Read Perfectly Matched Online

Authors: Heather Webber

Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #chick lit, #Heather Webber, #Lucy Valentine

Perfectly Matched (3 page)

BOOK: Perfectly Matched
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Orlinda said, “Exactly like you.”

“Really?” I glanced at him and wondered what kind of abilities he had.

Suz said, “You mean, he’s psychic, too?”

Orlinda nodded.

Suz threw her hands in the air. “Psychics here, psychics there, psychics everywhere. I can’t escape you people.
” Her voice warmed. “
Would you like some iced coffee, Jeremy? I made coffee cake, too. From scratch.”

Jeremy said, “Maybe some iced coffee. Thank you.”

As soon as Suz’s foot hit the hallway, Orlinda said with a touch of pride, “Jeremy graduated from my class with flying colors.”

I glanced at Orlinda. “Did you know he’d be here today?”

Orlinda smiled and rolled toward the open doorway leading to the stairs and elevator. “Hadn’t a clue.”

By her grin, I suspected she was lying.

She said, “I have to go—I’m pushing my luck as it is. Jeremy, it’s always a pleasure. Be nice to Lucy. And Lucy, don’t forget Sunday.” She gave us a wave as she rolled away.

Be nice
?

What did that mean, exactly? Now I glanced at him with less appreciation and more caution.

“Shall we go into your office?” He picked up a clipboard with his registration information and his black bag.

His tone had shifted to
no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners.

It made the hair rise at the back of my neck. For some reason, I was now very uncomfortable with Jeremy Cross—despite Orlinda’s obvious affection for him—and was eager to get rid of him. I’d make this meeting a quick one.

“All right,” I said grudgingly.

Suz came back and handed Jeremy a tall glass of iced coffee. He smiled as her, and she nearly melted on the spot.

Oh brother
.

“Shall we?” Jeremy said again to me. His gaze was steady, never wavering.

Not really, no
, I wanted to say. But he was a client, so I nodded. The sooner I knew his background and
he revealed
the lost love he was looking for, the sooner he could be on his un-merry way.

Jeremy walked ahead of me as if he knew already knew which was my office—and maybe with hi
s type of psychic gift he did. R
eluctantly
I
followed behind, eyeing the black bag he carried at his side. He went straight to my office, set his bag on the ground, and sat in the chair I’d occupied during the meeting with Orlinda.

“Sorry about the disarray,” I said, gathering up loose pens and collecting the images of
Bethany
into a neat pile
on one side of the table
.

Jeremy picked up the baggie holding the pink bear, looked at it for a long second, flinched, and then handed it to me.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why he flinched, but I couldn’t help asking, “Did you pick up a reading on the bear?”

“I don’t do missing persons cases anymore,” he said.

That hadn’t been my question, but I thought his answer was rather telling. He obviously knew the case revolved around a missing person—had he seen
Bethany
? Did he know what happened to her? And if so, how could he
not
get involved?

I tucked the bear into my tote bag to take home with me and sat across from him. “Why not?”

His jaw set and his eyes narrowed. “Because I don’t.”

All-righty then
. I picked up a pen and grabbed a fresh pad of paper. Better to get this meeting over with. The sooner, the better. His dark energy was making me extremely uneasy.

I reached for his client questionnaire and was more than a little surprised to see all the lines blank. He hadn’t filled it in.

Glancing at him, I
found him studying me intently.

It ramped up that uncomfortable feeling. “Why are you here?” I held up the clipboard. “It’s not to find a lost love, is it?”

“Not really. It’s more a favor.”

“Did Orlinda send you?” Was she testing me yet again?

His clasped hands rested on the table and continued to look me over. “Not to my knowledge.”

Two could play his game. I studied him right back. There were random sparkly silver strands in his short hair, but not too many lines around his eyes. I guessed his age to be late-thirties. A healthy natural tan told me he spent a lot of time outdoors—but probably used sunscreen. No stubble on his jaw; however, his sideburns were a bit long—which hinted that beneath his rigid exterior there might lurk a bit of a rebel.

His clothes were newer, unwrinkled, and clean. Short trimmed fingernails. Calloused hands. No visible tattoos. No wedding ring.

When I met his stare, he quirked an eyebrow acknowledging my inspection, but he
remained silent
.

“Why are you here?” I asked again.

The heat in the room—and in my irritated gaze—didn’t seem to bother him in the least. He looked cool, calm, collected, and completely detached.

“I was told to come here.”

“By whom?” Not Orlinda—we’d already covered that.

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“You like to be in control, don’t you?” I said, abandoning my pen. This appointment clearly was going to be unlike any other.

My division of Valentine, Inc. specialized in reuniting lost loves. Usually a client would come in, questionnaire already filled out, and we’d go over the specifics of the case: who the client wanted to reconnect with, and all the when-where-whys. Then I’d collect all contact info, ask if the client if he or she had ever given the lost love a gift, and try to get a psychic reading on that gift’s energy to pinpoint a location. If that failed, Sean and I would tackle the case using traditional tracking methods.

We had a strong success rate of finding lost loves, and we’d already been invited to two weddings this summer of couples we’d reunited.

Jeremy Cross was proving to be quite the anomaly, however. I couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Way off.

A hint of a smile pulled at the corner of mouth. “What I want, and what I have, are two entirely different matters.”

“Do you always dance around direct answers?”

This time, he did smile. “Why do you ask?”

I rolled my eyes and wiped at my brow with a tissue. My sundress was starting to stick to my back
again
. “You don’t seem the type to let someone boss you around, yet you say someone told you to come here—and you came. Unwillingly, apparently, but still… you’re here.”

I noticed he squeezed his hands together—the only indication I’d seen so far that he was the least bit uncomfortable.

A truck rumbled in the service alley below my windows, rattling the steel fire escape. The scent of diesel fuel wafted into the office, but I didn’t dare close the windows. The risk of my office becoming a furnace was too great.

“There are times,” he said, “when it is best just to do as someone wants than deal with the consequences.”

It was logic I wanted to argue but couldn’t. I often capitulated to my parents and my grandmother for that very same reason. It was easier to give in.

I had drawn the line with my grandmother Dovie, however, when it came to her constant nagging that Sean and I have babies as soon as possible. She didn’t care that we weren’t married—or even engaged. She was desperate for a great-grandchild, and though I was desperate for her to leave me alone, I
was not
giving in.

Which meant I was dealing with the consequences.

This week, I discovered a beautiful bassinet on my front porch.

My grandmother was anything but subtle.

“Did your grandmother send you here?” I asked.

His brows dipped. “My grandmother? No.”

“Mom?”

His face darkened like a stormy sky. “I don’t have any family.”

There was a story behind his words—I could tell by his tight tone. “None?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“With clients, yes.” After a brief second, I added, “Actually, always.”

“It’s annoying.”

I smiled
, enjoying our repartee despite of myself
. “You can feel free to leave.
I
certainly didn’t tell you to come here.”

Again, he squeezed his hands.

I was starting to like him a little more since realizing
he wasn’t as cool, calm, and collected as he seemed
. “Maybe you should go?”

A noise came from the bag on the floor. I looked under the table, then back up at him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“It sounded like...” I wasn’t sure. Familiar, though. I shook my head. I couldn’t place it.

His jaw was clenched again, and I would bet he grinds his teeth while sleeping.

He shoved his chair back, and for a hopeful second I thought he was leaving, but instead he picked up the bag and put it on the table. I realized it wasn’t a normal duffel at all—it was a pet carrier.

Through a mesh side panel, two glittering green eyes stared at me.

Jeremy stood, unzipped the top panel, and reached inside. He pulled out a small black fluf
f ball and set it on the table.

The long-haire
d cat continued to stare at me.

I glanced between it and Jeremy, wondering where the hell this meeting was going. “Anomaly” was starting to look like a huge understatement.

Jeremy set the carrier back on the floor and sat down. He gestured to the cat. “This is Ebbie.”

“I don’t understand,” I finally said.

His fists clenched, unclenched. “
She’s
the one who told me to come here today.”

 

 

Chapter Three

 

The cat flicked her tail.

I didn’t quite know where to begin. “What kind of cat is she?”

He shrugged. “She was a stray that Orlinda found and brought to my farm a little before Christmas.”

“You have a farm?” I asked.

“I have a few acres in
Marshfield
.”

That wasn’t too far from where I lived in Cohasset, on
Massachusetts
’s
South
Shore
. “What kind of farm?” I mostly asked because I was still a bit stunned about the cat sitting on my conference table, and I needed time to process that information.

“It’s a small hobby farm.”

“What kind of hobby farm?”

He glared. “Nosy.”

“Evasive,” I countered.

The cat continued to flick her tail.

“Ebbie’s been quite adamant I come to see you,” he said.

Just to keep my hands busy, I picked up my pen again. She was young, maybe a year or two old, and hadn’t taken her gaze off me. “She talks?”

“Not aloud,” he said simply. “But I hear her just fine.”

She twitched a whisker.

Ah
. “You’re a cat whisperer?”

“I’m an animal communicator,” he corrected.

Orlinda had told my little soothsaying group about animal communicators, and Annie even claimed to have a few conversations with a local squirrel (he was probably looking for a nut and found a big one), but I’d never met a full-fledged communicator personally. Until now.

“Among other things.” Again with the fists. Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench.

He was a bundle of repressed energy, I realized. Holding everything in. I wondered why. And what would happen if he dared let it all out. “And Ebbie told you she wanted to see me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Apparently,” he said as if mocking her, “only you can find my soul mate.”

I needed some ibuprofen. And maybe a stiff drink. Or four. “You said Orlinda dropped her off?”

“She found her roaming around her neighborhood and took her in, however, Orlinda couldn’t keep her. She’s allergic.”

I stared at him. He stared at me.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“That Orlinda gave you this cat specifically so the cat could bully you into coming to see me to find you a mate? Then yes, you know what I’m thinking.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Ebbie takes offense at the bully comment.”

She twitched a whisker.

“Sorry,” I said to her, wondering what kind of rabbit hole I’d fallen into.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t know if we’re pawns in some sort of game by Orlinda or not. All I know is that Ebbie has made it quite clear that you’re supposed to help me.”

“Help you find your soul mate?”

“Right,” he said.

A trickle of sweat slid down my spine. I could only imagine what my hair looked like. Humidity wreaked havoc on my curls. Even though I’d pulled it up today, I knew strands had probably escaped, twisting this way and that. In fact, one strand dangled in front of my left eye. I tucked it behind my ear and
drew corkscrews on the notepad.

BOOK: Perfectly Matched
9.31Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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