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Intuition
Carol Ericson


Two dark purposes prompted Kylie Grant's return to Coral Cove and its nefarious Victorian mansion: solve the mysterious disappearance of a young girl and find closure for her own complicated past. What her psychic abilities hadn't prepared her for was an encounter with sexy bad boy Matt Conner.It was his first assignment as a P.I., and Matt needed this job to show he was nothing like his hometown reputation suggested. Mysterious and alluring, Kylie was a complication he didn't count on–nor were the death threats against her. Working together, all day and all night, was testing every professional skill Matt was determined to prove. And challenging every private desire he was finding impossible to ignore.







COLUMBELLA HOUSE BECKONED. IT WAS A SUMMONS NO ONE COULD RESIST.

Two dark purposes prompted Kylie Grant’s return to Coral Cove and its nefarious Victorian mansion: solve the mysterious disappearance of a young girl and find closure for her own complicated past. What her psychic abilities hadn’t prepared her for was an encounter with sexy bad boy Matt Conner.

It was his first assignment as a P.I., and Matt needed this job to show he was nothing like his hometown reputation suggested. Mysterious and alluring, Kylie was a complication he didn’t count on—nor were the death threats against her. Working together, all day and all night, was testing every professional skill Matt was determined to prove. And challenging every private desire he was finding impossible to ignore.


Maybe having Mr. Irresistible right next door wasn’t such a great idea...but it sure made her feel safe.

Physically safe, that is. All bets were off when it came to her emotional safety.

“I’ll be fine. We do not need to leave the door open.”

“I’ll settle for unlocked.”

“Fine. I’ll leave the door unlocked, but I promise you won’t need to come rushing to my rescue in the middle of the night.”

In two long strides Matt stood in front of her, taking her breath away with his nearness, his masculine scent, the dark bristles sprinkled across his chin...and the look in his dark eyes. “I won’t mind if I have to.”




Intuition

Carol Ericson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carol Ericson lives with her husband and two sons in Southern California, home of state-of-the-art cosmetic surgery, wild freeway chases, palm trees bending in the Santa Ana winds and a million amazing stories. These stories, along with hordes of virile men and feisty women, clamor for release from Carol’s head. It makes for some interesting headaches until she sets them free to fulfill their destinies and her readers’ fantasies. To find out more about Carol, her books and her strange headaches, please visit her website, www.carolericson.com (http://www.carolericson.com), “where romance flirts with danger.”


CAST OF CHARACTERS

Matt Conner—A former cop turned private investigator, Matt’s not too thrilled when he finds out he has to share his first case as a P.I. with a psychic—even if that psychic turns out to be Kylie Grant, the sexiest soothsayer in town.

Kylie Grant—She returns to her hometown to bring hope or closure to a grieving family whose daughter disappeared three years ago. Instead, she finds her high school crush all grown up and meddling with her ability to do her job.

Bree Harris—The disappearance of this young woman three years ago brings both Kylie and Matt back to Coral Cove. Kylie is determined to bring closure to Bree’s parents, or die trying.

Harlan Sloan—This wheeling, dealing concert promoter enjoys the perks of his job: plenty of willing young women to ease his lonely nights. But did the fun and games end in tragedy when one young woman tried to get too close?

Eric Evans—The police chief’s son leads a charmed life. He was friendly with Bree, but his father’s investigation of her disappearance never managed to investigate that friendship too closely.

Police Chief Evans—He was the chief of police when Bree went missing. Now he doesn’t appreciate Matt and Kylie questioning his judgment...or his son.

Toby Reynolds—A local man, he enjoys working as a roadie for Coral Cove’s music festival. He knew and liked Bree and is more than willing to assist Kylie with her investigation, but is he too willing?

Mindy Lawrence—She was friendly with Bree and was one of the last people to see her before she disappeared, but her cryptic notes about Bree to Matt and Kylie make her a person of interest.

Mayor Tyler Davis—The mayor of Coral Cove, he’s not at all happy that Kylie and Matt are dredging up a distasteful event in Coral Cove’s past. But he may have other reasons for keeping a lid on Bree’s disappearance from the music festival.


Contents

Chapter One (#u9377be1a-f1e2-5204-9c71-be1bd4297d05)

Chapter Two (#u58df9b80-89be-5d9f-92a5-6991f1f00120)

Chapter Three (#u906f2063-5bf4-59c0-b0ab-245dbeb2d1f2)

Chapter Four (#ufe029de2-c2b6-5980-acc4-21cd7a354368)

Chapter Five (#u0e1b898a-97e5-5ad1-8d27-50c7c453707c)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Her mother’s body dangled before her like a life-size puppet waiting for some puppet master to pull the strings and give her life. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Kylie Grant’s mouth yawned open in a silent scream as her mother’s body swooped toward her. The head of the puppet jerked upright, and the eyes clicked open.

You should have known. You should have known.

Kylie struggled to wrench her gaze away from the accusing figure before her. If she looked away, it would disappear. If she looked away, she would awaken from her nightmare. If she looked away, she would never get the answers she needed.

Kylie managed a strangled cry as she bolted upright in the hotel bed. A cold sweat claimed her flesh, and she shivered.

Now. She had to make a move now.

Tumbling out of the bed, she squinted at the lighted green digits of the alarm clock. Not exactly witching hour, but late enough for her to slip into Columbella House unnoticed while the tourists wined and dined.

She splashed some cold water on her face, stuffed her feet into her sandals and grabbed her purse from the back of the chair. She didn’t need anything else. All the tools she required resided in her head.

She slipped out of her hotel room and punched the call button for the elevator. After a brief journey for three floors, the doors opened onto the lobby.

Kylie flew out of the elevator, bumping shoulders with a tall, broad man entering the car.

She glanced up, way up. “Excuse me.”

The man ducked his head, but Kylie spun on her heel and raced toward the lobby before he could respond.

A flash of recognition pierced her brain. Matt, the town bad boy and all-around troublemaker from her high school class. She should’ve figured she’d run into some former classmates when she returned to Coral Cove. Too bad the first one had to be someone she particularly despised. Rock ’n’ roll playing, motorcycle riding, black jeans wearing Matt…Matt Conner.

Kylie breezed through the lobby and shoved open the front doors. The cool night air hit her face and she put all thoughts of former classmates, even gorgeous ones like Matt Conner, out of her head. She was on a mission and the timing couldn’t be better.

The restaurants of Coral Cove’s Main Street teemed with activity, tourists home from the beach and all cleaned up, rubbed elbows with the locals home from work. Kylie’s stomach rumbled. She’d eaten a late lunch and then zonked out in her hotel room. She could use a snack, but Columbella House called and she was ready to answer its demand.

After a short drive on the Coast Highway, Kylie turned onto Coral Cove Drive and rolled to a stop at the curb that fronted the abandoned Victorian. She grabbed the flashlight from the seat next to her and slipped out of the car.

She eased open the side gate, holding her breath as it squeaked a protest. It wasn’t as though anyone would hear her approach. The house had been empty for years. She blew out the trapped breath and followed the path to the side of the house, her sandals crunching on the sand beneath her feet.

The beam of her flashlight played across the side door to the kitchen, a piece of warped plywood in place of the window. Rumor had it that anyone could get into Columbella through this side door…or the secret door from the beach if one knew how to reach it. Kylie knew about the beach access, but she’d have to come up to the house through the basement and, well…she wasn’t going near that basement.

She peeled back the plywood and unlocked the door from the inside. Stepping into the kitchen, she aimed her flashlight into the hallway. Her feet moved in the direction of the light, ready or not.

Kylie shuffled into the hallway and placed her flashlight on a dusty credenza. She gazed up at the third-floor landing where her mother’s body had once hung. Clutching her upper arms, she shivered.

“Mom?” The whisper escaped her lips like a sigh.

Columbella House seemed to close around her, wrapping her in a clammy embrace, inviting her to stay awhile. She swallowed and straightened her spine, brushing off the macabre welcome. She had no intention of succumbing to the house’s gloomy atmosphere.

Just as she had no intention of succumbing to the same demons that had dogged her mother—not that Kylie didn’t have the same demons. The horrors of her particular gift visited her with alarming frequency, but she’d been able to whip them into shape, bend them to her own will and make them dance to her own tune. The clichés that tumbled through her mind allowed her to impose a sense of normalcy on her powers.

She turned from the stairs, not ready to confront what awaited her on the landing. She snatched her flashlight from the table, and the dust particles gleamed in the beam of light. She aimed the light at the basement door, and goose bumps trickled across her flesh all over again.

One of these days, she’d make her way down to the basement of Columbella and test out the strength of her gift, but not now. Not tonight. She had a mission.

Actually, she had two missions in Coral Cove this summer, but the personal one took precedence on this particular night. It was no coincidence that the job she’d signed on to do in Coral Cove coincided with the anniversary of her mother’s suicide.

Kylie didn’t believe in coincidences. She wandered into the library. Remnants from the police investigation into the two deaths that occurred in this room remained—strings outlining the dead bodies’ positions and chalk markings from the spent bullet casings. But these were recent bodies…just two more in the continuing parade of death that marched through this house.

At least in the case of these two deaths, the good guys had prevailed. Hometown boy turned war hero, Kieran Roarke, had taken out a couple of killers who’d had their sights on a little boy, his boy. Maybe Columbella’s reputation was changing.

Her gaze tracked to the burnt-out room tucked off the back wall of the library. Another case of good triumphing over evil. Another Roarke, Colin this time, had rescued Michelle Girard from a crazed serial killer—a crazed serial killer who’d happened to be Kylie’s high school algebra teacher. No wonder she hated math.

Her fingertips buzzed as she trailed them along the scorched walls. She was in a state of heightened sensitivity. She’d known it from the moment she’d rolled out of bed after her nightmare. That’s what had led her to this house tonight.

Of course, she should be using her heightened awareness to get down to business and do the job that Mrs. Harris had hired her to do. But she owed it to her mother to investigate her suicide. She’d been too traumatized to do it before.

Since returning to Coral Cove a few days ago for the Harris job, she’d been waiting for the right time to visit Columbella House. Nobody visited Columbella these days. People came here to explore, to rendezvous, to hide, to investigate. To confront old ghosts.

So maybe she should get busy.

She rubbed the soot from her fingers on the seat of her jeans, and drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t waste this opportunity. She’d already wasted three years.

She crept back to the staircase and put a tentative foot on the first step. It squeaked. With her hand skimming the carved wood banister, she jogged up the remaining steps to the second-floor landing. One more floor to go.

When she hit the top step of the third floor, she dug into her purse and withdrew the necklace Mom had always worn—up to and including the day she killed herself.

Clutching the necklace in one clammy hand, Kylie set the flashlight on the scarred wood floor, pointing the beam of light at the ceiling. Her purse slid from her shoulder, and she let it drop to the floor next to the flashlight.

She took two steps forward and tripped to a stop. She’d been plotting and planning this moment for so long, her reluctance surprised her. Not that she ever believed it would be easy. That’s why it had taken so long for her to get around to it.

Gripping the balustrade, she shuffled toward The Spot. How long had it taken Mom to climb those stairs? Had she done it with fear? Confidence? Desperation?

Time to find out.

Kylie faced the house. Creating two white-knuckled fists, her hands curled around the railing, crushing the chain of the necklace against her palm. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the musty, sea-dampened air that permeated the house.

Breathing deeply, she rolled back her shoulders and loosened her grip. She had to let down the guard she’d perfected over the years. Topple the barriers her mother had taught her to erect, barriers Mom wasn’t strong enough to maintain herself.

Kylie allowed the sensations that had been hovering on the brink of her consciousness all day to take over. She took another deep breath through her nose and sidled to the left a few steps—right to the place where Mom had slipped the noose over her head and jumped.

She gulped around the lump in her throat. “Why, Mom?”

A gush of cool air swirled past her, and she hunched her shoulders. With her senses on high alert and her mind an open portal, all manner of otherworldly phenomena had access to her very being. But she wanted to focus on just one tragedy of the past. She let the others roll across her mind and body, filtering with every ounce of her will, squeezing the necklace in her hand so hard, the imprint of the chain burned into her skin.

A jolt of terror stabbed her chest, and her body bucked. Fear so strong she could sense the metallic aftertaste in her mouth swept through her limbs, weakening her knees. She sagged against the railing.

“Were you afraid before you did it, Mom?”

A cold presence pressed against Kylie’s back, forcing her against the railing. She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t turn around…couldn’t breathe.

She sifted through the images and messages cascading through her brain. She scrambled to locate her mom’s spirit. This thing behind her, this malevolent force had nothing to do with Mom’s tragedy. Did it?

The wood railing digging into her ribs creaked. The noise pierced the fog of her self-induced trance. She shook her head, choking and gasping for breath as if she’d just hauled herself out of deep water. She pushed toward the surface of her consciousness, infusing her limp body with strength.

As she gained control of her muscles, she twisted around to confront the force behind her. As she turned, the balustrade cracked beneath her weight.

She teetered on the edge of the landing, her arms flailing at her sides like a pair of useless wings. As she pitched forward, she made a last desperate grab for the railing. Her palm slapped against one of the decorative slats of wood that comprised the balustrade and she clutched it, her fingers wrapping around the wood.

Her body fell and then yanked to a stop. She dangled over the tiled hallway, her body swaying slightly as her arm twisted. She tilted her head back to stare up at the empty landing.

What did she expect to see, a grinning ghost? A flesh-and-blood person? Something or someone had forced her against that railing so hard it broke. She would’ve cracked her skull on the tile floor if she hadn’t come out of her trance and made a last grab for the slab of wood she now clutched like a lifeline.

Glancing down, she bicycled her legs, trying to judge the distance to the floor or at least the next landing. Could she swing in and make it to the second floor?

She licked her lips. She might get her feet to the next landing, but then what? If she let go and tried to jump, she’d hurtle to the tile.

With her sweaty palms, she tightened her grip on the slab of wood. She swung her legs toward the second-floor landing to test the distance. The toes of her sandals skimmed the balustrade. Maybe…she gasped. During the Tarzan stunt, her piece of railing shifted. If that came loose, she’d be toast.

She gulped back a sob. If she’d stashed her cell phone in the front pocket of her jeans, she could make a call to the Coral Cove P.D., but she’d tucked her phone in the side compartment of her purse.

Was this why Mom had called her to Columbella House, to meet the same fate? Not quite the same. Mom had engineered her own drop from the landing.

Or had she?

The presence behind Kylie had been evil. If she’d channeled Mom’s spirit, maybe that same presence had been with her mother up there, too.

Her shoulder ached and her fingers were cramping. How much longer could she hold on?

Her gaze shifted down again and she caught her breath. A glow of light had appeared on the second-floor landing. Maybe she’d been in such a deep trance, she only thought the presence behind her had come from the spirit world. Maybe a human had stood behind her—a human who had come back to protect the secrets of Columbella.

Her heart pounded and her hand slipped a little more. Then she saw it—a grotesquely huge shadow on the second-floor landing, its arms reaching out for her dangling legs.


Chapter Two

The scream ripped through the house and tore into Matt’s chest, just like the scream from that drug bust in the club.

Focus, Conner. You’re hundreds of miles away from that club and someone else needs you right now.

He turned his flashlight to the denim-clad legs pumping for purchase against thin air.

“It’s okay. I’m going to help you. Stop struggling.”

A woman sobbed. “Oh, my God. Please, hurry. I’m slipping.”

He pressed against the balustrade, leaned over and cranked his head to the side. The woman was holding on to a piece of broken railing from the third-floor landing, her body suspended over nothing but a long drop to the hard tile floor.

Judging by the scream, she didn’t have time for him to search for a phone or a ladder. He had to act now. He was good at that—acting first, thinking later.

“Can you swing your legs toward me?”

“Y-yes, but what are you going to do, grab my feet? That’s not going to help. You’ll probably be left holding a pair of sandals.”

Was she trying to tell him how to execute the rescue? Matt straightened his six-foot-four-inch frame. “You get your legs as close as you can, and I’ll grab you around the thighs. I have a good view of your hips from here. I’ll yank you toward me, and even if you don’t clear the railing I can hold on to you.”

“I don’t know.”

Matt blew out a breath. Did she want to be rescued or crack her head open on some old tiles?

“Do you want me to call the Coral Cove Fire Department? I left my cell in my hotel room. Or I can go to the basement and find a ladder.”

“No! I can’t hold on much longer.”

“That’s what I thought. Start swinging.”

The legs in the skinny jeans swayed like reeds in the wind. The woman grunted and the legs began to swing back and forth.

Matt bellied up to the balustrade, stretching out both arms. “On the count of three, let go and propel yourself forward.”

The voice came back, strong and sure. “Okay.”

“One…two…three.”

The legs hurtled toward him and he cinched his arms around her thighs. As she let go of the railing above, her body jerked but he yanked her toward his chest, stumbling backward. Something smacked the railing. He hugged the body tighter and threw himself back against the wall.

He crashed into the plaster and fell sideways, all the while clutching the soft body to his solid frame. His back hit the floor and still he clung to the woman, taking her down with him.

The back of his head thumped against the hard wood floor. He sucked in a breath, a heady perfume flooding his nostrils, and realized his nose was buried between a pair of luscious breasts in a soft cotton T-shirt.

The woman on top of him gurgled once, scooped in a deep breath and rolled from his body. They lay on their backs, side by side, chests rising and falling.

Matt sat up, wincing as his ribs expanded. He flexed his fingers and glanced at the woman panting next to him, a swath of dark hair across her face. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

His gaze traveled the length of her body. Her black T-shirt molded to her upper torso, revealing a sliver of skin above the waistband of her tight jeans. Blue polished toenails peaked from a pair of glittery sandals. And that hair.

A sense of familiarity jolted him. Long, black hair whipping through the elevator doors, a flash of green eyes. He bent over the prone form and brushed the hair from her face.

Sculpted black brows snapped to attention over a long, narrow nose. Nostrils flared.

“You!”

Kylie Grant struggled to a sitting position, nearly clipping his chin with her head. He jerked back, his jaw hardening.

“So you do recognize me. At the hotel, you acted like you’d never seen me before in your life.”

Her cat eyes narrowed. “Who says I recognize you from anywhere other than the hotel?”

“Cut it out, Kylie. We were in the same class at Coral Cove High.”

“Same class, different universe.”

“You and your goth friends occupied a universe all to yourselves.” Dread pumped through his veins, and he pointed a finger at the ceiling. “Were you trying to off yourself up there and then changed your mind?”

Her jaw dropped and she scooted away from him. “Absolutely not. I was…I was…”

Matt smacked his forehead. Leave it to Mr. Sensitivity to stick his size-thirteen shoe in his mouth. Kylie’s mom had committed suicide in this very house. “I’m sorry.”

She huffed out a breath and scooted farther away, pinning her back to the wall. “Just because you probably saved my life, it doesn’t give you license to act like a jerk—although you never needed a license before.”

He let that zinger zap him right between the eyes. He deserved it. “What were you doing up there? Did the railing break away?”

“Yeah.” She hunched her shoulders, her gaze darting to the ceiling. “I was leaning over the railing and it snapped. Luckily, I was able to grab on to a stationary piece of wood, or at least mostly stationary.”

He rose to his haunches and gripped the railing. “A lot of wood in this place is worm-eaten. I didn’t know the house was this bad. Where’s Mia St. Regis?”

“I have no clue, probably running a major fashion house.” She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “What are you doing here?”

He raised his brows at her accusatory tone. “Uh, it’s a good thing I was here…to save you.”

Her eyes, resembling a pair of emeralds, glittered in the flashlight’s beam. Kylie had always seemed remote and untouchable in high school. Not that he’d wanted to touch her…then. She’d hung out with a weirdo artsy crowd, and he was enough of an outcast himself that he didn’t need to court any of his own kind.

He stood up, stretching to his full height. “I was exploring.”

Kylie Grant didn’t need to know his business in town. Once he started his investigation, his purpose in Coral Cove would come out soon enough. But by that time, maybe Kylie would be on her way. Her presence at the hotel meant she didn’t live in town…unless she was visiting someone at the hotel.

She scrambled to her feet, her shiny sandals catching the light and winking in the gloom. Leave it to Kylie Grant to treat a visit to a haunted house like it was some kind of prom.

“Looks like exploring this house can be hazardous to your health.” She flicked her long black hair behind her shoulders and it rippled down her back.

She glided past him and he caught a whiff of her musky perfume. She’d left the same scent in the hotel elevator and he’d gotten a strong dose of it when he’d planted his face between her breasts.

“I’m going upstairs to get my purse and flashlight.”

He swung the flashlight forward, waving it back and forth. “You’re going to need this to make your way up there.”

She held out her hand, and he rested the flashlight against his chest. “I’ll come with you.”

He clumped up the stairs behind her, his motorcycle boots thumping against each step. How had she not heard him from the third floor? When she crashed through the balustrade, she didn’t even call out for help. Matt hadn’t been sure what had caused the ruckus until he saw her dangling in midair. He hadn’t realized anyone else was in the house.

As he followed her up the stairs, he aimed his flashlight right at her sexy behind encased in those tight jeans. Who knew Kylie Grant had a derriere like that? All through high school she’d worn long, black skirts and silver-studded boots, which probably made her look chubbier than she really was.

Kylie spun around when she reached the third-floor landing, and Matt shifted the light to her face.

Her lips formed a thin line as she wedged a hand on her hip. How did she know he’d been checking out her assets?

“Maybe you’d better go first.” She tilted her chin toward the dark landing. “You know, rotten wood and all.”

He skimmed the light along the floor. “Didn’t you say you had a flashlight?”

“Must’ve burned out. I left it on the floor next to my purse.”

He squeezed past her on the top step and inhaled her perfume again—made him think of dark, mysterious ladies.

She stiffened.

Maybe those stories about Kylie being a mind reader were all true. Matt took two steps toward the broken banister and hunched his shoulders. “It’s cold up here.”

Kylie drew up beside him and nodded. Then she dipped and scooped up her purse and flashlight. She flicked the switch and another beam of light zigzagged across the jagged wood of the balustrade.

“It does work.” Matt didn’t recall seeing any light from the third floor as he’d made his way up to the second earlier tonight. He hadn’t seen or heard a thing until that crash.

“So, what do you think?” Kylie nudged a piece of wood hanging on by a few splinters. “Rotten?”

He broke off the piece and examined it beneath the light. “It doesn’t look that bad, but you never know with old houses.”

“You never know.”

Matt didn’t know if it was the damp chill seeping into his bones or the almost feral look in the lady’s eyes, but he wanted out of here.

He placed a hand on Kylie’s arm to draw her back from the abyss. “I didn’t even ask if you were okay. How’s your shoulder?”

She rotated it. “Fine, a little sore.”

“Bet you could use a drink. I know I could.” Actually, he could use a few, but he never overindulged…ever. At least not with alcohol. But other pleasures? Kylie’s skin felt smooth and warm to his touch, and she hadn’t even jerked away from him. Maybe saving her life had given him some stature in her eyes. God knows, he hadn’t had any before. She’d whipped right past him in the elevator, barely turning when she’d muttered her apology for bumping his shoulder.

“A—a drink?” She’d pivoted on her toes to face him and with her eyes wide, she looked ready for flight.

“Yeah, you know, that wet stuff we pour down our throats?”

Her long lashes dropped over her eyes and she finally shook him off. “I wouldn’t have guessed drinking was high on your list of fun activities, given your background.”

A slow smile curved his lips. She remembered more about him than she let on, but if she thought that shot was enough to deter his sudden fascination with her, she was as loony as her mom was reported to be.

“One drink. Our hotel even has a bar in the lobby. So we can have a drink and go to bed.”

Her lashes flew open.

He kept the smile on his face and shoved one hand in the pocket of his jeans. “You in your bed. Me in mine.”

She glanced up at the railing where both her and her mother’s bodies had dangled and shrugged. “I could use a drink.”

Matt followed the taillights of Kylie’s car back to the Coast Highway and then through the downtown streets of Coral Cove. He was probably way out of line renewing his acquaintance with Kylie. He had a job to do and couldn’t afford the distraction.

His hands tightened on the handlebar of his Harley. The last time he’d mixed pleasure with work, it had ended badly. But he had no intention of even telling Kylie about his business in Coral Cove. For all he knew, she’d be on her way out of town tomorrow.

He could enjoy a drink with a pretty girl, couldn’t he? He didn’t have to tell her his life story. Or listen to hers. Or bed her. Not that he’d get that lucky with Kylie.

He didn’t know why she’d agreed to a drink since half the time at Columbella she looked like she wanted to do him bodily harm. Must’ve been shaken by that fall. And who could blame her? If she hadn’t cracked her skull on that floor, she would’ve at least broken a leg or two.

Fate brought him to Columbella tonight. She must’ve been on her way here when he ran into her on the elevator. He’d practically followed her over. Maybe things were looking up. About damned time.

While she pulled into the guest parking lot, Matt parked his motorcycle in front of the hotel and kicked down the stand. He pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as she strolled toward him.

She leveled a finger at his bike. “Still riding motorcycles.”

“For disliking me in high school, you sure do remember a lot about me.”

“You were kind of hard to miss. I think you reached your full height in ninth grade, didn’t you?”

He opened the hotel door for her. “Nah, I was probably about six two in ninth grade—still had a few inches to go. You were hardly inconspicuous yourself.”

“Me?” She smiled for the first time that night, a slow, sultry lift of one side of her mouth. “I always thought I flew under the radar.”

Kylie weaved through the tables in the hotel lobby bar and made a beeline for the grinning bartender. Matt would’ve preferred one of those little tables with the nuts in a plastic cup, but Kylie settled on a bar stool and planted her elbows on the shiny mahogany.

“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay, anything from California, and he’ll have…” She raised one eyebrow in his direction without much interest.

“I’d like a beer. What do you have on tap?”

“We have a good microbrew from Avila Beach.”

“Sounds good.”

Matt perched on the edge of the bar stool next to Kylie’s. “Do you want to sit at a table?”

“I’m good here.”

She’d been the one hanging from a banister, so he let it go. But he didn’t plan on letting her off easy. “What brings you back to Coral Cove and what were you doing at Columbella House?”

She smiled her thanks at the bartender and took a sip of the light gold liquid from her glass. She considered Matt over the rim of that glass. “Isn’t it obvious what I was doing at Columbella?”

Matt took a swig of beer and wrapped his hands around the mug. Was this a trick question? Any ideas he’d had about this encounter being an easy, sexy flirtation just fell flat. Kylie didn’t do easy…but she had the sexy part down to a T.

“Uh, were you exploring like me?”

She snorted into her wine and he found it oddly appealing. “Come on, Matt. You know my mom killed herself in that house, hung herself from that very landing.”

“So were you paying your respects? Putting old demons to rest?”

“Old demons.” Her nostrils flared and she flung back her long, black hair looking…witchy.

Like a totally hot, sexy witch.

“I guess you could say that.” She tossed back half the wine and turned toward him, her knees bumping his thigh. “You know I’m a psychic, don’t you?”

He choked on his beer, and it came fizzing out his nose. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and hid behind it. Had he known that? The kids in high school used to say Kylie could read minds or tell fortunes, but he just figured they’d said that because Kylie’s mom was some kind of gypsy fortune-teller. He just thought the mom was nuts. That’s what Matt’s dad used to say anyway—not that you could ever trust anything that came out of the old man’s mouth.

“You didn’t know?” Kylie hunched forward, her hands on her knees, the tips of her long hair brushing his thighs.

To hell with the fortune-telling. He wanted to kiss her right now.

She backed off and took another sip of her wine. Must’ve read his thoughts on that one, but it wouldn’t take much of a psychic to figure out his intentions since the crotch of his jeans had suddenly tightened and he was pretty sure he’d been staring at her luscious pink lips.

He cleared his throat. “I guess I knew that, sort of. So that’s why you’re back in Coral Cove?” He waved his arm toward the lobby. “Because if you’re staying here, I figure you’re just visiting.”

“It’s not exactly a visit, not social anyway.” She ran a fingertip along the rim of her glass. “And the stuff with my mom…it’s not my primary purpose for being here.”

He waiting politely, taking another sip of his beer, but she didn’t finish her thought, and he was left wondering about her primary purpose for being in Coral Cove. Instead, she wiggled her fingers in the air, signaling the bartender. “We’ll close out now, unless…” She threw a glance his way.

“No, I’m good, and I’ll get this.”

“That’s not necessary. In fact, I owe you.”

As she reached for her purse, her cell phone rang. She checked the display and said, “Excuse me a minute. I have to take this.”

She swiveled away from him and hunched over the bar.

Boyfriend? Husband? He hadn’t even asked. Didn’t want to know.

He lifted his hip from the bar stool to retrieve the card to his room and leaned toward Kylie, not that he was trying to eavesdrop or anything.

Her low, musical voice reached his ears. “Nothing yet, Mrs. Harris. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

A muscle ticked in Matt’s jaw. Mrs. Harris?

Kylie clicked her phone off and dropped it back into her purse. “Sorry. I was supposed to call that person earlier and got completely sidetracked.”

“By your mother.”

“Uh-huh.” She made a grab for the check. “I really didn’t take that call to avoid paying the bill.”

He scribbled his signature and room number on the bill and shoved it toward the bartender. Harris, common name. There were lots of Harrises in the world, right?

The man on the bar stool next to Kylie’s spun around, a fake smile claiming half his face.

“Kylie Grant, right?”

Kylie jerked back from the man’s eager-puppy-dog enthusiasm. “That’s right. Oh, you’re Tyler Davis.”

“Correct.” The man’s teeth gleamed in the low light of the bar. “Mayor Davis now.”

“Mayor of Coral Cove? That’s—” she turned to Matt and rolled her eyes “—impressive.”

“I heard a rumor about your presence in town, Kylie. Is it true?”

“Depends on the rumor.” She narrowed her eyes and Matt almost felt sorry for Mayor Davis as a chill settled on the bar.

“Not a good idea, Kylie.” Davis wagged his finger in Kylie’s face and Matt felt like breaking it off. “We should let sleeping dogs lie.”

“And murdered dogs? Should we let those lie, as well, Mr. Mayor?”

Matt drew his brows over his nose and tried to catch Kylie’s eye, but she’d zeroed in on Davis.

“The girl ran off. There was never any evidence of foul play, and with the Coral Cove Music Festival about to get underway we don’t want any bad publicity surrounding the event.”

Matt froze and his jaw tightened. What the hell was Davis talking about?

Kylie’s lip curled. “You were mayor at the time Bree Harris disappeared, too, weren’t you? You and that Chief Evans. That’s why there was no evidence of foul play—you and the chief weren’t looking for any.”

Davis hopped off the stool. “Just don’t stir up any trouble for the festival. This town has endured enough this summer. We deserve to end it on a high note.”

Kylie muttered something under her breath as Davis sauntered away, stopping to shake hands with a couple by the window.

Matt planted his hands on his knees and swiveled around to face her. “What are you doing in Coral Cove, Kylie?”

She blew a wisp of hair from her face. “I guess you can’t keep secrets in small towns, or at least not many. I’m here to investigate the disappearance of Bree Harris. She fell off the face of the earth at the time of the music festival three years ago.”

Matt squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t happening.

She touched his forearm and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him all night…and it felt good. At least it would’ve if she were here for a different reason.

“What’s wrong with you? Ever since that joke of a mayor stopped by, you’ve looked like a volcano ready to blow its top.”

He skimmed his fingers through his hair. “You’re in Coral Cove to do a job, and that job is finding Bree Harris. Did her parents hire you?”

She tilted her head and her long hair slid over one shoulder. “Well, sort of. Her mother hired me. Why? What’s wrong?”

Matt smacked the bar and shoved to his feet. “What’s wrong? Bree Harris’s father hired me to do the same job.”


Chapter Three

Kylie dropped back onto the leather stool from which she’d half risen. Matt Conner was here for Bree Harris? She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead.

Matt Conner. What had she heard about the bad boy of Coral Cove High through the grapevine over the years? She’d been so preoccupied by her mission and so disoriented from her fall and so distracted by the way Matt’s jeans hugged his…

She shook her head. She’d never bothered to ask him what he did for a living.

Cop. That’s what she’d heard. LAPD. The ludicrousness of Matt becoming a cop had even filtered into her universe.

She grabbed her drained wineglass and dumped the final few drops of wine down her throat. What was a cop doing out of his jurisdiction working a three-year-old missing persons case?

He’d been watching her through dark slits of eyes, his sensuous lips a stern line. At what point during this wild night had she noticed his lips?

“I-in what capacity are you here?” She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of revealing how much she knew about his life since he’d left high school. She’d already done that and hadn’t liked the smug look on his face.

He crossed his arms over his massive chest, and Kylie swallowed. Hadn’t he been tall and skinny as a teenager? Now he was tall and…built.

“I’m a private investigator. Mr. Harris hired me to look into Bree’s disappearance.” He shifted back, almost straddling the stool. “He didn’t tell me I’d have a partner.”

A P.I., not a cop. The grapevine was wrong.

She grabbed her purse from the bar and hitched it over her shoulder. “I don’t work with partners.”

“You call what you do work?”

“Do you even know what I do?”

He snorted. “I have a pretty good idea. You sit in front of a Ouija board and say in a spooky voice—Where’s Bree?”

The blood pumped hot and fast through her veins and it had nothing to do with the way Matt’s T-shirt molded to his perfect pecs. “You’re a bigger idiot now than when you were riding fast bikes and playing loud music in high school.”

Okay, she had to stop thinking about the love-hate obsession she’d had with Matt when she was a stupid teenager.

She drew in a deep breath and tucked her hair behind one ear. “I’ve worked with police departments all over the country, even the FBI, to help with cases. And my success rate is phenomenal. How many cases have you solved lately? Or have you been too busy following cheating spouses around?”

His eye twitched, and his hands curled into fists against big biceps. If she were a man, she’d be very afraid right now.

“I’ve solved a few cases.”

“Yeah, whatever.” A thought slammed against her brain and she drew back her shoulders. “You were following me, weren’t you? Mayor Whatsisname knew why I was here, so it’s no leap that you knew, too. You followed me to Columbella House because you thought I was tracking a lead on the Harris case and you wanted to horn in on it.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He slammed a fist on the bar and the bartender dropped a glass in the sink.

“Really?” Her heart skittered in her chest. “Because it sure felt like someone pushed me through that railing…and you’re big enough to do it.”

He threw his head back and laughed. This time the bartender and the couple by the window openly stared at them.

“You’re nuts. First of all, why would I be pushing you if I was trying to steal your info? Secondly, wouldn’t you have noticed someone behind you on the landing? I mean, I’m no ballerina. I think you would’ve heard me coming.”

“I—I…” She bit her lip. Oh, to hell with it, he had her pegged as a loon anyway. “I was in a trance.”

That wiped the sarcastic smile right off his ruggedly handsome face.

“You mean like—” he closed his eyes and held his arms out to his sides and hummed “—om.”

She poked him in the chest, and his eyes flew open. “A trance, not meditation.”

“So what happens in a trance and how do you get there?” He parked his very fine rear end on the bar stool and hunched forward.

She studied him through narrowed eyes. The man could change moods faster than a rat slipping beneath a door. “Are you serious? You really want to know?”

The bartender edged toward them, a towel bunched in his hands. “Are you folks going to order another round?”

“I’ll have a club soda, lots of lime.” Matt cocked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want another?”

She just might need another glass of wine to unwind from the roller coaster named Big Matt. “Yes.”

“Does that prove it?” Matt pointed at the bartender spritzing club soda into a glass.

“What?”

“That I’m serious. I really want to know how you do what you do.”

“Even though you don’t believe in it.”

“You believe in it.”

She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at her watch. “We’re going to close this place down.”

“It’ll be the first time I’ve closed down a bar, but I’m always up for new experiences.” He flicked the straw out of his glass and downed half the fizzy, clear liquid.

Matt’s dad had been the town drunk, and Matt obviously didn’t want to follow the same path. That gave them even more in common since she had no intention of following Mom’s path either.

She peeled her gaze away from Matt’s strong hand wrapped around his sweating glass. The man oozed masculinity and confidence. No wonder he’d been annoyed when he discovered she was on the same case. Why hadn’t Mrs. Harris told her Mr. Harris had hired a P.I.?

“Trance?”

His low voice, almost an intimate whisper, was enough to put her under again. He had entranced her during high school. He was the rebel without a cause, who had all the teenage girls swooning.

And Kylie hated him because even though he was as much of an outcast as she was, he still went after the popular girls…and got them, much to their parents’ dismay. The parental units didn’t have to worry for long though, because Matt never had a girlfriend. He swooped in, swept some cheerleader off her feet for a few weeks, shook her pom-poms and then deposited her back onto the football field. Kylie had always figured he’d done it just to piss off the jocks.

She huffed out a breath and took a sip of wine. “Trance.”

“How does it happen?”

“It can happen at any time, but I’ve learned to control it, to block the sensations. Some days I’m in a heightened state of sensitivity.”

“Like today.”

She nodded. “On days like that, I go with the flow. I don’t try to block anything. If I have something from the victim, I can pick up vibes from it. I guess it is sort of like meditation.”

He snapped his fingers. “See? I did have it right.”

“I close my eyes. I concentrate. Tonight at Columbella…” She hunched her shoulders and gulped another mouthful of wine.

“Rough, huh?” He skimmed his cool fingertips along her forearm. “That house is enough to raise the hackles of someone who isn’t even sensitive…like me.”

She stared into Matt’s dark eyes and got a little lost. At this moment, with his fingers lightly resting on her wrist, Kylie couldn’t completely dismiss his sensitivity.

“So you were in one of those optimal states and hightailed it to Columbella—to do what?”

“I already told you, Matt. My mom hung herself from that landing. I went there to…get some closure.”

“And instead you fell through the railing.” He tapped her wrist bone once before withdrawing his hand. “That’s some kinda closure.”

“I sensed fear when I was up there.” She traced her finger around the base of her wineglass. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Anyone who commits suicide has to experience some fear, or are you implying your mother didn’t kill herself?”

Was she? That thought had been a niggling doubt in her mind for a while. “I don’t know. The fall didn’t give me a chance to sense much more than a swirl of emotions.”

“And to sense someone behind you before the fall.”

She raised her brows. “Oh, you believe me now? I thought you figured that was a bunch of bull.”

“I thought your suspicions of me were a bunch of bull. The rest? You’re the medium.”

“You’re good.”

“Excuse me?” He choked on his drink and grabbed a cocktail napkin to wipe his mouth. “I’m good at a lot of things. Which talent are you referring to?”

Her cheeks grew warm in the dim light. Why did everything Matt said have a sexual connotation to it? Or was that her spin?

“When I first told you Mrs. Harris hired me to find out what happened to her daughter, you weren’t too happy about it, implied I was a fraud. Now you’re cozying up to me and opening your mind to my gift.”

His slow smile twisted his mouth, and he waved his hand in the space between them. “This ain’t cozy.”

“You know what I mean.” She crumpled a napkin in her clammy hand. Matt had sex appeal coming out of his pores, but she didn’t plan on becoming one more conquest for him. “Why are you so interested in my psychic powers now when fifteen minutes ago you were scoffing at them?”

He hunched a broad shoulder and drained his glass. “I’m a realist. Mr. Harris hired me and Mrs. Harris hired you. Even though I’m not too keen on having a partner, my goal is to give peace to the Harris family, to find out what happened to Bree, get the girl some justice.”

Slapped her down. Now her infantile comment about not working with partners sounded…infantile.

“Deal.” She extended her hand for a shake. His large hand engulfed hers and he applied a quick pressure to her fingers. She extricated her hand from his grasp and drummed her fingers on the bar to keep them busy. “Do you have anything?”

“Just got here yesterday, but I was wondering about the possibility of Brunswick being involved.”

“The algebra teacher?”

“The serial-killing algebra teacher.”

“Yeah, I heard all about those women he murdered just to prove something to Michelle Girard. Creepy. But how would Bree Harris be a part of that?”

“You know Brunswick also murdered two prostitutes, don’t you? A guy like that doesn’t decide one day to start killing to impress a woman.”

“Have the cops or the FBI looked into a connection between Brunswick and Bree’s disappearance?”

“Not that I know of.” He tipped his chin at the bartender. “I stopped by Coral Cove P.D. yesterday to request access to the Brunswick files and the Harris report. The chief is a piece of work.”

“I haven’t heard good things about him since I’ve been here. Chief Reese’s son, Dylan, is supposed to come back for the job.”

Matt grinned as he slid the check in front of him. “I had a very close relationship with Chief Reese.”

“How many times did he pull you over on your bike or ticket you for playing your music too loudly or pick you up for being out after curfew?”

“Too many times to count.”

“Yeah, I knew that rumor about your being a cop couldn’t be true.”

Matt’s hand, holding the pen, froze over the check. Then he signed it. “Where’d you hear that bit of nonsense?”

She scooted her stool back and hopped off. “I don’t know. Through the grapevine.”

Matt rapped his knuckles against the mahogany and called to the bartender. “Thanks, man.”

Matt maneuvered her through the bar tables with his hand on the small of her back. He left it there when they hit the lobby. And she let him leave it there.

He dropped it all too soon to stab the elevator button. When the doors whisked open on the empty car, he asked, “What floor?”

“Third.”

He pressed the number three button and leaned against the elevator car, hands behind his back, a grin claiming his face. “Guess the hotel put everyone working for the Harrises on the same floor.”

Kylie’s belly flip-flopped. Not only did she get to work with this hunka, hunka burning manhood, she’d be living a few doors down from him. “Coincidence.”

“You disappoint me, psychic lady.” He reached forward and touched the tip of his finger to her cheekbone. “I thought you’d call it fate.”

She held her breath as the rough pad of his finger brushed her skin. If he was trying to seduce her just like he’d done with all those silly girls in high school, he hadn’t lost his touch. Not one bit.

He held up his finger. “You had a black speck on your face.”

She wiped her hand across the spot, still tingling from his caress…touch…poke. “Probably a flake of mascara. It’s been a long day.”

The elevator jostled and then settled on the third floor. As he pinned the door open and gestured her through, he said, “Do you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning and go over a game plan?”

“You’re serious about working together?”

“Deadly.”

“All right.” Her steps slowed as she reached her hotel room. “I’m in three-twenty-six.”

“How about that?” He slid his card key out of his back pocket and flicked it. “I’m in three-thirty-six. Fate strikes again.”

She slid her key home and turned her head toward him, her shoulder wedging against the door. “See you tomorrow in the hotel restaurant at nine?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks again for rescuing me at Columbella. What brought you there anyway?”

“Research.” He called over his shoulder as he ambled five doors down.

Kylie slipped into the darkened hotel room and pressed her back against the door. What was she doing? Mrs. Harris had sent her to Coral Cove to do a job, and she’d planned to combine that job with a little investigation of her own into Mom’s suicide.

Now here comes Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick and all she can think about is what he’s packing in those tight jeans.

She groaned and pushed off the door, flicking on the light. She blinked. Her gaze darted from her gaping suitcase in the corner to her clothes strewn across the room.

With her heart pounding, she tiptoed into the room and poked her head around the bathroom door. She sagged against the doorjamb like she’d been punched in the gut.

Written on the bathroom mirror in her own red lipstick were the words: Your Next Bitch.


Chapter Four

As Matt dropped onto the hotel bed and crossed one leg over his knee to pull off his motorcycle boot, someone pounded on his door. He reached for his Glock tucked into the gun bag around his waist, his muscles tensing.

“Matt? Are you in there?”

He zipped up the bag and smiled. Had Kylie picked up on his hints and decided to join forces in more ways than one?

Thump. Thump.

“Matt! I need your help.”

That didn’t sound like a prelude to a seduction. He launched from the bed and yanked open the hotel door.

“Oh, thank God. You’re still here?”

Still here? Where would he go?

He took in her pale face and wide eyes, and his pulse ticked up a few notches. “What’s wrong?”

“Come on. My room.” She grabbed his arm and tugged.

Any other time, he’d be looking forward to a woman dragging him to her hotel room, especially this woman, but Kylie needed his help, not his…

“Hang on.” Pulling away from her, he retreated into the room a few steps. He swept his key card from the credenza and shoved it into his back pocket.

“What’s going on?” He followed her down the hall and waited while she tried to shove her card into the slot three times with shaking hands.

He covered her hand with his and plucked the card from her stiff fingers. He inserted it in the door and blocked her entrance. “What am I looking for?”

“It’s on the bathroom mirror. A warning.”

He unzipped his gun bag again and squared his shoulders as he walked into her room. The warmth of Kylie’s body pressed against his back, and if he turned suddenly she’d land right in his arms. Not that he wanted fear to drive her there.

She’d left the bathroom light on, and he charged into the small space. He read the words on the mirror with a tight jaw.

“Wh-what do you think?”

He braced his hands on the vanity and hunched forward. The sweet, cosmetic smell of the lipstick tickled his nose. Must’ve happened recently for the smell of the lipstick to be lingering.

“I think this idiot couldn’t have been in Mrs. Wilson’s English class if he uses your for you are.”

A soft sigh escaped Kylie’s lips and her upright posture slumped a little. “You don’t think it’s serious?”

Matt didn’t like the idea of some jerk sneaking into Kylie’s room and scrawling juvenile messages on her bathroom mirror, but it didn’t seem too serious. Not yet.

“Someone was able to get into your hotel room, so don’t take that lightly.” He smudged the lipstick with the tip of his finger. “Is this your lipstick? And if so, where’s the tube?”

“That’s definitely my lipstick.” She sidled up next to him in front of the mirror, bumping him with her hip, and grabbed a small leopard-print bag from the glass shelf above the toilet. She unzipped the bag and pawed through the contents. “And someone stole it after they used it for a marker.”

“The mayor was in the hotel, and he didn’t seem too happy about your investigation into Bree’s disappearance.”

She shook her head and her long hair brushed his arm. “I can’t picture Tyler Davis slinking around hotel rooms.”

He shrugged. “You never know. You need to report this to the hotel, anyway. Someone broke into your room.”

“And stole a lipstick.”

“And wrote a threatening, if illiterate, note on your mirror.”

Kylie’s forehead creased and Matt bit the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to worry her—it probably was that joke of a mayor trying to scare her off.

She gasped and covered her mouth. “He rifled through my bags, too.”

She squeezed past him out of the bathroom and he followed her. She pointed to a couple of suitcases on the floor, the contents jumbled. “Anything missing from the bags?”

“I don’t know.” She crouched down and sifted through her tossed clothing. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Maybe just another scare tactic.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe the hotel has a camera on this hallway and we can expose the mayor and throw a wrench into his reelection plans.”

The lines stayed in place between her eyebrows, but the corners of her pretty mouth lifted. “That alone would be worth the shock I had when I walked in here.”

He met her eyes and lifted his brows. “You mean you didn’t sense beforehand that there was a message waiting for you?”

“It doesn’t…” She wedged her hands on her hips and blew out a breath, and then noticed his grin. She punched him in the arm. “Idiot.”

He laughed. “Do you want me to go down to hotel security with you to report this?”

“Sure. Maybe I won’t seem like a hysterical female then.”

He would’ve expected more hysteria from any woman after knowing someone had been in her hotel room, leaving a creepy message on the mirror and rifling through her bags. He liked Kylie’s measured response—not at all what he’d expect from a medium.

Maybe he could partner up with her after all. It might be easier if they didn’t have this sexual tension between them because that had screwed things up for him before. But nobody had ever accused him of being a fast learner.

They traipsed down to the empty lobby and reported the break-in to the front desk clerk. He summoned the hotel security guard, who shot down any hopes they had of a camera recording the dirty deed. Then the clerk exchanged Kylie’s card key for a new one and promised to ask the hotel maid on duty earlier if she’d noticed anyone suspicious on the third floor. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes.

They paused in front of Kylie’s door, and Matt slipped the new card in the slot. The green lights flashed. Pinching the card between two fingers, he held it out to her. “Are you going to be okay?”

She glanced over her shoulder into the room. “Sure.”

“I can sleep on…the floor.”

She folded her arms, a gesture that had no written all over it. “That’s okay. I’m good.”

His gaze traced the curves of her body, landing on her blue polished toenails peeking out of her glittery sandals. Kylie was a lot more than good. By the time he returned to her face, her lips were pursed into a line of disapproval.

He had to get a grip on this insane attraction he felt for her. He didn’t need the distraction, and she wasn’t exactly swooning at his motorcycle boots. He coughed and pointed to the door in her room that connected to the room next to hers.

“Do you want me to see if I can move into the next room?” Protection not seduction. “It’ll save you from running down the hall next time.”

Pushing her hair from her face, she quirked an eyebrow. “Next time? Who says there’s going to be a next time?”

“I don’t think there will be, but just in case.”

She lifted her shoulders and he trained his eyes away from the way her rounded breasts strained against the cotton of her T-shirt. “Suit yourself.”

“In the meantime—” he smacked the doorjamb “—lock your dead bolt and put the chain on the door. Don’t order any room service and don’t open the door for anyone…except me.”

“Now you sound more like a cop than a P.I. Are we still on for the breakfast meeting tomorrow at nine?”

“We can make it later if you want.”

“No. I feel like I’ve wasted enough time. I need…we need to get back on Bree’s case.”

“Nine o’clock it is then.” Sensing her dismissal, he stepped back into the hallway.

“Good night, and thanks for helping out…again.”

“My pleasure, Madam Medium.”

Shaking her head, she shut the door on him. He stood with his head cocked until he heard both the dead bolt and the chain. So he sounded more like a cop than a P.I.? He’d have to change that because he’d never be a cop…never again.

* * *

T HE NEXT MORNING Kylie adjusted the showerhead so the hot water hit between her shoulder blades. Dropping her head, she braced her palms against the tile. That little swing from the third floor of Columbella had done a number on her muscles.

How much worse it would’ve been if Matt hadn’t rescued her.

And what a rescue. Landing on top of his strong, muscled body had almost been worth the ride.

She sighed and cranked off the faucet. If her adult self could go back and tell her teenage self that Matt Conner was making suggestive comments to her and sleeping down the hall, her teenage self would faint dead away.

Or who knows? Maybe her teenage self would have more sense than to fall for a bad boy in black motorcycle boots. She’d always thought Matt was totally hot, but if he had crooked his little finger her way like he’d done to so many other girls, she probably would’ve shot him down. Then. Now?

Now she had a job to do—two jobs if she ever hoped to find peace over Mom’s suicide. And now that Matt was involved with her other job, she’d have to find a way to work with him while keeping her thoughts above his waist. Unfortunately for her, he had plenty going on upstairs, too.

She stepped out of the shower and rubbed the steam from the mirror with her fist. She’d scrubbed the threatening words from the mirror last night before she went to bed. The hotel security guard wasn’t interested in seeing them, and Kylie had no intention of calling the police. She’d been around police departments long enough to know what the cops found serious enough to investigate. Even a small-town department like Coral Cove wouldn’t be interested in a few words scrawled on a hotel bathroom mirror.

Would Mayor Davis be petty enough to try to drive her away with lipstick? Probably.

As she put the finishing touches on her makeup, a loud knock on the door made her smear her pink lipstick onto her face. She’d have to try a different brand. This one obviously had a curse on it.

She squinted through the peephole at Matt, wearing cargo shorts and flip-flops today, lounging in front of her door. Annoyingly, her heart lifted at the sight of him.

She yanked open the door. “I thought we were just meeting at the restaurant. I don’t need an escort.”

His brows shot up. “Wow, wake up on the wrong side of the Ouija board this morning?”

She sealed her lips against the giggle threatening to humiliate her. “That joke’s getting a little old.”

“Really? Because I could’ve sworn a saw a smile light those green eyes of yours.”

Matt was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. That’s what must make him a good P.I. Was he a good P.I.? She knew next to nothing about him. Just that standing close to him made her heart race. And touching him made her body flush.

She threw open the door. “Okay, you’re mildly amusing. Let me grab my stuff.”

She scooped up her purse and swept open the drapes. “It’s sunny.”

“And it’s already warm. Going to be one of those picture-perfect days on the coast.”

“You’ve been already been outside?” She slipped her card key into the side pocket of her purse.

“Went for a run on the beach and took advantage of the hotel gym before the hordes descended.”

Her gaze swept up from his solid, flaring thighs to his broad shoulders that tested the fabric of his T-shirt. Of course he’d already hit the gym. A man didn’t get a body like that drinking beer in front of the boob tube.

When she finally made it back to his face, he met her gaze with a tilted grin. Oh, yeah, he knew she’d been checking him out. How could she blame him for taking the same inventory of her last night?

They stepped out of the elevator, and Matt nodded toward the front entrance of the hotel. “We don’t have to eat here. There are a couple of breakfast places on Main Street.”

“Okay. Let’s get out of here. The person who broke into my room might still be lurking around the hotel.”

Matt held open the door for her and she brushed past him. Even without the motorcycle boots, he towered over her and just about everyone else.

She stopped on the sidewalk and drew in a long breath of salty air.

“Growing up on the coast, that smell gets into your system, doesn’t it? Even down in L.A., I lived as close to the beach as I could get on my salary.”

“Lived? You don’t live in L.A. anymore?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve been traveling for work. How about you? You left Coral Cove for where?”

“I’ve lived here and there. I’m up in Oregon now, Portland.” Truth was, she didn’t have roots anywhere. She had no siblings and her father had run out on her and her mom years before Mom’s suicide.

“How about the Whole Earth Café?” He pointed across the street at a small café with a blue awning.

“Looks fine to me. Must be new.” She stepped off the curb, but Matt grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Better not jaywalk here. I heard the chief is always looking for ways to increase the city’s revenues.”

“Wow, the bad boy of Coral Cove really is a reformed character. No jaywalking?”

They reached the corner and crossed between the yellow lines of the crosswalk. Matt grabbed the door handle of the restaurant and yanked it open, sending the little bell on the door into a tizzy.

Kylie clutched his arm. “Hold on.”

She tilted her head to the side to read one of the flyers posted in the window of the restaurant. Tapping the glass, she said, “It’s a flyer for the Coral Cove Music Festival.”

“Those have been up for a while. I’ve been seeing them all over town in the two days I’ve been here. Makes sense—it kicks off in a few days.”

A shiver of apprehension rolled through her body as she bent forward to read the small print at the bottom of the flyer. “Look. A Harlan Sloan production.”

Matt crouched beside her, his breath fogging the window. “Harlan Sloan was the concert promoter the year Bree went missing.”

“I see you’ve done your homework.”

“Did you figure me for a slouch?”

She shrugged. “Not really. What kinds of cases do you work mostly?”

“Let’s save this conversation for later.” He straightened to his full height and steered her into the small café.

The hostess waved them to a couple of empty tables on the right side of the room and they snagged one in the corner—better for plotting and planning…and working. Because this was a working breakfast, nothing more.

After the waitress took their order, Kylie planted her elbows on the table. “Okay, so what else do you have on this case other than the fact that Harlan Sloan was the promoter of the event and tried to stonewall the investigation into Bree’s disappearance?”

“How do you know Sloan tried to stonewall things? From what I could gather, Chief Evans was quick to label this a runaway situation.”

“It delayed the investigation because they weren’t calling it a missing persons case until a few days after Bree was supposed to be back home getting ready for college.”

“According to Mr. Harris and everyone who knew Bree, she wasn’t runaway material.” Matt took a sip of his grapefruit juice and puckered his lips. “So how did Sloan figure in the picture?”

Kylie dragged her gaze away from Matt’s lips and blinked her eyes. “What?”

“Sloan. How was he blocking the investigation?”

“From the reports I read, he wasn’t too anxious to give the police information about the roadies on the show or even the performers.” Kylie took a gulp of ice water, trying to quench the fire that burned every time she looked into Matt’s eyes.

“I guess his attempt to cover up didn’t do much good since he wasn’t involved in the past two music festivals.”

“He’s back now.”

“So how do you work? You seem to know a lot about the case.”

Could she explain her process to Matt? She’d never gone into details with anyone before. Kylie swallowed her words while the waitress put their plates on the table.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Matt pointed to his egg white omelet stuffed with spinach and mushrooms. “Some salsa, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She studied his plate with the fruit and dry wheat toast on the side, and then wrinkled her nose at her own cheese and bacon omelet with twin dollops of guacamole and sour cream on the top. “You’re too healthy. You make me feel guilty.”

“It wasn’t just the drinking with my old man.” He picked up a slice of toast and added a spoonful of strawberry jam. “He destroyed his health bit by bit until he dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-nine. I’m not going down that road.”

“And yet you still ride a motorcycle.”

He shrugged and thanked the waitress for the salsa. “What’s life without a few risks? But we were talking about you.”

“We were?” She crunched into her bacon, getting no enjoyment from its salty goodness as Matt spooned salsa on his healthy omelet.

“I was asking you how you worked because you seem to know a lot of details about the case.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess you figured I just closed my eyes, and all the answers would come to me. On a Ouija board.”

“I have to admit, we…I’ve never worked with a psychic before on a case. Tell me how it’s done.”

Kylie took a deep breath. “Every case is a little different. I try to find out all the facts first, usually from the police report if I can get it.”

“Do you usually get it?”

“It depends. If the police are the ones who hired me, yeah, slam dunk. If the family hired me…” She hunched her shoulders and dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“I can tell you straight-up, Chief Evans is not the most cooperative guy.”

Kylie’s hand trembled as she stabbed a potato. “Did you see the report?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Is he going to give you access?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll get it anyway.” He polished off the last bite of his omelet and eyed her potatoes. “Are you going to eat those?”

“It’s good to see you’re not perfect.” She shoved her plate toward him.

“Me? Perfect? You’ve got the wrong guy.”

Did she? He seemed so right in so many ways.

“We keep getting off topic.” He crumpled his napkin and tossed it on the table. “Whether or not you see the police report, what’s your next move?”

“I need something in my possession that belonged to the victim.”

“What did Mrs. Harris give you?”

Kylie unzipped her bag and pulled out a red scarf with gold thread woven through it. “This was Bree’s.”

Skimming his hand across the diaphanous fabric, Matt, said, “I take it you can’t just hold the thing in your hand and the victim whispers in your ear or something.”

“Not exactly.” She balled up the scarf and shoved it back into her bag. “I don’t see dead people and they don’t talk to me. Rather, I sense a situation or I see scenes flash in my head. Sometimes I feel what the victim feels, and sometimes…” She gripped her upper arms and shivered.

“Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes I’m in the killer’s head.”

Matt tipped his chair back and cocked his head. “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not kidding.”

“That’s gotta be creepy as hell.”

“I think that’s what…” She trailed off again. Matt didn’t want to hear her wild assumptions about Mom. He already thought she was creepy. “Your turn.”

Matt squinted at the bill the waitress had just dropped at their table. “Huh?”

“What do you have, and why did Mr. Harris hire you? Did he find you on the internet? Portland’s a long way from L.A.”

“It was a referral, and I don’t have much on the case. Just what Harris gave me and going through old news stories—Bree was on summer break from the University of Oregon and drove down solo for the concert, hooking up with some locals while she was here.”

Kylie nodded. “She hung out in Coral Cove, stayed with the local kids and they attended the first two days of the concert together.”

“And then on the third and last day of the concert—” Matt snapped his fingers “—poof, Bree disappeared.”

“I never read anything more about those friends, did you?” She snatched the check from his hand. “I’ll get this.”

“Do you have an expense account?”

“No. Do you?”

“You’re on a job, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“You’re not doing this pro bono, are you?”

“Of course not. Mrs. Harris is paying me.”

“But you’re paying your own expenses.”

“And you’re not?”

“It’s a business, sweetheart.” He plucked the check from her fingers. “And I have an expense account.”

“So you’re doing this for the money.” Just when she thought Matt had changed. This talk of money and expense accounts left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Look.” He stacked some bills on top of the check and anchored it with a salt shaker. “I want to find out what happened to Bree. I want to give that family some peace and closure. But I also want to get paid.”

“Then we need to get our hands on that police report.”

“That’s the first thing on my list.” Matt pushed back from the table. “Do you want to wait here or meet me outside? I have to use the men’s room.”

“I’ll meet you outside because I need to use the ladies’ room.”

Kylie slipped into the bathroom, cranked on the water and studied herself in the mirror. So Mr. Harris was paying Matt more money than Mrs. Harris was paying her. Why hadn’t the couple made a decision together?

She had never talked to Mr. Harris. She’d figured he was handling his grief differently. But since he’d hired Matt to do the same job, maybe Mr. Harris didn’t have any faith in psychics.

She’d have to prove him wrong.

Straightening her shoulders, she tossed the paper towel in the trash bin. She poked her head into the crowded dining room of the restaurant where the clink of dishes and silverware set her on edge.

Matt had to be outside already. As she crossed the room, she dodged waiters and waitresses balancing plates in their hands and up their arms. She pushed out the front door and Matt shrugged off the side of the building.

“Ready to tackle that police report?”

“Yep.” Kylie took two steps, and the door of the restaurant swung open behind them.

“Excuse me?” Their waitress, her foot propping open the door, was holding out a card or piece of paper. Did Matt stiff her on the tip?

“You left this on the table.”

Since Kylie was closer to the waitress, she took what she now saw was a photo, from her hand. “We didn’t leave…”

Kylie’s mouth went dry as she stared at the picture pinched between her shaky fingers. Matt hovered behind her. “What is it?”

She held up the photo, facing him. “It’s a picture—a picture of Bree. Where did it come from?”

Kylie swiveled her head toward the door of the restaurant, but the waitress had already gone back to her other customers.

Matt plucked it from her hand and turned it over. “Just great. This is more than a picture, Kylie.”

He shoved the photo beneath her nose and Kylie gasped at the block letters on the back of the picture. Another day, another message.

She’s dead.


Chapter Five

Excitement fizzed through Matt’s veins. Someone had made an effort to communicate with them. And that someone might still be in the restaurant.

He yanked open the door. “Let’s see what the waitress has to say about this…unless you can put the picture to your forehead and get a reading on who left it at our table.”

“It doesn’t…” She sighed and pushed past him, back into the crowded dining room, buzzing with conversation and activity.

If he had known it was this much fun to tease Kylie about her special powers, he would’ve tried it years ago.

“She’s over there.” Kylie pointed toward the kitchen, where their waitress was leaning against a counter, waiting for an order to come up.

Threading his way through the tables, Matt scanned the room for anyone taking a particular interest in him or Kylie, but everyone seemed more interested in their food and their own companions.

Matt tapped the waitress on the shoulder. “Excuse me. That wasn’t our picture. Did you see anyone near our table after we left?”

“Wheat, not sourdough.” She shoved the plate back across the chrome counter and planted her hands on her hips. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

Kylie shifted beside him, covering her mouth with her hand.

Matt rolled his eyes at Kylie. “The picture. It’s not ours. Someone else left it there. Did you see anyone around our table?”

“Just the busboy, Richard.” The waitress narrowed her eyes and surveyed the room. She pointed to a tall, gangly teen clearing a table by the window. “There he is. Slow as molasses, too.”

Matt placed a hand on the small of Kylie’s back and steered her through the tables toward the window. Richard was sweeping imaginary crumbs from the booth, one earbud from his iPod dangling over his shoulder.

Kylie whispered, “I can tell already, he’s not going to be any help.”

“Is that your psychic powers kicking in?”

Sliding the photo of Bree onto the table in front of Richard, Matt asked, “Did you see who left this picture at the table over in the corner?”

“Huh?” The teen yanked the other earbud out of his ear and tinny music battled with the noise from the restaurant.

Matt tapped the photo. “This picture, someone left it on our table.”

Richard nodded. “With the check. It was under the salt shaker with the check.”

“Did you see who put it there?”

“I thought you did.”

“You didn’t see anyone near our table after we left?”

“I didn’t notice.” He jerked his thumb at the waitress, taking an order at the same table where they’d just eaten. “Arlene’s always getting on my case for being slow, but I thought you guys were coming back so I let the table sit. The picture was there when I cleared the table.”

“Okay, thanks.” Matt reached into the deep pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out one of his new cards, wrapped a five-dollar bill around it, and slipped it to Richard.




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