The receptionist exhaled with relief and said, “Okay, yes. Yes. I—I remember getting her call. I just wasn’t expecting—” she waved her hand up and down to encompass Levi’s big body “—this.”
This. “What’s wrong with this?” he growled.
“You’re not a little blonde with a Napoleon complex, are you?” she snapped. “I was told to expect a little blonde with a Napoleon complex.”
“Okay, taking over now,” Harper muttered. “Here’s the deal. I might be painting the future, and Lana thought you could help me. And besides that, other things have us freaked out, like the fact that Levi’s apartment changed its furnishings in a single night, but he didn’t do the changing and it still looks the same to him. This agency specializes in the paranormal, right? Well, there’s nothing normal about anything that’s happened to us lately, and I want answers. Like, yesterday.”
The lady glanced between them, her color high but gradually lightening. “Just…stay where you are.” Never taking her gaze off them, she bent down and picked up the phone.
A whispered conversation took place, and Levi thought he heard “I don’t know” about a thousand times. Finally, she replaced the phone in its cradle and said, “Agent Peterson will be right out.”
A few seconds later, a big man with a big scowl stomped from the elevator. A smaller man holding a stack of files raced behind him, desperate to catch up.
“Headed out, Mr. Raef?” the receptionist called.
“Yeah.” Mr. Raef stopped, gave Levi a once-over, and glared. The smaller man rammed into Mr. Raef’s back, dropping his papers, but the guy hardly seemed to notice. “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“He isn’t as evil as he looks,” the receptionist said.
“You’re sure?” the man demanded, taking a menacing step in Levi’s direction. “My woman is waiting for me, and even the thought of being late makes me killing mad, so if any killing needs to be done…”
Levi rolled his eyes and wished he still had his badge.
“Ms. Peterson is taking— Ah, there she is,” the receptionist said with relief as a woman stalked out of a second elevator. She was of average height—meaning Levi towered over her and she towered over Harper—and average weight. Meaning Levi could snap her spine with a single twist of his giant man-hands.
Peterson had short hair dyed pink and lacquered into tiny spikes. Her eyes were brown and rimmed by eyelashes she’d also dyed pink. She wore a dog collar, had brass knuckles tattooed on her fingers and was clad in a plaid shirt with ruffles and baggy black pants tucked into combat boots. She stopped abruptly when she spotted them and flashed her teeth in a scowl.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
Seriously. Could no one treat him like a human being? “We’re friends of Lana’s.”
“Lana?” Mr. Raef cursed under his breath. “They’re all yours, Peterson,” he said with a mean-sounding chuckle, and exited the building, the other man scurrying behind him.
Peterson ran her tongue over her teeth. “Lana didn’t say you looked like…this.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” Harper snapped.
Levi swallowed a laugh and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. He had a feeling she was seconds away from leaping on Peterson like an injured wolverine interested in a last meal.
Peterson’s gaze danced between them before she nodded. “All right, fine. I’m choosing to believe you are who you say you are. So don’t just stand there. This way.” She motioned to the elevator with a sweep of her hand. “Fifth floor.”
On the walk to the office, he counted three gasps, two weird looks and one murderous glare, but other than that, he was ignored.
“I’m telling you, I’ll be fine,” Peterson said as she closed the door, sealing herself inside with him and Harper. Levi had no idea who she’d been talking to, since everyone had beat feet out of the hallway, but whatever. He just wanted to get this over with.
They each took their seats, and he carefully leaned the painting against his leg.
The office itself was normal, with white walls, brown carpet, a desk, a computer, a phone system and papers scattered everywhere. Even the portrait hanging over the desk was something you’d find in any other establishment: pink rosebuds surrounded by green foliage.
Peterson leaned back in her swivel chair, crossed her arms over her middle and said, “All right. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here. That wasn’t a question or a suggestion, by the way. Lana was vague, and I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Why don’t you tell me your qualifications first,” Levi replied, his voice wielding a sharp edge.
One of her brows shot into her hairline. “Qualifications for what?”
“For dealing with a situation like ours,” Harper said. Her nerves must have kicked back into gear, because the tip of her nail found its way into her mouth. “Besides the obvious, of course.”
Peterson drummed her fingers together, but replied, “Well, I can see into the spirit realm and I’m usually given the cases dealing with people no one else wants to deal with. It’s my sparkling personality. I can put anyone at ease. What else, what else. I’ve solved murders gone cold, helped lost souls figure out why they’re still here, and aided families who’ve just lost a loved one.”
“Are you trying to tell me Lana is…dead?”
“Do you think she is?” Peterson countered. Great, they’d been stuck with the paranormal equivalent of a shrink.
“She isn’t. And you’re not the one we need,” Levi said. “Let’s go.” He reached for Harper, intending to stand. “We’ll knock on every door in the building until we find someone who can actually help us.”
“What do you need, then?” Peterson asked, seemingly unconcerned by his threat. “Exactly. Lana mentioned a few details, but I want to hear everything from your point of view.”
He relaxed, willing to take a moment to test her out, and nodded to Harper. “Tell her.”
She explained about her blackouts, the changes in Levi’s apartment, about the painting she usually only worked on while she was sleeping and the fact that she’d just filled in Lana’s face. As she spoke, Peterson finally softened, her features radiating something akin to sympathy.
“Let me see the painting,” she ordered.
“Can you help us?” Levi asked.
“Maybe.”
For now, that was enough. Levi lifted the canvas from its perch on the floor, keeping the back to Harper despite the fact that a sheet draped the front. A long while passed in silence as Peterson studied the thing from top to bottom. She would stare, then write a note, stare, then write another note. Finally she returned to her reclined position and sighed.
“I’ve spoken to Lana hundreds of times, but I never pictured her like that.”
“What do you want to know about the painting?” Harper asked as he re-covered the source of her nightmares and lowered it to the floor. Shifting nervously, Harper licked her lips. “Did I paint the future?”
A decisive “No” cut through the tension. “Definitely not.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, relief already dripping from her.
“Didn’t you catch that ‘definitely’?”
Defensive, Harper said, “But how could I not have painted the future when what you saw hasn’t happened…to my knowledge?” she added reluctantly.
“Well, how do you know I’m actually sitting here in the room with you?”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, I just do.”
“Bingo. I just know, too. It’s my job, and I’m very good at my job.”
That time, Harper accepted what she’d been told and fell against the back of her chair. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Though he hated to ruin that relief, Levi couldn’t let the facts slide. “What else could it be? Like she said, what’s in the painting hasn’t happened yet. Lana claims she hasn’t lost days of her life, not like we have, and Harper never saw any injuries on her. Are you saying the painting is a figment of Harper’s imagination?” He knew it wasn’t.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, but thank you for putting words in my mouth,” Peterson retorted. She massaged the back of her neck, murmured something that sounded like, “I have my temper under control, I have my freaking temper under control,” and said loudly, “Look. Did the two of you recently move into an apartment building near Oklahoma City’s Brick Town?”
“Yes,” he replied with a frown. “Both of us. How did you know that? Lana?”
“I told you. Lana was in a hurry and left out quite a few details. But I want to look around both of your apartments before I tell you what’s percolating in my brain. And don’t try to talk me into telling you now, ’cause it’s not gonna happen. I need to do a little research before I turn your worlds upside down, so do yourselves a solid and go home. You’ll see me sometime tomorrow—and you’ll probably wish you hadn’t.”
CHAPTER NINE
Back at King’s Landing, Harper fixed a late lunch while Levi made some calls. He’d already packed his bag, and now planned to spend the rest of the day and all of the night with her. She could have put him in Lana’s room—a sharp ache lanced through her chest—but she wanted him with her, as close as possible. And he seemed to want to stay with her, so she wasn’t going to allow fear about tomorrow and Peterson’s dire prediction to interfere.
And why think about the negative, when she could think about Levi and the things he would try to do to her tonight? Oh, she knew beyond a doubt he would try something; he wouldn’t be able to help himself, and a shiver of anticipation nearly rocked her off her feet.
How she’d gone from never wanting to be touched to wanting to be devoured by one specific man, she would never know.
The sounds of popping and hissing echoed, drawing her attention to the stove. Levi didn’t yet know it, but they were having breakfast for dinner. Lana had been the last one to go to the store, and she’d purchased only her favorite foods. Regular bacon, turkey bacon, thickly cut bacon, thinly sliced bacon and eggs.
“Well,” Levi said, sitting down at the counter. “Lana hasn’t reported to work, used a credit card to get a room anywhere or withdrawn any large sums of money. My friend Bright is checking your old home.”
“Why would she be there? We sublet it to move here.”
A curious gleam filled his eyes. “Is that what she told you? Because I hate to be the one to bust your best friend, but no one else has moved in.”
No way. Just no way. “I’m telling you, the house was sublet.”
“Bright checked just this morning. It’s her name on the lease. The only change that had been made recently was your name being taken off.”
Harper’s blood went cold as she fixed Levi a plate. “But…” If that were true, Lana had lied to her. Again. “She couldn’t afford to pay the full rent there and half the rent here.”
A pause. Then, “Why did you move here, princess?”
A distraction. She knew the question was meant as a distraction from the wave of betrayal sweeping through her, and yet she grabbed on to it with a kung fu grip. “We—” Wait. Princess, he’d said.
He knew her first name.
She swung around to face him, teeth bared in a scowl and the fork she’d planned to give him stretched out like a blade.
He was grinning from ear to ear, the jerk. Oh, yeah, he knew.
“Don’t you dare call me—”
“Aurora? Or Sleeping Beauty?”
“I will gut you.”
His laugh boomed through the room. “Why? I like it. It’s cute.”
“It’s humiliating!” she said with a stomp of her foot.
“It’s adorable.”
“It’s precious.” She sneered disgustedly. “What, do you want me to call you my very own Prince Charming?”
His laugh cut off, and his smile vanished in an instant. “Do it, and I’ll shoot you. No guy on earth will convict me of a crime, either. They’ll all say I did my civic duty.”
“Just so we understand each other.” Pretending to consider a weighty issue, she tapped a finger against her chin. “But you certainly have come to my rescue, haven’t you?” she couldn’t help but add. “All you lack is the white horse.”
He was the one to scowl this time, and she was the one to laugh.
“So what’s with the portrait of the nail and the portrait of the limp noodles with spikes?” he asked, changing the subject. He’d obviously been nosing around her home as she’d nosed around his. “Every other picture is of you or Lana or the two of you together and quite…amazing, I believe is the word you used, and don’t get me wrong, the nail is cool, too. The details are awesome. I can see the scratches and the rust. But the noodles? It sucks. Sorry.”
“I’m surprised you noticed.”
“What, did you expect me to notice something else?”
“No. I just wasn’t sure if you would see my apartment the way I see yours. But anyway, the nail and the thornbush, not limp noodles with spikes. Lana and I decided to paint each other. Only, we were to paint the other’s inner self rather than outward. I painted the nail, and she painted the thornbush. We laugh every time we look at those.” But she wasn’t laughing now. Oh, Lana. What’s going on with you?
She placed Levi’s food in front of him, and settled beside him with her own.
“Thanks for the meal, princess. It smells good. But, uh, I don’t think a thousand men could polish off all this bacon.”
“One manly man could. After all, Lana always did. Now eat it,” she quipped, ignoring his use of the hated endearment. Otherwise, she’d have to brain him with the frying pan, and she wasn’t sure how much more abuse he could take from her without bolting.
“Sir, yes, sir,” he teased with a salute. “But while I do, you need to tell me why you guys moved here. You never said.”
She released the sigh that had been bottled up inside her. “Because I couldn’t not move here. I saw the place, was drawn to it and felt as if I was finally home. How about you?”
“I’m not sure.” He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “I just woke up in my apartment one morning, all my things unpacked. I freaked, made some calls and found out I’d sold my place and moved.”
“All during a blackout?”
“Yeah.”
Understanding his pain, she patted his hand. “Has anything this weird ever happened to you before?” She tried to take a bite of her own food, but her stomach felt knotted and heavy. Guess she wasn’t man enough.
“No. You?”
“Never.”
He took another bite of bacon, followed by a healthy mouthful of eggs. Obviously he had no problem with his appetite. “Maybe the rest of the tenants are blacking out, too. Maybe it’s something in the building. Like mold.”
Ugh. Now she really couldn’t eat, she thought, and pushed her plate away. “You’re the cop. I’ll let you
check.”
“Actually, I’m the detective.”
“Like there’s a difference.”
He glared at her, but there was only amusement in his tone when he said, “I’ll show you the difference later.”
Later. The word echoed through her mind, followed by in bed, an addition that was all her own. She shifted nervously—and horror of horrors she chewed on her fingernail. It was the worst habit of all time, but now hardly seemed like the time to quit. What if, while he was showing her, she had another blackout? What if she—
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said, knowing exactly where her head had gone. “I’m prepared to deal with any type of freak-out this time.”
“How?” You can’t think negatively, remember?
He snorted. “Like I’ll tell you and ruin the surprise.”
His tone was teasing, engaging, and she wondered how she had ever considered him grumpy. He was a cream puff.
When he popped the last bite of food into his mouth, she pushed her plate in his direction. “I cooked, you clean.”
“I’m not sure I like that rule,” he said, but he stood, gathered the dishes. “What will you be doing?”
“Making a few calls of my own.” First up, her old landlord. If Lana had wanted to keep the house, Harper would not have protested. She would have worked harder to sell her paintings to help pay the two rents. The thought of leaving this building unsettled her more with every hour that passed, yes, but she also wanted her best friend happy.
“Shout if you need me,” Levi said.
“Will do.” Harper headed to her bedroom. She turned the hall corner and—
Unleashed a blood-chilling scream!
Someone loomed just in front of her.
Acting on instinct, Harper kicked the intruder in the stomach. A girl—the dark-haired girl who liked to spy—hunched over, trying to make friends with oxygen. But Harper’s instincts were still raging, and she punched the girl in the jaw, sending her smashing into the wall and sagging to the floor.