BRIDAL JEOPARDY (11 page)

The Solomon Clinic was in operation until the early nineties, when it burned to the ground in a fire that was believed to be the result of arson. There were no casualties.

Dr. Solomon was a native of Houma. His clinic drew patients from all over the U.S., but principally from Louisiana and neighboring states, and was instrumental in helping over two hundred women conceive. Although the clinic was known for charging high fees to wealthy clients, it also took less-well-off patients at greatly reduced fees. After the facility burned down, the doctor maintained a low profile, but his research facility is believed to have developed vaccines for several nationally prominent drug companies.”

Stephanie looked at Craig. “That article is interesting, as much for what it doesn’t say as for what it does.”

“Yeah.”

Craig went back to the search panel and looked up the doctor’s biography. He was a Yale graduate who had gone on to Harvard Medical School, then returned to his hometown to open his fertility clinic.

“I guess he was pretty smart,” Stephanie murmured. “I’d like to see his records from the fertility clinic, but they probably burned.”

“That may be the reason for the earlier fire—to get rid of the records.”

“Why?”

“It sounds like he was doing more than fertility treatments.” She looked from the computer screen to Craig. “We should go there.”

“Not until our skills are more solid.”

“Why?”

“I’m thinking we’re going to need them to defend ourselves.”

Stephanie shuddered, and she knew Craig had picked up on her thoughts as she felt him stroke his hand down her arm.

We just found each other—why can’t whoever it is just leave us alone?

Because there’s something important about the children from the clinic. And someone’s interested in what it is.

When Stephanie jolted, Craig didn’t have to ask what had leaped into her mind.

We both forgot we got that phone number.

You want to call it?
He asked.

She considered the question.
I don’t think that’s going to get us any information. And we’d just be revealing something about us.

Yeah. Forget calling.

Chapter Eleven

Harold Goddard slapped his fist against his left palm, but the physical gesture did nothing to relieve his anger.

He was used to working with professionals, and now he was finding out the pitfalls of relying on local talent.

The men he’d hired had had Stephanie Swift and Craig Branson in custody—and the incompetent asses had let the couple get away.

They’d compounded the mistake by waiting a couple of hours before reporting their failure.

“Tell me again what happened,” he said to Wayne Channing, the bald-headed man who had been recommended to him as the best there was if you needed an undercover job done in the Big Easy.

“Like you said, we looked for them at her father’s place and found them there. They were climbing out an upstairs window, and they dropped right into our laps. We took them to the van, with our holding her at gunpoint and his cooperating so she wouldn’t get hurt. We loaded them in the van and taped their hands and feet.”

“And then what?”

“Something happened. We was in the middle of traffic, and they got loose and got out the back door.”

“How did they get loose?”

“We don’t know.”

“Didn’t you restrain them securely?”

“We thought we did.”

“You thought?” Harold said in a calm voice when he wanted to scream.

“Somehow they got away.”

“Did you look at the tape?”

“No.”

“Bring me the tape. Well, leave it in a plastic bag next to the Dumpster at that shopping center where I wanted you to bring them.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Channing said, “Yes, sir.”

“And how did they get the better of you at the B and B?” Harold asked.

“They spotted us, then made a tricky move. She acted like she didn’t see me, and he snuck up behind and brained me.”

Harold thought for a few minutes. He could yell at this guy. He could bring him in and kill him. But that would be counterproductive because he’d just have to find someone else to do the work.

“After you drop off the tape, I want you to go to Houma, Louisiana, and stake out a building in the business district.” He gave the address. “I expect they are going to show up there.”

He thought about what had apparently happened in the van and what he thought might be going on with the children who had been born as a result of their mothers’ treatments at the Solomon Clinic.

“When you catch them, make sure you separate them. I don’t want them touching each other. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Channing answered.

* * *

W
E
HAVE
TO
STRENGTHEN
our powers,
Craig said when they woke up the next morning, too late for breakfast
.

How?

When Stephanie caught the suggestion forming in Craig’s mind, she gave him a doubtful look.

You don’t think that will be effective? Even if we’ve never done it before?
he asked.

Before she could make any decisions on her own, he had her out of the bed and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and let the water run hot before helping her into the tile enclosure where a rain shower sent a torrent down on her.

The heated water turned her skin slick and sensitive, and her whole body tightened as he pulled her close.

For long moments, he simply held her, the two of them standing together under the pounding spray.

From behind her, he began to run soap-slick hands over her back and shoulders. As they glided with a total absence of resistance, they sent heat vibrating through her body.

He turned her in his arms and brought his mouth to hers for a heated kiss while he angled her upper body away from his so that he could stroke his hands over her breasts, turning her nipples into taut peaks of sensation.

She squeezed her eyes closed, focused only on Craig Branson and the sensations he was creating—and the thoughts pouring off him as he told her how much it meant to him to have found her, how much he wanted her, how much he loved her.

Love.

The word stunned her. She had never expected to love anyone. She hadn’t even loved her parents, she silently acknowledged, which was probably why she had let her father persuade her to marry the wrong man.

But everything had changed.

I love you,
she answered him, sure it was true, even though she had known him such a short time. But what had happened between them had changed her life. Had changed everything.

He lowered his mouth to hers for a long, hungry kiss as his hand stroked down the length of her bare back, sending heat shooting through her as he caressed her bare bottom.

As his hands slid over her, wet heat pooled between her legs. She knew he felt it, felt it in his own body. And she felt the fullness of his erection, felt his need to join with her.

The need built, pulsing through her and through him in time to the wild beating of their hearts.

And she knew what he wanted her to do. Following his lead, she slicked her hand with soap and wrapped her fingers around his jutting erection, starting with a teasing stroke that drew a strangled breath from him. When she closed her fingers tightly around him, the breath turned into a moan.

Looking down, she grinned at the effect she had created. He’d been fully aroused when she’d started. Now he was impossibly hard.

She caught what he had in mind, and tried to do what he’d suggested before.

And suddenly the water stopped, leaving them standing in the shower, dripping.

You did that.

Yeah. And now I get my reward.

Leaning back against the side of the shower, he lifted her into his arms. She cried out as he filled her, holding her against himself as he turned on the water again with his mind so that it pounded down on them once more. His movement was restricted by his braced hips. But as he held her, she moved her body, the friction taking them to a high peak where the air was almost too thin to breathe.

She loved the intensity on his face—in his mind—as she quickened the pace.

His exclamation made her raise her head as she stared at the water pouring down on them. She had stopped thinking about the water, but now it was pulsing in time to the movements of her body.

She drove them to a sharp, all-encompassing climax that radiated to every part of her body while the shower seemed to explode in a cascade of water.

She felt Craig follow her into ecstasy, and as they came back to themselves, the shower settled down to a normal flow.

She heard Craig’s silent laugh.
That last part was...

Unexpected,
she finished as she collapsed against him and he lowered her to her feet.

Proof we can do more with our minds than we thought.

I don’t believe we can count on sexual arousal every time we need to generate psychic power,
she answered.

He reached for a towel and trapped it around her shoulders, then began to dry her off.

As he did, she caught the thought in his mind.

You’re full of ideas,
she answered.

You don’t think we should try it?

Is it ethical?

We’re not going to harm anyone. We’re just going to have a practice session.

* * *

T
HEY
GOT
DRESSED
, left the room and stopped at the office to ask for lunch recommendations.

Mrs. Marcos suggested several restaurants, and they decided on a place with a deck along the bayou and an extensive seafood menu.

On the way over, they discussed Craig’s plan.

The restaurant was pleasantly decorated with rough-hewn wood on the walls and old-time photographs from the twenties and thirties. The dining room was about half-full, with plenty of tables available both inside and out.

They walked in and stood together waiting for the hostess to return to the podium. She was a young woman with curly blond hair and a bright smile.

“We’d like a table,” Craig said without volunteering any other information. But silently he was asking to sit out on the deck—along the railing.

“I have a lovely spot on the deck along the railing,” the hostess said.

Craig gave Stephanie a satisfied look. “That would be great,” he said to the hostess.

They followed her outside, to the only prime spot left at the edge of the deck.

“Your server is Julian, and he will be right with you,” the woman said before she left.

“That went well,” Craig said when they were alone.

“It doesn’t prove anything. She could have just decided to give us this spot.”

He shrugged. “Okay, we’ll see what we can get the server to do.”

A dark-haired young man wearing a black T-shirt and black pants approached the table carrying a pitcher of water.

“Hi, I’m Julian, and I’ll be your server this evening.”

They’d silently agreed that Craig would get him not to pour the water and ask if they wanted tea instead.

As he lifted the pitcher, she fed Craig energy.

Julian’s hand shook for a moment, and he lowered the pitcher, a strange expression on his face.

“Uh, I was wondering, would you prefer iced tea?” he asked.

“Why, yes, we would,” Craig answered.

“Sweetened?” he asked.

“Correct again.”

“I’ll be right back with your tea.”

When the young man had departed, Craig wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at Stephanie.

She laughed. “Okay, that was pretty good. Maybe we can work up a stage act.”

“Yeah, it
was
good, and you can’t argue that he was pushing tea instead of water.”

She nodded and opened the menu, scanning the entries. “Now what?”

“Get him to suggest that we try the popcorn shrimp?”

“Too easy. He’s probably already thinking about them.”

* * *

C
RAIG
RAN
HIS
FINGER
down the menu. “Get him to sell us the fried okra.”

“Have you ever tasted it?”

“No.”

“It’s an acquired taste. Let’s try something else.”

He turned back to the menu. “Okay, buffalo wings.”

When the server returned and set down their glasses of tea, he asked, “Can I get you started with an appetizer?”

“What’s good?”

Again Stephanie let Craig make the silent suggestion to the man while she added her power to his mental push.

“I think you’ll love the buffalo wings,” Julian said.

“Excellent,” Craig answered. “Bring us an order.”

He slid his foot along the deck boards and rested his shoe against Stephanie’s. “Score another one for us.”

Making food selections isn’t that hard. Do you think we could have made those thugs who kidnapped us put down their guns?

Not then. Maybe now,
Craig answered.

You’d bet your life on that?

No. That’s why we’re practicing.

We’re just playing games,
she shot back.

That’s all we can do—unless you want to get someone in town to rob a bank. It’s got to be stuff that’s within bounds of the law.

I don’t think you’re going to get that guy to jump into the bayou. And I don’t want to suggest something that would get him fired—like tossing the buffalo wings over the railing. What if we see if we can get him to deliver them to the wrong table?

Okay.

They relaxed at their table, sipping their iced tea. When Stephanie saw the waiter come back with the wings, she sent Craig a silent message.
He’s here.

Craig let her direct the next part, but she felt him lending energy. She told the guy to deliver the appetizer to the table in back of them, and she saw his face take on a confused look. He stopped for a second, then walked past them to the next table.

Behind her she heard the couple telling Julian that they hadn’t ordered the wings. In fact, they were waiting for their dessert.

He did a quick about-face and came back to Craig and Stephanie, his cheeks flushed.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know how I got mixed up.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Craig said.

We have to stop playing with him,
Stephanie said when he’d left the food and departed.

Yeah, poor guy.

They ate the wings and ordered shrimp étouffée and grilled snapper, which they shared before returning to their cottage for some more intimate practice sessions.

Worn-out, they fell asleep, but the events of the past few days had taken their toll.

* * *

J
OHN
R
EYNARD
PICKED
UP
the phone. The police detective on the other end of the line said, “I have some information for you.” The caller was the guy he’d sent over to the dress shop earlier who took substantial amounts of money under the table to keep Reynard informed on police-department business.

“Go ahead.”

“I have a fingerprint report on the man who called himself Craig Brady.”

“That’s not his name?”

“He’s Craig Branson. He’s a private detective out of the Washington, D.C., area.”

“What the hell is he doing here?”

“I’m working on that. He made an inquiry about a body that turned up in the bayou. A guy named Arthur Polaski.”

John felt a frisson go through him. How did Branson know about
that?

“You think Branson is in New Orleans investigating Polaski’s death?”

“Or what he did before he was killed.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads-up.”

The cop hesitated. “I think one of the other guys in the department gave Branson the heads-up about Polaski.”

“Why?”

“Apparently Branson made it his business to keep in touch.”

Oh, great,
John thought. But then he supposed if you had a police department full of informants, you couldn’t control who was giving out information to whom.