Out of Mind coa-2 Read online

  Well, if the way he reacted simply to the sight of her was any indication of things to follow, he’d better not miss any vitamins.

  “Hey, Willow, remember me?” he asked her through channels he attempted to open between their minds.

  He’d lost his marbles, not that she had ever responded to his mind contacts in the past. That would have put the lie to her insistence that she had no paranormal powers.

  “What are you doing here?” she responded, gripping the counter with both hands.

  His turn to stiffen. The muscles in his back and thighs turned rock hard. Damn, this was great, she’d forgotten to cover up.

  “What do you think? You and I have unfinished business. It’s been unfinished for too long. And you need me now—you need all of us.”

  “Sykes got you here, didn’t he? He could have talked to me about it first. You two have always shut me out.”

  “You decided to shut us out, Willow. You and I could always be as close as you wanted to be. The decisions on that were yours, remember?”

  “I didn’t ask you to come. I—Oh, darn it.”

  He felt her cut him off. It was gratifying to know he could cause her to break rules she’d made for herself in her teens when Willow had decided she would be “normal.”

  “You’re upset and trying not to need anyone. Don’t shut me out.” It was worth another try to establish an intimate connection with her.

  Willow didn’t respond, but she did give in and look over her shoulder. And now his knees snapped into locked position. Those fabulous, brilliant green Millet eyes searched for him. The curly hair was as outrageously red as ever, the skin as pale and freckled, the features as unexpectedly sophisticated and irresistible. Then there was the small, totally sexy body….

  Their eyes met.

  Hers grew wider and took on a bright sheen. Ben knew it meant she was fighting tears. Willow prided herself on being in control. For her to lose it showed him just how much he’d shocked her.

  She faced him and crossed her arms under her breasts. At least the familiar white shirt with its ugly Mean ’n Green insignia was made to fit her these days, rather than falling from her shoulders to the knees of her white jeans, like an oversize painter’s smock.

  What had he hoped? That after all this time she wouldn’t have the same power to reach out and grab him in places he’d as soon control? Thank you, Sykes, for dragging me here to suffer some more. I hope Willow knows what a concerned brother she’s got.

  “Willow, let’s finish here,” Uncle Pascal said.

  She felt his tap on her shoulder but ignored it. Ben was here and she’d already done the unthinkable, responded to his poking at her mind. She could pretend she hadn’t done it, but what good would that do? He’d only wonder how much more she was trying to hide about herself.

  “Hi, Ben,” she said, relieved her voice sounded steady. “What brings you to New Orleans? I thought you were an island-dweller now.”

  “I am an island-dweller. I’m also a native of New Orleans and I love the place.” He seemed about to say more but settled his lips together.

  There was no sight that could do to her what Ben could, just standing there, weight on one long leg, black hair pulled back into a tail at his nape, dark blue eyes deceptively sleepy-looking…. She was staring at him.

  “You okay?” Ben asked. “You seem unsettled.”

  He had always been the king of smart comments. “Surprised to see you is all,” she said. His dark shirt fitted tight over his wide chest and toned belly, and disappeared beneath the waist of jeans washed enough times to hold a shadow pattern that accentuated the slim and the not-so slim bits of him.

  Willow had known Ben all her life. He was seven years older than she, and as they grew up he had treated her like a kid sister. She thought about how all that had changed. Kind of coincided with him “noticing” her. Willow had watched him grow tall, fill out and become a big, hard man with more psi powers than was healthy. But then she had realized he was watching her leave girlhood behind and, evidently, something about her pleased him—a lot.

  The misery she had felt knowing she wasn’t what he needed in a Bonded partner started an ache she had hoped never to feel again once it lost its sharp edge. But she was experiencing that longing now. He was too much for her, too strong, too skilled, too flamboyant, too much of a free spirit. Her suspicion that this was true had been confirmed by his sister, Poppy, who was very close to Ben. Poppy had been upset, tearful, but she had made herself warn Willow of the dangers in becoming Ben’s permanent mate.

  At least she’d had the sense to end things between them before they put a seal on their fate and she shriveled up, bit by bit, while she watched him become bored with her. He would still have been stuck with the agreement—but even if he tried to hide it, Willow would have felt his dissatisfaction.

  “Why are you here?” she said sharply.

  “I already told you,” he said, without glancing at Pascal, who would quickly figure out that there had been a silent communication between Willow and Ben.

  “You didn’t say what you’ve been told about me,” she said to Ben. Her gaze shifted sideways for an instant as she analyzed whether she’d made another reference to their personal communication.

  Ben didn’t want to trick her into anything. “Sykes said he’s been worried about you. When I got here, Pascal told me the same thing, and I’m thinking the rest of the family will have similar stories.”

  She spread her hands. “Worried? Why?”

  “Because you’re worried.” He needn’t kid himself that she’d be easy to break down. “To quote someone near and dear to you, you’re even more fractured than usual. You’ve been very quiet and you never go anywhere other than work.”

  She frowned, but her eyes were brighter than ever. “And that’s different from what I usually do? I work hard and when I get home, I’m tired.”

  “And you sent for a crash helmet with two rearview mirrors,” Pascal put in. The man had done a good job of fading into the background behind the counter where he sat on a high stool.

  Willow shook her head. “I’m safety minded. I’m going to have all my staff wear similar gear—just as soon as I’ve made sure it works well.”

  “Most people who ride motorcycles or scooters, or whatever, rely on handlebar mirrors. Cyclists have a mirror on one side on a helmet and it’s about a quarter the size of those.”

  “Most cyclists don’t need to see anything but oncoming traffic and what’s around when they want to make a turn,” she snapped back, and turned red.

  Ben saw her moisten her lips and his belly contracted. He would have to contain himself. “Whereas you think you have to see all around, traffic, pedestrians and anything else that might be a hazard?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Excuse her so she could run away and hide, the way she’d been hiding from him all this time? “No,” he told her. “I’m not excusing you. Not unless you take me with you. Now I’ve come all this way, the least you can do is talk to me. I should have made you talk to me before I left. I see that now.”

  She blinked rapidly. Her lungs felt compressed. Did he really intend to trap her like this? To force her to go through all the misery again? For an instant she closed her eyes. His arms around her would feel so good. Of course she knew the other sensations that would go with the comfort—unless things had completely changed between them.

  Willow looked at him.

  “There’s only one way to find out if we’re still pledged, Willow.”

  “You don’t know anything, Ben. You don’t know why it could never work between us.”

  “Tell me why, then. Or let me hold you. What could be more natural than two old friends embracing?”

  “You’re rushing me again,” she told him. “You rushed me all the time. Even when others said I was wrong for you.”

  She put a hand over her mouth.

  “Others?” He had always suspected i
nterference. “What others? We were the only ones who mattered. We still are.”

  “No. That’s history.” She collected herself visibly. “It’s good to see you, Ben, even if I am a bit prickly. Some things never change.” Willow forced a chuckle. “I do have to see to some business right now, but I’ll get in touch with you and we’ll have dinner or something. For old times’ sake.”

  And that little speech was for Pascal’s sake and to get Ben off her back. “Fine,” Ben said. “Great. Do you know where to find me?”

  She shuffled her feet in white tennis shoes with lime-green flashes down the sides. “Um, at Fortunes?”

  “No. Poppy runs the place now—with Liam’s and Ethan’s support when she needs it. I’m still the financial man, but I don’t want to tread on their toes.” Liam, a history professor, and Ethan, a lawyer, were his brothers and Poppy, his only sister. “Sykes says he’s completely tied up in his studio working on a mammoth piece of sculpture so he’s letting me use his flat here.”

  Her face tightened and she breathed rapidly through her mouth. “Here?” She croaked out the word.

  Ben didn’t miss the wicked smile on Pascal’s face. Pascal had encouraged a match between Ben and Willow. Part of what Ben intended to do in New Orleans was find out who had interfered in and ruined something that had promised to be fantastic. He should not have waited so long, but he had kept hoping she would ask him to come back.

  “Willow, the people who won’t settle for anything less than your safety think you’re being threatened. They’re not sure by what, only that it’s happening—or you think it is.”

  “I’m not imagining things,” she said heatedly. “Oh, leave me alone, please.”

  A mad scuffle accompanied Winnie, Willow’s sister Marley’s Boston terrier, downstairs from the regions where Marley worked on restorations. The dog clamped a vast, yellowing plastic bone between her teeth. She positioned her shiny black-and-white body in front of the shop door and wiggled in apparent anticipation.

  Ben glanced up the stairs, expecting to see Marley, but there was no sign of her.

  The doorbell jangled wildly and a tall, commanding man came into the shop. He took off a gray silk fedora. Tie askew at the open neck of a very white shirt, every inch of him screamed confidence, and the glittering smile—or grimace—turned his dark face into a demonically exotic vision no one would ignore. Ben had not had much to do with Nat Archer, but the detective was not someone easily forgotten.

  Winnie gave a sigh of ecstasy, abandoned her bone and rolled onto her back in front of Nat. Ben decided the dog had known the man was coming.

  “Hi, Pascal,” Nat said, “Willow. I’m pressed for time but I wanted to come myself.” He looked sideways at Ben. “Ben Fortune. It’s been a long time. I heard you were in Hawaii.” He rubbed Winnie’s round, pink and splotchy tummy.

  “Yeah,” Ben said. “I’m visiting—sort of.”

  “Is Gray here?”

  Ben remembered that Marley’s husband, Gray Fisher, had been a New Orleans Police Department homicide detective before turning to full-time journalism. Gray was Nat’s former partner.

  “He’s on a story, Nat,” Pascal said.

  Marley trotted downstairs in a large, paint-stained apron. “What’s up?” she asked the policeman.

  “Could be what we were worried about has started again. I don’t have a lot of evidence, but something’s happened and there are similarities to what we went through a while back.”

  “Well, we knew it wasn’t likely to be all over,” Marley said. “Those creatures, or whatever they are, intend to take over this town. Or that’s the way I read it. So does Gray.”

  “Me, too,” Nat said. “But don’t think we’re getting any support from NOPD—they’re too afraid to admit they could have a rogue paranormal force bent on invading New Orleans. They’re afraid for themselves and terrified about how they’d cope with mass panic in the populace if rumor got out. Or some of them are.”

  Ben ground his teeth together to stop himself from begging for an explanation of all this “code.” Rogue paranormal force? Invading New Orleans? Mass Panic? Sykes hadn’t finished explaining the whole story.

  Willow swallowed and stared at Marley. One of her three sisters, Marley’s eyes were forest-green, darker than Willow’s, and her hair slightly less neon although just as curly.

  “Marley,” Willow said, “you’d better give Gray a call.” Marley had gotten herself involved with a dangerous life-form they knew only as Bolivar, an Embran, and she’d come close to being killed. That had been about four months ago and Willow was suddenly convinced they were about to suffer another confrontation with these things they understood so little about, other than that they had an inexplicable vendetta against the Millets.

  “I’m not going to jump to conclusions,” Marley said. “Or should I?” She looked at Nat.

  “This isn’t the place to talk about this. What if customers come in?” Uncle Pascal said.

  Nat locked the door and reversed the open sign. He turned to Ben again. “How much do you know about everything?”

  “If we’re talking about the same thing,” Ben said, “only what Sykes has told me in the last few days. Not a whole lot, and nothing about renegade paranormal forces from—wherever.” His voice got low. “Sounds like all the families might need to be involved, though.”

  There were a number of strong psi families in the city. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but they came together when they were needed. Mostly they were polite, but kept their distance from each other since there was a history of some explosive confrontations.

  “The police need to be involved, too,” Nat said. “We already are. Or those of us who can’t make ourselves dismiss the idea are.”

  “Are you still homicide?” Ben said. His only exposure to Nat Archer had been at Fortunes during an investigation.

  “Sure he is,” Marley said quickly. “Homicide at NOPD. He was our lifeline while… We’ve been through interesting times, Ben. For a while it looked as if some of us weren’t going to make it. There was this…thing…that could morph from a human into a monster and it got me—just about. Nat doesn’t have a lot of support from his department—”

  “None, except from my partner, Bucky Fist, and a few bright cops who can’t forget what they’ve seen,” Nat put in. “Gray and I knew we weren’t finished with these interlopers. We didn’t kid ourselves they’d give up because we stopped ’em once. Marley almost got killed, and a number of other women did die,” he finished, staring at Ben. “Now I need a few words with Willow.”

  “Why?” Marley’s voice rose. “Should I track down Gray?”

  Nat shook his head, no. “Not now. I’ve got to make this short and get back.”

  “Back to where?” Willow asked. She felt cold.

  “Is it the Embran again?” Marley asked in a low, intense voice.

  “Could be.” Nat looked at her hard and she took a deep breath. “We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves. But—” He made a visible decision not to say any more on the subject.

  Marley nodded, but her face was rigid.

  “How long have you been here in the shop—this afternoon?” Nat asked Willow.

  She shrugged. “Half an hour at the most.”

  “Thirty-seven minutes,” Pascal said helpfully.

  Nat thought about that. “How long did it take you to get here—from wherever you’ve been?”

  Ben heard Willow swallow. “I don’t know. Not long.”

  “Let’s quit the twenty questions,” Ben said, putting himself between Willow and Nat Archer. “Just spit out what you want.”

  “I’m here because the Millets are good friends of mine,” Nat said. “I didn’t want to send an officer in an obvious car. If I don’t ask Willow these questions, someone else will. At this point I’m asking off-the-record and hoping I can head off any involvement for her in the future.”

  Willow’s heart missed a beat. She stepped from behind Ben. “I
went to discuss some orders with one of my bakers. He does the best spun sugar fancies in town. Billy Baker. That’s his real name. Baker Baker—that’s his shop. It’s on—”

  “Chartres,” Nat finished for her. “You came straight here?”

  She ran her tongue over the roof of her mouth. “Yes. And I hurried so it could only have taken minutes. What is it, Nat?”

  “Bucky Fist’s over there now. Billy died—apparently about the same time you were there.”

  Willow heard Marley gasp and Winnie rushed past to lean on her mistress’s leg.

  “That can’t be,” Willow whispered. “He was fine when I left.”

  “Was anyone else there with you?”

  She paused before saying, “No. How did Billy die?” she said, horrified that the vital man she’d been with so recently had supposedly died—the moment she left his shop. “He was alive when I left him. Really, he was. He was laughing about having to make two hundred sugar pigs.”

  “I believe you,” Nat said, not referencing the pigs. He gave another engaging smile all around. “The woman who found Billy saw you leave the shop, Willow. You’re pretty hard to miss. And everyone around here knows who you are.”

  Ben wanted to punch the guy out—even if he was smiling. Willow hated being identified as “one of those strange Millets” everywhere she went.

  “Looks like he had a heart attack,” Nat said.

  “That’s not acceptable,” Pascal said in his customary formal manner. “Why are you here if he had a heart attack?”

  “It was more than just a heart attack. Billy had a bunch of tiny puncture wounds on his face, neck and head. I wouldn’t have been called in and I wouldn’t be here if it was a natural death.” He glanced at Marley. “Doesn’t have to be connected, but some of us know it isn’t the first time we’ve had a corpse with wounds that don’t make sense—at first.”

  Willow’s hand went to her neck.

  Nat’s cell beeped and he answered, “Archer.” He listened for a long time then said, “Yes, sir,” and hung up.

  “What?” Willow said, seeing the fury on Nat’s face.

  “Carry on, folks,” Nat said. “Message from above. I’ve got to back off this case.”