Carol Ericson - Intuition

She sealed her lips against the giggle threatening to humiliate her. “That joke’s getting a little old.”

“Really? Because I could’ve sworn a saw a smile light those green eyes of yours.”

Matt was more perceptive than she gave him credit for. That’s what must make him a good P.I. Was he a good P.I.? She knew next to nothing about him. Just that standing close to him made her heart race. And touching him made her body flush.

She threw open the door. “Okay, you’re mildly amusing. Let me grab my stuff.”

She scooped up her purse and swept open the drapes. “It’s sunny.”

“And it’s already warm. Going to be one of those picture-perfect days on the coast.”

“You’ve been already been outside?” She slipped her card key into the side pocket of her purse.

“Went for a run on the beach and took advantage of the hotel gym before the hordes descended.”

Her gaze swept up from his solid, flaring thighs to his broad shoulders that tested the fabric of his T-shirt. Of course he’d already hit the gym. A man didn’t get a body like that drinking beer in front of the boob tube.

When she finally made it back to his face, he met her gaze with a tilted grin. Oh, yeah, he knew she’d been checking him out. How could she blame him for taking the same inventory of her last night?

They stepped out of the elevator, and Matt nodded toward the front entrance of the hotel. “We don’t have to eat here. There are a couple of breakfast places on Main Street.”

“Okay. Let’s get out of here. The person who broke into my room might still be lurking around the hotel.”

Matt held open the door for her and she brushed past him. Even without the motorcycle boots, he towered over her and just about everyone else.

She stopped on the sidewalk and drew in a long breath of salty air.

“Growing up on the coast, that smell gets into your system, doesn’t it? Even down in L.A., I lived as close to the beach as I could get on my salary.”

“Lived? You don’t live in L.A. anymore?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve been traveling for work. How about you? You left Coral Cove for where?”

“I’ve lived here and there. I’m up in Oregon now, Portland.” Truth was, she didn’t have roots anywhere. She had no siblings and her father had run out on her and her mom years before Mom’s suicide.

“How about the Whole Earth Café?” He pointed across the street at a small café with a blue awning.

“Looks fine to me. Must be new.” She stepped off the curb, but Matt grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Better not jaywalk here. I heard the chief is always looking for ways to increase the city’s revenues.”

“Wow, the bad boy of Coral Cove really is a reformed character. No jaywalking?”

They reached the corner and crossed between the yellow lines of the crosswalk. Matt grabbed the door handle of the restaurant and yanked it open, sending the little bell on the door into a tizzy.

Kylie clutched his arm. “Hold on.”

She tilted her head to the side to read one of the flyers posted in the window of the restaurant. Tapping the glass, she said, “It’s a flyer for the Coral Cove Music Festival.”

“Those have been up for a while. I’ve been seeing them all over town in the two days I’ve been here. Makes sense—it kicks off in a few days.”

A shiver of apprehension rolled through her body as she bent forward to read the small print at the bottom of the flyer. “Look. A Harlan Sloan production.”

Matt crouched beside her, his breath fogging the window. “Harlan Sloan was the concert promoter the year Bree went missing.”

“I see you’ve done your homework.”

“Did you figure me for a slouch?”

She shrugged. “Not really. What kinds of cases do you work mostly?”

“Let’s save this conversation for later.” He straightened to his full height and steered her into the small café.

The hostess waved them to a couple of empty tables on the right side of the room and they snagged one in the corner—better for plotting and planning…and working. Because this was a working breakfast, nothing more.

After the waitress took their order, Kylie planted her elbows on the table. “Okay, so what else do you have on this case other than the fact that Harlan Sloan was the promoter of the event and tried to stonewall the investigation into Bree’s disappearance?”

“How do you know Sloan tried to stonewall things? From what I could gather, Chief Evans was quick to label this a runaway situation.”

“It delayed the investigation because they weren’t calling it a missing persons case until a few days after Bree was supposed to be back home getting ready for college.”

“According to Mr. Harris and everyone who knew Bree, she wasn’t runaway material.” Matt took a sip of his grapefruit juice and puckered his lips. “So how did Sloan figure in the picture?”

Kylie dragged her gaze away from Matt’s lips and blinked her eyes. “What?”

“Sloan. How was he blocking the investigation?”

“From the reports I read, he wasn’t too anxious to give the police information about the roadies on the show or even the performers.” Kylie took a gulp of ice water, trying to quench the fire that burned every time she looked into Matt’s eyes.

“I guess his attempt to cover up didn’t do much good since he wasn’t involved in the past two music festivals.”

“He’s back now.”

“So how do you work? You seem to know a lot about the case.”

Could she explain her process to Matt? She’d never gone into details with anyone before. Kylie swallowed her words while the waitress put their plates on the table.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Matt pointed to his egg white omelet stuffed with spinach and mushrooms. “Some salsa, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She studied his plate with the fruit and dry wheat toast on the side, and then wrinkled her nose at her own cheese and bacon omelet with twin dollops of guacamole and sour cream on the top. “You’re too healthy. You make me feel guilty.”

“It wasn’t just the drinking with my old man.” He picked up a slice of toast and added a spoonful of strawberry jam. “He destroyed his health bit by bit until he dropped dead of a heart attack at forty-nine. I’m not going down that road.”

“And yet you still ride a motorcycle.”

He shrugged and thanked the waitress for the salsa. “What’s life without a few risks? But we were talking about you.”

“We were?” She crunched into her bacon, getting no enjoyment from its salty goodness as Matt spooned salsa on his healthy omelet.

“I was asking you how you worked because you seem to know a lot of details about the case.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess you figured I just closed my eyes, and all the answers would come to me. On a Ouija board.”

“I have to admit, we…I’ve never worked with a psychic before on a case. Tell me how it’s done.”

Kylie took a deep breath. “Every case is a little different. I try to find out all the facts first, usually from the police report if I can get it.”

“Do you usually get it?”

“It depends. If the police are the ones who hired me, yeah, slam dunk. If the family hired me…” She hunched her shoulders and dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“I can tell you straight-up, Chief Evans is not the most cooperative guy.”

Kylie’s hand trembled as she stabbed a potato. “Did you see the report?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“Is he going to give you access?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll get it anyway.” He polished off the last bite of his omelet and eyed her potatoes. “Are you going to eat those?”

“It’s good to see you’re not perfect.” She shoved her plate toward him.