Ace Is Wild (15 page)

“There are still a few things we need to clear up.”

“Like?”

“How does this vision thing work, for starters?”

She turned back around. “I don’t know. It just . . . happens.”

“Is that how you knew I hated cauliflower?”

“Not exactly. It started with a vision, but my visions don’t come with subtitles. I saw your face, and when I finally found out who you were, I looked you up on the Internet.”

“My preference in underwear isn’t posted on the Web.”

She smiled faintly. “The rest was a combination of intuition,observation, body language, and human nature. Nobody likes cauliflower. You’re left-handed so chances are you sleep on the left side of the bed, most men prefer dogs, and when you slipped your hand in your pocket on the bachelor auction runway I could tell you weren’t wearing tighty whities.” When he got a puzzled look on his face, she added, “No lines. That left either boxers or boxer briefs, and you’re a man who likes structure, control.” Her eyes drifted downward. “No flapping in the breeze for you.”

“It sounds like your vision is the least part of it. Are you sure you didn’t read or hear something about the hit and then dream about it?”

“I wasn’t sleeping at the time,” she said around a huge yawn.

“Daydream then.”

She climbed into bed, closed her eyes, and heaved a huge sigh. “Could we finish this interrogation in the morning?”

“It’s not an interrogation. And you weren’t exhausted five minutes ago.”

She cracked an eye and narrowed it at him. “I’ve had a full day,” she said. “Are you going to forget where you left off?”

If he got into that bed with her, there was a pretty good chance he’d forget his own name. But he couldn’t let her know it. He eased down on the edge of the bed, giving up any hope they could stay on their respective sides when they immediately rolled together into the trough in the middle of the mattress. Vivi had started out facing the wall; she ended up with her face plastered to his neck.

“Uhhh,” she said, which was probably consternation, but it sounded way too close to a moan, especially with her breath tickling warmth over his skin.

To make matters worse, she braced her hands on either side of his rib cage and boosted herself up, trying to get back to her side but ending up lying on top of him. Her breasts were squashed against his chest, her legs were tangled with his, and when he brushed her hair back her eyes were filled with humor and edged with heat.

“And I thought the mattress was lumpy,” she said with a little shiver that rubbed her hips against his erection.

“It’s not just me and the mattress.” Daniel shifted his glance down slightly, heading for her pebbled nipples, but sidetracked by the orchid tattoo twining around her right breast, which reminded him of the one she had at the small of her back, which sent a burst of heat and need through him, strong enough to practically blow off the top of his skull.

Vivi stretched, her breath sighing out as a quiver ran through her, so slight he might not have noticed if every nerve ending hadn’t been attuned to the tiniest sign she’d welcome what he wanted to do to her. And hopefully do it back to him.

Her gaze met his, but when she spoke her words didn’t match the need he saw in her eyes. “Will you hold it against me in the morning?” she said in a voice that was a sexual assault on his ears.

There was a split second where he would have said no, where he would have said anything to get out of his clothes and into her. Instead he said, “Shit,” clamped his hands around her hips, and lifted her off him. Because she was right. If she slept with him he’d wonder if she had ulterior motives.

When she tried to get out of bed, though, he pulled her back down and spooned himself behind her. She knew he wanted her. He could either run from the temptation or use it to prove something—to them both. “I can control myself if you can,” he said.

“Making a point, Counselor?”

“Trying to get some sleep.”

He must have sounded more convincing than he felt, or maybe she was just exhausted because she relaxed back against him with a soft sigh and within minutes she’d drifted off. Daniel spent a tense moment trying to figure out what to do with his arm before he gave in and slung it over her waist.

He knew he’d made the right choice, but it was going to be a hell of an uncomfortable night.

Chapter 10

DANIEL HAD NEVER BEEN A TATTOO KIND OF GUY,
but there were moments during the long, sleepless night when all he wanted in the world was to see the rest of that damned tattoo at the small of Vivi’s back. It didn’t matter that someone wanted him dead, or that his house was a pile of rubble. The only thing on his mind was Vivi’s body art. True, that had less to do with the art and more to do with the body, but curiosity was easier to accept than the rest of what was going on inside him. A cold shower helped him put his need for her away, for the moment, but he knew it wouldn’t stay buried forever.

Vivi stumbled out of bed when he exited the bathroom, and it was all he could do to keep a lid on the lust. She looked as groggy and irritable as he felt. That didn’t improve his mood. Clearly she hadn’t slept well, either. Maybe he would have done them both a favor by giving into his lust last night. Or maybe she’d had other things on her mind that were incompatible with sleep.

“I think I know a way to convince you to trust me,” she said, which was the last thing he wanted to hear.

What he wanted to hear was the name of the bastard behind the murder attempts so he could go home, rebuild his house, and get on with his life. While he still could.

Being a prosecutor wasn’t what he’d expected it would be. In fact, being a prosecutor pretty much sucked. After his injury, he’d convinced himself that trying criminals wasn’t that different from catching them. Same goal, same war, same bad guys, only he’d be the one making sure they went to jail for the rest of their lives. Except it wasn’t quite that easy.

The evidence didn’t always add up to a slam dunk, for one thing. Witnesses were reluctant, refused to testify at all, or lied outright. There were defense lawyers, juries that could be confused and misled, and judges that were more concerned about reelection than justice. End result? There weren’t enough victories to keep him feeling like he was a force for good. And there definitely wasn’t enough excitement.

Going head-to-head with a couple of hit men, not to mention the loony psychic, had reminded him of that. Danger was addictive. The flood of adrenaline, pitting his wits against a worthy opponent, the rush of getting out of it in one piece and bringing a bad guy down. The longer he was in the field, the harder it would be to go back to a job where he sat behind a desk most of the time.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, you think you can convince me to trust you.” He thought about asking her why it was so important, but she’d ducked that question more than once, and nothing had changed to make him think she was ready to answer it now. Because she didn’t trust him.

He didn’t know why his tired brain chose that particular time to figure out the obvious, but it was a lightbulb moment. It energized him, gave him a goal. It wasn’t just about him trusting her, he needed her to trust him, too. She’d never come clean until she did. And she wasn’t stupid; he couldn’t make it obvious that he was only humoring her. He’d have to let her convince him. Gradually. “What did you have in mind?”

“Quincy Market.”

“Quincy Market?” he repeated, his tone right in keeping with the first part of the gaining-Vivi’s-trust plan. Not making it obvious he was worming his way in. And so what if the incredulity was real? It still got the job done.

“I’m going to do a reading,” she explained. “I can’t do it on you because I already researched you, and you won’t believe anything I say. And there’s really only one reading I can get from you anyway.”

“I’m dead, I know.”

“I could take you to my place, but you’d think there’s some sort of setup that helps me cheat my customers.”

“Marks,” he said, because she’d expect his skepticism.

She had the predictable reaction to that, losing patience. “They’re not marks. I could round up a dozen people who’d tell you that, but you’d probably think they were lying so anecdotal evidence won’t do me any good. I’d be more comfortable at my place, but I can do a reading anywhere.”

“Sounds like you have it all worked out.”

“You’re going back to your home office and hope those guys don’t find you again, right?”

His eyes cut to hers.

Her gaze never wavered.

“I’m going to figure out who hired ‘those guys,’ then stop them,” he said.

“You have a couple of leads, but if those don’t pan out you’re going to need your case files, and you won’t show them to me unless you think I’ll be of some use. So let me prove it to you.”

“You’re saying you can read my files and tell me who’s involved in this thing?”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

Play along, Daniel reminded himself, managing not to roll his eyes or give any other indication that he thought he’d be better off dumping what she was trying to hand him on his garden.

She took his silence for agreement, thankfully, since he didn’t think he could bring himself to say yes.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” she said, “and I’m guessing you don’t, either. There’s no phone in the room, but maybe there’s a payphone downstairs so we can call a cab.”

“No cab is going to pick us up in this neighborhood.”

Their eyes met, both of them coming to the same conclusion.

“We’ll have to take Maxine,” Vivi said.

Daniel nodded, starting for the door. “You drive.”

QUINCY MARKET, ALSO KNOWN AS FANEUIL HALL Marketplace, sat on the Freedom Trail not far from City Hall and the Government Center. Once host to stirring, seditious speeches by the likes of Samuel Adams, the building was now a glorified food court, at least on the ground floor. Cafeteria-style restaurants were crowded cheek by jowl inside, selling everything edible from sushi to burgers. The patrons crowded around communal tables or sat on the low stone walls circling the trees planted outside while they ate.

Faneuil Hall was surrounded by souvenir stands, assorted stores, a Cheers pub re-created from the television show, and crowds of people. It felt a little exposed, but Vivi figured the hit men would never suspect they’d go to a place thronged with tourists.

As it was just after opening, and a weekday, there weren’t a lot of men trolling for bargains. And since the ones who were there fit more into the categories of retiree mall walker, manny, or retail employee, Daniel kind of stood out. He was definitely getting a lot of attention.

Women were looking, appreciating, probably drooling, too. One poor woman walked into one of the kiosks dotting the walkways, fell on her backside, and popped back up, red-faced with embarrassment. But she never took her eyes off Daniel.

“Don’t tell me,” he said when Vivi laughed at his discomfort, “you knew that was going to happen.”

“True, but there was no psychic ability involved.”

He gave her a cranky look.

“You’re not the usual kind of Wednesday-morning market patron.”

“Can we just do this?”

She grinned up at him, but inside she was completely serious, her smile fading as she took a couple of deep breaths, cocked her head, and made the mental adjustment that opened up her mind.

At first it was like a radio tuned to static, a harsh punch of white noise before she began to get actual impressions, confusing snippets of feeling that didn’t last any longer than the next could replace it. She shifted her attention to the crowd, focusing on the first face that crossed her path.

“That woman doesn’t know it yet, but she’s about to buy a pair of shoes,” she said to Daniel as if she were talking about the weather instead of predicting the future.

Daniel rested his fingertips on the small of Vivi’s back and steered her behind the woman she’d pointed out, a twentysomething wearing a trim business suit. She strolled down the sidewalk, slowing to look in the window of Nine West before she moved on. She made it almost to the door of the next store when she was sucked back into the shoe store gravity well, along with three other women in the vicinity.

“Care to tell me what she’s going to buy?”

“Four-inch spike heels, black, with an ankle strap.”