A quick glance down the street showed no movement,and no cop car. Cutting off his engine, Vic took a deep breath andclosed his eyes, focusing on Matt. His lover’s scent washed overhim, a fresh mix of sporty cologne and soft, clean skin and,beneath that, the lingering smell of chlorine from the pool. Asummery smell, that went well with the cottony feel of his darkcurls and the sweet flavor of his mouth. Vic sighed, opening hismind farther, letting his lover’s scent envelope him. Then hestretched out his mind, unleashing his thoughts at the house besidehim. He felt like a tidal wave breaking over the roof and rushinginto every crevice, every nook, every opening he could find.Through the windows, through foundation cracks, through theslightly open garage door—Vic stormed the house with his mind,laying every room bare to him, seeking out the closets and thebasement and the attic in his relentless search for Matt.
Each room he entered sat lifeless, like a longforgotten sound stage in a television show that wasn’t picked upafter the pilot episode. Vic’s mind whipped through room after roomlike a high wind, sometimes so palpable that papers fluttered tothe floor or curtains stirred in his wake. His emotions rose in himlike a crescendo—anger warring with frustration, indignation,disappointment. ::Matty?:: he cried out, his presence sostrong that in the kitchen, copper pots rang with the reverberationof his mental voice. ::Matty, where—::
The quick rap of knuckles on the windshield of hiscar startled him. Like a measuring tape stretched too far, his mindsnapped back into his body, and he shook his head to clear it. Apolice car sat in front of his, facing him, lights cold and silentas requested. Officer Jones stood beside the hood of his car, onehand on the gun at her waist, the other raised to knock on hiswindshield again. Vic exited the car. He cut a menacing figurebeside her petite frame, but she didn’t step back, even though shehad to look up to see his face. Wisps of blonde hair escaped hercap to frame her face, softening it against her crisp, harshuniform. “Mr. Braunson…” she started.
Vic held up a hand to stop her. “It’s Vic.”
With a nod, she indicated Jordan’s house. “So you’retelling me Mr. diLorenzo is being held in there.”
“No.”
She gave him a sharp look—in what little lightremained of the day, her brown eyes flashed in warning. Vic caughta strong wave of distrust from her, a feeling of being used, so hehurried to explain, “This is the address I have. The guy liveshere, I know. But no one’s inside.”
“Just because it looks empty—” she tried.
Vic shook his head. “It is. I know.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know? You justgot here—I saw you pull up. You haven’t even been inside yet.”
“Physically, no.” Vic sighed—did she plan to fighthim every step of the way? “Look, I can…I don’t know, sensethings? With my mind. It’s one way of putting it, anyway. Despitewhatever you may think, I wasn’t dozing while I waited for you toshow up. I was—my mind was—inside the house.”
She opened her mouth to say something but Vic held upa hand to cut off her protest. “I’m not asking you to believe it,”he said, “but you can’t deny it.”
A muscle in her jaw clenched in defiance. “Proveit.”
Anger rose in Vic. “I don’t have the time—”
“Prove it,” Officer Jones said, crossing her arms infront of her chest, “or I’ll drag you in for…loitering. Falseaccusation. Suspicious activity relating to the whereabouts of amissing person.”
Vic’s emotions coalesced into a hot, tight ball ofrage in the center of his chest. For a moment they squared off,face to face—he glared at her with a look of pure hatred at herinability to believe him and she matched that stare with her own,waiting to be proven wrong. ::We’re wasting time.:: When Vicdirected that thought into her mind, Officer Jones snapped her headback as if slapped.
But that wasn’t enough, and he knew it. He needed herto trust him, and with a deep breath to disperse his annoyance, heglanced around inside her mind. When he spoke, his voice was low,congenial. “I remind you of someone.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Your father,” hesaid, reading the images in her mind as they flickered past him,one after the other, as if taken with a stop-action lens. “The manin the photo on your desk in your office. That’s you and him, isn’tit? You always thought he was invincible.”
“Stop,” she whispered.
Vic didn’t stop. She wanted proof? She’d get it. “Hewas always there to catch you,” he murmured, his gruff voice soft.“Every time you tripped and skinned your knee, or fell in love andbroke your heart. Daddy was always there to pick you up, set you onyour feet again. A few extra dollars in the mail when times weretight. A shoulder to cry on when you were so sure you couldn’t makeit through another day on the force.”
“Shut up.” Her nostrils flared, her lips disappearedinto a thin white line, and her eyes wavered in the scant light.“Just shut up, Mr. Braunson. You’re full of shit.”
“Am I?” Vic countered. He saw it all—the argumentshe’d had with her father hours before he was scheduled to leavetown on a business trip. Five years ago now, yet the memory stillstood out in her mind as if it had just happened yesterday. Thelong hour she’d spent after he should’ve arrived, trying to raiseher father on his cell. At the hotel. At the conference. The newsreports of a plane down in Colorado. The phone call that came justbefore dawn, confirming her worst fears and tearing her heart intwo. Her father, dead. And her apology to him unspoken.
The one time he had fallen, and she wasn’t there tocatch him.
She turned away from Vic as she drew one finger underher eye to wipe at a tear without smudging her makeup. His questionhung between them, unanswered. When she spoke,
