A touch of love (4 page)

He didn't bother to call out her name as he walked through the dining room. There was a study on his left and he paused a moment to look over the crowded bookcases that filled one whole wall. Several shelves were devoted to New Age philosophy and, while the subject had never interested him in the past, he was gready intrigued now. He hoped Aubrey would let him browse through her collection to see what he could find out about psychic abilities. An Apple computer and printer sat on a desk by the windows, and he realized he would be wise to ask to read the book she had written before he borrowed any others.

His most immediate task, however, was to find her. His boot heels echoed with a dull thud as he walked on into an entry hall. It opened on his left into a spacious formal

living room. He then glanced up the wide staircase on his right and wondered if he should search the second floor, but seeing there was another room past the stairs, he tried it first.

Like the rest of Aubrey's home, the den was as exquisitely decorated and as neat as a furniture showroom. Besides the door leading to the hall, the den had two others. The first opened into a large walk-in closet, the other led to what he assumed must be a bathroom. He knocked lighdy.

"Aubrey? Are you okay?"

"No, I think I just died. Please go away."

"Come on out and lie down on the couch. That will make you feel better."

Aubrey doubted that her sudden attack of queasiness would ever abate. She splashed her face with cold water and reluctandy opened the door. "I think what I need is fresh air. Let's go back outside."

Because she still looked far from well, Jesse didn't challenge her on that request. That was the second time she had rushed him out of her house that day, and he had the distinct impression that she didn't feel comfortable having him there. Hell, he wouldn't hurt her. If she wanted to invite him upstairs to see her bedroom, he would assume she wanted him to try out the bed with her in it, but he wouldn't have tossed her over his shoulder like a caveman and carried her upstairs.

It was clear Aubrey wasn't going to ask him to share her bed, though. He had never met a woman who displayed so little interest in him as a man. That wasn't at all flattering to his masculine pride, but he could scarcely utter the complaint aloud.

When they reached the patio, Aubrey sat down and again propped up her feet. She picked up her glass of iced tea and held it against first one flushed cheek and then the other. "Intuition provides only subtle hunches. Sometimes

I hear a voice which offers a brief warning, such as, 'Don't forget your umbrella/ or it might urge me to buy something in the market I'm sure I don't need. Then when I get home, I discover it's precisely the item I require. I've never experienced anything like this, though. I feel as though I've come down with the plague/'

Jesse wasn't certain how to take her comment about voices, but decided to let it slide for the moment. "Is this the first time you've tried something like this?"

His eyes were lit with a sympathetic glow, and she found it surprisingly easy to confide in him. "Yes. I wasn't lying about not being psychic. I'm not, or at least I wasn't until today."

"Maybe you just never tried."

"I've done experiments with Trisha where we've taken turns going into another room and drawing pictures for the other one to reproduce. I'm better at sending images than receiving them, but neither of us has particularly impressive ESP."

Extrasensory perception was something Jesse had always put in the same catagoiy as magic tricks. He thought it was the work of clever illusionists, nothing more. When Aubrey fell silent as she tried to compose herself, he felt an annoying twinge of guilt. Maybe he had tried to take advantage of her by asking her to look at the photograph, but he had never expected it to make her physically ill.

Her lashes were spiked with tears, but there were no dark smudges beneath her eyes. Maybe she wore waterproof mascara because of the pool. What kind of woman bothered to apply mascara and lipstick before going out to trim her bougainvillaea? he wondered. Then he knew: one with the class to take the trouble to look her best even when no one else was around.

His earlier preoccupation with her legs now made him ashamed. Guinevere was curled up nearby, but still observ-

ing him with a wary glance. He smiled at the dog, then felt silly for caring what she thought of him.

"Actually, being able to sense vibrations, to pick up meaning from objects is called psychometry, not ESP," Aubrey remarked, softly reminding herself, rather than instructing him.

"Well, whatever it's called, I believe you saw something I didn't." Jesse tapped the edge of the photo on the table as he thought out loud. "They had to have been killed at home and then taken somewhere else and buried. My aunt can't sell their house because it can't be proven Pete and Marlene are dead. They'd owned it for a number of years so the mortgage payments aren't large and they're being paid out of the estate. It's a nice day for a drive. Why don't we go out to the valley and see what kind of vibes you can pick up there?"

Appalled by his suggestion, Aubrey swung her feet off the chair and turned to face him. "What a wonderful idea! If I get sick to my stomach looking at a photograph, what sort of reaction do you hope I'll get at a murder scene? Do you know how to treat someone having convulsions, or can you do CPR? Maybe we should just telephone ahead and have the paramedics meet us there."

"I'm sorry. That didn't sound very nice, did it?"

"No, it certainly didn't."

"Like I said, I'm sorry. It's just that my Aunt Edith is the only relative I have left, and I'd like to see her son's killers get the justice they deserve. If you can help us, then I'm going to continue to encourage you to try. Don't accuse me of using you either. It's just the only possible way I can see to trap the killers."

Aubrey was exasperated that Jesse was so dense. "Look, I might see the murderers' names written in a bloody scrawl ten feet high, but if the police can't read that gruesome graffiti too, what good is it going to do? They need evidence

and witnesses. Unless we can provide those, there's no point in going any further with this."

While Jesse flinched at her gory imagery, he was not a man who was easily discouraged. He simply took a new tack. "What were you planning to do today, just work in your yard?"

1 'Yes, and there's lots more to do."

Jesse disagreed. "Your yard is so damn perfect it could be on the cover of a seed catalog. What you need is to relax, lady. Go on upstairs and change your clothes. You're coming with me out to Pete's house. I'll promise you now that if you feel even the slightest bit of discomfort I'll let you sit in the truck, but I want to take a look around myself."

As he rose to his feet and plunked his hat on the back of his head, Aubrey sent an appraising glance up Jesse's impressive frame. He was again wearing Levi's and a blue plaid Western shirt that came close to matching his eyes. The look in those bright blue eyes was now an extremely determined one.

"Just what are we playing here, the old 'Me Tarzan, you Jane' bit?"

That question made Jesse laugh. "No. I guess the type of women I know like taking orders. I didn't mean to insult you though. Will you please come out to Pete's house with me? Even if we don't find anything of value, I can promise you a nice afternoon."

That he would change his tone so quickly surprised Aubrey. Now that he was being so polite, she was reluctant to refuse his request. There was another consideration, too. What if she really did possess a psychic talent she had never before been called upon to use? Didn't she owe it to herself to test its range? Besides, he was right, it would be nice to get away from home for a change. She spent far too much of her time there, and all of it alone.

"Do you promise I won't have to get out of your truck if I can't handle visiting the house?"

Jesse held up his right hand. "You have my word on it."

"All right then. Give me a few minutes to dress. If you'd like to swim, there are some men's trunks in the cabana."

Jesse turned to note the small structure at the far end of the pool. It was easily large enough to hold a dressing room and bath as well as the pool's heating system. "Yeah, maybe I will."

"I won't be long."

Jesse knew women though, and thinking that unlikely, he went to get himself a pair of trunks.

Aubrey took a couple of aspirin, then hurriedly showered and washed her hair. When she entered her bedroom to choose something to wear, she couldn't resist crossing to the window that faced the pool. Jesse was swimming laps, and she sat down on the window seat as she continued to towel dry her hair. He was an excellent swimmer, and she soon became so fascinated by his effortless rhythm she completely lost track of the time.

He had the fluid grace of a natural athlete, and she thought it a great pity that he had not taken up baseball, tennis, or golf—any sport but bull riding which she still thought must only appeal to the mentally deranged. Jesse didn't seem the least bit deranged, though. He was so attractive it was no wonder Edith Pursely was so proud of him.

As for her own opinion, she still felt numb where men were concerned. Jesse was handsome; she could appreciate that fact, but he didn't raise her pulse rate. When he paused at the shallow end of the pool and looked up at her, she was embarrassed to have been caught spying on him, but managed to wave as though her actions had been perfectly natural.

Jesse broke into a wide grin when he spotted Aubrey at

the window. Apparently she was a lot more interested in him than she let on, and that pleased him no end. She had a purple bath towel wrapped around her, and with her damp curls she looked so delightfully feminine he was immediately inspired to climb out of the pool and walk toward the house. When he stood directly below her window, he called out in a stage whisper.

"Do you know why cowboys make such good lovers?"

"I hadn't heard that they did," Aubrey replied. The question was such a silly one she couldn't help but laugh as she sent an admiring glance down his barely clothed body. If appearance meant anything, then she knew Jesse would be incredible in bed. He was not only tall, but well built—so perfect a physical specimen he could easily have earned a living as a male model, or a stripper, which she thought he might find more suited to his talents. She was wise enough to know looks weren't all that a man needed to please a woman, though.

"I'm the one trying to tell the joke here," Jesse complained with all the righteous indignation he could muster.

"I'm sorry. All right, why do cowboys make such good lovers?" Aubrey held her breath, hoping he wouldn't have the audacity to claim they were all hung like bulls.

Jesse again flashed his most charming grin. "It's because we only have to stay in the saddle eight seconds to be a champion."

Relieved that his answer was merely suggestive rather than just plain dirty, Aubrey broke into lilting peals of laughter. "That's absolutely awful. In a rodeo, does a cowboy only have to stay on a horse or a bull eight seconds to win the prize money?"

"It would be the longest eight seconds of your life," Jesse shouted.

"Is that part of the joke?" Aubrey called down to him.

It was Jesse's turn to laugh then. "No, it wasn't supposed

to be." He shook his head as he began to back away. "Hurry and get dressed. We can't waste the whole afternoon fooling around here."

Aubrey watched him walk around the pool to the cabana. The man had great buns, she thought with a small knowing smile. "Eight seconds," she whispered to herself as she got up. "That might be long enough for a bull, but certainly not a woman." She was smiling though, and that was an expression she seldom wore outside of her seminars. And when she joined Jesse downstairs ten minutes later, she was smiling still.

"Why do I get the feeling this is only the second time you've ridden in a truck?" Jesse asked as he turned up the volume on the radio. It was tuned to KLAC, and the Judds' song playing was one of his favorites.

"I must have ridden in a truck more than twice," Aubrey argued, although she couldn't recall when. Because Country/Western music was too melancholy for her taste, she wished Jesse had the sense to turn it off rather than up. Thinking suffering through such dismal accompaniment was the price she would have to pay for traveling with a cowboy, she held her tongue, but it was a real challenge to do so. Her only consolation was that he wasn't talking on his CB radio.

"Twice," Jesse mused aloud. "I think knowing me is going to provide a real education for you."

"In what way?" Aubrey scoffed.

"We'll just have to wait and see," Jesse replied. She seemed too restless to enjoy anymore teasing so he let the matter drop. He hoped she wasn't worried that visiting the house would make her sick again.

Jesse had been in the Los Angeles area often enough to drive the freeways with confidence. He took 134 west

to the 405, then followed it up to Northridge. There was the usual amount of Sunday traffic, several places where their progress slowed to a crawl, but he was grateful he didn't have to fight the traffic on a daily basis and didn't swear about it Aubrey seemed uncomfortable the whole drive, and while he didn't want her nerves to get the better Of her, he failed to think of a way to reassure her, so he just hummed along with the radio rather than try. When finally she spoke, he jumped at the sound of her voice.

"You said Harlan Caine was a developer. What sort of projects does he undertake—hotels, office buildings, subdivisions?" Appearing interested in his reply, Aubrey leaned over to turn down the radio.

4 'No, he builds shopping malls, or at least he makes people think that he does in order to get them to invest in his company. I'm not sure he ever actually completed one, though. Why do you ask?"

"A construction site would make an excellent place to dispose of bodies."

'That it would," Jesse agreed. "But I don't think Caine had any projects under construction at the time Pete and his family disappeared. I guess that's what their argument was about. Pete had invested in a project that didn't look like it was ever going to get off the drawing board. He'd mentioned to a friend that he was going to hire an attorney, maybe start a class action suit against Caine. He didn't get the chance."