Read Parker And The Gypsy Online
Authors: Susan Carroll
Parker And The Gypsy (13 page)
He wanted to strip her out of her stiff suit, loosen her hair until it spilled silken gold about her shoulders, set free the sweet wild gypsy lady he'd known for those few precious moments on that bed.
Dangerous thoughts, Parker, he admonished himself, seeking to replace his delicious images of Sara naked with something safer. Like counting nuns in black and white habits. One mother superior, two sisters, three sisters...
Somehow Mike managed to regain control of his hand. Sara issued a tiny sigh that seemed to whisper inside of him, and suddenly he noticed the shadows pooling beneath her eyes.
“So what's the matter?” he demanded.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He tipped up her chin, studying her closer, not liking the lines of strain he saw feathering that angel-smooth brow. “You don't have to be psychic to tell you've been having a bad morning. Even before I showed up. I suppose that Jorgensen bag and her whatyacallit council's been giving you a hard time?”
“The redevelopment council.” Sara nodded unhappily. “They want me to get rid of my eye.”
“Huh?” Mike stared deep into her wide, earnest blue ones.
“The huge mechanical eye that hangs over my shop.”
“Oh, that.” Mike chuckled. “No way. That's one of the most interesting things in this whole boring town.”
“Well, the council doesn't share your admiration. They want my storefront to look more like all the others. They're even threatening to get an ordinance passed to make me do it.”
“So get a lawyer and fight them. Come out swinging. That's what I'd do.”
“I've never been much of a fighter, Michael. Sometimes it's just easier to conform.”
“What?” Mike chided her. “Is this the same woman talking who told me she should stop living her life trying to be average and normal like everybody else.”
Sara tried to smile, but couldn't quite manage it. “Yes, but I forgot being different can be just as hard. And painful.”
Mike wondered who the bastard was who'd been reminding her of that, and then he grimaced. Maybe he should take a look in the mirror.
Sara bit down on her lower lip. “All I ever wanted when I came here to take over my aunt's shop was a fresh start. To feel like there was somewhere I could be myself and still be accepted. Toâto belong somewhere. Do you understand at all what I mean, Michael?”
Mike shrugged, but he did understand. Better than he wanted to, her words stirring some answering chord within him. She appeared so fragile, so worn down. All he wanted to do was gather her into his arms and tell her she could hang mechanical eyes all over this damned uptight town if it was left up to him.
A
real
dangerous idea, Parker, he told himself, remembering just where doing the comforting bit had led him before. Tumbling Sara down onto that bed andâ
real
dangerous idea, Parker, he told himself, remembering just where doing the comforting bit had led him before. Tumbling Sara down onto that bed andâ
Four nuns, five nuns, six...
Struggling to control his impulses, Mike took a step back, saying, “Walk out to my car with me. Maybe I've got some news that will cheer you up.”
He refused to tell her any more until they were both outside, squinting in the bright flood of sunlight. His words had had a remarkable effect on Sara, the droop gone from her shoulders, the sparkle back in her step.
“You've found out something about John Patrick, haven't you?” she demanded, half tumbling down the city hall steps in her excitement.
“Take it easy, doll.” Mike caught her elbow to steady her. “It's nothing that major. All I've come up with so far is an address on that old caretaker, Kiefer.”
“Oh, Michael, that's wonderful. If anyone would know what happened to John after Mamie died, it would surely be him.”
“If the old geezer remembers. Everyone else sure seems to have forgotten all about Mamie.”
“I know,” Sara said softly, her eyes clouding over. “And there she is out at the Pine Top Inn, her spirit trapped in those lonely walls. It's rather sad, isn't it?”
“Yeah,” Mike agreed, uncomfortable as he always was at any mention of Sara's supposed ghostly friend. Maybe because in some odd way, Mamie Patrick was starting to haunt him, too. It was that damned picture, the last one ever taken of her. The girl's fresh young face, her tragic dark eyes, the tender smile for the little boy she loved so much and knew she wasn't going to be around to take care of much longer.
“My own mother died when I was that Patrick kid's age,” Mike murmured. “I don't remember her face anymore. I don't even remember her name.”
He winced almost immediately. Now where in the hell had that maudlin thought sprang from?
“I'm so sorry, Michael.” Sara pressed her hand over his, her touch warm and gentle, but Mike tugged impatiently away.
“It's not important. It's got nothing to do with the Patrick case,” he said, picking up the pace so that Sara had to hustle to keep up with him.
She trailed him back to where the Mustang was parked at the curbside. Sparky sat waiting for him and Mike knew an embarrassed urge to stuff the ragged toy under the seat as though it actually belonged to him or something.
He positioned himself, blocking Sara's view of the car. “Listen, angel. I've got to get going. I want to try to corner old man Kiefer as soon as I can.”
“And you will call me this time?” Sara asked anxiously. “As soon as you find out anything?”
“Sure thing.”
“Because I have to report back to Mamie.” Sara sneaked a guilty glance around and lowered her voice. “I risked going out to the inn again yesterday to see Mamie and she's getting very impatient”
“She's impatient?” Mike snorted. “Seems to me like she's got more time to kill than the rest of us. Like all eternity.”
“But John Patrick doesn't. Mamie keeps sensing that her son is in some kind of terrible trouble.”
“Too bad she couldn't also sense where he is. It'd save me a lot of legwork.” When Sara started to give him that sad reproachful look, Mike flung up one hand. “All right, all right. I'll call you the minute I find out anything, okay?”
Sara brightened immediately.
“That is
if
I find anything.”
if
I find anything.”
“You will. I'm certain of it.”
“Your faith in my detecting abilities is real touching, doll,” he drawled.
“It's not just your skill as a detective, Michael.” Sara cast a shy smile up at him. “Despite how tough you pretend to be, I sense that you're starting to care about Mamie as much as I do.”
Oh, Lord! Now where in the hell had Sara gotten an idea like that? Well, now was clearly the time to set the record straight. Tell her the real reason he'd gotten involved in this cockamamie case. Tell her about Storm. Tell her that all Mike was out for was revenge, pure, petty and simple.
Goodness knows, he'd never had any trouble disillusioning people about Mike Parker before. So why had it gotten so hard just because Sara was gazing up at him, her eyes shining and full of trust like she thought he was some damned hero?
Mike opened his mouth only to close it again on a long heartfelt sigh. That was the trouble. Those big blue voodoo eyes of hers. Looking too deep into them was like an out of body experience. From his body straight into hers.
Six nunsâor was it seven nunsâeight, nine...
He needed to get the hell out of here, now. Fumbling around in his pocket for his car keys, he came up with the crumpled invitation he'd filched from Mrs. Jorgensen instead.
“Here. What do you want to do with this?” he asked, handing it to Sara.
“I guess I'll just throw it away.” Opening the invitation, she studied the expensive vellum.
“The Aurora Falls Business Association cordially invites you to attend the annual Last Rose of Summer dance,” she read aloud. “Dinner to be served in the Pine Top Inn Chandelier Ballroom. followed by dancing in the rose garden under the stars.”
Despite her mock formal tone, a unmistakable wistfulness crept into Sara's voice.
“You'd really like to go to that thing, wouldn't you?” Mike demanded.
Sara hunched her shoulders, but Mike wasn't fooled.
“So go ahead and go,” he urged. “And the hell with Mrs. Jorgensen and company. You don't want to let the wicked stepmother win, do you, Cinderella?”
She smiled a little at his teasing, but slipped the invitation back in the envelope with a regretful shake of her head. “I wouldn't have anything to wear to an affair that formal.”
“So buy yourself a new dress, Cinders.”
“And what would I do for an escort? I'm not exactly a sought-after belle here in Aurora Falls, Michael.”
“I'll take you,” he blurted out, then grimaced. What the hell was he thinking of?
Sara appeared as astonished by his offer as he was.
“Wh-what did you say?” she asked.
Instead of pleading temporary insanity, he actually repeated the damning words. “I
said
I'll take you.”
said
I'll take you.”
“But Michael...why would you want to do that?”
Why?
The woman had a habit of asking the most annoying questions.
The woman had a habit of asking the most annoying questions.
“Because...” Because he just loved dressing up in a stiff monkey suit and hanging out with a bunch of bloody snobs like Elaine Jorgensen. “Because I thought it might be fun,” he blustered.
When Sara continued to gape at him in disbelief, he tipped his jaw to a belligerent angle. “What's the matter, Cinders? You don't believe I can play the part of Prince Charming?”
“No. That is...yes. IâIâ” Sara faltered. She believed in a lot of impossible things. Like ghosts and ESP. Love, romance and fairy tales. She even believed for every woman, somewhere out there waiting was her one true prince. She'd just never imagined that she might find hers wearing a wild Hawaiian shirt and driving a hot red Mustang.
“Of course, there'd be one condition,” he warned. “No more of your psychic hocus-pocus stuff.”
“N-no, I promise,” Sara said, still a little stunned by this unexpected offer.
“Good. Then it's settled.”
“Yes, I suppose so. Ifâif you're really sure....”
Turning toward his car, Mike gave an odd kind of laugh. “Hell! I'm not sure about much of anything anymore.”
He opened the car door, only to slam it again. Spinning around, he startled Sara by closing in on her. Seizing her under the arms, he hauled her half off her feet, yanking her toward him for a kiss that was hot, fierce and breathless.
Their lips seemed to meet with all the force of two trains colliding, sending sparks flying in all directions. For a moment, Sara hung suspended, her toes barely touching the pavement; the only solid thing in her world was Mike's hard masculine body crushed to hers, the feel of his mouth, hungry, demanding, possessing.
Then just as abruptly he released her, setting her back on her feet. Sara staggered as Mike pulled away, panting a little.
“There!” he growled. “Now I really gotta go. I'm running out of nuns.”
Sara was too dazed to make any sense out of his parting remark. She touched a finger to her bruised lips, still quivering from the sensations Mike had let loose inside her. Passion, tenderness, fire-hot desire. All the things a woman should feel when she'd just been soundly and thoroughly kissed. Nothing unusual.
Nothing unusual? No, there hadn't been. As Mike slipped behind the wheel of his car, Sara started forward to triumphantly point that out to him.
Then it happened.
Not even a niggle of warning this time. Not a tingle. Just a violent flash like lightning tearing a hole through a too-dark sky.
Mike Parker appeared stark naked to Sara's stunned eyes. Beautifully bare, all hair-roughened chest and sinewy thigh, all lean muscle as hard as the gearshift of his car.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her outcry. Fortunately Mike was distracted at that moment, fitting the key in the ignition, starting up the motor.
By the time he glanced up, Sara had recovered herself enough to step back to the curb. She couldn't speak, but managed a feeble smile and wave goodbye, trying not to look like a woman watching a man drive off, gloriously naked.
“It's not fair,” Sara groaned. Mike had just started to trust her, like a lone wolf creeping closer toward a welcoming campfire.
She ground her fingers against her forehead, trying to stop the vision before it went any further, deeper than Mike's sunbronzed skin and scarred shoulder, invading the vulnerable reaches of his soul.
But it was no use. More images followed like a series of aftershocks. Images too black and terrible for such a bright, sunlit day. A dark alley, a boy's ragged sob, the sharp gleam of a knife, the menacing shadow of a man, his hands stained with blood.
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