracker without conscious effort. To say she was beautiful would be an exaggeration, but she certainly was pretty in a tiny, feminine way, in spite of her masculine outfit. Black and white and clear red lipstick. He’d read that was her trademark, though she added an additional touch of red at times. She had her believers as well as her detractors. In the morning, he’d see for himself if she was the phony those detractors claimed. And he couldn’t wait. Tonight, while he was still awake, he’d do a deeper check on Diana Racine. Get the full story so he’d be prepared in the morning.

Goddess of the Hunt

D
iana tossed and turned all night, her attempts to banish the vision of the woman in the water futile. The only thing that seemed to take her mind from the horror she envisioned was the handsome cop she’d spoken to. Lucier. Lieutenant Ernie Lucier. The lyrical sound of his name rolled off her tongue. He reminded her of Denzel. Lighter skin, but he had the same long, sexy stride and the actor’s penetrating eyes, only in a different mesmerizing color. She took a deep breath. No man had affected her like that in, well, forever.

Ring, Diana. Married. Forget it.

It had taken all her strength to go to the police because she knew what she was up against. What she’d been up against for twenty years. She couldn’t help who she was. She’d tried hard not to be that person, but she was born with a curse she couldn’t ignore.

The morning walk would do her good, get her going. The thought of seeing the cop again spurred her to navigate the narrow streets that led to the police station at a fast clip. She barely glanced at the historic architecture with its columned galleries and French wrought iron railings decorating the building façades. The cool breeze blew through her hair, and she breathed in the flowery fragrance from window boxes full of blooms. Except for the gruesome task facing her, she might have enjoyed the beautiful morning.

She thought this chapter of her life had closed, but now someone was intent on reopening it. Why? Cyrano made a point to seek her out, yet his “test” could be detrimental only to him. If she led police to the victim soon enough, they might mine clues about the poor woman’s killer.

Nearing the police station, deep in thought, she heard the fast approaching footsteps from behind. Fear stabbed her, and she quickened her pace.

“Ms. Racine.”

She jumped back in defense.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right. Sorry if I scared you. I’m Jake Griffin from the
Times-Picayune
.”

Diana ignored him, but Griffin almost tripped over her in pursuit.

“May I ask you a few questions?”

“No. Go away.”

“Ah, come on, gimme a break. I’m just doing my job.”

Practically running now, she tossed the words over her shoulder. “Do it somewhere else.”

“I heard you’re helping the police find Buffy Tyler.” Griffin caught up, passed her, and back-walked in front of her. She put on her most innocent face and almost mowed him down as she tried to pass him. “Who’s that?”

“I also heard you had a vision of her dead in the water.”

Diana stopped short and looked at the stubble-faced man, his face flushed from the early morning workout. “Where did you hear that?”

“Can’t keep secrets in this town.”

The man was breathing hard, probably from the telltale cigarette odor reeking off him like the fumes from a sanitation truck. She hustled past him. “Well, you’re all wrong, mister. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Griffin caught up with her again. “Then why are you going to the police station?”

Why, Diana? Think fast
. “I lost a ring. Someone turned it in to the police.”
Bad, bad. I usually lie better than that.