don’t know what you mean.” Her knuckles hurt with the strength of her grip on the car. The edges of her consciousness were darkening, thickening, closing in. She had to get away from him. Josie inhaled slowly, pushing back that terrifying darkness.
She should never have pulled her car in right to the edge of the chain-link fence. “Would you mind shutting your door, Mr. Hayes? I’d hate to scratch the finish. I’m sure it’s expensive.”
“Yes, in fact, it is.” His teeth flashed in the dim interior. “Very.”
No matter how she tried, Josie couldn’t see inside his car. Her eyes couldn’t adjust quickly enough between the blinding light bouncing up from the concrete and the cool shadows of his car. She examined the side of the police station. In this new building all the windows were shut and sealed against the heat and humidity, thanks to the central air. The old police station had made do with tall windows, taller ceilings and lots of fans.
This was supposed to be an improvement.
Unless you were in the parking lot wondering if anyone would hear you if you screamed.
Josie studied the ground, trying to decide what to do. A chameleon on the raised concrete next to the fence lifted one translucent green leg. She could always hop into her car and back out, ripping his door off in the process.
If she had the chance, she thought as one sneaker-clad foot came into view. She looked up and saw only the edge of dark slacks that tightened across a muscular thigh.
“A penny for your thoughts.” A copper coin spun into the air and she looked skyward. The coin gleamed as it tumbled to the ground, clinking as it landed.
“You can’t afford them. They’re worth more than a penny.”
“Of course they are. I should have known.” Still in the car and facing her, but with one foot on the concrete not far from her own, he dipped slightly forward in a seated half bow and his long fingers flashed in front of her eyes. A shower of copper pennies whirled and fell around her. One coin bounced off her shoe and rolled on its edge across the concrete. “So, lady green eyes, many pennies for your thoughts.”
“You wouldn’t be interested,” Josie said, staring at the bright copper as it vanished under her car. The coin looked newly minted.
“I assure you I am.” A second leg joined the first. His feet were slightly apart, his arm resting casually across the top of his open door, masking his eyes still. “I’m exceedingly interested in your thoughts, you know.” And he came out of the car, his lean body moving in one flowing motion.
And this time, she did step back, as far as she could, slam bang into the side of her car. She was better off not seeing his eyes, she realized. She wanted to look away and couldn’t. Caught by the dark blaze of their intensity, she stared and tried to swallow, the air growing thin and cold as she fought for breath while the rumble of his car’s idling engine became the thrumming pulse in her veins.
As if from a distance, she felt the stir of air as he stepped to the side, heard from afar the soft snick as he closed his car door, his gaze never leaving hers.
She was free.
And still she couldn’t look away from the tormented dark eyes of Ryder Hayes. More disturbing, much worse, was her realization that she didn’t want to look away. Wanted, instead, to step into that darkness and linger there, offer solace where none was asked for or wanted.
Ryder Hayes wanted something, all right, but it wasn’t consolation. Shaking free of the spell, she gasped as air flooded her lungs and she pressed back against the blistering metal of her car.
“What’s the matter, Josie Birdsong?” he said, still several feet away from her, although she felt as if he were enveloping her in darkness and cold.
Or heat. Held by the intensity of his dark eyes, she could no longer distinguish between heat and cold. In his presence, ice burned hot.
He took a step forward, stopped, slid his narrow hands carefully into his pockets as he scowled. “Am I frightening you?”
His question released her. “Yes, Mr. Hayes, you are. And I don’t like men who try to push me around, so step back. I want to go home, and you’re in my way.”
“Is that how it seems? That I’m bullying you?” he asked with only the slightest interest. But he stepped back.
“Yes.” Josie slid onto the hot seat of her car and grasped the door handle, ready to slam it at the first opportunity. “Maybe you’re even trying to terrorize me. I don’t know for sure. I can’t quite decide, but, yes, you’re definitely bullying me.”
He frowned. “Possibly I am. I’m not really sure myself what my intent is.” He leaned forward, touching the roof of her car. His arm blocked her exit as surely as had his car door. More so, she realized, since she didn’t think she was capable of running her car over his lean body. “What I do know is that I need to talk with you.”
“What you need is your business, Mr. Hayes. Not mine. And I don’t need or want to talk to you. Especially not right now,” Josie said through dry lips. She wasn’t frightened anymore. Disturbed, oh yes. But not afraid. At least not when he wasn’t holding her captive with his dark gaze. She half turned in her seat. The angle of her view hid his neck and face from her, but her eyes were on a level with the narrow silver buckle of his snakeskin belt. Remembering, she shuddered.
“What’s the matter?”
Above the gleam of his leather belt, the dazzling white of his cotton shirt moved back, away from her, and she grabbed the door. His narrow fingers closed around the rim, stopping her. “Let go,” she said. “Now.”
His fingernails were clean, square cut. “One minute. Sixty seconds. Here. At your house. Or in the police station if it makes you more comfortable. Your choice, but it’s important, Josie Birdsong. To both of us.” Soft, implacable, his voice made it impossible for her to leave. It held a knowledge that he had no right to. In its way, it was as much of a threat as his hand holding her door, preventing her departure. “Your choice,” he repeated. “Not mine, not what I want at all.”
Josie didn’t understand. He was asking her to meet with him.
“But we have to talk. As soon as possible.”
Not responding to his demand, Josie lifted her head. “How do you know my mother’s name?” He’d used it earlier, at his house. Even Bart hadn’t known.
He shrugged, one powerful shoulder scarcely moving. “Magic.”
Her heart stopped. Literally. And then it lurched forward. “Magic?” she whispered. Mellie’s word.
Not touching her, he waved his fingers in front of her and a pale pink tea rose appeared. “Illusions, that’s all. Nothing more. It’s only magic until you know the trick. The gimmick. And everything has a gimmick, Josie Bird-song,” he said, his voice taunting her. “Everything has an explanation.”
“Nobody knows my mother’s maiden name,” she said, more jolted by his knowledge than she wanted him to know.
“No?”
“No,” she insisted, tearing her gaze away from his and switching on the temperamental ignition
