Chris Redding - Corpse Whisperer

“How close did you get?”

“Not very since he was gone by the time I went out. I heard a car start down the block.”

“You didn’t think to call the police?”

“I thought it was you. If I called the police, who would have believed me?”

“I see you have some trust issues with cops.”

She snorted. “You could say that.” With a deep sigh, she stood. “I have to get back to work.”

“You’re a medic?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t elaborate, but stared at him for a moment as if deciding to say something.

“I think Dolores is in danger.”

His radar went up. “Why? Did this guy do anything last night?”

“No, I just think she is.”

Great. He needed another psychic like a fish needed swimming lessons. “A feeling?”

She shrugged. “If you want to call it that.”

“Does your feeling have a name?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest.

“Nope.”

“Any ideas?”

She stood, her hand on her radio. “You.”

Grace’s idea that Dolores was in danger propelled Zach to her house. He had to talk to Grace. If he had to shake the details out of her he would.

She answered the door in running shorts and a tank top. His gaze went down like an elevator then back to the top floor. Her breasts didn’t spill over the front of her shirt like Dolores’. Instead they remained discreetly behind her baggy top, daring him to imagine them.

And he spent a moment doing just that. How would they feel in his hands, on his chest, in his mouth?

Grace frowned at him. He shook himself from his daydreaming.

“We need to talk,” he said, brushing past her into her apartment. This was business. No ogling suspects.

The smell of pizza permeated the small room and Zach’s stomach rumbled. The protein bar had only held him part of the day.

“Come in, please. Don’t be bashful.”

She slammed the door. When she turned around her eyes held fire. “Who the hell are you to come barging in here?” The words escaped from between clenched teeth.

He pulled himself to his full height. He had no ulterior motives here. “I’m an ex-cop and you’ve informed me of a threat. One to someone close to me. I’m following up.”

A frown creased her forehead. She shook her head. “Forget I said anything.”

“Why? You changed your mind about hurting Lors?”

Her mouth dropped open. “I’m no threat to anyone.”

He leaned closer to her. She didn’t flinch.

She was a threat. To him. With her sea-green eyes and innocent face. Despite her hard attitude she could easily be a damsel in distress. The worst kind. The kind that didn’t know they needed to be saved until too late.

And he’d be just the chump to jump in be a knight. He gritted his teeth. Not this time.

“Why do you think there’s a threat to Dolores?”

Her shoulders rose as she drew in a deep breath. “I spoke out of turn.”

The words came out as a whisper that threatened to go away on the wind as if they’d never existed.

Why did she back down? “So there isn’t a threat? Then the guy on the driveway is after you?”

“Why would you think that?”

Her peachy scent permeated his nose, clouding his thoughts. He shook his head clear, then turned away from her. “Well he was either looking for you or Lors.”

“Maybe he had the wrong house.”

He whirled to look at her. One finger twirled her pony tail. Her usually pouty mouth formed a thin line.

“You don’t believe that. What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.

“Something you’d never believe in a million years. Who’s the father of Dolores baby?”

He squinted at her. “What? Why do you need to know that?”

Sighing she crossed to her couch and flopped down on it. “Have a seat.”

He did in an overstuffed chair across from her. “Talk.”

“What if I knew about something, but I can’t tell you how?”

“Oh, yeah. Some divine intervention.”

Her words pinned his bullshit meter.

She bit her lip. “Maybe.”

He leaned his elbows on his thighs. What kind of game was this lady playing? “Tell me the threat.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Probably not, but at least I can show you that there is no threat.”

“Someone is going to kill Dolores, then set a fire to cover it up.”

Zach jumped from the chair, towering over her. His anger spiked. “Tell me who?”

“I don’t know,” she shouted.

She stood now, too. Her lips close enough to kiss.

Her scent intoxicated him so he couldn’t trust his instincts. Stepping back would have meant conceding in a battle that he didn’t know if it was love or war.

“Then how do you know she’s in danger?”

“I just do.”

He grabbed her arm. Her eyes went cloudy as she struggled to pull away. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed out.

Letting go he realize how hard he’d held her. Thankfully his fingertips hadn’t bruised her. “Sorry.”

The relief softened her face as she rubbed her arm. “It’s okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

He lowered his voice. “How do you know Dolores is going to be killed?”

“She told me.”

Grace waited for the laughter.

Instead, Zach’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He sat down again. Or maybe his legs gave out. “Dolores told you.”

Her mother used to say, “In for a penny, In for a pound.”

She sat, then hugged a throw pillow to her chest. “Dead people talk to me.”

The statement hung in the air, passed gas no one wanted to notice, but everyone smelled.

“Oh, lovely. You psychic or something?” He scowled while his words dripped with disdain. For some reason, she wanted him to believe her story. Somehow he was a key to the whole situation.

“Or something.”

Zach stood and paced the short length of her apartment. Ripping off his suit jacket, he laid it gently on the back of his chair. His tie came off next. “You still have some of that pizza?”

She blinked. He wanted food? “Yeah. I can heat it up.”

“Do it.”

Her eyes blinked, but she stood to do his bidding.

She put two pieces in the oven and returned to her seat. He didn’t stop pacing. His firm jaw sat in place as if glued there. His eyes gained an intense, but faraway look.

“We had a psychic in last year to solve a case. She didn’t. She was a fraud. We wasted a lot of time and effort on her.”

He stopped abruptly. So there was more to his story.

“So you’re more than a garden variety skeptic?”

“You bet. You can’t imagine the hoops you’ll have to jump through to get me to believe you.” He sat on her coffee table, his knee scraping hers.

The room wobbled and she saw him in a different light. Naked and sweaty. And so was she.

“Grace?”

His voice brought her back. His knee had lost contact with hers. She jammed herself further into the couch so as not to risk his touch again.

“I’m here,” she said.

“Tell me what you think you know. We’ll start from there.”

“Someone is going to kill Grace in a week. Next Wednesday.”

“You know this how?”

She took a bracing breath. “I worked on her after she was shot. She died and I had to go back into her hospital room. I didn’t want to.”

The tears started down her face. She wiped them away with an angry swipe. He would think the tears were planned.

“Then what happened?”

His voice had softened. “She grabbed my arm.”

“She wasn’t dead?”

“She was. She just grabbed my arm and asked me to help her.”

“Has this happened to you before?”

“Yes,” she answered.

He stood again and moved into her kitchen. With a dish towel, he removed the pizza slices. As if it weren’t hot he dug into the first one, chewing and staring out the window. He stayed that way so long she thought he’d forgotten about her.