The Naked Detective (4 page)

Ciara burst up out of the water, yanking the clinging shirt away from her skin and dragging in great gulps of oxygen. “Atlantic City,” she sputtered. “It’s in Atlantic City.”

Agent Smith started toward her, then seemed to stop himself. He leaned against the wall and arched a brow, looking utterly unimpressed. The bastard. She’d just painted her skin in acid for him and he looked like he was a breath away from yawning in her face.

“You got anything more specific than that? There are more than a couple places to hide a necklace in Atlantic City.”

“No, I don’t got anything more specific than that,” Ciara snapped at the ungrateful prick. “Because
someone
wouldn’t leave me the hell alone long enough to get a better reading. I
told
you I can’t work with things on my skin.”

“So strip.”

“Leave and I will.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. As soon as I leave, you’re gonna be on the phone to your jewelry-fence boyfriend, tipping him off that I’m on my way to Atlantic City.”

“I don’t have a jewelry-fence boyfriend, you paranoid prick.”

“No? How about a brother? Or some guy you went to school with? Or girl. I’m sure criminals are very into women’s lib.”

“I am helping you,” Ciara grumbled, climbing out of the pool, “and you’re accusing me of criminal activity. If you would just leave me alone for
five minutes
, I could give you the exact location of the necklace.
Exact
.”

He shook his head. “Not gonna happen, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me.”

“Only until Monday,” Ciara muttered.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What happens on Monday?”

Ciara smiled sweetly up at him as she grabbed a fresh towel off the rack on the wall. “My boss calls your boss and you go away. Poof.”

His face darkened. “Is that a threat? Are you threatening a federal agent?”

“I thought you’d be happy. You obviously don’t want to work with me either. I’ve already spoken with Karma. She’s going to get it all straightened out on Monday.” Ciara wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Her clothes had stopped feeling like acid, but she still wanted to get them off her skin as soon as possible. Agent Smith looming over her didn’t give her much hope that as soon as possible would be very soon.

“You honestly thought I would run off on some wild-goose chase to Atlantic City? How dumb do I look?”

“I’m not going on looks, Agent Smith, I’m going by your behavior, which, so far, has been pretty damn dumb.” To be honest, she couldn’t blame him for doubting her. She’d probably have doubted too, but she wasn’t feeling terribly forgiving with the memory of her acid-wash jeans still fresh in her mind.

“You want me to believe the necklace is in Atlantic City, then you’re coming to Atlantic City with me to find it.”

Ciara laughed. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. And you will.”

She started shaking her head and found she couldn’t stop. It just kept swinging back and forth in a pendulum of denial. “No, I can’t. You don’t understand. I don’t leave this house. Ever. I can’t.”

He frowned. “Are you phobic or something?”

“My skin,” she reminded him. “I can’t touch people without horrible psychic backlash and even just touching foreign objects, being surrounded by them, the static noise is unbearable. I just can’t handle it.”

“A Psychic Bubble Girl.”

“Sort of. Yeah. Sure. Exactly.”

His brows rose high above his deceptively warm chocolate-brown eyes. “Do you have a note from your doctor?”

“Of course not. It’s not like I’m trying to get out of gym class.”

“Then I guess you’re coming with me.”

Ciara’s head started shaking again.
No, no, no
. “You can’t make me. I’m an American citizen. I have rights.”

“You certainly do. But you’re also a person of interest in eighty-five different unsolved robberies.”

“I solved them,” she insisted. “I found the jewels.”

“But not the jewel thieves. Very convenient, that.”

“I can only locate the stolen items, not the people who took them.”

“That’s a real shame. If we’d caught a few more of the actual thieves in the recovery, I wouldn’t have reason to be suspicious of you. You say you aren’t a crook. You say you’re psychic, but you can’t prove it. That’s a real shame. It kind of makes me wonder what else is going on at Karmic Consultants that might be of questionable legality. It’s a very fishy company. So-called psychics and mediums. Who do you think would be most interested in investigating Karmic Consultants? The feds in charge of organized crime or the ones who investigate confidence schemes?”

Ciara’s heart stopped. Karmic Consultants was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Karma was more than her boss. She was family. Ciara would be lost without them.

The threat against them was more potent than any he could have leveled against her personally. In her personal life, she had very little to lose, but Karmic was everything.

She stared across the pool at the adamant federal agent. “This is blackmail.”

“Nonsense. It’s a choice. As I see it, you have three options.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “One, you confess. Two, you and your buddies at Karmic Consultants submit to a thorough up-the-ass investigation by the Bureau to ensure you’re operating one hundred percent on the right side of the law. Or three, you come to Atlantic City and show me where that necklace is. Your call.”

Ciara was trapped, pure and simple. She couldn’t confess, because there was nothing to confess to, and she couldn’t put Karmic Consultants through an up-the-ass federal investigation because she wasn’t entirely sure KC
was
one hundred percent on the right side of the law—she’d been asked to find some very odd items in the course of her career with them. She didn’t question Karma’s morality for a second, but the legality was a bit iffier.

Which left option number three. Atlantic City. Leaving her house, her comfort zone, and going to America’s Playground with a man who thought she was either a nutcase, a criminal or both. A spark of excitement kindled in her heart.

If the situation weren’t quite so ridiculous, it might actually be an adventure.

Chapter Four—Nudists & Man Love: America’s Playground Under Siege

Ciara wandered with Nate down the Atlantic City Boardwalk, dodging tourists. Over the last few days as they searched for the necklace, an easy rapport had slowly built between them. She could almost think they were a normal couple on vacation—if not for the fact that she was more or less his hostage.

She hadn’t been able to get in touch with Karma and her boss couldn’t contact her since the only phone she had was the landline back at her house. If Nate had been replaced on her detail, he certainly wasn’t letting on. She was stuck with him, at least until they found the necklace and he allowed her access to a phone again.

On the plus side, being in Atlantic City wasn’t as torturous as she’d imagined it would be. The psychic noise wasn’t nearly as deafening as she’d expected. She kept a light shawl wrapped around her arms and shoulders at all times to protect against casual contact, and so far she’d managed to avoid brushing up against any strangers, with only a couple acrobatic maneuvers required. As a first attempt at the real world, it was a remarkably successful one. She could handle the psychic dissonance so much better than she’d been able to when her abilities had first developed. It was almost fun, getting out of the house, seeing the sights.

Now if only she had the first clue where the damn necklace was.

Nate had secured them a crappy little motel room, miles off the Boardwalk, courtesy of the FBI, while they were searching AC for the necklace. Unfortunately, their luxurious accommodations didn’t even have a bathtub for Ciara to float in. She’d tried a couple traces in the shower, but the tile burning through the soles of her feet had been too distracting and she hadn’t been able to get a clear image. She kept getting useless, static-filled flashes of a casino floor—which didn’t really narrow it down much in Atlantic City.

She was getting to the point where running naked into the Atlantic Ocean was starting to seem like a pretty good idea. At least then she would have something to tell Agent Control-Freak every time he asked her if she was ready to confess yet. The man redefined stubborn.

If he weren’t also gorgeous, funny and considerate at the oddest moments, it would have been easy to hate him. Unfortunately, she kept forgetting she didn’t like him.

Ciara looked up at the impressive façade of the Trump Taj Mahal, not watching where she was walking and automatically measuring her stride to match Nate’s limp. “I think Donald Trump did it.”

“Watch out for the Griswolds.” Nate caught her arm, careful as ever to touch her only through the fabric of her shawl, and steered her out of the way of a family of overenthusiastic tourists. “Donald Trump did what?”

“Stole the Heart of Monaco.”

Nate snorted. “I see. And what is this hypothesis based on?”

“Well, he’s loaded,” she said reasonably, “but who’s to say his gains aren’t ill-gotten? Maybe he started out life as a cat burglar but had to give it up because he was shedding all over the crime scenes and leaving bits of that manly Trump-fro behind to implicate him.”

“Not all rich people are thieves.”

Ciara shrugged. “I saw the elephant statue outside the Trump Taj Mahal in my vision. His elephant, ergo his shameful life of crime.”

“I’m supposed to get a subpoena with ‘it’s his elephant’?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Arrest the Donald.”

“I don’t arrest honest businessmen.”

“Isn’t
honest businessman
an oxymoron?”

“Drop it, Ciara.”

Ciara glanced at him, surprised by the sharpness of his voice. “Are you offended by my impugning the Donald’s sterling character? Oh my God, you totally have a man crush on him, don’t you?”

“Of course not. I just respect his accomplishments.”

“Total man love. Wow. The Donald. What is it about him that turns you on, Nate? Is it the billions or the Trump-fro?” Ciara giggled to herself, disproportionately amused. “The Donald. That is so kinky.”

“Do you have any
real
recommendations on how to find the damn necklace?”

“Other than getting a hotel room with a bathtub in it?”

“Despite what the movies might show you, federal agents do not have unlimited budgets.”

“The fancy hotels are cheaper during the week,” Ciara wheedled. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Confess and I’ll get you a suite with a private hot tub.”

Ciara sighed. If she’d had anything to confess, he would have worn her down days ago. She’d actually started wishing she were really a criminal. It would have made him so happy. If his persistence hadn’t been so annoying, it might have been comic.

Nate slowed, absently rubbing at his thigh.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Ciara stopped walking. Nate hobbled forward a few more steps, then turned to glare over his shoulder.

“Sometimes,” he admitted grudgingly. “It’s fine. I’m supposed to use it as much as I’m able. Physical therapy.”

A young family veered around them, their small children staring at Nate’s cane. Thanks to his all-too-visible disability, the other pedestrians gave them a wide berth. Ciara wondered how many times she would have been bumped into if she hadn’t been with Nate. Funny that the people around them veered away from him, when she was the real freak.

Ciara started walking again, easily making up the distance between them. “Does physical therapy mean it’s getting better?”

Nate grimaced, bitterness raw on his face. “It isn’t going to get better. The damage is permanent.”

She’d been dying to know for days, but he didn’t seem to want to talk. This was the most relaxed he’d been, so Ciara groped for the right words. “When…? How did it…?”

“Gunshot. Four weeks ago. I was working a job. The snitch we’d flipped to get me in flipped back and blew my cover. I went to the meet—public place, seemed safe enough. Bastard shot me under the table. Three in the leg. Nicked my femoral artery and completely pulped the muscles. They repaired the tendons where they could, but the muscle is still fucked. With all the blood I lost, the doctors were amazed I even lived. Kept feeding me this bullshit line about how I should be grateful for my life. Walking with a cane for the rest of my life isn’t such a big deal when I should be dead, right?”

Ciara heard the anger in his voice like an echo from her past. She remembered how hard it had been when her gift first developed. How the pain at human contact hadn’t been nearly as horrifying as the idea of living her
entire life
crippled by her own senses. She’d gotten through it. She’d bounced back and found her optimism again, but those first few months had been hell and she’d ruined more relationships than she cared to think about during that time—her foster parents, childhood friends, there weren’t many people she hadn’t alienated.

Ciara didn’t insult Nate’s intelligence by telling him he was lucky. “That sucks. What happened to the guy who shot you?”

“I shot his ass right back.” He tapped his shoulder just above his heart. “You can bet your sweet ass I was carrying. Of course, my aim sucked with three in my leg. He’ll live to see his trial and I get stuck behind a desk for the rest of my life. How’s that for justice?”

“You really loved your job, didn’t you?”

“Sure beat sitting on my ass all day.” He bared his teeth in the feral grin of a hardcore adrenaline junkie.

Since sitting on her ass—or rather floating around her pool—was exactly what Ciara did all day, she let the conversation drop. Thrill seeking and running into danger to get the bad guys wasn’t exactly an option with her skill set.

Lapsing into silence, she studied Nate out of the corner of her eye.

In the last four days, he hadn’t let her out of his sight for more than a few seconds (even the FBI made allowances for bodily functions, thank goodness). He would grill her about her supposed crimes, then they would both stew in silence, but it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that neither of them were very good at holding grudges. All too often, when they weren’t focusing on hating one another, they found themselves chatting comfortably.