Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [69]
She was silent, frowning down at the table.
“Something happened. What was it?”
“Look, this investigation is . . . different, that's all. Odd things are happening. My abilities seem to be changing. And I don't quite know what do to about it.”
“Have you reported this to Bishop?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . I don't know why not. Because I want to figure it out for myself.”
“And making a move on me seemed like a good way to do that?”
“Stop rubbing it in.”
“What?”
“My failure.”
Dryly, he said, “Who says you failed? Isabel, I realized I wanted you sometime yesterday. Early yesterday. Or possibly about ten minutes after we met. I also realized it was going to hellishly complicate the entire situation, so I've been doing my best not to think about it.”
“Maybe thinking about it would be good,” she said earnestly. “And doing something about it even better.”
“You're still leaning back in your chair,” he pointed out.
“I can lean forward.” But she didn't. She frowned again, honestly baffled.
“See?” Rafe said. “Conflicting signals. Even consciously, you're not sure what you want.”
With a sigh, she said, “Trust me to find myself attracted to the one man who isn't willing to take what he's offered, no questions asked. Keep this up, and I'll have to start believing in leprechauns. And unicorns.”
“Sorry about that. But I'm not a kid, Isabel. I'm a twenty-year veteran of the sexual wars, and I've learned a few things along the way. One being if you're going to get involved with a complicated woman, you'd better damned well know what the complications are. Ahead of time. Before you trip over them.”
“That does sound like bitter experience.”
“It was. Not bitter, really, but I learned a hard lesson. And it's more or less my own fault. You said the sort of energy that makes you psychic is something you have in common with our killer; well, I have something in common with him too. I like strong women. With strong, I've discovered, comes complicated, which can cause problems. Unless I know about the complications going in.”
“Okay. Well, I hear voices. There's that.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“I need coffee in the morning before I'm human. And cornflakes. I like cornflakes. I take really hot showers, always, so I tend to steam up the room. I hate silence in strange places, so I travel with a sound machine. Ocean waves. I have to have air-conditioning on full blast even in the dead of winter to sleep well. Oh—and I hate moonlight shining in the bedroom.”
“Isabel.”
“Not those sorts of complications, huh?”
“No.”
“Dammit.”
“If I were a profiler,” he said slowly, “making an educated guess, I'd say that your breezy manner and humorous attitude cover up a lot of pain. And I'm not talking about the headaches your voices give you. That evil face you saw—it really did change your life, didn't it?”
Their waiter placed coffee and dessert on the table and went silently away again, and still Isabel said nothing. She picked up a spoon and poked at her dessert, then put it down again.
“Still not ready to tell me?” He fixed his coffee the way he liked it, his gaze remaining on her face, trying to make his own posture and expression as relaxed and unthreatening as possible.
She sipped her coffee, then grimaced and dumped cream and sugar in before trying a second sip.
“Isabel?”
Abruptly, as if against her will, she said, “It was beautiful.”
“What was?”
“The face evil wore. It was beautiful.”
It was late when Ginny left the police station, much later than usual for her. And after talking to the other women and hearing how jumpy they were, she made a point of walking out to her car in the company of a couple of male officers who were also leaving. Though none of the guys had said anything openly to the female officers, Ginny had noticed that in the last week or so all the women had an escort coming or going.
She doubted any of the women were complaining. She certainly didn't; anytime