shoulders, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. “I don’t think you should be putting yourself in any more danger than you already are investigating this case. Leave it. If the visions come, they come, but don’t go seeking trouble.”
She briefly laid her cheek against his hand, her touch igniting a fire in his belly. “I guess you’re right. The gift never brought anything but trouble to my mom.”
He ran his thumb along her jaw. He remembered Dana hated comparisons to her mother. Her mother had died before Rafe met Dana, but he’d heard stories, mostly from Pam, that Ronnie Croft had slept around and couldn’t even identify Dana’s biological father. Not that Rafe cared.
Dana’s refusal to acknowledge she had the gift puzzled Rafe initially. She’d never pushed away her Southern Ute culture before. Now he understood that her reluctance to explore her gift stemmed from the fact that she shared it with her mother. She wanted to distance herself more from her mother than her culture.
Not that he wanted Dana to immerse herself in visions of a serial killer. He’d rather use old-fashioned police work to solve this case than put Dana’s life in danger.
She slipped out of his grasp and bent over to smooth the wrinkles from the bedspread with her palms. Her hair hid her expression as it slid across her face. “Grab the laptop and I’ll turn it over to Steve. Maybe Holly has something on there that can help us out.”
Rafe hitched the laptop case over his shoulder and shoved open the door, gesturing Dana through first. They walked into the living room together where Mrs. Thompson slumped on the sofa, her head tilted back, eyes closed.
A dull pain throbbed at the base of Rafe’s skull. He didn’t have children, but he couldn’t imagine losing a child, especially to murder. When his niece was kidnapped, his brother, Ryder, was almost deranged until he got her back.
Rafe kept his voice low, soothing. “Mrs. Thompson.”
Rolling her head to the side, she peeled open one bloodshot eye. “Huh?”
“We’re leaving.” He patted the side of the laptop case. “Maybe this can tell us something.”
She pushed to her feet, swaying slightly. “I’ll see you out.”
“That’s okay. We’ll see ourselves out.” Dana cupped Mrs. Thompson’s elbow.
“I may be drunk, but I haven’t lost all my manners.” She scooted around the coffee table, banging her shin.
Dana winced, but Mrs. Thompson didn’t seem to notice. She shuffled toward the front door and opened it. Standing with her back against the dilapidated screen door, she peered into Dana’s face. “Give my best to Mary Redbird. M-maybe she can figure out who’s doing this. Maybe she can see who murdered my Holly.”
Gasping, Dana drew back. “Auntie Mary doesn’t have visions like that, Mrs. Thompson. She’s more of a healer.”
Mrs. Thompson’s hand shot out and grabbed Dana’s forearm. “Your mama, Ronnie, had that power. I knew my husband was cheating on me, and Ronnie gave me her name and the name of the hotel where they were meeting. Claimed she saw them there together.” Mrs. Thompson tapped her temple. “Up here in her head.”
“My mother’s dead.”
Rafe placed a steadying hand on the curve of Dana’s back, feeling a shiver snake through her body. Damn. Maybe Dana nailed it. Maybe Mrs. Thompson suspected some of what went on in Holly’s bedroom.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Thompson. We’ll get this guy.” Rafe stepped between her and Dana and shoved open the screen door. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
Dana practically flew down the front steps and banged through the flimsy gate. Nothing like acting guilty. If Mrs. Thompson hadn’t suspected anything before, Dana’s hasty escape might have planted a seed of a notion.
Rafe gave Mrs. Thompson a weak smile and followed Dana out with measured steps. No sense in both of them scrambling from the house.
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