Page 46 of The Psychic

The apartment building was a madhouse.

Ronnie had only heard a buzzing in her ears for a while. The crowd of techs and officers and EMTs had descended en masse before she could legitimately answer him. She told the techs about what she’d touched and where—only the doorknob— but that was about all she could manage.

Sloan had steadied her, then immediately starting firing questions. What was she doing here? Did she find Shana on the floor? When had she gotten here? Had she seen anyone else? Was Shana gone before she arrived, or still alive? Had she said anything?

Shana’s dead , was the refrain running around her brain. Shana’s dead, Shana’s dead, Shana’s dead …

You were supposed to save her.

It was hardly a positive that she’d been right about seeing Shana’s dead body on the floor of her apartment before she’d actually died. It made Ronnie look guilty as hell, which is exactly how she felt.

She’d moved onto the outdoor corridor with Sloan, rain gurgling in the gutter, some dripping through the boards of the floor above that weren’t caught by the overhanging roof of the top apartment tier.

Now, Sloan was as wet as she was, his hair dark and damp, rain sliding down the sides of his cheeks.

He was looking at her in a way that made her want to shrivel up inside, like she was some kind of freak.

At least an hour had passed. Maybe more.

She couldn’t tell. But the ME had arrived and pronounced Shana deceased, not that Ronnie had suffered any doubts even though she hadn’t touched the body.

“Why were you here?” she demanded, realizing she hadn’t asked the question earlier.

“Shana called me.”

“So, you knew she was alive, too,” Ronnie accused.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

“You asked me that already,” she realized. One of his questions.

“Yeah, and you didn’t answer me.”

“She called me, too. And then I left her a message that I wanted to see her, and she called me back, not long before I got here, and told me she was at her apartment.”

“I can check the phone records.”

“Do that,” she said, not bothering to mask her irritation. “Please.”

“Did she say anything to you? Give an idea what was happening?”

“Just that she was scared … spooked … I never got why. She was going to tell me, I think, but she was dead by the time I got here. Strangled.” She drew in a long, calming breath.

“I can drive you home,” Sloan offered, once it was clear that neither of them was needed any longer.

“I can drive,” she told him.

“I have a few more questions, but I’d rather we did it inside.”

A few? More like he wanted an interrogation. “Fine. Follow me. I’m taking my car,” she told him, her smoldering emotions flaring in a burst of indignation.

“Fine,” he agreed tersely.

She wanted to fight back. Fight him.

She drove fast—probably too fast—and parked in the apartment’s lot just as Sloan swooped into one of the few empty visitor’s spots. She didn’t bother waiting for him, just headed upstairs, feeling weary all over … but mad. Still mad. And wet and miserable.

He followed her up the steps. “I already told you everything I know,” she muttered, scrounging in her purse for her key as she reached the long porch that ran the length of the building. “I didn’t kill her. I just saw it. And it … sucks …”

“I want to talk to you about that.”

“By all means.”

She threw him a fierce glare as she shoved open her apartment door. She was going to cry. God. Damn. It. She was going to cry. Shana’s body … and Mel …

She fought back the burning tears. She was just too tired.

And deep down furious at whoever had done this.

It felt like they were playing with her.

Even though it wasn’t about her, of course.

Shana and Melanie dead. Dead! So the idea of the killer toying with her was ridiculous, but something was different.

Whoever was doing this was involving her, too. It was so frustrating. And scary.

Sloan closed the door behind them, cutting off the wet, winter air. They stood in the small entry space off the kitchen and suddenly the room seemed too close.

“You can hang up your coat,” she said, stepping away from him and pointing to the hooks on the back of the door. She shrugged out of hers and had a moment of wondering what her hair looked like. Undoubtedly plastered to her head.

“I didn’t kill Shana,” she said again, hanging up her blazer.

“I don’t think you did.”

Was that true? He still sounded unconvinced. She pulled out her cell phone. She’d called Marian and gotten Carlton, who’d been snobby and snarly when she’d told him she had to cancel, without explaining why. Now she had several voice mails from Marian’s number.

“I was supposed to meet someone for dinner,” she explained, though he didn’t ask, while she walked into the living room. Without listening to them, she punched in the Langford number, but once again reached Carlton, not Marian. “Nice of you to return Marian’s calls,” he ground out.

“Is Marian available?”

“She’s in her bedroom and she doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

That set him off. “You’ve jacked her around all over the place! I don’t know what you expect!”

It was not the time for Carlton Langdorf to get on his high horse with her. “Tell her I’ll be there at six sharp tomorrow.”

“She’s done with you!”

“If that doesn’t work, have her call me.” Asshole.

She clicked off, angered anew. She hadn’t wanted to be Marian Langford’s private psychic, still didn’t, but Carlton was infuriatingly high-handed in a way that made her want to punch back.

Sloan’s eyes were looking around her apartment in that cop way, cataloguing everything.

“I don’t have anything to hide,” she snapped. She wanted to drop into her favorite chair, pull up her fuzzy blanket and block out the world, but she couldn’t, and his presence made her nervous. She was shivering, she realized, and hugged herself closely.

“Shana was in the exact position you described, but she wasn’t there earlier,” he said tonelessly.

“I know. I was ahead of myself.”

“How did you know at all ?”

She narrowed her gaze at him. What was he really asking? “You know how I know … that’s what this is about.”

“I don’t know how you know,” he came back swiftly. “Is it like a sudden inspiration? A whole picture that bursts on the scene? Something that develops slowly?”

He was exasperated, and she wasn’t sure if he was being facetious or serious.

She decided to take him at face value. “Okay. Look,” she acquiesced, palms out, fingers spread.

“Sometimes it’s like a dream. I wake up from it.

And sometimes it just comes on me. If it’s strong enough, it can make me stumble or fall. ”

“What happened with Shana?” he demanded. “How did that one go?”

“I was on the phone to you,” she reminded him, “and I got a vision and Angel, my neighbor, caught me as I was falling. That’s what I mean. That was this morning and then Shana called me, us, I guess.”

“So, you were just off a few hours?”

“Yes!” she said, resenting his tone as she stepped into the living room and turned on a table lamp. God, she was still cold.

“You were ahead of whoever strangled her.”

“Yes.” She hadn’t really thought about it that way, but yes.

“Did you tell anyone what you ‘saw’?”

“You say it like that because you still don’t believe me,” she snapped back.

He threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know what the fuck to believe.”

He was angry, too, she realized. At whoever had killed Shana. They agreed on that, at least. “Believe this: I want to know who did this. And who killed Mel. And if the two deaths are related. And if Clint Mercer had anything to do with either of them.”

“I want to find out who killed them and rip their throat out,” Sloan admitted.

She felt a thrill of fear go through her, maybe a thrill of something else. Sloan had always been so contained. So capable and cool. Shana’s death had unleashed something hiding beneath the surface. “I want to, too.”

“Tell me how to find them.”

“I wish I could.”

“Help me.”

She searched his formidable gaze. “I don’t have control over any of it. You don’t know how much I wish I did.”

“You’re shivering,” he said suddenly as if he’d finally noticed and wasn’t completely consumed by his own frustration.

“I’m cold … kind of … not so much right now.” Which was a lie, but beneath his gaze, she felt an unwelcome warmth and she couldn’t help returning his stare. Was that her pulse she felt at her throat? Did he see it?

Sloan looked away first. His gaze shifting to her lips. He raked his fingers through his still damp hair. “I should leave,” he said, as if arguing with himself.

“You should leave.” She didn’t know what was going to happen next, but it felt dangerous. And oddly welcoming. The room seeming to shrink, the atmosphere charging, a wanting starting to seep into her blood.

Neither of them moved. And she remembered her vision at Aunt Kat’s, where they were holding each other in the rain …

Don’t go in the water.

She dropped her gaze to his chest. She had the unlikely urge to press herself against him so much she actually swayed a tiny bit. Remembering him holding her with raindrops falling all around them. He took two giant steps forward, but she shook her head. “I’m okay. Sorry. It’s just a lot.”

He was close enough she could feel some of his body heat, smelled his clean, male scent. Oh, no …

The desire to lean in was damn near irresistible and she saw the darkening of his gaze, his pupils dilating.

Oh. Lord.

Her breath stopped somewhere in the back of her throat.

I got this feeling that this is the beginning of something beautiful between the two of you.

Evan Caldwell’s comment brought back a bit of sanity. At least on Ronnie’s part. Until she looked up and saw the smoldering desire in his eyes, how dark they’d become.

“Oh, damn,” she whispered.

“Damn,” he agreed.

“You’re not leaving.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“I haven’t kissed you … in a lot of years,” she breathed.

“You never kissed me. I kissed you.”

Her heart thumped. “I don’t remember.”

For an answer he reached for her arms and slowly pulled her toward him.

Her blouse pressed against his shirt and he wrapped an arm around her, bending her backwards just enough to make her cling to him, something she desperately wanted to do.

He pressed his lips against hers and her mouth opened of its own accord.

He slipped his tongue inside and she sucked hard.

Everything felt on fire. Vaguely she wondered if he was in that place of awe a little bit, where Galen had been when he’d discovered that what she could do was real.

Of course, he’d fallen out of that mode right away.

He’d always been more interested in who her father was than who she was.

The kiss deepened and she strained to press herself against him as best she could, given her precarious position. He immediately lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, feeling his hardness so blessedly good between her hips. She couldn’t get close enough.

“I don’t want to wait.” Her breath came out in a whoosh when he broke the kiss long enough to move to her ear, his tongue finding whorls and tiny crevices that sent shock waves through her.

I’m going to marry you.

She nearly cried out. Wanted to press the heels of her hands against her own head to stop that particular thought. It was wrong. That wasn’t what this was. She didn’t want that.

His mouth came back to hers as he carried her into the bedroom and then the bathroom. What?

She blinked.

“Shower,” he murmured against her lips.

Ahhhh. “Yes.”

He set her on her feet and they broke apart for a moment. Her chest was already heaving and his breath was coming fast, too. She kicked off her shoes and he flashed a devastating smile, something he didn’t do near enough, and slipped out of his, too.

She started to unbutton her blouse but he pushed her hands away and did it for her, sweeping it off her shoulders into a pool on the floor. Her bra clasped in front, which deepened his smile.

She stopped him at the clasp and his gaze shot to hers. “My turn,” she said.

A bit reluctantly, he dropped his hands and let her take off his shirt. One look at his sculpted muscles and she wanted to run her hands over him, which she tried, but he manacled both of her wrists in one palm and said, “My turn.”

He unclasped her bra with the deft fingers of one hand.

“You have skills,” she observed.

“You have …” His eyes devoured her breasts and his breath came out in a sigh.

She felt herself melt inside. She hadn’t realized how anxious and repressed she’d been. When was the last time she had sex? Good sex? Never? She knew this was going to be better than anything she’d had before … it already was.

“Okay. Shower,” she whispered, slipping from his grasp and turning on the spray. He was already tugging down her pants as she checked the temperature. She shivered again, but it wasn’t from the cold.

By the time she turned back he’d ripped off his pants and kicked them away. He grabbed her and they both went under the water, locked in a kiss.

“I don’t want to wait, either,” he growled against her ear.

“Yes … yes …”

He brought her legs around him again and she eagerly settled herself so that he could push into her.

She gasped, swallowed water, laughed. He chuckled, but it ended in a groan as they worked in rhythm, friction feeding each other’s desire.

Ronnie buried her face against his neck, so close to climax so fast she was gasping and moaning and clawing at his back to drive him closer, closer, closer.

“Ronnie …” he murmured unsteadily, and she closed her eyes remembering the vision of rain falling over them.

One moment she was clutching and grabbing and hugging and the next she was spiraling into waves of pleasure, crying out and loosening her grip, which made him clasp her harder, press her back into the wall as he drove deeper and deeper, reaching his own throbbing climax with a soft groan against her wet hair as his heart pounded wildly in tandem with hers.

They stayed that way for long, long seconds, minutes maybe, before Sloan slowly set her on her feet again. Her hair was in her eyes and he gently pushed it away. He looked behind them and turned off the spray. They were both still breathing rapidly.

“Is the interrogation finished?” she murmured.

His lips curved. “We could go another round. Didn’t want to run you out of hot water.”

In truth, what she wanted now, more than anything, was to wrap herself around him and spend the night beneath the covers of her bed.

But then a thought hit her and she felt cold again.

He immediately dragged her close. “I don’t think I want to hear it yet.”

“You don’t. But I just remembered. I told Evan Caldwell that Shana was lying on her back on the carpet in her apartment.”