The Scented Cipher (A Nora Black Midlife Psychic Mystery Book 9)

You’ve Got Tail

Chapter One

SOME PEOPLE JUMPinto the deep end of the pool feet first, some head first, but I’ve always been a traditional belly-flopper. Splashy, messy, and usually painful. Which still didn’t explain why I was sitting on the floor of a closed diner, nursing my bruised butt, not to mention my pride, and staring woefully at a naked unconscious man in the middle of Peculiar, Missouri.

My parents are crazy from way back. Maybe that’s where I get it from. Seriously, who names a child Ambrosia Sunshine? Two hippies, that’s who. They told me when I was old enough to resent the flower child name that they’d thought it was cool at the time, but I personally believe it was the result of one too many ’shrooms. As it is, I’ve been forced to sit through many painful renditions of “You Are My Sunshine.” If I had a dead body for every time I was teased, well, let’s just say I’d get an express pass to the electric chair. Although, if I got a sympathetic judge, he’d probably consider my lifetime served.

Maybe my parents’ experimentation with drugs is what had made me psychic. (No, I didn’t say psychotic. I said psychic.) On the other hand, it could also explain why I’m so bad at it.

My ability allows me glimpses, more like screenshots, of the past, present, and future. But, clearly, the visions have not been helpful over the years. And the side effects, sheesh. Most of the time I feel a little dizzy when they hit, but every once in a while, it’s as if someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of my skull. Usually, I can feel one coming on; otherwise driving might be an issue. If only they made medic-alert bracelets for my type of ailment. It certainly hasn’t been a gift.

That’s why my friendship with Chavvah Trimmel is so important. We’d met at the community college in San Diego. She thought my name was weird and awesome all rolled up into a spring roll. After finding out her family’s propensity for strange biblical names, I thought it was a bit of the pot calling the kettle rusty. Chavvah, or Chav, as she likes to be called, was my first best friend. And when she’s around me, my psychic mojo kicks up twenty notches. It’s as if I can tap into some kind of mystic hotline whenever she’s near.

As a matter of fact, the last time I’d gotten a clear vision had been in my dining room back in California. Chav, who’d been renting my spare bedroom at the time, had just turned down the heat on the spaghetti sauce, and I was setting the table. We were having an “I finally dumped the cheating bastard” celebratory dinner. Did I mention I’m a bad psychic? So I hadn’t a clue what I was walking in on when I caught my boyfriend of three years having sex with the skank waitress from the coffee shop. On my couch, no less. Jerk. I took his spare key and kicked his ass (and the couch) to the curb.

At dinner that night, when the vision hit me, I’d hit the ground, along with some clattering dishes. I saw a present moment of Chav’s parents huddled together, debating whether to call her about her missing brother. Talk about being the bearer of bad news. I didn’t blame her for not believing me at first, or the stunned look she gave me when she called her parents, and it turned out to be true. Her brother Judah had dropped off the map.

Chav flew back to Missouri the next day. After a year of searching for him, the local police had pretty much given up on Judah, but by that time, Chav had forgotten about the ocean and fallen in love with the little town of Peculiar. Hell, from her letters and phone calls, I’d kind of fallen in love with the place as well. She’d found a restaurant in the rural town, a real fixer-upper, for the two of us to run. A fifty-fifty partner split.

I wasn’t supposed to leave California for another two weeks, and Chav had said she needed to talk to me “in person” before I made the trip, but the text I’d gotten from her had sent me packing in a hurry.

All it said was: Sunny. I need u.

After that, every call I’d made to Chav went straight to voice mail. Without any real plan, I jumped into my gas-guzzling Toyota 4X4, which I had purchased explicitly for the move. One thousand six hundred and sixty-two point four miles later, as I drove over a swinging bridge (the only way in and out, I soon discovered) into the quaint little town, my whole body heaved a sigh of relief. I felt strangely wonderful. It was as if someone unzipped my off-the-rack skin and fitted me with a tailored Sunny suit.

The town looked very similar to Mayberry from The Andy Griffith Show. Dirt streets, old fashioned shops and houses, white picket fences, and lots of Chevy and Ford pickup trucks. I was a little nervous when my GPS said, “You have arrived,” right outside a two-story yellow building on the corner of Third Street and Main.

My heart pounded as I stood outside our restaurant for the first time. I’d always expected some kind of fanfare. Chav waiting to usher me into our future. She’d even named the restaurant for me. Sunny’s Outlook. I’d blame allergies for my eyes watering at that moment, but I knew it was a mixture of happiness and sadness all rolled into one big bundle. This was our place. Mine and Chav’s. And she’d done it up spectacularly.

I smiled at the brightly colored lettering. All the letters except the big O in Outlook were blue. The O was not an O at all, but a bright orange sun. If it was possible to feel both warm and cold at the same time, I accomplished it.

Where was Chav? I knew in my bones something was wrong. The year we”d spent apart had dulled my psychic ability toward her, so once again I had become inept with crazy flashes that didn’t amount to much of anything.

I jiggled the door handle. It wasn’t locked, so being the smart, city-savvy girl I am, I decided to let myself in. After all, I owned half the joint, so I wasn’t trespassing.

Darkness enclosed the front room except a few areas illuminated by sunlight filtering into the two small windows near the ceiling. They were surrounded by open wooden shutters. Where were the large storefront windows? This place was more dive bar than restaurant. Strange decor choice but my concern for Chav kept me from imagining a complete makeover. I couldn’t find a light switch around the door. I should have just gone back out to the truck for a flashlight, but I thought I saw a panel on the wall across the room, and frankly, it was sheer laziness that moved me forward.

I managed to maneuver around the counter, open the panel, and flicked several of the switches at once. The lights came on and when I stepped back to admire my new home lit up—it didn’t look half bad; hardwood floors, cute little tables with black-and-white gingham cloth, and a couple of booths with the same checkered design on the benches.

And that’s when it happened. My heel caught on something large, and I fell ass-backward to the ground. It didn’t take more than a nanosecond to see that I’d tripped over a naked man passed out cold on the floor.

After a startled yelp, heart palpitations, and worry that he’d wake up at any moment and kill me, I reached over and touched him. Just his arm, mind you. He didn’t move, but his skin felt warm, and his chest raised and lowered, so I didn’t bother to check for a pulse.

Instead, I found myself staring…for several minutes. (Come on. He was naked and lying on his back. Who wouldn’t stare?) Dark-brown hair populated his broad chest and led to a happy trail that, well, if the circumstances had been different would have made me very happy indeed. He had thickly muscled thighs and arms, and his face, except for the scruffy five o’clock shadow, looked as if it had been chiseled by Michelangelo. Imagine a better-looking Wolverine (Hugh Jackman’s version), but much younger and with a burly lumberjack vibe, and coarse, medium-length walnut-brown hair.

I chewed my lower lip as I took my time pondering the situation—in other words, I wasn’t ready to stop staring at the naked man. His hair was near the same hue of brown as my own, when it wasn’t dyed blonde, which was never. And mine was shorter with a better haircut. I sighed with regret. I already missed my stylist in California.

Taking a deep breath, I counted backward from ten to pull myself out of the hormonal frenzy going on in my head. The man was hotter than a habanero, but I wasn’t looking for a date. I smelled a pungent sweet scent I hadn’t noticed before, but frankly I was surprised any of my senses still worked. It was whiskey. Some kind of blended version, if I had to guess.

Great. Just perfect. Burly Hugh looked more and more like a drunk who had crawled into the diner to sleep off a bender.

I found an empty spray bottle by the sink and filled it with water. Positioning myself on the opposite side of the checkout counter (just in case I needed to make a run for it), I leaned over the top and proceeded to spritz the unconscious man. The mist must have been too fine, because other than the rise and fall of his chest, he still didn’t move.

Crawling farther up onto the counter, I stretched my arms over the other side, hovering just inches from his face. I pumped the trigger hard three or four times, then screamed and dropped the bottle when his hand shot up and grabbed my wrist. The Neanderthal yanked me completely over the top and onto his naked self. He growled— honest to goodness, I wouldn’t lie about such a thing. He growled. The noise started in his chest. I know, because I could feel it in mine, which was now crushed against him.

Why hadn’t I just left and called the police? It would have been the easy thing to do—the smart thing. His arms were squeezed tight around me, and I became acutely aware of his Mr. Happy pressing against the skin of my thigh.

His eyelids cracked a peep, then he narrowed his gaze. “Who are you?”

“I…” I should be the one asking the damn questions, but the only ones coming to mind were completely inappropriate. Like, where did he work out? How good looking were his parents to create such a fine specimen of man? And did he have a girlfriend?

There was a moment, a very weak moment on my part, where I began to lower my face to his, our lips only centimeters apart.

What the hell am I doing?Where was my head? He could be a serial killer, a rapist, or someone really bad, like an Amway salesman. I turned my head away from his.

“Could you let me up, please?”

He squeezed me tighter. “Are you going to answer me?”

Finally, I gulped and squeaked out, “Sunny Haddock.”

His left eyebrow rose. “Sunny Haddock?”

“Uh, that would be me. Yes.” I’d been in town less than an hour and I was already famous. Well, my name was on the side of the building. “And you would be?”

“Babel Trimmel.”

“Chav’s baby brother?” I’d heard stories about him, but I’d imagined him to be terminally twelve. The age he’d been when Chav had left Missouri for the West Coast.

“Chavvie made a big mistake. She shouldn’t have asked you out here.”

Talk about judging someone before you get the know them. Barely through introductions and he already wanted me out. I’ve made a bad first impression before, but what the fuck? What didn’t he like about me? Although maybe it wasn’t about like. Because, by the rise of his hoo-ha against my leg, I could swear he liked me a little.

An unfamiliar flutter twittered in my stomach. It’d been awhile since I’d been so physically attracted to anyone. Babel’s nostrils flared with a slight huff. His brows narrowed. His eyes dark with purpose. I felt like Little Red Riding Hood, and Babel filled the role of the Big Bad Wolf intent on eating my goody basket. Oh, if only.

Pull yourself together, Sunny.But it was really hard, along with his arms, his chest, his abs, his…

Holding me tighter, his arms locked around me. He stroked my back with his firm hands. I trembled, fighting back a deep moan. “Please let me up, Babel,” I said again.

He froze for a second then relaxed. He unlocked his arms from around me and smiled. “Call me Babe. Everybody does.”

To say I scrambled off his body would be a bit of an overstatement. The trembling had left my arms and knees weak, but I managed, albeit slowly. “I don’t know you well enough to call you Babe. Sorry.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off his semi-erect package.

“Could you put some clothes on? I’m feeling a little…”

He propped up on an elbow like a Playgirl centerfold and grinned. “Overdressed?”

What an egomaniac!“No. Sheesh.” Okay, so maybe I felt a tad overdressed, even in my pink spaghetti-strap shirt dress with black short-shorts and sandals. It was hot in Missouri. Sticky hot. And besides, I’d put in more hours than I care to count at the gym to counterbalance my donut habit, so I deserved to wear those shorts. My exercise routine wasn’t all about the donuts. Over a year of no sex, since the dickhead had cheated, and while I’m no sex maniac, that’s a long time for someone who had been getting it on the reg.

The “no sex” could also explain why I had such a visceral reaction to this guy. No doubt the man was a hunka-hunka. “Could you quit posing on the floor?” I wagged my finger toward his poker. “And for the love of daisies, put some clothes on before that thing puts out someone’s eye.”

He had the courtesy to look the tiniest bit embarrassed. “Nothing personal. It’s a purely physical reaction.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“Sorry, I just meant, well, I’m a guy. You brush against the junk, it goes stiff.”

“And here I thought I was special.” This line of conversation bordered on hurting my feelings. I know I’m not a beauty queen, but neither am I Medusa. “You can shut up now.”

Color rose to his cheeks—those nice fuzzy, chiseled, scruffy, manly cheeks, so perfectly bookending his Roman nose and gorgeous bow lips. And damn it to hell, his teeth were friggin’ perfect! He pulled himself up by grabbing the counter, and holy schmoly, the man was tall. If I had to guess, he bordered on 6’5”. I’m pretty sure I hated him for being so beautifully handsome.

“I only meant to say…”

I almost offered to buy him a shovel, but he managed to dig his own hole quite deep without any help from me. “I’ve got it already, jeesh. Not interested, physical reaction, yadda, yadda, yadda. No need to explain yourself further. Besides, I’m not looking for a boyfriend, so doesn’t matter. And even if I were, it certainly wouldn’t be my best friend’s baby brother. We cool?” I didn’t wait for him to answer. I waved him off. “Great. Excellent. Awesome even. Now, put on some damn clothes.” Why-oh-why was I attracted to crazy?

“Perhaps you could find me a diaper.”

Guess he didn’t like the “baby” comment. Oh well. Sucks to be him.

He covered himself with his hands. Thank God. However, it didn’t stop me from checking out the rest of his body. Ay Chihuahua! Damn, it kind of sucked to be me.

I knew from Chav that Babel had moved back to Kansas City where their parents lived after he’d taken a year off from university to look for their brother Judah. What was he still doing here? A horrible thought entered my head. “If you’re here, does that mean…”

His face suddenly sobered. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad haven’t been able to get ahold of her for the last couple of days, so they sent me down to check in. I got here yesterday.”

“She texted me a couple of days ago. I haven’t been able to get ahold of her since then.” I lifted a hand to comfort him, but his nakedness stopped me from breaching the distance. “Babel, we’re going to find her.” Even if I had to turn over every stump and stone in this backward-ass town.

“Call me Babe. Everyone does.”

That was the second time he’d said that to me, but I couldn’t call him Babe. No way, no how. Too intimate. Especially since I’d seen him in his birthday suit. “I don’t think so.”

He chuckled, low and sexy, and everything went right south of my navel. “Sunny,

I’m afraid I’ve, err…lost my clothes.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” How did a person go about losing all their damn clothes? “Fine. I’ll stay on one side of the counter. You stay on the other. Kapeesh?”

“I understand,” he said with a practiced tolerance. It made me wonder who he’d gotten so much practice with.

He hadn’t turned around yet, and part of me felt really sad about it. I’m sure he had a killer butt to go with his killer bod. I was all about the teeth and ass. But there were no complaints about the whole frontal part of him either, so…

“Good. Should I call someone for you? Or do you want to call someone? A girlfriend? Anyone who can bring you some clothes?” Subtle. Not.

“The phone’s not working here even if I could call someone.”

I noticed he’d didn’t say “no girlfriend.” Much to my annoyance, I cared. And why was the phone turned off? “Don’t you have a cell phone that works?”

He moved his hands, indicating his lack of attire. “No pockets.”

In the immortal words of Homer Simpson, Doh! I snuck another quick glance at his dangly bits, even more annoyed with myself for not having better self-control. “Great. Fantastic.” I waved my hand again and purposefully looked away. I had a cell phone out in my truck, and was just about to tell him I’d go get it when he stepped out from behind the counter, still full Monty. “Hey! Keep the mammoth covered.”

“Flattering. But there’s nothing prehistoric about it.” He cocked his eyebrow and smirked.

Bastard.

“Look here, darling.” He pointed to his “junk” as he’d called it and said, “This here is what you call a penis. It’s connected to the bladder and the bladder is full. Turn your head if you want, sweetheart, but I’m heading to the john.”

“Lovely. And I’m not your darling.” I made a show of rolling my eyes and turning away. “I’m going to get my cell phone. I expect you to be standing behind the counter by the time I get back.” Now, for the sake of posterity—well, at least for the sake of his posterior—I glanced back as he headed left to the bathroom. Of course, it was sort of hard to notice his ass when I saw the— “Blood…” I whispered.

A pain pierced my temple as my knees buckled beneath me. I dropped to the ground. My peripheral vision narrowed to black. The pounding of blood racing through my arteries swelled loudly in my ears. It was out of beat with my heart.

The thumping of blood stopped, my eyesight began to clear, and I was in Babel’s arms.

“Sunny? You okay?” I heard his voice as a muffled echo.

No, I wanted to tell him. I wasn’t okay. But my mouth didn’t work. A vision came over me. I could sense it like death come knocking. Then I was no longer in Babel’s arms. I was a ghost. A spectator.

I was…in a shabby apartment with furniture dating back to the seventies? Had I traveled to the past? It wasn’t unheard of for me, but it couldn’t be relevant for something in my life now since I hadn’t been born until 1974. Or could it? Great. The powers that be were giving me a psychic reading on my lost Crissy doll. Useless.

I heard a muffled cry, maybe a scream from beyond the front door. I passed through and down the stairs. The noise grew louder. Animalistic growls and snarls. Fear tightened in my stomach.

It’s not real, I reminded myself several times as the feral sounds made me shiver.

I couldn’t see any creature, but it certainly sounded like someone was getting voraciously attacked. And the room—it looked familiar. Two windows high up on the far wall spilled moonlight across the floor to…the counter? This was the restaurant. The noise continued, loud, animalistic, with grunting, groaning, and a masculine “ah!” Oh. Oh no.

If I’d really been there, I’d have run, but the vision took me closer to the scene of the crime. On the floor, behind the counter, a gorgeous woman with long dark hair, golden eyes, and even in the bad lighting, a body I’d give my right tit for, straddled the very naked and very sexy Babel Trimmel. I wanted to gouge out my eyes. Where was a hot poker salesman when you needed him?

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “You were fantastic, Babe. As always.”

He smiled, his eyes rolling back a little. Coming up on his elbows, he leaned his left shoulder forward and looked behind. “You’ve got to do something about those fingernails.”

“Just marking my territory.”

Holy smack, the blood on the floor had happened during sexcapades? Yikes.

“I’m not your territory, Sheila.”

The woman, Sheila apparently, picked up a bottle of Canadian Mist from the floor beside them, took a swig, then dumped some of the amber liquid down his large chest. No wonder the place reeked.

Babel shook his head and gave her thigh a light slap. “It’s time to go, Sheila. I’ve got to get the place cleaned up.”

“You sure you don’t want to move here?” She licked his nipple. “I’ve sure missed you.”

He sighed. The sigh sounded like it’d been one that he’d perfected over and over for this very argument. “It’s not this town or you. I’ve got a real life outthere.” He said “there” as though he was talking about an alien planet. “I’m going to find my sister, then get back to it.”

“And what if you don’t find her?” Sheila asked. “You never found Judah.”

Babel’s eyes narrowed. “Not an option,” he said. Then added, “I’m finding her, and after, getting the heck out of this town. It’s brought nothing but bad luck for my family.”

“Sorry,” she said, as if she wasn’t sorry, an evil smile playing on her lips. Okay, so maybe more mischievous than evil, but it was my vision, I could use whatever adjectives I liked. “But you know that answer pisses me off.”

Before he could blink, she whacked him super hard across the temple with the bottle of blended whiskey, and Babel was out like a light.

“Bastard,” Sheila muttered. Which I understood, because it had been my sentiment exactly.

She dressed quickly, gathered up Babel’s clothes, and walked into the kitchen area. It was small, but nice. I hadn’t had a chance to see it yet, so it was like my very own psychic tour. She opened the walk-in freezer and chucked the jeans, boots, socks, and T-shirt inside.No underwear.Huh. I’d file that nugget away for later.

My vision stopped with her slamming the front door, and suddenly I was back, looking up from the floor at the towering and still very naked Babel. “Ow.” My head, my back, my butt—everything hurt. “Did you drop me?”

“What the hell just happened?” He looked a little freaked out.

I got up on my elbows and rubbed the back of my skull. “Did you drop me on the ground?”

“You were having a seizure or something. I laid you on the floor.” He was definitely freaked. “If I’d had a phone I’d have called for the doc, but…”

“I’m fine now. You can stop worrying.” I moved my feet off the chair Babel had propped them up on.

“I’m sorry. I’m squeamish about blood.”

Which wasn’t a complete lie. Blood tended to bring on funky psychic mojo that left me drained and pained. Although, I’ll admit, these visions had been much stronger than normal. Apparently, Chavvah wasn’t the only Trimmel who put my psychic stuff on speed dial.

“I’m getting that about you.” At least he sounded less upset.

I closed my eyes. “Why would you let someone do that to your back?”

“That’s a story for another day, darlin’.”

Yeah, I knew the story. Not so sure I wanted the blow-by-blow again. I felt his arms go under me, and I opened my eyes, staring into the deep abyss of his gorgeous, Midwest baby blues.

I let him carry me upstairs to the apartment. I’m not a small woman, but he held me like I weighed next to nothing, which made me think kindlier of him. With my arms around his shoulders, I could smell an unidentifiable musk and spice to his skin. He sat me down on a couch—the scent went from musky to musty—then he went into another room. I heard water running in the sink. More than a whisper of regret passed through me. I barely knew the man and I missed being in his arms. I looked around the living room.

This was the seventies place where my vision had started. The retro decor lacked any sophistication that could’ve made the space sensational. I knew this had been where Judah lived when he’d been in town. He’d rented this building before his disappearance, and Chav had used our stake to purchase it during her search for him. His vanishing had hit her hard.

Chav told me once that she hadn’t agreed with her oldest brother’s “lifestyle choice,” but she respected him. I’d asked her what she meant, but she had shaken her head, unwilling to elaborate. I knew it wasn’t as simple as him being gay or anything like that, because Chav, like myself, was socially liberal. Hell, she’d have started her own PFLAG (Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays) in Peculiar if that had been the case. No. There was something else she hadn’t approved of.

I heard the water turn off in the kitchen. Babel returned and proceeded to wipe my face and neck with a cool cloth.

“There now, all better.” For a second, he sounded like my father. Which totally squicked me, considering the hard-core fantasies I had about him. He put the washcloth in my hand and patted my shoulder. “I’m going to jump in the shower real quick. I’ll be back in a few.”

Part of me wanted to watch him walk away strictly for the view, but since that part seemed to have done gone and lost its damn mind, I waited until I heard water running before looking in his direction.

He’d left the bathroom door open. Perv.

I couldn’t believe it, less than an hour in a new town and I’d witnessed a Red Shoe Diary moment, and the star was lathering up less than ten feet away. I would’ve been downright disgusted by the whole morning if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of slippery suds sliding along his perfectly formed pecs. (Now I understand how bad porn gets started. Bow chick-a bow-wow.)

I will not go stare at the naked man.I repeated this mantra in my head over and over as I ran down the stairs to the kitchen.

Grabbing his clothes from the freezer, I contemplated where they’d been and how they got there as I carried them back upstairs. They were cold and held the scent of sweat, but at least he’d have something to put on so he could go away. I placed them on the couch, and dear Lord, it was a really ugly couch. It would be the first piece of furniture to go when Chav and I started fixing the place up. And with that thought, I went downstairs to wait for him.

Fifteen minutes later, the light flickered on in the stairwell. Babel’s arms and face glistened with dewy goodness as he walked down the steps. He rubbed a tea towel, barely big enough to dry a fish’s butt, against his loose mane of wet hair. His blue T-shirt clung to his chest. Water soaking through the fabric made spots the color of midnight.

He must have felt me staring, because he dropped his arm to his side and looked at me. “Where’d you find my clothes?”

“The freezer.” I wrapped my knuckle on the counter. “Guess you can go home now.”

“Guess so.” He shrugged as he stretched his body to tuck in his shirt. “But we should probably talk.”

“I’m in no mood.” For talk. Damn, he was super-fine.

“Well, you kind of need to get in the mood.” He shook his hair out, droplets spraying out around him. It began to feel like a bad (or really good, depending on who you asked) shampoo commercial. “There’s been a mistake. My sister should’ve never invited you out here, Sunny.”

“You’ve said that already, but unfortunately for you, my name’s on the property, same as hers, all legal and binding. I’m staying. Period. End of discussion. Besides, I’m not going anywhere until I find Chav.”

Babel chewed his lower lip and narrowed his eyes at me. “I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“Oh, I think I do. You don’t like me. Fine. I get that.”

“It’s a might more complicated than that.” He scratched at his five o’clock shadow.

I resisted the temptation to offer him a hand. “Why do you care, anyway? Don’t you have a real life you want to get back to? You seem awfully concerned for a guy who isn’t even sticking around.”

“And what makes you think that?” Babel asked.

“Uh…” Fair question. I couldn’t exactly tell him that I’d heard him tell his cuh-razy lover in a vision. “Well, you didn’t exactly stick around after the search was called off for Judah.”

A pained expression crossed his face. I instantly regretted being such an ass. It was a low blow, and petty even.

“I stayed for as long as I could stand it.” He shook his head. “I’m not meant for this place, Sunny. And neither are you.”

Another twinge. “It doesn’t matter.” We would find Chavvah, then he would be gone. “Have you heard anything? Are the police searching for her?”

“No and yes. I haven’t heard from Chavvie, but Sheriff Taylor isn’t giving up.” He flicked his thumbnail against his ring fingernail. “Not yet, anyways.”

“She’ll show up, Babel. I just know it.” But I didn’t know it. In my heart, I believed she was alive, and not because of any vision. “She’s my best friend. I’d feel it if she was gone. Now, go on back to wherever you’re staying…” Oh, crap. Maybe he’d been staying here. “You do have another place to stay don’t you?”

Babel nodded once. “I’ve been staying at Chavvie’s cabin down by the lake.”

“Good,” I whispered. I’d want to check out her place later for clues to what happened. “It’s been a long drive for me, and I need a nap so I can figure out what I have to do next to find her.”

He shook his head as if he was having an argument with himself. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours with some cleaning supplies and get the floor behind the counter scrubbed.”

I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to get my bags out of the truck. I’d hassle with unpacking the U-Haul later, but the bags were a must. I needed something personal, something of mine in this place. I held out my hand. “That’s a nice offer. I can manage. Thanks.”

Babel took my hand, and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “You don’t handle blood very well. After I clean it up, maybe we can compare notes about Chavvie.”

I nodded, afraid that if I spoke the dams would open and I wouldn’t be able to stop the tears. Then I heard a voice like a whisper in my ear.

Save her.

Babel let go of my hand. “I’ll be back.” The way he said it sounded more like a threat than a promise. As he walked out the front door, he added, “You’ve got an audience.”