Mind Reader (20 page)

Parker turned his back. What had he done to her? To him? He’d crossed the line, broken down the barrier between them. He had to tell her
about Harlan, about the investigation. The time had come for a fresh start.

Caron’s stomach was quivering. It was happening again.
The sensation of being on the brink started deep in the pit
of her stomach and rippled outward.
Not now,
she begged.
Please, not now. Parker wants me now!

It wouldn’t go away; it grew stronger. She cast Parker’s back a resigned look, wanting to call out, but knowing he could do nothing to stop the image from coming.

Setting her cup down firmly, she stared into its depths.
The swirling brown liquid coiled around and around,
forming a vortex and winding deeper and deeper into itself. And then, in it, she imaged a park. Misty swinging.
The homely man in his expensive clothes, pushing her.

A woman was there, too. Caron couldn’t see her face. It was as if she were inside the woman, seeing the scene through her eyes. Caron’s heart began to hammer, her breathing grew shallow, rapid, and the strongest sense of
hatred she ever had felt permeated every cell in her body.
Evil. Dark. Ugly. But was it focused on Misty? Or on the
man pushing her swing?

“Caron,” Parker said. “I think we should talk. There are things I should tell you. Things that need saying. Caron?
Caron? Caron, what’s wrong with you?”

She ignored Parker, willed him away until his voice faded, then focused harder on the image. She couldn’t tell who the woman hated. But the hatred was real. And so
strong.

“I’ve got to get back to work now.” The man in the im
age stopped the swing, walked with Misty to a long black
car, and lifted the lavender bike into the trunk.

Misty nuzzled him. “I love you, Daddy,” she said, then
went to the woman and took her hand. Caron felt the
warmth of Misty’s fingers, the vibration as she waved
goodbye.

Her father waved back, and smiled. His smile, so tender
and loving, had warmed Caron’s heart earlier, but now,
when she saw it through the woman’s eyes, it enraged her.
The woman’s hatred was for Misty’s father.

Caron’s hands began to quiver, then to shake. Through
the woman’s eyes, Caron looked down...and saw a greasy
rope in her hands.

“What are you going to do with that?” Misty looked up, her head cocked, her trusting eyes curious, her golden-
brown hair blowing in the gentle wind.

Checking and not seeing the man, the woman grabbed Misty’s arm and yanked, then began wrapping the rope around Misty’s wrists, cinching it tighter and tighter.

Caron fought the feelings. It was as if she were winding the rope. And yet she knew this had already happened, that
nothing she did now could change anything.

“What are you doing?” Misty began screaming, crying,
trying to twist free. “What are you doing to me?”

And then Caron was Misty. The ropes were binding her wrists. Caron jumped out of the chair, screaming.

Elbow-deep in soapy water at the sink, Parker swung around. She ran into his arms, buried her face at his chest.
“It’s a woman. A woman!”

“Shh, calm down.” He stroked her head, her shoulders. His hands were wet and dripping soapy water. “I can’t un
derstand you.”

“I thought Decker took her from the shopping center. He
did
take her from the shopping center.” Caron licked her
lips. Her heart was nearly pounding through her chest.
“But a woman tied Misty up, Parker. A woman tied Misty
up and
brought
her to Decker at the shopping center. The woman caused all of this. She intentionally had Misty ab
ducted. And she’s someone Misty
and
Misty’s father know!”

A deep frown creasing his face, Parker searched Caron’s eyes intently. Her arms were propped at his waist, but her hands hung limp, palms up and away from his body.
“Caron, what’s wrong with your hands?”

She looked at him, despair flooding her eyes, fear rattling her voice. “The ropes are too tight.”

* * *

Parker sat quietly beside Caron in the Chevy near Deck
er’s. Caron had insisted that they use her car, that it would
be less conspicuous. Parker supposed she was right; no one had given them a second glance all afternoon. Decker was still inside. Probably laid back in his recliner, his feet hiked
up, a can of beer balanced on his belly, with the TV tuned
to the Saints game.

Caron was still dozing, her hands resting limp in her
lap—right where they’d been since this morning.

He grimaced. Several times during the day he’d tried to
trip her up, but she hadn’t fallen. The look in her eyes when
she’d told him about the ropes should have convinced him
she was telling the truth. He’d never seen such gut-
wrenching fear in a woman. It had nearly ripped his heart right out of his chest. And it did again, every time he re
called it.

That should have convinced him, but it hadn’t. Harlan had been so damn sure she was a fake. He’d sworn that if
Sanders hadn’t been following Caron’s phony psychic…

Ah, what good could come from rehashing it again? Parker scratched at the steering wheel with his thumbnail. The bitter taste in his mouth seeped down and
lay like a rock in his stomach.

In the twelve years they’d been partners, Harlan had
never once pegged a person wrong. If he said they were
guilty, they were guilty. If he said they weren’t, they weren’t. His hunches always panned out. Hadn’t he col
lared the thug who’d killed Charley? Hadn’t he saved Par
ker’s neck on the Grimes divorce case? Grimes had wanted
back some incriminating photos that his wife had hired
Parker to take—wanted them badly enough to kill for them.
Hadn’t Harlan taken a bullet in the arm meant for Parker’s heart?

The list went on and on, all the way back to John Thayer’s party, back in college. Harlan had jerked Parker out of Harry Sampson’s car that night. Parker had been
madder than hell, and he’d fought Harlan, but back then
Harlan had been stronger. If the incident had happened a
few years later, after Parker had beefed up his muscles and
learned to fight, he would have won the fight with Harlan
—
and he would have died. Harlan had said Harry
Sampson was too drunk to drive; he’d been right.

The day Charley died, Harlan had become Parker’s rock,
the glue that held him together. Though only older by six
years, Harlan had been more of a father to Parker than Charley had ever been. Harlan had held nothing back.
He’d stood unobtrusively on the sidelines, letting Parker
feel his way. But when he was needed or called upon, Har
lan had never hesitated to step forward.

Swamped by a bitter sense of loss, Parker glanced into the rearview mirror, then back out into the night. Why did
everything have to be so foggy? Wasn’t anything black-and-
white anymore? Harlan had had sharp instincts about
people. Unfailing instincts. And he’d pegged Caron as a
fraud.

The trouble was that Parker had instincts, too. And he
wasn’t so sure about her anymore.

Caron whimpered in her sleep. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and gently stroked her neck. Harlan never
before had pegged as a con artist a woman who looked like
an angel.

Parker let his thumb wander to the soft spot behind her ear. He was a man with a problem, he admitted. A serious
one. He should hate her. By all that was right and decent in
a man, the very sight of her should make him sick—for Harlan. It was wrong, indecent, disloyal, not to hate her.
And Parker had tried—God knows, he’d tried—but he just
couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t hate this woman.

He didn’t love her; he could never love her with lies and half-truths and Harlan between them. So what
did
he feel?
No attraction had ever wound him up inside like this.

Maybe it was lust, and it just felt different because he was
emotionally involved in this case. On the surface, that
seemed logical. He looked over at her. She was a beautiful
woman. Long, lean legs, nice curves, a pretty face. He’d
always had a thing for leggy blondes. Especially intelligent
leggy blondes who couldn’t even pretend to be airheads. The thought took root. Yeah, he assured himself. It had to be lust. Different, more emotional because of Harlan, but
definitely nothing more than lust.

The car was moving. Caron forced her eyes open. Her
hands throbbed and hung limp at the ends of her arms. She
groaned and used her elbows to sit up straight on the seat.

“Hi.” Parker tapped the turn signal.

It was dark. The lights from the dash cast an eerie green light on his face, and still he looked handsome. It wasn’t
fair. The steady click of the blinker pounded inside her head. “Where are we?”

“On the way back to my place.”

He hit a pothole. Her stomach lurched, then rolled. She
broke out in a cold sweat. “Stop the car.”

“I can’t. We’re on the bridge.”

“Stop the car. Please!” She leaned against the window.
Clammy. Dizzy. Queasy.

He swerved into the emergency lane and braked to a stop.
“What’s wrong?”

“Sick.” She gasped. “Open the door.”

Parker reached over her, snapped the handle and shoved.
The metal hinge made a grinding sound, and the door pivoted open. Cool air blew across her face. “Oh, God. Oh,
God.”

She gagged, her muscles spasming, then locking. Her head swam, she swayed against the open door and heaved onto the street, heaved until she just couldn’t heave any
more.

Parker kneaded her muscles, massaging tiny circles on
her back. “Done now?”

She still hadn’t caught her breath, and her head wasn’t clear. “I think so.”

“Here, rinse then swallow.” He pressed a thermos cup to her lips. Her nose protested before the cool liquid touched her lips. Herbal tea. Afraid she’d vomit again, she tried to turn her
head.

Parker held it firm. “It’ll help. Come on, sweetheart, just
a little.”

Sweetheart. Such tenderness in his voice, such concern. To hear that again, she’d walk through hot coals barefoot. She opened her mouth and felt the cool tea slide into her mouth. She swished it around, spit it out, then took more. It soothed, gliding over her tongue and back toward her throat. She had to force herself to swallow.

“Good girl,” Parker praised her, stroking her hair.

Something red flashed behind them, reflected in the
rearview mirror. She couldn’t look back, but she didn’t
have to; a police officer was walking up to Parker’s win
dow.

“Car trouble?”

“No,” Parker told the officer. “My wife is ill.”

“She’s not having a baby?”

Her eyes were closed, but his tone told Caron that if she
was having a baby, she’d likely have to pick the officer up
off the street.

“No,” Parker said. “Just a stomach virus. Caron, are you okay to go on now?”

Just the thought of moving had her queasy again. “Yes.”

“Good,” the officer said, sounding relieved. “Good.”

Parker reached over her and shut the door. She brushed his shoulder with her forearm and cranked open her eyes.
It took a monumental effort. “You’re a very nice man, Parker.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. He looked away, slapped the shift into drive and merged back into traffic.

Had that look really been guilt? No, she must have mis
read it. What did Parker have to feel guilty about? Oh, he’d
lied to her about his reasons for getting involved; his reasons went deeper than just wanting to help Misty. Caron had told him she sensed that someone he loved had been abducted. He hadn’t admitted it, but he hadn’t denied it
outright, either. That look couldn’t have been guilt. Yet she
had seen something there, and now he seemed about as
warm as an icy arctic blast.

“Any idea what made you sick?”

His voice sounded strange. She didn’t want to answer, but considering he’d helped her—again—she should trust
him enough to tell him the truth. “I’m not sick.”