15

Sean had stolen Dovie’s newspaper and had it spread out on my couch. He leaned back, stretched his arms over his head. His gray eyes looked nearly opaque in the morning light. Stubble covered his superhero jaw, and the slightest hint of darkness caressed the skin under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well, and it showed.

I’d taken a quick shower and was letting my hair air-dry today, using extra antifrizz cream to control the waviness. Sean had already put away the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned the coffeepot.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked.

I didn’t want to lie. “So-so.”

He came into the kitchen. “You haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Neither have you.”

“This isn’t about me.” With the pad of his thumb, he traced my jawline. I pressed my cheek into his palm, let my eyes close.

He leaned in, rested his forehead against mine. His hands slid down my arms, stopping just above my hands. I turned my palms over so they hovered just under his touch.

My fingers tingled with the electricity.

I couldn’t explain the how or the why. I could just feel. The electricity. The magic.

He kissed me. A soul-searching, heart-pounding, all-out curl-a-girl’s-toes kind of kiss.

By the time we pulled apart, a small drumbeat of happiness was pulsing through me. I took a deep breath. It was now or never, a complete leap of faith. “Move in with me.”

There! I’d said it. And it hadn’t been all that hard, either. Maybe Mum and Dovie, Suz and Preston were right. It was meant to be.

Only … Only Sean wasn’t looking as happy as I thought he should.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he finally said.

I quickly grabbed a sponge and began wiping down the counters, scrubbing at invisible spots. Throwing the sponge in the sink, I turned on him. “Why isn’t it a good idea? You practically live here anyway. You have clothes here, a toothbrush, deodorant, your own shampoo, your favorite beer in the fridge, your own side of the bed, and books on the nightstand. Thoreau has food in the pantry, his own food bowls, and a doggy bed. Hell, you already live here—there’s no ‘practically’ about it.”

At the sound of his name, Thoreau lifted his head from his sunny spot on the floor and stared at us as if annoyed for waking him from his nap.

Sean smiled at me.

“Don’t you dare smile at me right now.” I jabbed him with a fingertip.

Trying to be serious, he pressed his lips together.

I folded my arms. “I don’t think this is funny.”

A strangled I-can’t-hold-it-in-any-longer laugh escaped him.

I picked up the sponge, eyed him, and squeezed it over his head.

Water dripped down his face. “Is that how it’s going to be?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Smile at me, will you.”

He turned the water on in the sink. Picked up the sprayer.

“You wouldn’t,” I dared.

He tipped his soggy head to the side, his black hair curling at the tips, and sprayed me, a quick, freezing-cold blast. Water dripped down my nose, off my chin. My shirt was immediately soaked through.

Grendel watched us from the top of the fridge, his tail swishing back and forth as if we were great entertainment.

I grabbed for the sprayer, using hips and elbows to my advantage, and all the while water rained down on us as though we were caught in a spring shower.

Amused no longer, Grendel rreowed and made a run for it.

Sean held on tight, his laughter mixing with mine.

I lost my footing on the slippery floor and made a grab for his shirt. He caught my wrist, but I still fell onto my backside, my legs splaying out, taking his out from under him. He grabbed onto the counter to help break his fall, but the wood floor was too slippery and he fell backward, landing next to me.

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.”