“Of course you do. Duh.” She dug out her house key. “Why don’t we go inside?”
“I’d rather stay out here, if you’re good with that? It’s sort of pretty tonight. Almost cool.”
“You’re out of your mind, Hollywood. It’s muggy and buggy. But whatever. Make room.”
He did and she sat. Their shoulders brushed. She felt the heat emanating from him. And something else. Magnetic. Magical.
She frowned at her thoughts and scooted a fraction farther away from him.
Zach indicated the cat. “She have a name?”
“She’s not mine. Just a stray that comes around.”
“Still, you must call her something.”
“Kitty.”
“Original.”
The feline looked at her archly. As if she agreed mightily with Zach’s assessment.
Micki shifted her own gaze back to Zach. “Do your gifts include communicating with animals?”
He laughed. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“Kitty here seems to have developed a special rapport with you.”
“Really?” He scratched the feline behind the ears and it rubbed its head against his hand and began to purr.
“I’ll be damned. I’ve never seen her do that—” Then she realized what was going on and busted out laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You and females, Harris. Any age, any species. They can’t resist you.”
“Except you, Mick.”
Her smiled faded and she glanced away. That had been true. At first. But not anymore, not completely.
She turned back to him, looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m in.”
“In?”
“One hundred percent. This whole whacky thing. Pulsing clouds of death, you just knowin’ things for no reason at all. The fact that somehow you always come out smelling like a rose and I, well, I end up on YouTube.”
He opened his mouth to speak; she held up a hand stopping him. “But there are boundaries. There have to be. Honesty. Transparency. Respect. And trust.”
“Mick, I—”
She stopped him again. “Before you make some lame-ass excuse that pisses me off again, let me finish. I’ve got to be able to trust you that same one hundred percent. You give me your word you won’t use your super mojo-vision on me, you keep it. And I’ll give that trust right back to you. Then I’m in.”
“Can I speak now?”
“The floor’s yours, Harris.”
“I need you, Mick. You can do what I can’t. Without you, I’d probably be dead already.” He didn’t wait for her to agree and went on. “Excluding you the way I did was messed up. Lying, also messed up. And the mojo thing, it was a mistake. It just happened. It’s something, a trick, I’ve pulled out of my bag for so long . . . it’s become an automatic response.”
“When you don’t get your own way.”
“When I want to get my own way.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“That I can’t promise I won’t slip up. But I can promise, I won’t consciously set out to use it. And if I do slip up, I’ll stop immediately. How’s that for honesty and transparency?”
“On the right track.”
“But?”
“It was damn creepy, Harris. Preparing myself for another slip-up.”
“Creepy, huh?” He rubbed his jaw, expression bemused. “I’ve never actually affected a woman . . . quite that way.”
“That you know of.”
He laughed, then shook his head. “You’ve got me there.”
But she didn’t. And never would. “I think we’ve already established I don’t react to you like most women do.”
“Almost as if Parker and company knew that when they chose you.”
“But how could they have?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should ask him?”
“We?”
“Yeah, you and me. Partners. I’m meeting with Parker at seven-thirty.”
“Tonight?” She looked at her watch. “It’s seven now.”
“Yup. You want in?”
“Hell yes, I want in.”
“I thought you would.” He rubbed his palms together. “This is going to be tough. He already told me he wouldn’t talk to you.”
“So, I sneak up on him.”
“You can’t sneak up on a guy like Parker.”
“He’s FBI, so what? I’ve got skills too.”
“He’s special, Mick.”
“What do you—” Then she understood. “He’s like you. A Sixer.”
“The original. And he’s psychically very sensitive. He’ll pick up your presence before you get anywhere near him.”
“Where’s the meeting?”
“In the Marigny. My apartment.”
“I’m there in the apartment, maybe in back. Or down the—”
“He’ll sense you.”
“What about the thing we tried with Knight. Our phones—”
“Parker’s picked you up through the phone before.”
“Seriously? Son of a bitch.” She shook her head. “So what’s your plan?”
“The sneaky direct approach.”
“The sneaky, direct approach? Dude, in case English isn’t your first language, those two things don’t go together.”
“They do here. It’ll also require the element of surprise and some old-fashioned arm twisting.”
“My part, I’m guessing.”