Not a Moment Too Soon

Hardly. She might be a professional shrink now—his mother had let that slip a few years ago—but he was the professional investigator. Shauna might have overlooked something that could lead to his daughter.

Except…others on the force had believed wholeheartedly in Shauna’s stories when Hunter was with the Phoenix Police Department. And sometimes even he couldn’t discount them entirely.

But Andee was all right. She had to be.

Hunter pounded one fist on the steering wheel of his rented sedan, then twisted it to follow Shauna’s little blue sports model down a street on the outskirts of town. She turned into a driveway, and he pulled in behind her.

Nice house. One story, not very big, but pretty. It was the obligatory Arizona earth-tone color, but brighter in shade than customary, almost red, like rich clay.

The garage door opened automatically, and Shauna pulled in. He parked outside and grabbed his cell phone for one more call.

“Simon? What’s happening?” Simon Wells, a Rolls-Royce of a British import, was Hunter’s second-in-command at Strahm Solutions, his P.I. agency. Hunter had called him first thing when he’d learned about Andee, got him started doing all the things he’d do himself if he was in L.A. His complete trust in Simon was the only reason he’d been able to convince himself to indulge in this delay.

“Nothing new yet,” Simon replied in his unabashedly English accent. “Soon, though. Banger’s on his way.” Strahm Solutions had developed an excellent working relationship with Los Angeles Police Detective Arthur Banner, whose nickname, perversely, was “Banger.” Straitlaced and all cop, he was the furthest thing imaginable from a gangbanger, though his nickname was also used to refer to those street toughs.

“He’s from LAPD’s West Bureau,” Hunter pointed out. “You sure he can deal with this? Margo’s place is in Sunland. That’s Valley Bureau. Foothill Division, I think.”

“You know Banger. He’ll figure it out. He understands this is high priority and low profile, so he’s called one of the best FBI agents he knows. A rare one who’s discreet. So far, the press hasn’t gotten wind of what’s happened. Where are you?”

Hunter told him. “I’ll be here for another hour or so, then grab a flight back to L.A.” A thousand instructions slammed through his head, but he left them there. Simon was smart. He worked well with minimal direction, and the others on Hunter’s staff at Strahm Solutions knew to listen to him.

“Good. I’ll let you know if I learn anything more in the meantime.”

“Thanks.” Pushing the flap down on his cell phone to hang up, Hunter looked toward the garage. Shauna had exited her car and stood beside a door that opened into the house. Slender and poised and utterly sexy, she was watching him. Warily. As if she expected him to pounce on her the moment they got inside.

Didn’t he just wish…?

Instead, he got out of the car, cursing himself silently for still wanting her. Cursing her. For looking so good. For inciting ideas inside him that he had no business feeling.

She stirred him still, as no woman had. Not even Margo. He wanted Shauna.

Was there some other way that Shauna had really known something had happened to Andee? So much about her stories had always seemed true, too much to be coincidental. Yet he’d always prided himself on being a realist, had never wanted to buy in to the idea.

Yeah? Well, if he hadn’t bought in to it, why was he here, when what he really wanted was to be home, looking for his daughter?

He closed the car door and hurried toward Shauna. He’d accused her earlier of having something to do with the kidnapping. That had just been his anxiety lashing out, and they’d all known it. Apologies didn’t come easily to him, but he’d owed it to her.

Years ago, though, he wouldn’t have put such a terrible hoax past her, not if it would have gotten him to admit that she had the power to write stories, out of the blue, that came true. She’d always been upset when he didn’t believe her.

And maybe if he had been more accepting, he’d still be living here in Oasis, his job with the Phoenix Police Department intact.

“Were you talking to someone in L.A.?” she asked when he drew near her. Her scent was much as he remembered it. Something too soft to be exotic, too spicy to be sweet and feminine. But very appealing. It suited the mystery of her.

“Yes,” he said. “My assistant, Simon. He’s with my ex-wife, trying to get better information. So far, there’s nothing of use.” He let his tone turn scornful. “Your story’s as likely to tell me something helpful as Margo is.”

Shauna’s eyes blazed, but only for an instant. Saying nothing, she led him inside.

They entered the house through her kitchen. It was a lot smaller than his mother’s. A lot more like a small, homey forest. Shauna had plants everywhere—on her tiny kitchen table, along her gold-tile counters, even on top of the refrigerator. A few had flowers. Most were simply large and leafy and green. The place smelled more like a garden than a kitchen.

“Sit down there.” Shauna pointed to a chair beside her table. “I’ll get you more coffee and…Hunter, I have to warn you again. I don’t think you should read the story.”

“Yeah, I got that. Is it because Andee’s father is described in it as an ugly old goat who doesn’t believe in magical stories that come true?”

She leveled her gaze on his. This time, what he read in her wide brown eyes, the tilt of her head that allowed her long, blond hair to cascade to one side, wasn’t hurt or anger. It was pity.

Damn. Now that hurt. He had never wanted Shauna’s sympathy before. He sure as hell didn’t want it now. Yet the expression again reminded him of the past, of what they had shared.

And not just that he’d thought he’d loved her.

The passion between them had been phenomenal. The thought of it once more sent his blood coursing, as if a flood-gate had been opened. Sure, he could imagine himself making love to Shauna again. Hell, yes. She was every bit as beautiful and desirable as she’d been then.

But the sympathy in her eyes brought him back abruptly to why he was here.

She thought she knew the ending to Andee’s story, and it made her feel sorry for him.

He had to learn all she’d written, so he would know what she figured he’d be up against. And then he’d dash home.

Wearily he did as she asked and sat down on a chair. Covered by a thick, fringed pillow, it was more comfortable than his mother’s kitchen chairs.

“What is it, Shauna? I know I never wanted to believe your stories came true, no matter what I saw. Some of the other guys swore by what you told them. Hell, maybe you’ve been right every time.” That was why he’d taken precious time to come here before hurrying home, why his hastily crafted strategy had included seeing Shauna—just in case. “Maybe whatever you’ve written now is real and there won’t be a damned thing I can do about it. But I’ve got to know, in case there’s anything to help me find my daughter. If it’s bad stuff, I’ll fight it.”

“I know you will, Hunter,” she said with a sigh. “And you’re right. If nothing else, I can at least let you prepare for it. But, honestly, the only clue to who the kidnapper is, is that he thinks of himself as ‘Big T,’ assuming that’s actually his thoughts, not my imagination.”

He couldn’t help raising his eyebrows. This all was her imagination…except that Margo had confirmed that Andee had been taken.

“And no hints about how to find this so-called ‘Big T’?”

She shook her head. “Hunter, the thing is…” She hesitated, then turned her back and opened the refrigerator door.

“Andee dies at the end,” he supplied through gritted teeth. Prepare himself? Hell. Nothing could prepare him for that. “Right? Why else wouldn’t you want to tell me?”

He heard a sound that might have been a sob. But when she turned back to him, a package of coffee in her hands, she looked composed. “Yes, Hunter. That’s the end of my story.”

Big T swooped down and reached behind a couch in the middle of the warehouse floor, lifting his Uzi. Before he could begin spraying bullets, Hunter ducked, rolled and came up shooting. His first volley got the guy in the gut.

The kidnapper fell to the hard concrete floor, moaning, as Hunter ran to kneel beside him, his weapon still leveled on him.

“Tell me where Andee is, you perverted bastard. Now.”

Blood spurted from between Big T’s fingers as he clutched his middle. “Too late.” His gasp was a ghastly laugh. “Good luck finding her.”

His eyes closed. He was dead.

Somewhere close by, but not near enough for Hunter to find her, Andee weakly cried “Daddy” for the last time.

Of course Hunter had guessed the ending, despite Shauna’s reluctance about telling him. And maybe that had been what she wanted—not to have to say the words herself.

Still, when she acknowledged he had guessed correctly, she winced inside at the pain that crossed his face, only to be replaced an instant later by stoic blankness.

“I still want to see it.” His voice held as much emotion as if he had requested the day’s weather report.

What he didn’t know yet was all Andee went through, all he went through, before that awful end. The story wasn’t always specific, but their torment was stark and real.

But she knew he wasn’t about to give up. He would fight it. Hunter always fought everything, and everyone, that didn’t comply with what he perceived as right and just and the way things should be. He wrestled with wrongs till he had them fixed, or at least wrapped up and within his control. That was why he’d made such a good cop.

And why things had gone so wrong for him at the end of his job with the Phoenix police.

“Okay,” she said quietly, realizing she had no choice. “I’ll get it in a minute.” She took the coffee carafe over to fill it at the sink first, buying herself a little more time.

“Forget about the damned coffee,” Hunter exploded.

She took a deep breath and put the carafe down. “Okay.”

She glanced at him before she left the kitchen. He was watching her, brows locked in a glower she remembered too well from their last days together. It signaled his impatience. The way he blamed her for not listening to him.

Oh, she had listened then. She’d heard too much, most of it things he was thinking, not saying. She didn’t need her special gift to tell her—only her eyes searching his, the mirrors to his very troubled, very angry soul.

Damn, how that had hurt her then.

It wouldn’t now, no matter what he thought or said or didn’t say. She wouldn’t let it.

The inside door to the kitchen opened onto a long, narrow room that was supposed to be used as a dining room. Shauna seldom entertained at home, since it was much easier to throw parties at Fantasy Fare. That allowed her to maintain the privacy of her home more easily, too. As a result, she had turned the would-be dining room into her office. She loved spending time in it, writing in it—except when her fingers spewed her tales of painful prediction—with its wall of multipaned windows overlooking the desert garden that was her backyard. Her antique door-desk sat right in the middle, on a wood panel that protected the room’s pale berber carpeting.

Ignoring her reflection in the large mirror along the inside wall, she sat at her desk chair and pulled open the top right drawer in one of the wooden file cabinets that acted as her desk’s legs. She had put the printout of the story in a folder right in front, and as she pulled it out, she couldn’t help scanning through it again. Surely she’d missed something, some glimmer of hope at the end that would mean—

“Is that it?”

Startled, she looked up. Hunter had sneaked into the room without her hearing him. Right behind her, he appeared to be reading the story over her shoulder. He stood so close he could have ripped the papers from her hands. So close that, if she rose, she could easily throw herself into his arms….

He was the one who would need comforting, not her. She wasn’t to get emotionally involved.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Here it is.” She turned enough in her seat to hand him the papers. “It’ll be more comfortable in the kitchen. The only seat in here is my desk chair. You can use it if you’d like but—”

He muttered something that she took as refusal to move. His straight black brows were furrowed in concentration as he read the story.

She studied him as he studied the words on the page. She could tell what part he was reading by the alternating anger and scorn and concern in his expression. Not that those changes were obvious. When she’d known him before, when he’d been a cop, he’d prided himself on his ability to keep his face blank, unreadable. And it had been, to everyone but her.

But she knew the scornful twitch at the edge of his lips—lips she had once licked and tasted and kissed so often that she’d known their texture better than her own. The almost imperceptible hardening of his cool stare that signified fury.

Concern hadn’t always been readable on his face, but was there in the briefest of caresses from those strong hands, the way he held her in his arms.

And now, she recognized pain in the way he closed green eyes that didn’t flash but flickered and died, then opened again to read more. If only she could hold him, could comfort him…

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He barely responded. “Sure.” And then he looked at her, his scowl fierce.

Once, her heart would have shriveled beneath that scowl. Today, despite her efforts to the contrary, it still hurt.

“I don’t believe things will happen this way,” he spit. “They can’t.” The last two words were lower, evincing grief.

Stay detached. Yet Shauna wondered if there was a way she could physically restrain herself from trying to ease his pain. The way she wished someone had helped her…

And then Hunter demanded, “I want you to get on your computer and write a different ending. Maybe that’ll convince you what you wrote is nonsense. It can’t possibly come true. Then I’ve got to get the hell out of here, to go look for her.”

“All right,” she said calmly. “I’ll write a different ending.” But it won’t be me who’ll be convinced.

She turned on her computer, a laptop she left set up on her desk connected to a printer, then waited while it booted up and Hunter paced impatiently. In a minute, she got into the file where the story had been saved.

“Look over my shoulder as I do this.” She scrolled till she came to a part near the end that was a turning point, where Andee had nearly been found. She deleted everything after that and quickly wrote a new, happy ending. What would Grandma O’Leary say about it if Shauna could talk to her? Nothing good, she was sure. “Okay with that?” she asked Hunter.

“Good enough.” Hunter’s voice sounded grudging. “Go ahead and save it.”

Her brief laugh was ironic as she tried to do just that. She closed the file, then opened it again, going right to the page where she’d made her changes.

The old ending was still there.

“This isn’t something new, Hunter. The computer—any computer I use—won’t save a different ending. Or any other changes, for that matter.”

“Let me try.”

“Sure.”

She had barely gotten out of her seat before Hunter slid into it. It was too tall for him, but he didn’t take time to adjust it. He looked like an adorable giant, his legs cramped beneath the desk. His fingers flew over the keyboard. She knew he was skilled in the use of computers—as well as in the use of things less cerebral. Like firearms and other weapons. She’d seen him in training when he’d been a cop. And his hands on her body…his skill in that had driven her mindless so often, so passionately, with wanting him.

How could she let herself think of that now?

“There.” He sounded satisfied. Her thoughts back under control, she read over his shoulder. Though his new ending was different from hers, a lot shorter, it was similar, and of course Andee was fine at the conclusion. The biggest change was that he had added some directions for finding Big T—information that would let Hunter track him down when it was all over. “Do you have a floppy disk or CD that we can save onto?” She silently removed a floppy from a file cabinet drawer. Hunter both saved his story on the hard drive and used the “save as” command to copy the revised story onto the disk.

And when he checked both the hard drive and the floppy, the old version of the story was there.

“Damn. This can’t be.”

Shauna watched as he tried again. And then tried something else.

To no avail, of course. She knew better.

“What have you done to your damned computer?” He rose and towered over her threateningly. The slight scent emanating from him wasn’t simply the aroma she recognized, of man and soap and Hunter. It was sharper, more bitter—like feral fear.

She’d never been afraid of Hunter, not even at his angriest. Even now, she did not believe he would hurt her…physically.

But he shouldn’t have the power to wound her emotionally, either. Not today. He doesn’t, she told herself.

Yet that didn’t stop pain worse than if he’d actually assaulted her.

“I’m sorry, Hunter.” She reached out and gently touched his arm. It was hard, tensed by his anger. And warm.

She remembered when he had held her in his arms tenderly. When tenderness had turned to lust. Don’t go there, she reminded herself again.

“I know you don’t want to believe it,” she continued. “Neither do I. But I’ve lived with this a very long time. These stories can’t be changed. In fact, my Grandma O’Leary warned me, when she was alive, that I shouldn’t even try.” Of course Shauna had tried anyway, especially with her father. “It could be too dangerous.”

“For you? Well, what about the victims of your stories?”

She couldn’t stand much more of this. She knew he was lashing out because of his own misery. You’re a therapist. Counsel him. Better yet, counsel yourself.

Her mind fished frantically for the right words. Don’t take it personally came to mind.

As if she could help it. But she managed to move her hand from his arm and take a step back.

“Tell you what,” she said a lot more calmly than she felt. “Leave now. Take the story, if you think there are clues in it or that it’ll help you some other way. Keep in touch, and if anything different happens from what’s written, let me know. I’ll enter it, then let you know if it saves on the computer and changes the ending. Okay?”

A phone rang. Hunter’s cell, which he yanked from the back pocket of his khaki trousers. “Yeah?” Shauna couldn’t hear what was being said, but Hunter’s expression turned tormented before going blank again. “Yeah. I’m on my way.” He flipped the phone closed. “That was my assistant Simon. My ex-wife, Margo, is in hysterics about Andee. She’s upset that Simon’s brought in the cops, even someone we know and trust. The kidnapper told her not to, like that kind always does, so she’s distraught. Simon thinks I’d better get there fast to see if I can calm her down.” He snorted. “Fat chance.”

“But you have to try, of course. I’ll be thinking about you, wishing you—and Andee—well.”

“You’ll be thinking about me, all right. You’re coming along.”

She stared. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of your story. You say you can’t change it. Fine. I know you believe that. I don’t have time to argue.” His laugh was bitter. “I don’t want to believe any of it. But I can’t take chances.”

Shauna closed her eyes. “I can’t help you, Hunter.” But she knew she was lying. She had become a licensed therapist for just this kind of situation.

She knew how to help people in crisis situations.

Especially those whose crises were the subjects of her stories.

But most were strangers. Hunter wasn’t, despite the years they hadn’t seen each other. She would be too emotionally involved.

Going with him would be a mistake.

“Come with me, Shauna. You’ll tell me everything possible about your damned stories. And you’ll work with me to make sure this one doesn’t come true. Got it?”

“Hunter, I can’t.” She regretted bringing him to her house.

If they were anywhere else, she’d have fled.

For that wasn’t the end of it. If he’d continued to demand, or even threatened, she’d have stood her ground.

But he closed the space between them, reached out and took her hands in his much larger ones, gripping them tightly. She remembered when he’d held her hands before…lovingly.

His voice, too, sounded full of emotion as he said, “Please, Shauna. Please help me. For Andee’s sake. I’ll beg if I have to, but—”

She couldn’t stand that. She looked up into his sorrowful green eyes and said something she regretted even as she spoke it. “All right, damn it, Hunter. I’ll come.”

Chapter 3

Shauna stared resignedly into the passenger’s side-view mirror. The familiar small-town streets of Oasis receded behind them and, with their disappearance, all sense of serenity and comfort receded from her mind.

But this wasn’t about her.

She turned to watch the man sitting beside her. It was about him. His posture was stiff and taut, as if he maintained such discipline over himself that moving a muscle except to steer the car would snap him like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point.

His expression was as bleak as the rolling desert vista that abutted the highway, and he kept his eyes straight ahead, not even glancing toward her.

She struggled to think of something to say that would not sound too much like psychobabble, yet be of some help to this man who had once meant so much to her.

But what was there to say? His daughter had been kidnapped. A five-year-old child. And whether or not Hunter believed her, she had already told him there could be no happy ending.

And despite his earlier apology, she knew he somehow blamed her for this, as he once had blamed her for another situation she had written about that had gotten so terribly out of control.

She had packed and changed clothes quickly before leaving home. Now she wore a pink buttoned shirt tucked into navy slacks, a matching navy vest and sandals. L.A. wouldn’t be as warm as Arizona, so she’d stuffed a sweater into a small suitcase with a couple of changes of clothes and her night paraphernalia.

She considered turning on the radio, for the only sounds were the growl of the engine and the unending road noise of tires humming on pavement.

First, though, she needed to make a call. She pulled her cell phone from the bottom of the burlap tote bag that doubled as her purse and pressed buttons until the number she called most frequently showed on the display screen.

It was answered on the second ring. “Fantasy Fare. Hi, Shauna. Are you okay? Where are you going?”

“Hello to you, too, Kaitlin.”

Shauna smiled to herself in bittersweet irony. Kaitlin Verona, a lithe and exuberant dynamo, was her closest friend, and the manager she’d blessedly hired to assist her with running Fantasy Fare.

Kaitlin had dropped in one day when a child had fallen at the restaurant and his father was threatening a lawsuit. Not only that, but food deliveries were late. In short, when things had been particularly hellish.

Kaitlin had simply taken over, made both the kid and his parents laugh, and used her sense of humor to persuade the superintendent of the food warehouse where Shauna bought supplies to send her order after hours.

Later she had told Shauna she’d heard her cries for help and responded. Of course, Shauna’s pleas had been strictly internal.

As they’d gotten to know each other better, Shauna understood that they had something in common: they shared abilities that most people would believe bizarre and unreal, though each one’s manifestation was unique.

They both perceived when someone else’s emotions roiled.

Shauna’s abilities translated to her fingertips, from which her stories spilled onto computer keyboards.