“Which means I need coffee,” I add and reach for the mug, taking a sip. “You know, Cash brought up a good point when I saw him. I told him I left the photo under the windshield wiper because I didn’t want to touch it.”
“Christ, you had to look at that while you drove?”
“Yeah, it sucked. Anyway, I don’t see anything when I touch the photos. I feel the heartbeat and heat, which is so damn creepy I don’t even want to think about it, but I don’t have visions of anything like I do when I touch other things. Is he blocking me?”
“He might be,” Jack says, thinking it over. “He might have cast some kind of spell on them so you can’t see anything. He wouldn’t want to be caught too soon.”
“I’m going to have to touch the body,” I say and set my mug aside. “When they find this new girl, I’m going to have to touch her.”
“Why?” He brushes my hair away from my face, sending shivers through me.
The good kind.
“Because he’s blocked me on the photos. But if I touch her, I might be able to see him. Or at least get a handle on some things. It helped when I touched one of the victims when he was still alive.”
“I think that’s too much, sweets,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “It’s too much to ask of you.”
“No, it’s not.” I take his hand in mine. “Jack, if I can make this end, it’s not too much at all. I’ll do anything to get rid of him for good.”
“I didn’t think you could read people,” he says with a scowl.
“I didn’t think I could either,” I say softly. “But nothing about this has been normal. Brielle saw full apparitions. Millie discovered all of her past lives with Lucien. It’s all been anything but normal.”
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers and pulls me against him. Those strong arms wrap around me once more. “I think we need an evening that doesn’t revolve around a paranormal serial killer.”
“Oh, do tell.”
I feel him smile against my hair.
“I’m going to make you dinner. And we’re going to watch a movie, something light that will make you laugh. And then I’m going to draw you a hot bath to soak in.”
“Well, that sounds pretty great.” I sigh and sink into him. “Can I have bubbles in my bath?”
“You can have anything you want, sweets.”
Chapter Twelve
Jackson
“Maybe we should close the shop now and get started on the bubble bath early,” Daphne suggests and hugs me closer, making me laugh.
“It’s been steady in here this morning,” I reply and kiss her head, then let her pull away from me. If I could, I’d keep my arms around her all the time. At least then, I’d know she’s safe. “But if you want to play hooky, I’m always up for it.”
“You, Jackson Pruitt, are a bad influence.”
I grin and cross my arms over my chest. “I never claimed otherwise.”
She giggles, and suddenly, the edges of my vision grow fuzzy. Gray.
“Just stay in bed,” she coos and reaches for me with those talented hands as I slip out from under the covers. She falls facedown on the mattress when she misses me.
“You need coffee,” I remind her. “And I know what your wrath feels like when you’re deprived of caffeine first thing in the morning.”
“Well, yeah. Of course, I need coffee. But I could use something else first.” She waggles her eyebrows and lets the blanket fall to reveal her plump, full breasts.
The breasts I enjoyed all night long.
I crawl back onto the mattress and sink into her plump lips, enjoying how she gives herself to me so completely and without qualms.
I’m about to say fuck the coffee and have her one more time when she suddenly pushes me back, her eyes wide, and hurries from the bed. She wraps her robe around herself and runs through the apartment.
“What’s going on?” I demand, but she doesn’t stop until she reaches the front door.
She pulls it open and then lets out a strangled gasp.
“Jack?”
I shake myself out of the vision. “What?”
“Your phone’s ringing.” Daphne scowls at me. “What did you see?”
I shake my head again and answer the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi there, Jackson. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to interrupt anything important, but I wanted to talk to you for a minute about Oliver.”
I frown at Miss Annabelle’s statement. “You’re never interrupting. What’s wrong with Oliver?”
Daphne steps closer so she can hear the other end of the conversation.
“Well, he just doesn’t look good, Jack. I asked him how he’s feeling, and I can tell that it isn’t great, but he’s just too darn stubborn to go to the doctor. I was hoping you’d have a little time today to come and talk some sense into him.”
“I’m on my way,” I promise as Daphne immediately flips the Open sign to Closed. “We’ll be there in just a little while. What’s he doing now?”
“He’s napping.” I can hear tears in her voice. “I’m really worried about him.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this. Daphne and I are on our way.”
I end the call and send Daphne a grim look. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Why on Earth are you sorry?” she asks and fetches her purse. “Oliver is your family. Let’s go take care of it.”
We rush out to my car, and I drive faster than I likely should through New Orleans, but the urgency to get to Oliver is a driving force in my gut.
Daphne reaches over and takes my hand in hers.
“He’s going to be fine,” she says with bright confidence. “We’ll talk him into going to the doctor and get it all figured out.”
I nod, turn into Oliver’s driveway, and barely get the car parked and shut off before I’m rushing to the door of the house.
“Thank you for coming,” Miss Annabelle says as she opens the door. “He’s still asleep. He’s been sleeping most of the morning.”
“In the bedroom?” I ask.
“That’s right. Go on in. It’s okay.”
I hurry to the back of the house and into the bedroom. Oliver is in bed, lying on his back. His breathing is shallow, and for a man with such dark skin, he’s damn pale.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine. “Hey, Ollie. I need you to wake up for me.”
His eyes flutter open, then close again as if he just can’t fight against the sleep.
“Ollie, we need to get you to a doctor.”
“I’m fine,” he whispers through chapped lips.
“I don’t think you are. We’re all worried about you, and it’ll make us feel a lot better if you get checked out. Miss Annabelle is worried sick. You don’t want to make her fuss, do you?”
“Always fusses,” he whispers. “Just tired.”
I look up at Daphne, who hovers nearby. “Call an ambulance. It’ll be safer.”