Chris Redding - Corpse Whisperer

“I cleaned the furniture last week, right after I put the ad in the paper.”

Dolores looked around as she spoke as if waiting for someone. The next moment a battered compact came into view. The driver parked the vehicle on the street behind Dolores’ car.

Maybe an inspector, but Grace’s cop radar pinged when he stepped out of his vehicle. He reeked of the self-assurance borne of fighting bad guys.

Not a bad sight to look at either. Too bad. Relationships didn’t last when you time slipped. You didn’t forget, but your lovers did.

Damn.

He surveyed the area before walking to the women. Confidence colored his steps. Shoulders a mile wide sat atop a fit body. His slicked back, black hair crowded at the base of his neck in a mob of curls.

His movements reminded her of a cat, despite his bulk. Was he just as predatory? She swallowed hard and clenched her fists behind her back. Something about him awakened her as if she were a female panther reunited with her mate.

The man in the gray suit with a perfectly pressed, white shirt leaned down to kiss Dolores on the cheek. Not a friendly kiss, but a rather intimate one without being on the lips.

The father of Dolores’ child? Suspect number one even if he was a cop.

“Grace, this is my. .” She stopped as if unsure how to introduce him. “This is Zach. He’s my overprotective ex-husband.”

Graced nodded and held out her hand. “You wanted to check me out before I moved in.”

“Yes.”

His firm grip didn’t hurt or intimidate her. But the fleeting touch sent a ripple of sensation down her spine. Had she ever met this man? A sense of deja vu swept through her, different than when a corpse touched her.

Her gaze never left him, never letting on about her emotions. “So you’ve met me. Am I an axe murderer?”

He tilted his head and his gray eyes bore into her over his sunglasses. “I’ve never met one of those.”

She cocked her head. “Use your imagination. What would an axe murderer look like?”

His tongue came out and did a slow trail across his lips. “Probably not like you. You’re much too petite to wield such a bulky weapon.”

As he spoke his gaze swept over her and she might as well have been naked. Or a steak dinner with all the trimmings for the intensity of his look. His eyes went back to her face, a sly smile tilting his lips.

“Good. May I move in?”

“He doesn’t have a say in that,” Dolores said.

Grace slid her gaze to her new landlord.

“I have a few questions for Grace,” Zach said.

Bet he ran a background check. “Oh? Is your name on the lease?”

His jaw tightened around his already chiseled face. “No, but I have a vested interest in you being the right tenant.”

Grace looked at Dolores who said, “Just humor him. I have to get back to work. You need anything else? All the utilities are turned on. I took the liberty of putting them in your name, you just have to call the companies with the rest of the information.” She backed away toward her Toyota parked on the street. “The numbers are on the table by the door.”

“Thanks, Dolores.”

She waved a hand at Grace and slid into her car. Zach watched her drive away as Grace watched him. When he turned his gaze back to her, she handed him a box.

“I’m not a moving company,” he said.

“You want to interrogate me, you have to work. I only have today to move in and get settled. I work the next four days.”

He looked at the box in his hands as if it were an alien, then shrugged. “Fine.”

Grace didn’t look back to see if he followed her. She assumed he intended to extract information about her last residence and that last case. With a deep breath and a heavy suitcase, she braced herself for the onslaught.

“Tell me about Ridge Oaks,” he said when they reached the apartment above the garage.

“What specifically?”

So he had done his homework. Her name appeared in the database since she’d initially been charged with murder. A shiver moved her spine when she thought about those days.

“Tell me about the murder of your boyfriend’s mother.”

Zach dropped the box on the floor and leaned on the wall, his arms crossed. He waited as she collected herself. This could be a Pulitzer Prize winner. Or an Oscar-worthy performance. Either way he braced himself for a lie.

They all lied.

Grace placed one box on top of another then wiped her hands on her jeans. “I don’t really know anything about the murder.” Her voice came out scratchy and smooth all at once, like whiskey pouring over sandpaper.

His ears tingled with the vibrations of it.

She glanced at him then back down at her sneakered feet. Her pink tongue came out to lick her lips.

“I talked to the lead detective. He said you knew too much, but had an alibi. Sounds suspicious to me.”

Her gaze met his. She didn’t flinch when he hardened his. Her stress-tinged eyes didn’t blink. She had something to hide, every fiber of his being knew it. He disliked liars. They deserved their own circle of Hell in his book.

“I guess it would.”

“You’re not going to elaborate?”

She ran a hand through her white blond hair. His gaze traveled with it. He’d felt some weird static electricity when he’d shaken that hand. She’d even flirted with him. He couldn’t trust her.

It took balls to do that in front of his ex-wife.

Blowing out a breath, she sat on the couch, her one leg curled underneath her. “No, I don’t see that I have to. Dolores is satisfied with me.”

“Well, Dolores is not always a good judge of character.”

A chuckle erupted from Grace. “Guess that’s why you’re an ex and not a current husband.”

Her jab bounced off of him. “That’s not any of your business.”

“True.”

She stood, shook herself, and then strode towards him. “I have work to do and don’t have time for macho posturing. You know, ‘cave man protect woman’ kind of thing.”

He stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. She recoiled, her face scrunching at him, but her eyes met his. Her gaze steadier than her body. She tried to move out of reach.

“I’m watching you. Carefully. If you bring trouble to Dolores, you’ll have to answer to me.”

He let go and flexed his fingers which hummed as if he had touched a live wire.

She didn’t answer, but brushed past him and down the outside steps.

Grace’s anger hadn’t dissipated with all the physical labor of moving boxes into her apartment. Five trips up and down the steps.

Her leg muscles screamed at her, but she didn’t notice them.

She only remembered Zach’s touch. Her arm still burned from his fingertips. When she looked, she expected to see an impression of his hand.

“I’m just horny.”

She had gone longer than this without sex, but her thirtieth birthday hovered on the horizon. That age brought on greater sexual needs, didn’t it? She also knew her powers would change. Or she’d lose them, which appealed to her. “That must be it. My brain isn’t right.”

Shaking her head, she attempted to brush off whatever he’d left behind on her. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

Dolores stood on the landing outside, with a plant and some takeout. She’d changed out of her work clothes and now sported stretchy pants and an oversized T-shirt, both the color of her blue eyes.

“You are a vision,” Grace said, her stomach rumbling.

Dolores cackled. “And I didn’t even freshen up my make up.”

“Come in,” Grace said taking the plant from her hands. “Is that food for me?”

“Us. I figured you’d be too busy to cook.”

“Thanks. I’m too busy to cook most days. I make reservations better than anyone. That, and microwave popcorn.”