Secretly Craving You(6)

"Did he have any enemies?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. I rarely saw him after we separated almost two years ago. How do you know the murderer was a man?"

Nick studied her for a long speculative moment. "Can I trust you, Emily?"

His low, yet intense tone and his words left her speechless. Why did he keep saying her name in that hypnotic, enticing way? As if he enjoyed saying it, as if it were a special incantation.

"Yes," she said. "You can trust me. I mean, I won't tell anyone whatever you tell me."

"I hope not. They wouldn't believe you anyway. Hell, you probably won't believe me."

"If you say it's the truth, I will." She didn't know why, but she trusted him and wanted to earn his trust in return.

His gaze darkened, then he looked away and breathed deep. "I don't know if Jared or anyone told you, but sometimes I'm psychic."

"What? No. No one told me. Are you, truly?" She'd never imagined such a thing about him.

He gave a brief nod. "It's unpredictable. Since I was a kid—when I almost drowned—I've had visions. Not visions of the future, but visions of things as they're happening, across town or in another state. They always relate to someone I know. When Jared died, I was with him mentally. His death was no accident. Some bastard killed him and it had to do with an object. I just don't know what."

"Oh my god," she whispered. "That must have been horrible for you, seeing a vision of your brother dying."

"It was." Grim pain gleamed in his eyes. "Jared and I weren't too close in recent years, but we used to be when we were kids and teens. He was still my brother. I have to find whoever did this."

"Of course." If she had a murdered sibling, she'd feel the same way.

"This object—I think it was some sort of antiquity from Celtic culture. I haven't seen it, but in my vision, the man said something about Druids, supernatural powers and a ritual."

She nodded. "Sullivan is an ancient Irish name, and Jared was always fascinated by Celtic artifacts. But I had no idea he was interested in anything with supposed supernatural powers."

"Right. Sounds strange. That's all I know. I've searched his apartment, his new girlfriend's home, his office. I haven't found squat."

"How did you—"

Hard rock music blasted from Nick's phone and he slid it from the case on his belt. "Excuse me," he told her, then turned to pace away. "Nick here," he answered. "Right, I'll be there at seven," he murmured in a low tone. "Yeah, Rebel's." He paused, listening. "All right. See you later." He put his phone away and turned to Emily. "I have to get back to Atlanta. But I'll leave you my number. If you see or hear anything about Jared or this object, give me a call."

"Sure." Since she hadn't heard anything about it so far, she doubted she would. She retrieved a note pad and pen from the desk in the corner and Nick wrote down a number in terse scratches.

He stepped close and handed her the paper and pen. Being near him disturbed her on a primal level. He smelled delicious to her deprived senses, like leather and raw, aggressive male. A tingle traveled up her arms and circled her breasts. What would that dusky gold five o'clock shadow feel like rasping over her beaded nipples? And those sculpted, sensual lips. They would feel divine plucking at her nipples. Arousal rushed toward her crotch and she stepped back.

"I have to find the sonofabitch who killed him," Nick said. "I won't rest until I do."

She nodded, admiration for him overwhelming her. When she'd first met him, she'd been aware he was a playboy. Likely that was still true, but the determination in his eyes told her he had a more serious, deadly side. His cop side. It was frightening, but at the same time, electrifying.

"Call me if you need anything at all," he said, heading toward the door.

"Okay. Thanks." She needed something all right.

He gave her a mock salute and disappeared out the door.

She supposed they were even—they'd each seen the other naked. She glanced down at his number on the paper. Now that she had it, what would stop her from calling him should her sexual needs become overwhelming?





Chapter Three


Although Emily was relieved to finally be done with the latest grand society wedding, an eerie sensation dogged her as she drove through the historic district of Savannah, turned down West Harris Street and parked outside her house.

After sliding from the car, she peered through the night at the street lined with restored eighteenth and nineteenth century homes. Light shone from several of their windows. Everything appeared normal, but the ancient twisted oak limbs dripping with Spanish moss blocked out most of the illumination from the streetlights.