MIND READER by Vicki Hinze Page B

scooped her up and cradled her against his chest. She buried her face at his neck, and he felt her shaking. She was crying, not a sobbing, out-of-control crying, as one would expect, but soft, soul-deep tears that wet his neck, soaked into his skin and squeezed his heart.
    Feeling raw and tender, he rubbed little circles on her back. Her skin was clammy. So was his. And he wasn’t sure which of them was trembling more. Seeing that message smeared on her door had made mincemeat of his insides. He imagined that was a fraction of what seeing it had done to her. The need to comfort her overwhelmed him, and without thinking of the thousand reasons he shouldn’t, he brushed her forehead with his lips. “Shh, it’ll be all right. Stop crying.”
    “He knows about me, Parker. He knows I know about Misty.” Caron shuddered and buried her face deeper in the crook of his neck. “We have to stop him before he hurts her.” She reared back, away from his shoulder. “I—I don’t want her to die.” A fat tear tumbled to her cheek.
    Parker’s emotions nosedived along with it, and he vowed, “She won’t, and neither will you. I swear it. Do you hear me? I swear it.” And because the need in him was so strong, because he, too, needed comfort and reassurance, he sealed his vow, covering her lips with his.
    Her kiss was angry, desperate. He tasted her panic, and wondered if it was his own. She crushed her mouth to his, raked his lower lip with her teeth, and, when he opened his mouth she groaned deep in her throat and swept her tongue deep inside. Her fingers flattened on the bare skin between the lapels of his jacket, then brushed through the hair on his chest. His flesh quivered, and he grunted his pleasure. Their tongues met and tangled in a violent mating that made him weak, enraged his senses and sent his thoughts tumbling.
    With a gasp, she eased back. “Parker?” She sniffed, sounding dazed, and brushed a fingertip across his lip.
    He swore it brushed across his heart. Her lips were rosy, swollen from the kiss. Her face was flushed, and the irises of her eyes had deepened to the velvety purple of a mid night sky. Feeling too much, he abruptly set her to the floor. “Get some things together.”
    “Why?” Uncertainty tinged her voice. She straightened her blouse. Water-splashed, the yellow silk clung sheer and outlined the lace on her bra.
    He swallowed a knot from his throat and forced his gaze to her face, forced his voice to be less harsh. “I can’t leave you here, Caron. Now get some things together, okay?”
    “Where am I going?”
    Parker expected some flak, but he wasn’t giving in on this. They definitely had a case. And she definitely was in danger—from someone. “After we get this reported to the police—“
    “No.   They’ll kill her.   They’ll know.   No police.   Well, besides Sandy.”
    That, he believed.   “You’re coming home with me.”
     
     
      “You live here?”
    Parker heard the surprise in Caron’s voice, and, looking through the Porsche’s windshield, he glanced up at the house. It wasn’t much different from the other homes lining Pontchartrain Drive—just three stories of white brick, mortar and verandas surrounded by a lawn no self- respecting weed would dare to grow in and a black wrought- iron gate. Mossy old oaks lined the sweeping drive, and strategically placed lawn lights shone amber on stately evergreens and fragrant magnolias. To him, it was home, just as it had been home to three generations of his mother’s family. But to Caron, he was sure, the house reeked of wealth.
    He grimaced, sorry that he’d brought her here. She’d be stiff and formal with him now, intimidated, maybe even withdrawn. He’d lost it emotionally for a while back at her place, but he’d calmed down since—at least enough to know that he needed her comfortable, needed her guard down, to catch her cold and prove beyond all reasonable doubt that she was a con artist committing