Let it go, Max. She’d heard the unspoken words so often they made her ill. She stared out the window at the clouds below them. “He’ll make a mistake. And I’ll be there.”
She’d do almost anything to be there. If that was obsession, then yes, she was obsessed. She’d been possessed by the spirit of his daughter Wendy. Her first vision had been of Wendy’s murder. Sort of. Bud Traynor had known every murder victim. He’d so much as admitted to Max that he’d engineered their deaths. And the man loved taunting her with the fact that she could never prove a thing against him.
In a way, Traynor gave her a reason for living. She wouldn’t rest until she stopped him. Permanently. Any way she could.
“We agree you’re obsessed.” Then Witt boiled it all down to its essential elements. “So what did the dream mean?”
What did Bud Traynor or her Greek God have to do with Bootman? Or Dracula, who, incidentally, had, in costume, figured prominently in the murder of Bud’s hairdresser?
“I don’t have a clue.” But she’d for damn sure figure it out.
*
Slush was all that was left of the snow from two days ago, but Chicago was freezing. Icy-wet cold seeped through her new down parka. She’d forgotten to buy gloves, her fingers barely registered as appendages, and the damn jean skirt was the dumbest idea she’d ever had, orgasms on the plane and the tights she’d donned after putting her panties back on in the restroom notwithstanding.
She was cold and grumpy and wanted nothing more than to get to Lines, find Cameron’s sister, do what had to be done there, then get back to California.
“We could have taken a puddle jumper to South Bend,” she said, the sound muffled. Her lips were frozen, too. The rental car had been parked miles out. South Bend was only a few miles across the Indiana border from Lines, Michigan, and being the home of Notre Dame, she was sure they’d have an airport.
Witt put his hand on her arm and bent down to look in her face. “That supposed to be teasing?” He didn’t sound as though his lips were frozen.
She slapped a hand to her forehead. “I forgot. It’s takeoff and landing you don’t like.” She hadn’t been teasing. She’d been plain old cranky. But knowing he’d risked flying for her made her feel too damn mushy inside. Same as she had on the plane when he’d touched her. Had she really let him do that? Yeah. She’d loved it, and she’d probably beg him to do the same again on the return trip.
Dropping her arm, he moved to the trunk of a maroon rental car and beeped the remote.
Watching him toss their two bags—which he’d been holding in one big hand—into the trunk, she stamped her feet on the ground for warmth and said, “Couldn’t you have gotten a Ram truck?”
He eyed her as if he thought she was joking. “Contrary to the popularity of black and red Dodge Rams”—he emphasized the word—“they’re not that easy to rent.”
She loved the black and red color scheme and the lines of the truck, and not merely because Witt owned one. No, there was something else, something downright sexy about it, especially with him in the driver’s seat.
“Then we could have gotten a compact. It would have been cheaper.” Sometimes she liked arguing for the sake of arguing.
Ever the gentleman, he opened the passenger side door before saying, “Unlike you, I’m not a mere titch of a thing. Need lots of room.” That’s why he drove the huge Dodge Ram, though he wasn’t above using it to his advantage with her whenever he could.
“I am not skinny.” She knew that’s what he meant. “I’ll have you know that since I’ve met you I’ve gained five pounds.”
He laughed, then cut it off. “So now you’re over a hundred.”
“One-oh-seven, to be exact.” Women generally revealed neither their weight nor their age. Max wasn’t ashamed of her age, three years younger than Witt’s thirty-six, and only a little ashamed of her weight. Five-foot-six and a hundred and seven pounds was bordering on anorexic. At least that’s what Cameron always said when he ragged on her about forgetting to eat.
Witt shook his head. “You amaze me. Get in the car.”
“This car better have seat warmers.” She didn’t ask how she amazed him. It was probably something else she’d get all gushy over again. Right now, she couldn’t allow herself to get all squishy over him. She had the vision to analyze. She burned with the goal of finding out what it meant.
As soon as she found Cameron’s sister.
Witt held the door, leaving her little room to sidle by him and get in. The flesh of his face was still unnaturally wan even for a blond guy. She thought she could make out new lines at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were a shade more pale than normal.
She felt that rush again. He’d risked his fears to come with her. She couldn’t say for sure she’d be able to do the same for him. But boy, she’d give it her best shot if the time came.
“Kiss me.” His voice was a rasp of emotion.