The Death Dealer (Harrison Investigation #6)

The Death Dealer (Harrison Investigation #6) Page 19

“Oh, thank God!” It was her mother’s voice.

Gen smiled. “Mother, I’m fine.”

“I tried calling the apartment,” Eileen said, as if that were a perfectly acceptable explanation for sounding so worried.

“I’m with Joe.”

“Oh? That’s wonderful.” Her mother adored Joe, Gen knew.

Yes, and why not? Without him, she might not be here.

“Hey, I’m the one who should be calling, and panicking about you,” Genevieve reminded her mother. “Promise me that you won’t go anywhere alone. Or with any of the other Ravens,” Genevieve said sternly.

“Those people are my friends, you know. Most of them. Well, some of them,” Eileen said.

“One of them could be a killer.”

“And poor Thorne might have been killed for some other reason entirely,” Eileen reminded her. “But never mind, I didn’t call to argue with you.”

“No, you called to check up on me,” Genevieve said with a laugh.

“Do you blame me, dear?”

“Never,” Genevieve promised.

“Well, I’ll let you go, now that I know you’re all right. Enjoy the rest of your day with Joe.”

“Sure. And thanks,” Genevieve said, then rang off.

Enjoy her day with Joe?

He was in his office; she was here alone.

But at least she was here. For whatever good that did her.

Restlessly, she stood. He had a great CD collection, and an appreciation for music that went beyond eclectic and on to boundless. He had the classics, from Pavarotti to Wagner, country, soul, rhythm and blues, rock, even some trance. She put in a Buddy Holly CD and tried to relax.

No good. She was too restless.

He’d told her to make herself at home. Since she wasn’t hungry or thirsty, the kitchen held no great allure, so she decided to explore the basement.

It had been finished, and now it was perfect for intimate entertaining. That made her think about the way Joe thought about her. He had a dual vision of her.

Little rich girl.

And damaged goods.

What could she do to change that?

Perhaps it couldn’t be changed. Perhaps…

Perhaps he simply didn’t find her attractive, she told herself.

Here she was, thinking about Joe, about being damaged, about the past, wondering why he wasn’t making a move on her, when he was upstairs doing exactly what she had asked of him: working on the case.

And then something very strange happened.

She didn’t close her eyes, but it was as if she were seeing something else besides this room. Almost as if she herself was someone else.

She was walking down the street, anxious and excited. She was going to meet someone, and that someone was going to change her life. It was all very hush-hush, because it was so important. Someone was going to take a chance.

On her.

For her.

This was her chance to be rich and famous. Well, he was going to pay her well, so rich, anyway.

And if things went the way they should…

She was almost at the place where they’d planned to meet, and she hoped he wouldn’t be late. That he would be there waiting for her.

She knew she hadn’t been followed.

That no one knew where she was.

She was about to see a man about a horse….

Genevieve blinked. She was in Joe’s basement again, staring at the pool table. For a moment, her hands shook. What the hell had that been? She couldn’t believe she was seeing things.

Oh, great. Damaged goods to begin with, and now she was going crazy. No. She was not going to allow herself to crack.

She ran up the stairs. Joe was still in his office. He hadn’t heard her; he obviously didn’t know anything was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

She turned up Buddy Holly, then headed back to the basement, determined not to worry about her love life—or complete lack thereof—anymore.

Joe sighed, rose and stretched, surprised at how long he’d been at his desk. He walked out to the living room.

Buddy Holly was playing on the stereo, but Genevieve was nowhere to be seen.

He noticed that the door to the basement stairway was open. Then he heard a series of clicking sounds and realized she was downstairs, playing pool.

He walked down to join her, and on the way he noticed the brick wall and remembered how Leslie had told him that he would find music there if he tore it out. She hadn’t felt ready to admit that she talked to ghosts then, so she had just told him that she did a lot of research in the course of her work and had happened to stumble across some information about his building.

Yeah, right. Accidental research, right where he happened to live.

He remembered their conversations, too. How he had thought she simply needed time to get over Matt, because it had seemed clear that she was drawn to him. Well, she was with Matt now. Whether there was an afterlife or only a dark void, they were together.

“You all right?” Genevieve asked. She was standing by the pool table, her cue in hand, staring at him, and he realized that he must have been standing there, lost in thought.

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

“Find out anything?” she asked.

“No.” Eager to take his mind off his thoughts of a moment ago, he picked up a cue stick himself. “I’ll rack ’em,” he said.

She watched while he gathered and set the balls. “Break?” he asked her.

“Sure.”

She was an exceptional player. She almost cleaned the table with her break.

“I didn’t know rich kids got to be such sharks,” he told her teasingly.

He was surprised when she paused, smoothing back a stray lock of her glorious auburn hair, and said, “I really wish you would quit that,” she said.

“What?”

“Staring at me as if I grew up on another planet,” she said.

“Sorry.”

He stared at the brick wall, picturing the day Leslie had been there. She had talked to dead people. And he had talked to a dead man on the FDR. No. The medics must have been wrong. The guy had somehow survived long enough to save his niece.

But what about the morgue?

He’d been tired. Mind playing tricks.

“Joe?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

She set her cue stick down. “I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“No. You’re in the middle of your memories. And that’s all right. But I’d just like to go home.”

He nodded. “Sure.”

She was silent during the drive back to her place. Dusk was falling, and it seemed to have thrown a dark shadow over her. Over them.

As they neared her apartment, she said, “You can just drop me off in front.”

“Not in this lifetime,” he told her.

“There’s a doorman on duty.”

“Not good enough,” he said.

“Joe, I…don’t want or need to be protected.”

“And I won’t work this case unless you’re careful and take every precaution.”

She lifted her hands in a gesture of futility.

He parked the car, and walked with her past the doorman and the security guard on duty downstairs, and then up to her apartment.

When she opened her door, he just stood in the hallway, inhaling the scent of her perfume, light and evocative of summer breezes somewhere far from Manhattan.

Like the scent of her hair. Clean and inviting…

“You have to stop sleeping with her, you know,” she told him softly, turning to face him.

“What?”

“Leslie.”

“I never slept with Leslie,” he heard himself say, and his words were far more curt than he had intended.

“But she’s haunting you anyway,” she said.

“Leslie is dead. Like Matt,” he said.

“And I’m alive because of her,” she said.

He shook his head. “I’m not sleeping with Leslie, even in my dreams,” he said.

He was surprised when a slight smile curved her lips. “No?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

He frowned. “Gen…this is awkward.”

“It shouldn’t be,” she whispered, something he couldn’t define in her tone.

He shook his head, feeling lost, a little bit confused and more than a little bit dazed by the scent of her perfume, her hair…her nearness.

What was there not to like about Genevieve?

What was there not to want about Genevieve?

Blue eyes, intelligent, direct, seductive, alluring…That hair, like dark auburn fire, as soft as silk. Her height, her shape, slim and perfectly curved. She was erotic and enticing, everything God had intended for a woman to be, but he had somehow kept his distance in the past because…

Because of everything she had been through.

He suddenly felt as if he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, but he tried. “I…I cared about Leslie, yes. Very much. But she was still in love with Matt. And now…I like to think that they’re together now.” He hadn’t realized that he was touching her, but he was. His hands were on her shoulders. And she was close, actually leaning against him. He could feel the warmth of her. Every breath he took was filled with the scent of her.

“So you’re really not sleeping with her in your dreams?” she whispered.

“No.”

“Then maybe you want to sleep with me. In the flesh.”

Oh, Lord.

“Genevieve…”

He felt alive in a way he hadn’t felt in what seemed like eons. Fire was racing through his veins. He could feel her heartbeat. Her every breath.

“Gen…after everything you’ve been through…”

She clutched his hand, bringing it to her heart, her breast. “I’m alive, Joe. I’m not broken, not dead and I need to feel alive. Please…” She winced, almost backing away from him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Talk about awkward. Here I am, throwing myself at you, and you’re turning me down. I’m sorry. You don’t have to—”