Truth or Dare (22 page)

“I know, but it amounts to the same thing because you don't believe me.”

“No, it isn't the same thing at all. I realize that you're convinced that you're psychic. I think you just happen to be a hell of a lot more intuitive than the average person. But regardless of how we each interpret your abilities, let's get one thing clear. I do
not
think that you need to see a doctor. You're not crazy.”

“Ethan—”

He kissed her, quick and hard, sweeping away her arguments. When he raised his head she was breathless.

“You've had some extremely unpleasant experiences because of your intuition,” he said steadily. “So you think you're not normal.”

She clenched her hands at her sides. “It's true. I'm
not
normal.”

“Well, hell, neither am I. I told you once that I was the exact opposite of my brother Drew. He did everything right. Met and exceeded all expectations. Followed a straight upward trajectory from kindergarten to president and CEO of a major corporation. Along the way he found time for a good marriage and a couple of terrific sons.”

But it was Drew who had been murdered in cold blood, she recalled, leaving Ethan to pick up the pieces of his brother's life and seek cold justice in an uncaring universe.

“I understand what you're trying to do here,” she whispered. “But it isn't necessary.”

“Me, I did it all wrong,” he continued roughly. “I'm a college dropout with three failed marriages and a multimillion-dollar bankruptcy behind me. And those are just a few of the highlights. The truth is, my life is a history of screwups.”

“Stop it.” Incensed, she grabbed his wrists. “Don't say that. You are not a screwup.”

“And I don't think you're crazy just because you're into the woo-woo thing.” He moved his hands from her shoulders to cup her face.

“Ethan?”

“I want you more than I have ever wanted anything or anyone else in my whole life.”

Before she could respond, he was kissing her again. This time he wasn't trying to keep her silent. This kiss was all about a driving, elemental need. The starkly powerful hunger radiated from him in dizzying waves that enveloped her.

The desperation and despair she had been feeling a moment before vaporized in the all-consuming fire of passion. The desire that sparked between them would not solve all of their problems, she realized, but it was a potent drug. They could use it to push aside the uncertainties and the unknowns for a time.

Ethan deepened the kiss, seeking the response she knew he needed from her. She was shatteringly aware of his erection. The knowledge that she had this effect on him excited her, made her feel powerful.

She put her arms around his neck, fighting him for the kiss.

He cradled her head in one hand and explored her throat with his mouth, letting her feel the edge of his teeth. Playing the
dangerous lover, she mused. No, not playing the part. There was a hint of the real predator under the surface.

It was an incredibly erotic sensation because she knew that, although he was a hunter at heart, he was her hunter. She could trust him in ways that she had never trusted anyone else in her life.

She pushed her hands up under his black tee shirt and sank her nails into the contoured muscles of his chest. He sucked in his breath and then released it in the wake of a heated groan, making no secret of his desire.

The room spun around her. When the world steadied again she discovered that she was flat on her back on the carpet. Ethan loomed above her, anchoring her with one hand and his leg. He used his free hand to unfasten her blouse and bra. Then he went to work on her trousers, pulling them off together with her panties. The garments fluttered and disappeared in the shadows.

He settled one leg between hers and moved it deliberately upward, easing her thighs apart until his knee was pressed firmly against her. She knew she was already wet; knew he could feel the dampness through the fabric of his pants.

She slipped her palms along his ribs beneath his tee shirt. He leaned over her and took one nipple into his mouth. Then he found her with his fingers.

The delicious movement of his hand, together with the increasing suction on her breast was almost too much to bear. She moved her hips, trying to assuage the tight, swollen sensation, but it only got more intense.

A restless energy moved through her, filling her with a luscious, decadent sense of abandon. Ethan freed her in more ways
than one. Not only could she argue with him about whether or not she was psychic; with him she could revel in this daring, outrageously sexy side of her nature. It was an aspect of herself that she had not even suspected existed until she met him.

She realized that she thought of her sex life as divided into two parts: Before Ethan and After Ethan.

Before Ethan
sex had been a pleasant, usually cheerful experience but not a particularly compelling one. The
After Ethan
sexual experience, however, had altered all of her long-standing definitions of what constituted great sex.
After Ethan
sex was hot and intense and exhilarating.

It was the experience of After Ethan sex that had taught her that she actually possessed a surprisingly passionate nature. That discovery had struck her as far more amazing and infinitely more strange and wondrous than her psychic side, which she had taken for granted all her life.

Ethan eased two fingers inside her. She shuddered, her body clenching. He covered her mouth with his own. She reached down, unzipped his pants and encircled his heavily engorged erection.

“I want you inside me.” She tried to guide him with her hand. “Right. Now.”

His laugh was like the rasping tongue of a great cat against her skin.

“Not yet,” he said against her throat. “First I want you to show me how hard and how fast you like it.”

She smiled slowly up at him, feeling infinitely mysterious and seductive in his arms. “Ah, but that's just it. Sometimes I like it slow and easy.”

His eyes gleamed in the night. “I'm adaptable.”

She arched herself against his invading fingers, determined to have what she craved. Again and again she moved, arching and contracting, creating a thrusting sensation that stoked the hot tension in her lower body. And through it all, the pressure of his thumb on her clitoris never lessened.

When she could stand it no longer, she encircled him with her legs and tightened her thighs around him. She felt his control slip the leash.

He whispered to her, wicked, sexy, provocative words that drove her to the brink.

She'd had enough.

She pushed against his shoulder, absolutely determined now. He went willingly over onto his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation and dark pleasure. She lowered herself slowly down onto him.

Ethan wrapped his palms around her buttocks and thrust upward, deep and hard. She shattered at the first stroke. Her release rolled through her in waves.

“Zoe.”

His fingers tightened around her. His whole body went rigid. He pumped himself into her until oblivion overcame both of them.

 

A long time later they made their way into the bedroom. She did not have the energy to put on a nightgown. She crawled under the covers. Ethan fell into bed beside her and gathered her close.

She felt him slide into sleep almost immediately, his favorite cure for insomnia once again working its magic.

But the tonic did not prove equally effective for her. Exhausted though she was, she lay awake for a long time, thinking about the past and the present.

Nothing had been resolved that night. Ethan still did not believe that she was psychic. But on the plus side, he did not think that she was crazy just because she happened to think that she possessed a sixth sense. She was not sure where to go with that.

It wasn't just sex that was different with Ethan. Everything was different with him.

She nestled closer to him, savoring the comfort she took from the strength and heat of his body.

After a while she slept.

It was a good night. She did not dream.

28

A
t six-thirty the next morning, she poured the soy milk over an extra large serving of muesli and set the bowl in front of Ethan. He did not take his attention off the notebook he had open on the table.

She sat down across from him and doled out his morning vitamins. “What's Plan A today?”

“Same as it was yesterday. Keep digging.”

She unscrewed the cap of the large bottle of calcium tablets. “I've got an idea.”

“Yeah?” He picked up his spoon, still focused on his notes.

“Lindsey Voyle is still a bit of a question mark in this case, right?”

His spoon stilled above the bowl of muesli. He raised his
head, wary now. “I told you, I checked her out six ways from Sunday, honey. She's clean. There's absolutely nothing to connect her to Grant Loring or any of the people on Arcadia's list of Loring's enemies and known associates.”

His calm, reasonable tone irritated her. If this marriage was going to work, he had to realize that a night of great sex was not enough to make her back off from her own theories.

“My
psychic intuition
picked up something in two different places where Lindsey has been recently. I don't think that's a coincidence.” She knew she sounded stubborn, probably downright mulish, but she was not about to let it go.

“Psychic intuition, huh?” His mouth curved up. “Is that what you've decided to call it?”

“It occurred to me while I was fixing breakfast a few minutes ago that the phrase covers all the bases. It's a compromise.”

“Uh-huh. Well, whatever it is, I don't think it's going to be real helpful on this case. I couldn't find a damn thing linking Voyle to this thing going on with Arcadia.”

“I know. But maybe I can uncover something.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.”

She smiled very sweetly. “Hey, maybe you're a little bit psychic, after all.”

“No.”

“No, you're not psychic?”

He did his Wyatt Earp squint. Looking dangerous. “No, you are not going to do whatever it is you're thinking of doing at Lindsey Voyle's house.”

“I'm just planning to take a look around.”

“No.”

“It would be easy to get inside legally. She's one of Arcadia's regular customers. I'll bet that Arcadia could help me come up with an excuse to visit Lindsey at her home. I'll just sort of feel my way around. I won't take any chances.”

“I don't believe that for a second.”

She ate some cereal.

“I'm dead serious, Zoe. I'm running this investigation. That means we do things my way. Got it?”

“You ever worry that you might have control issues?” she asked.

“I've got 'em, but they don't worry me at all. I like being in control.” He stuck his spoon into his cereal and put a healthy-sized amount into his mouth. He started to chew and then stopped abruptly. He stared at the muesli with an incredulous expression.

“What the hell?” he said.

“Probably the soy milk,” she said. “I think it may be an acquired taste.”

He finished chewing very quickly, swallowed and grabbed his glass of orange juice. He downed half the contents in a single gulp.

When he eventually lowered the glass he examined the liquid in his cereal bowl as though it were some alien life form.

“Good for my cholesterol and my prostate, you said?”

“I read it in a newspaper article.”

He poked at the cereal with his spoon. “You can't believe everything you read in the papers, you know.”

“Just give it a try for a few days,” she urged. “If you don't develop a taste for it, we can switch back to regular milk.”

He scooped up another spoonful. “I'm not real concerned about my cholesterol, but, hell, anything for my prostate.”

 

Robyn Duncan was lying in wait for her when she went downstairs shortly after eight.

“Good morning, Zoe,” she said, chirpy once more. “Mind stepping into my office?”

“Sorry.” Zoe clutched her chartreuse tote very tightly and kept going toward the door. “Got an appointment.”

“This will only take a minute,” Robyn said quickly behind her. “It's very important.”

“I really don't have time.”

Robyn's tone turned ominous. “I'm afraid I've had some complaints.”

Zoe stopped short of the door. She turned slowly. “What sort of complaints?”

Robyn cleared her throat. “Mr. Hooper phoned me late last night to tell me that he had been awakened by some thumping noises overhead. He lives in one-B, the apartment right under yours, you know.”

“I am well aware of where Hooper lives.”

“He said that at first he thought there was an intruder. Then he decided that you and Mr. Truax were moving the furniture around. Eventually he concluded that the sounds indicated that, uh, activities of an intimate nature were taking place.”

“I see. Hooper could tell that, could he?”

“He was quite shocked,” Robyn said. “He wanted me to do something about it immediately so that he could get some sleep.

But I did not want to disturb you at that hour so I told him I would talk to you this morning.”

That did it. So much for loyalty to one's neighbors.

“Hooper's got a lot of nerve turning me in for a few thumps in the middle of the night.”

“As a tenant in good standing, he has every right to a noise-free environment.”

“Screw Hooper's rights. In case you haven't figured it out yet, he's the one who doesn't break down his cardboard boxes before he puts them in the trash bin out back.”

Robyn's mouth dropped open in stunned amazement.

“Are you certain?” she demanded. “The address labels had been removed from the unflattened cartons so I was unable to identify the person who tossed them into the bin. But it is hard to believe that it was Mr. Hooper. He is such a neat and orderly tenant. He always pays his rent on time. I've never had any complaints about him.”

Zoe was already feeling guilty. You weren't supposed to turn in your neighbors, she reminded herself. There were rules about that sort of thing.

“Uh, well, maybe it wasn't him,” she mumbled. “I mean, I thought those were his computer cartons but I suppose they could have belonged to someone else.”

Robyn drew herself up and squared her shoulders. “I shall speak to Mr. Hooper immediately and get to the bottom of this.”

What the heck, the damage was done, Zoe thought.

“You do that.” She swung around on her heel and yanked open the door. “And you can tell him that I wouldn't have ratted him out if he hadn't turned me in first.”

“For goodness sake, you make this place sound like a prison.”

“Complete with our very own warden.”

“I've explained time and again that I'm just trying—”

“To do your job. Yes, you've mentioned that on several occasions.”

“The rules exist to help make Casa de Oro a more pleasant place for all the tenants—”

Zoe went outside and made sure that the door closed as loudly as possible behind her.

There would probably be a new rule against door slamming tomorrow.

 

Ethan's phone rang shortly before nine. He picked it up.

“Truax Investigations.”

“I'm trying to get in touch with Ethan Truax. It's important.”

“I'm Truax.”

“Right. My name is Branch. I work for Hull Painting. My boss has been doing some subcontract work for Treacher. Met up with you the other day when you and your wife stopped by your place. I was leaving off some equipment?”

Ethan thought about the bodybuilder painter he and Zoe had encountered. “I remember.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this, but it looks like you got a situation out here at your house.”

Interior design issues were at the very bottom of his to-do list today, Ethan decided. A man had to prioritize.

“My wife is in charge of the decorating,” he said. “If you've got questions, you can call her.”

“Not exactly a question,” Branch said. “More like a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“I swung by to pick up that sprayer I left the other day. Treacher told my boss that he wanted our crew to use it on another job site.”

Zoe would not be happy to hear that Treacher was going to retrieve the sprayer before it had even been used.

“What about it?” Ethan prompted.

“Went to put my key in the construction lock and realized your front door was wide open. Thought at first maybe my boss had sent someone else to pick up that sprayer and maybe the guy had forgotten to lock up when he left.”

Ethan got slowly to his feet, stomach chilling. “Get to the point, Branch.”

“Well, I'm not sure about this on account of everything's pretty well covered in drop cloths and I can't tell if any of your stuff is missing, but I think maybe someone might have broken in here.”

“Where are you, Branch?”

“Sitting in my van outside your front door.”

“Don't go back inside.”

“I've already been in and had a look around. Like I said, I didn't realize that there was anything wrong at first. But there's nothing to worry about. Whoever was here is long gone.”

“Stay out and don't touch anything.”

“I won't. Look, I'm not positive that there's been a break-in. Maybe someone just forgot to lock up.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Sure. I'll stick around until you get here.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

Ethan cut the connection and headed for the door. At the foot of the stairs, he paused at Single-Minded Books.

“I'm going out to Nightwinds,” he said to Singleton. “One of the painters called. He thinks maybe someone broke into the place, but he's not sure.”

Singleton peered at him through his spectacles. “You want company?”

“No, I'll handle it. Probably nothing, but I'd better check it out. Keep working on Loring. If you get anything new, call me.”

“Got it.”

Ethan went outside, loped across the brick patio to the curb where the SUV was parked and got behind the wheel. Probably kids, he told himself. Thank God he'd covered the pool.

 

He made it to the front door of Nightwinds in less than fifteen minutes and parked behind the van. There was no sign of Branch.

The front door stood wide open. He went up the steps and looked into the hall. Branch was right, there were no obvious signs of a burglary. The drop cloths appeared undisturbed.

“Branch?”

“Out back near the pool,” Branch shouted from somewhere in the distance beyond the great room. “Found a couple of empty beer cans.”

Swell. Everyone was an amateur detective.

Ethan walked through the hall and crossed the great room. One set of French doors was open. Branch was outside, standing near the edge of the pool.

What's wrong with this picture?

The crystal-blue waters of the pool sparkled and flashed in the sunlight.

Okay, that was problem number one, Ethan thought. He had covered the pool as a safety precaution before turning the house over to the painters. But now the heavy plastic tarp lay in a careless heap on the patio.

Branch was near the deep end of the pool. He was dressed in crisply laundered white overalls and the peaked cap he had worn the other day. His big, muscled shoulders were slightly hunched. There was a long-handled roller brush in his beefy right fist.

Not a single paint stain on those white overalls, Ethan thought. Ice formed in his gut.