“Things got even more awkward between us when I told Fletcher that I have some talent. At that point I think that I became a patient to him.”
“Let me take a wild guess here. Monroe doesn’t believe in the paranormal.”
“He’s got a Ph.D. in psychology. Of course he doesn’t believe in it.” She sighed. “All in all, I had no choice but to end things after only a few dates. We never even made it as far as the bedroom. Rose thinks that still bothers Fletcher, but I have a hard time buying it.”
“Why?”
“Because he moved on immediately. Started dating someone else right away. Fell right back into his usual pattern. It wasn’t like he couldn’t let go. I think he just sees me as a professional failure, that’s all.”
“Because he couldn’t fix your issues.”
“Right,” Chloe said.
“How did you meet him?”
“I took one of his classes. I thought it would be useful in my work.”
“What, exactly, does he teach?”
“Criminal psychology.”
“Learn anything?”
“Mostly what I learned is that psychologists look for explanations and motives. Me, I’m just a PI. I look for bad psi.”
He took the on- ramp onto I-5, heading toward downtown. The freeway was nearly empty at this hour. The lights of the city’s high-rise buildings, including the one in which he lived, glittered in the night.
“You really thought that Monroe’s serial monogamy habit and his commitment issues were good features?” he asked after a while.
“Are you kidding? I was almost convinced that he was Mr. Perfect. When I gave him The Talk, he looked downright thrilled. Then, again, men often seem happy enough at first. I’ve never been able to figure out why they change their minds. Aunt Phyllis says it’s just the way men are.”
“I’m probably going to regret asking this, but what is The Talk?”
“That’s when I explain about my commitment issues. I make it clear that any relationship I enter into is likely to be short-term and that there are no strings attached. I make sure that the other person knows that he is free to dump me on a moment’s notice without feeling any guilt.” She frowned a little. “But for some reason I’m usually the one who ends up doing the dumping.”
“You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?” he said flatly.
“I can’t afford to be a romantic, Mr. Winters. Not with my talent.”
He shot her a quick, searching look. “What does your talent have to do with it?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she said. She leaned her head against the back of the seat, folded her arms. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”
“Why not?”
“The serial monogamy thing got old. I moved into a new phase about a year ago. I admit that I toyed with the idea of going back to serial monogamy for a time with Fletcher, but I finally realized it just wouldn’t work.”
“And what comes after serial monogamy?”
“Celibacy.”
He felt blindsided again. “Celibacy?”
“There’s a kind of freedom in the celibate lifestyle.”
“Yeah? I hadn’t heard that.”
11
HE PARKED ON THE STREET IN FRONT OF THE BUILDING THAT housed Harper Investigations. Chloe got out before he could open the door. Energy crackled in the air around her. It kept his senses aroused and on edge.
She reached into one of the trench coat pockets and pulled out her keys. An odd looking gadget came out with the keys and fell to the sidewalk. There was a muffled clank of metal. He picked up the small high-tech device and held it to the streetlight.
“I’m not even going to ask,” he said, handing it back to her, “because it looks like a very fancy lock pick and is probably highly illegal.”
“It was a birthday gift.”
“Another ex-boyfriend?”
“No, my cousin Abe.”
“Your family gives interesting gifts.”
She opened the door and stepped into the tiny lobby. He followed her inside and shut the door. Together they started up the stairs. Chloe gripped the banister tightly, half hauling herself up the steps. When he took her other arm she did not protest.
He knew immediately that the physical contact was a mistake. It intensified the sexual urgency that was heating his blood, stirring things deep inside him. He got a sudden vision of taking her right there on the stairs. Not a hallucination, he realized, more like an almost overpowering need.
They paused on the second floor so that she could rest.
“This is embarrassing,” she muttered. “Didn’t realize I was so out of shape.”
“You’re exhausted,” he said. “Monroe is a big man. How far did you drag him?”
“He was in the living room when I arrived.”
He’d seen enough of the house to know that she’d exerted a lot of effort to get Monroe all the way into the front hall. And then there was the business of having a gun pointed in her face, her dog getting shot and her being hit with a blast of nightmares.
“You’ve had a rough night,” he said.
“You know, now that you mention it—”
Rose appeared on the third-floor landing.
“I just talked to the vet hospital,” she said. “Hector is okay, but they knocked him out to stitch him up and he’s still sleeping. They said we can pick him up in the morning. Are you all right, Chloe? You look like you’re going to crash right there.”
“Not,” Chloe said, hauling herself up another step, “before I get that drink. And a shower. I definitely need a shower first.”
Jack took her arm again and more or less levitated her up the stairs to the third floor. Rose opened a door.
“Home, sweet home,” Chloe muttered. “You’ll have to excuse me. I can’t stand the smell of smoke a minute longer.”
She vanished through the doorway. Rose followed. Jack considered for a moment and concluded that no one had told him to leave or bothered to shut the door in his face. That amounted to something of an invitation. He walked into the apartment and closed the door behind him.
The room was very non-Seattle. It was drenched in the rich, warm colors of the Mediterranean Coast. The walls that weren’t red brick were painted in deep shades of amber and ochre. The carpet was patterned with an abstract design done in saffron and rust- red. The honey-colored sofa was covered with a rainbow of throw pillows. Lush green plants in red ceramic pots stood near the windows.