Crazy in Chicago (9 page)

Instead, she concentrated on mentally sending Cody the wellness and good night's sleep she wished for him. She believed in the power of love and good wishes, even if they existed only in her thoughts. For good measure, she added a wish to make him more receptive to the idea of alien abduction.

After a moment, she decided to press her case. She didn't agree with Cody that he had exhausted all avenues. There was one angle to his disappearance that he hadn't pursued.

“Why do you think there's nothing to follow up?” she asked cautiously.

He opened his eyes and scowled. “You've read everything. Isn't it evident? There are no details screaming out to be investigated.”

“For a big-time reporter, you're a little short-sighted,” she said, stifling a smile. “Especially when it comes to yourself.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Roberta leaned forward and put her hands on the table, palms down. An evening breeze rippled across her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sparkle of light off the huge body of fresh water only blocks away. She chose her words, careful not to appear too eager. “There's one area you haven't touched.”

“Yes?” Cody's dark brows rose in a less-than-welcoming question mark.

“What about this psychic, Madame Carabini? She had some interesting things to say about where you were during your disappearance. Why don't you go see her?”

Cody rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. So she can tell me what she told Allie and Erik: That I was in a cold, strange place? That I didn't seem to be alive or dead? Sure. Why don't I just buy some loose tea and read the leaves? Or cut open a chicken and look at its entrails?”

“Cody!” Roberta stiffened. “I'm trying to help you. You said yourself there's nothing else to pursue. So why not this? What have you got to lose? It's either this or just forget about the whole thing.”

Cody pressed his lips together. Roberta clenched her fists. Why wouldn't he listen to her? Couldn't he see she was just trying to help him? Why didn't anyone take her ideas seriously? She ignored the twinge of guilt over her true motive for pushing him to see the psychic.

She tried another tack. “What about that blue light you saw yesterday? That's certainly strange. Don't you want to find out about that, too? And isn't someone like a psychic, someone who can read auras and impressions, more likely to be able to figure out what that light means? Don't you want to at least try?”

Cody's jaw settled into rigid lines. His eyes glinted as hard and disbelieving as coal. He opened his mouth then shut it.

Suddenly he sat more easily in the chair. The grim line of his mouth blossomed into an inviting smile and his eyes sparkled with warmth, dispelling the stubbornness present there only seconds earlier. In less than a moment his whole demeanor changed from sullen resistance to accommodating charm. He smiled playfully, and turned up his sex appeal.

“It's not that I don't want to solve my problems. It's just that I can think of much more pleasant, productive ways to do it.” His voice dropped to a purr. “Something involving me and you and a bed. I don't really think we need a psychic there too.”

“Oohhh!” In her annoyance, Roberta jumped up. Her chair tipped and fell with a clang to the patio stones. Was this a pattern? Did Cody always turn on the charm when he wanted to avoid a discussion?

She glared at him. “Quit trying to change the subject. I already told you, we can't have a romantic relationship. Only a professional, and neighborly relationship. Besides, we're too different.”

Cody rested his chin on his hand. He didn't appear the least bit deterred by her comments. “So tell me again. Why are you and I together such an impossibility? I want to know.”

Roberta sighed. “Okay, I'll tell you again. But first, did you notice that the only time you try to seduce me is when you're trying to avoid my questions? That's hardly flattering.”

She grabbed the chair, set it upright, and plunked herself down. “One, you're writing a series on UFOs and aliens. You've talked to me, and my boss, about the subject and our organization. You are likely to want more information from us in the next week or so. I doubt even you think it's ethical to go to bed with your sources.”

Cody frowned. “I don't use sex to get what I want, if that's what you mean. And I can get my information from sources other than you. I told you that.”

Roberta shook her head. “Maybe that's true. But something else is important too. You're a typical, skeptical reporter. You won't even contemplate believing some of the things that I think are possible. At heart, you think I'm a kook. I couldn't possibly get involved with someone who . . . who didn't respect me.”

Roberta pursed her lips. She hadn't realized until this moment just how much she wanted Cody to think well of her, to be impressed by her abilities and skills. She'd grown used to her older brothers' jokes about her job, to the concern of her parents. She'd almost accepted the fact that nothing she did would ever impress Garnet, because, well, that was Garnet. But Cody?

Maybe later, after she'd proved that he had been abducted by aliens—if that was indeed the case—maybe then a relationship would be possible. Until then, she had to remain uninvolved. No one, not even Garnet, would believe her evidence if she got tangled up with Cody before everything was in place.

Cody's brow creased. “I don't think you're a kook.”
 

His dark eyes, full of questions, surveyed her, then finally met and held hers. The sincerity she saw there dumbfounded her, shaking the foundation of her argument, or at least the one she had presented to him. She swallowed and looked away.

“Never mind,” she finally spit out. She looked away from the genuine caring she saw in his eyes. “There's no point discussing this. We are not going to go out. We are not going to have a romantic relationship. We are most definitely not going to go to bed together. Okay? I don't want to hear about this again.”

Cody regarded her for a moment, then shrugged. “Anything you say, Ma'am.”

Roberta swallowed in an attempt to regain her self-control. “Now, where were we? That's right. We were discussing why you don't want to go to see the psychic. Don't you see that's the only option you've got left? Especially if you don't plan on going to see the doctor.”

The weariness returned to Cody's face. “I agree there seems to be nothing else. I just don't think visiting the psychic will provide me with any useful answers.”

“But you don't know that for sure. I know it seems silly, but isn't it worth a chance? Besides, how much longer do you think you can go on like this?”

Cody frowned. He looked grayer and older than he had only moments ago. “You're right. This can't last much longer. I can't take it. But a psychic . . .” His frown deepened. He paused. “Oh, all right. I'll go see Madame Carabini.”

His next words halted Roberta's smile. “But on two conditions only.”

Roberta eyed him suspiciously. She didn't like the gleam in his dark eyes. “What conditions?”

His lips curved upwards in a slow smile. “One, you come with me.”

She nodded. “Okay. What else?”

“And two, you ask the psychic if she sees a romantic relationship with me in your future.”

* * *

Cody slid out of the Corvette and stretched. He glanced at the car as Roberta got out, then looked away. Driving had been an act of will, his mind fighting this weird aversion to the car as well as the queasiness assaulting his stomach. At least there hadn't been any flashes of blue light.

“Are you okay?” Roberta stood at his side.

“I'm fine.”

Cody ignored the concern on her face. Roberta had made it clear yesterday she was capable of resisting his charm. For him, this was a new experience, one he didn't like. In the past, his interest in a woman had always been reciprocated. But he hadn't pursued any woman for a long time. Had he lost his touch? He hoped not. Because, unfortunately, he found it impossible to resist Roberta.

He turned his attention to Madame Joanne Carabini's house. Except for the turquoise door and trim, the ranch-style home resembled its neighbors in this middle-income suburban area.

But it didn't matter how normal it looked. He didn't want to be here. He didn't believe Madame Carabini could tell him anything he didn't already know. But did he have a choice? Between the sleeplessness, the nausea, and now that blue light, he was beginning to think he was losing his mind.

He swore under his breath. No way would he see another psychiatrist. He'd had more than enough of them and doctors and therapists of every other stripe since his return. That left only one place left to turn. The psychic.

He started up the walk, then glanced at Roberta. “So who's first?”

“You, of course.” She shot him a dirty look; he choked back a chuckle. He had no intention of pushing her to ask the psychic about their relationship. But it was fun to tease her.

He knocked on the turquoise door. A plump woman with brown, wavy hair opened the door. She smiled pleasantly when he identified himself and Roberta, and asked them in.

As he followed her into the tiled entranceway, then down into a subdued sunken living room and dining area, he noted nothing flamboyant about her or her home's decor. She wore tan slacks and a matching silk blouse, both of good quality, and her soft leather sandals made no sound on the tile or carpet. Just as well, he thought. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she'd answered the door wearing a turban and clutching an armful of crystals.

In her soft voice, she asked them to sit at the dining table. She settled herself in a chair kitty-corner to Cody, and then studied him. She took her time, her unusual aquamarine eyes seeming to probe deep within him. Cody found the sensation . . . disturbing.

“Did you bring anything that you wore or had with you during your disappearance?” she asked.

Cody nodded. He unbuckled his wrist watch and placed it on the table, then pulled off a tiger's eye ring. “I don't have the clothes I was wearing. The police took them. I never did get them back.”

Madame Carabini picked up the watch. She ran her fingers along the metal back and the leather strap, and turned it over in her hands several times before putting it down. She placed the ring in the palm of her left hand, then closed her fist around it. After a moment she placed it on the table beside the watch.

She studied Cody again. “You look . . . tired. Is there some reason for this?”

“He hasn't slept for more than two or three hours a night for the last two weeks,” Roberta piped up. She looked at Cody. “And there have been other things, right?”

He nodded, glad they'd agreed beforehand on what to tell the psychic. He'd read that some so-called psychics used clues they garnered from their clients' own words to guess at their pasts and futures. “I've also suffered attacks of nausea, anywhere from once to several times a day. They come on quickly, for no reason I can discern, and pass within a minute.”

“Hmm.” Madame Carabini's eyes narrowed. “Have you been to see your doctor since all this started?”

“No.”

She pursed her lips but made no comment. “Give me your hands.”

Cody obeyed. Her cool, light touch surrounded him, like a morning mist in the valley. His eyes widened.

She smiled at him, her clear eyes serene. “I'll be shutting my eyes now, and holding your hands for several minutes. Just relax.”

Cody nodded. He glanced at Roberta and winked, then returned his attention to Madame Carabini. The woman had shut her eyes.

Cody took a deep breath and concentrated on relaxing. The hands holding his grew warm, hot, then burning.

Suddenly Madame Carabini's eyes flickered open. “You have lived a frantic life, Mr. Walker. Speeding, running, racing through your days. You like excitement, adventure. Rock climbing. Driving your car. Skiing. Speed boats. At least until lately. Is that not right?”

Cody nodded, unimpressed. Anyone who'd read about him would know that.

Madame Carabine regarded him steadily. “So frantic, indeed, that one would think you've been running from something. Perhaps running from facing something, some thought or emotion, deep within you.”

Cody scowled but the psychic's gaze didn't falter. She shut her eyes again. “Now, Mr. Walker, please concentrate on your disappearance. Relax and concentrate.”

Cody obeyed. He, too, shut his eyes. Time passed slowly. The psychic's hands, which had cooled when she had opened her eyes, heated up again.

Suddenly she jerked. Through their linked hands, he felt the deep shudder race through her. Cody opened his eyes at the same moment Madame Carabini's eyes fluttered open. In seconds her gaze focused and strengthened. She seemed to be looking into and beyond him at the same time.

“I see you . . . I see you.You appear to be asleep. You're wearing ordinary clothes, a short-sleeved white shirt and dress pants. You're still wearing your shoes. You're lying on your back, on . . . it looks like some kind of metal bed attached to the wall. No sheets or pillows.”