Corpse Whisperer

Chapter 10: What Is It About Her?

Grace's peachy scent permeated his nose, clouding Zach's 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?"

“Something you'd never believe in a million years. Whose the father of Dolores baby?"

His head spun from the rapid change in subject. “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 eyes blazed like green fire. Her lips close enough to kiss. His fingers ached to feel her hair. Did the color come from nature? It looked too soft and enticing to come from a bottle.

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. She didn't cringe despite wanting to do just that. Like Cassandra in Troy, no one believed her. Some thought her a monster. Others mentally ill.

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." She'd never bothered to do the research to find out if her ability had a name. Maybe she wouldn't really have to acknowledge it if she didn't. Most likely she wouldn't have it much longer. She'd go on with her life. Save people and not save others just like normal paramedics.

That first day would as if someone had lifted the world off of Atlas.

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. She couldn't explain his effect on her. Nor did she like it.

Well some primitive part of her did, deep inside that she thought long ago dead. The piece of her killed by a disbelieving lover.

As anyone, she'd hoped to find a soul mate or at least someone she could rely on and love. Too many years of too many skeptics had rushed that romantic notion out of her brain. Now she'd settle for begin left alone.

“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. Women's tears melted him.. Too bad she didn't want to show them to him. “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.

His strong jaw made short work of the food. Wiping his hands on a napkin, he wandered back to her. Looking down, he said, “So why are you here now?"

“I was catapulted back in time to prevent the murder."