Absolutely, Positively (14 page)

With goofy smiles, we lay there, staring at each other a long time, our chests heaving with exertion, the water running in the sink a backdrop to our heavy breathing.

Finally, I said, “You pissed off my cat.”

Sean rolled slightly and kissed me. My body sizzled at his touch, the water droplets evaporating. He rose up on his elbows, cupped my face, kissed my cheeks, my nose. “I can’t move in yet because you’re not ready.”

“How can you say that? I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t ready.”

“You were caught up in the moment.”

“Was not.”

He smiled, that damn dimple popping. “Were, too. You’re ready here,” he said, pressing his hand to my heart. “But not here.” He tapped the top of my head. “Because you haven’t quite realized it yet.”

“Realized what?” A drop of water dripped off his chin onto my neck. I felt it sliding downward, tickling its way to my nape.

“That I’d never willingly leave you.” He levered off the ground. Reaching out, he grabbed my wrist and helped me to my feet. “When you realize that, I’ll gladly move in.”

I stared at him. “It’s like you’re talking in riddles.”

We did have something special between us. Something that went beyond simple attraction. Something no other Valentine ever had. But was it enough?

He pulled out a roll of paper towels. “You forget. I can
feel
it, Lucy. And I still feel the fear. Until it’s gone…”

I grabbed a dish towel, soaked up some water. I had forgotten. Forgotten he could feel my emotions when he touched my palm. Only he didn’t realize the fear I was currently feeling wasn’t from commitment—it came from seeing him lifeless. And I had no idea how I’d ever get rid of the fear that his life would be cut short due to his bad heart.

“You’re lucky I’m a patient guy.”

“You’re lucky I don’t kick you and your toothbrush out.”

He smirked. “You’d never.”

My cell phone rang the
Hawaii Five-O
theme. I was smiling as I answered—it didn’t last.

“Mac Gladstone has liver cancer,” Aiden said. “The doctor gave him three to five years to live if he started treatment right away.”

Limply I leaned against the counter. “When did Mac find out?”

“End of summer.”

“He didn’t start treatment, did he?”

“No,” Aiden said. “He has maybe a year, tops.”

Sean continued to wipe down the kitchen, but he was watching me carefully.

“What does this mean for the investigation?” I asked.

I heard the fatigue in Aiden’s voice: “The hell if I know.”

“We’re going back to Jemima’s today. I’ll let you know what we find out.”

Sean and I often worked together on cases for the state police—especially when my visions were involved. This was the first time Aiden was working with us on one of Sean’s cases and it felt a little awkward. “Thanks for checking with the doctor.”

Sean and I never would have been able to get that kind of information. The state police had a lot more pull—including the ability to get warrants—than we did.

“By the way, the car that hit Spero was found around the corner from the hotel last night. It had been stolen from a nearby neighborhood. It’s being processed.”

“Any word on Tristan Rourke’s whereabouts?”

“No.”

“How sure are the police that Tristan is the one who ran down Spero?” I was holding out hope it had all been a mistake, some sort of coincidence.

“One hundred percent, Lucy.”

“The surveillance tapes were conclusive?”

“Not at all. They were too grainy to see anything. Completely useless. But they don’t matter when there’s an eyewitness.”

“A witness?”

“Yeah. Saw the whole thing go down and made a positive ID.”

A positive ID? On Tristan Rourke? That could only mean one thing. It had to have been someone who knew him. “Who was it?” I asked. “The witness?”

I heard some rustling of papers. “The guy’s wife. Mary Ellen Spero.”

16

A half hour later, Grendel was still mad about getting wet. He liked a bath almost as much as he liked Rufus—and Grendel’s impromptu shower in the kitchen had him skulking around the cottage in search of things to destroy. I already twice had to stop him from climbing the drapes. I brought out my best kitty placater—a can of tuna.

As soon as Grendel heard the pop top, all was forgiven as he rushed over and twined his body around my legs, doing feline figure eights as I spooned the tuna into his bowl.

The pipes knocked in the wall as Sean finished up his shower. I was trying to work through what he’d said, but I simply didn’t understand. Yes, I was scared—who wouldn’t be in my situation? But I was willing to take a leap of faith and didn’t understand why Sean wasn’t yet. It was giving me a headache, trying to sort it out.

My cell rang as I was reaching for the Advil bottle. “This is Lucy,” I answered, the phone pressed to my ear as I shook two tablets into my palm. My stomach was also still hurting, but I was trying to ignore the pain.

“Hi, Lucy, it’s Christa Hayes.”

I checked the clock. It was a little after nine. “Are you feeling all right? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Late start today. I was wondering if I could come by and see Rufus after school today. I saw the article in the paper this morning. I miss him.”

“I’m really sorry, Christa, but he’s at the vet’s.”

Her voice rose. “He is? Why?”

“Just for a checkup. He’s not eating very well. Is there a special kind of food he likes?”

“I told my mom he needed his food.… I can bring it over after school today.”

“Actually, Sean and I were coming over to see your parents this morning. I can pick it up then.”

“You’re coming soon?”

“About half an hour. Is that all right?”

She coughed. “I mean, yeah. That’s fine. Just, ah…”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Thanks. I won’t be there—classes are starting soon—but I’ll have Esme leave it out for you.”

“Esme?”

“The housekeeper.”

“Okay. Rufus should be back tonight if you want to stop by then.”

“I have play practice tonight, but maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said, imagining that it was hard for her to lose not only her grandfather but her dog as well.

I’d just hung up with her when my phone rang while still in my hand. I glanced at the readout, cringed.

“It’s Meaghan,” she said as I answered.

Her tone had lost some of its joy. She must have heard the news about Tristan. “I’m glad you called.” I downed the Advil with a gulp of water.

“Did you hear the news about Tristan?” she asked.

Grendel was hissing at Thoreau, a warning to stay away from his tuna, as I walked into the bedroom. I wanted to get some laundry started before Sean and I left to meet with Jemima. I stripped the sheets from the bed, dropped them onto the floor.

“Unfortunately, yes.” I tossed a fitted sheet over the mattress as the water turned off in the bathroom.

“The police think it was Tristan who ran him over,” she said. “It’s just not possible. Tristan isn’t the violent type, Lucy; he just isn’t.”

“Meaghan, did you know Anthony Spero told Tristan you were dead and that it was Tristan’s fault you took your own life? It’s what led to the attack eight years ago.”

“He didn’t!” she cried in a quivery voice. “He wouldn’t. That’s so … so cruel. Beyond cruel.”

I couldn’t agree more, but it didn’t change the fact that Tristan now had a very big motive for killing Anthony. I gave up on getting the corners of the fitted sheet to cooperate one-handed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I said, “Tristan just found out last night you were alive. That kind of shock might have led to what happened to Spero.”

“He thought I was dead all these years? How do you know all this?”

I figured it couldn’t hurt at this point to let her know. “Sean and I spoke with Tristan last night.”

“You did? When? How’s he seem? How does he look? Did he say anything about me?”

And just like that, I could picture Meaghan in high school. “He was angry, Meaghan. Anthony had lied to him. Not a little white lie, either.”

“Did he want to meet me?”

I sighed. This was what I was afraid of. “On his own terms.”

“What’s that mean?”

“He wanted to us to hand over your information to him so he could contact you on his own.”

“Did you?” There was an edge of panic in her voice, and I realized it had nothing to do with Tristan being a criminal and everything to do with her thinking she might never see him again.

“No, I needed to check with you first. You’re forgetting he’s a wanted man, Meaghan.”

“I don’t believe it. I just don’t. It’s not in Tristan’s nature.”

Mary Ellen Spero might disagree. “I hate to be blunt, Meaghan, but denial can be dangerous.”

Sean stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. I lost my train of thought for a moment as my gaze skimmed his muscled shoulders, chest, stomach. His scar, a thin red line, marred the skin near his left shoulder. If only it was as easy as kissing and making it better.… He’d be the healthiest guy around.

Sean raised a questioning eyebrow at the phone.

Meaghan,
I mouthed.

“What if he’s not involved?” she was saying. “What if this was some colossal coincidence?”

“There’s an eyewitness.”

“Eyewitnesses can be wrong.”

She was sounding desperate, and as I knew her history, it worried me. This news might send her over the edge again. “Nevertheless, as my client, I’m worried about
you.
”

“You have no reason to be. I’m fine. And I want you to give Tristan my information.”

Sean pressed a kiss to my neck as he crossed the room. He slipped on a pair of black trousers and took the floppy corner of the fitted sheet, pulling it over the edge. “I’ll do this,” he whispered, grabbing the top sheet.

“It’s not that easy anymore, Meaghan.” I scooted off the bed.

“Why not?”

Grabbing the pile of bedding from the floor, I headed to the door. “There’s no way to contact him. He said he’d be in touch with us, which isn’t likely to happen now that he’s a wanted man. Besides, that sort of thing might be considered aiding and abetting.”

“Are you dropping my case?” she asked.

In light of the new charges against Tristan, I really had no other choice. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish it had turned out differently.”

I tried not to dwell on the guilt. That it was because of Lost Loves—of me—that Tristan had any current contact with the Speros at all.

I brought the load of laundry into the kitchen, where a stackable washer and dryer hid behind a pair of bifold doors.

“You can’t be serious.”

I felt the hurt in her tone. “Look, Meaghan, I’m a little out of my comfort zone here. What’s going on now is beyond any service I can provide for you through Lost Loves.”

There was a long pause. “You work closely with SD Investigations, right? With Sean?”

I blushed at how closely I’d worked with Sean last night. I started the wash. “I do. Lost Loves is part of their agency, too.”

“I want to hire Sean, then.”

“Technically, you already have.” The bed was made and Sean was fully dressed by the time I went back into my bedroom. “And I’m afraid he can’t help you, either. He has to follow the same rules.”

“No, not to find Tristan, we can put that on the back burner for now, but to prove he had nothing to do with that accident. I don’t care what it costs. This isn’t fair to Tristan. I have to fight for him, Lucy.”

I worried my lip. On one level, fighting for Tristan would make any romantic swoon, the good girl saving the bad boy. But on a more realistic level, Tristan was a dangerous man and seeking him out was akin to playing with fire.

“It’s not illegal for a private investigator to look into what happened, is it?”

“No.…” Though the police probably wouldn’t be too happy about it.

“Could you run it by Sean? See what he thinks?”

“Hold on a second, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

I covered the phone with my hand.

“What’s going on?” Sean asked.

“I had to drop the case.”

He nodded. We had already talked about it.

“But she wants to hire you through SDI. To clear Tristan’s name. She refuses to believe he had anything to do with it. I told her I’d run it past you, but I really think it’s not a good idea for us to stay involved in this case.”

“I’ll do it,” he said without hesitation.

Slack-jawed, I stared at him.

“Here,” he said, motioning to the phone. I handed it over. “Meaghan? This is Sean Donahue.”

His back was to me as he spoke and I could see his broad shoulders tighten with tension again. Muscles bunched along his spine. Damp dark hair curled along the nape of his neck.

I blatantly eavesdropped as he made plans to meet with Meaghan this afternoon to get the paperwork out of the way.

When he hung up, he slowly turned around.

I lifted an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

“Trust me on this?” he asked.

Trust me.
I’d asked him to trust me not so long ago, when I had no one else to turn to. He hadn’t hesitated. It was all about leaps with Sean, no baby steps. No easing into a relationship. It was headfirst or nothing at all.

I softened. Nodded.

He handed me the phone and walked out of the bedroom without another word.

*   *   *

The front gate at Jemima Hayes’s house was open wide. We pulled into the drive, the tires of Sean’s Mustang splashing over rivulets of melting snow. Sunbeams reflected off Mac’s glass house, making it sparkle like the glistening water beyond the bluff.

I’d called ahead to make sure Jemima would be home, and Rick Hayes had answered the phone. Em would have been beside herself with glee to be speaking with a rock icon. To me, he sounded like a normal middle-aged man who wasn’t entirely happy to be talking with me. Especially after I explained why I was calling. To his credit, he relented to a visit.

Tension hung uneasily between Sean and me. There was obviously something he wasn’t telling me about the Rourke case, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of hurt at being left out.