“You tripped one of Aunt Bea’s aromatherapy alarms when you broke in,” Sophy said. “I warned you that they really do work.”
Mack groaned. “I didn’t break in. I entered because I was concerned about you. Your car was in the drive but you didn’t answer the door. Naturally I was worried.”
“Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I’m fine. Luke, will you please get a fire going?” She crossed through the living room and went into the kitchen. “Thank heavens for the generator.”
Mack watched her with a speculative expression, evidently strategizing his next move. Then he sauntered down the hall to the bathroom with the easy familiarity of a man who is making it clear that he knows his way around the house.
Bruce trotted across the living room to greet Luke.
“You spent the night on her bed, didn’t you?” Luke rubbed the dog’s side. “While I had to make do with a couch and a roommate who snores.”
Bruce rested his head briefly on Luke’s thigh as if offering sympathy and then trotted off toward the kitchen.
“One of these days we should probably talk about the concept of loyalty,” Luke called after him.
Bruce vanished into the kitchen. A door opened and closed. Sophy had let him out.
Luke pulled on his boots. There were fresh clothes and shaving gear in the duffel stashed in the SUV but he had been given orders to build a fire.
He crouched in front of the hearth and went to work arranging the kindling. Through the kitchen doorway he caught glimpses of Sophy as she spooned ground coffee into the machine. Her words echoed in his head.I’m sure Mack came here for the same reason you did. He wants something. Probably my help on a case.
He crumpled some old newspapers and tossed them into the fireplace. Yes, he was in Mirror Lake because he wanted something, specifically her help on a case. But he had paid for the reading. That made him a client, not a potential failed experiment. The latter implied a romantic relationship that had gone bad. He and Sophy were nowhere near that territory. Yet.
He thought fleetingly about how intensely arousing it had been to have her sprawled on top of him at the cabin, her brilliant eyes on fire. Hell, he was getting hard just thinking about it.
He needed to focus.
He stood, took a long match out of the box on the mantel, struck it, and lit the crumpled newspapers. He brooded on the flames for a moment, waiting to make sure they took hold. When they did, he turned, intending to go outside and retrieve the duffel and the sack of dog food from the SUV. He was halfway across the room when he noticed the books on the desk. He got a ping of curiosity and changed course.
There was, he quickly concluded, a theme to the subject matter.The Woman in HisNightmares: A History of the Fear ofFemale Empowerment.Sirens and Succubi: Monstrous Women in Art. She Haunts His Dreams: A Psychological Analysis of the Succubus Legend.
“Who’s afraid of you, Sophy Harper?” he said very softly. “Or are you afraid of yourself?”
Nine
He emerged from the bath,showered, shaved, and wearing a clean set of clothes. He was as ready as he would ever be to hold his own with Failed Experiment in the kitchen, so he followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee down the hall.
He was halfway to his destination when he came to what looked like a closet door. But something about the sturdiness of the door was off. It was too stout for an interior door. Too solid-looking. It was more formidable than the front door of the house.
When you were in the security business you noticed things like reinforced doors.
This particular door looked like it had been designed to camouflage the entrance to a vault or a safe room. Experimentally, he tried the old-fashioned knob—and got a small but painful jolt of electricity. He yanked his hand away, shook his fingers a couple of times, and smiled. He had just discovered the entrance to Bea Harper’s office.
He continued down the hall and went into the living room. Sophy’s voice came from the kitchen.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mack. I’m working another case at the moment.”
“Is it more important than catching a killer?”
“Don’t try to guilt-trip me. It’s your job to hunt down the bad guys, not mine. You’re the homicide detective. I’m the scary, delusional psychic who thinks she sees ghosts, goes into trances, and talks in a creepy voice.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times that I’m sorry you overheard that conversation with Jennifer. I’ve explained that I’d had a couple of drinks and I was celebrating. We had just closed the Harding case.”
“Thanks to me. If I hadn’t given you the lead that took you to the well where the body was dumped, you would still be chasing Harding.”
“You said you didn’t want me to tell anyone that you had been involved in that case. You said you wanted to keep a low profile.”
“You didn’t tell your cop pal that I had helped you find the body,” Sophy said. “You told her that a so-called psychic had insisted on interfering in the case and afterward had tried to seduce you.”
