good.”
“Excuse me?” He choked on his drink and grabbed a cocktail napkin to wipe his mouth. “I’m good at a lot of things. Which talent are you referring to?”
Her cheeks grew warm in the dim light. Why did everything Matt said have a sexual connotation to it? Or was that her spin?
“When I first told you Mrs. Harris hired me to find out what happened to her daughter, you weren’t too happy about it, implied I was a fraud. Now you’re cozying up to me and opening your mind to my gift.”
His slow smile twisted his mouth, and he waved his hand in the space between them. “This ain’t cozy.”
“You know what I mean.” She crumpled a napkin in her clammy hand. Matt had sex appeal coming out of his pores, but she didn’t plan on becoming one more conquest for him. “Why are you so interested in my psychic powers now when fifteen minutes ago you were scoffing at them?”
He hunched a broad shoulder and drained his glass. “I’m a realist. Mr. Harris hired me and Mrs. Harris hired you. Even though I’m not too keen on having a partner, my goal is to give peace to the Harris family, to find out what happened to Bree, get the girl some justice.”
Slapped her down. Now her infantile comment about not working with partners sounded…infantile.
“Deal.” She extended her hand for a shake. His large hand engulfed hers and he applied a quick pressure to her fingers. She extricated her hand from his grasp and drummed her fingers on the bar to keep them busy. “Do you have anything?”
“Just got here yesterday, but I was wondering about the possibility of Brunswick being involved.”
“The algebra teacher?”
“The serial-killing algebra teacher.”
“Yeah, I heard all about those women he murdered just to prove something to Michelle Girard. Creepy. But how would Bree Harris be a part of that?”
“You know Brunswick also murdered two prostitutes, don’t you? A guy like that doesn’t decide one day to start killing to impress a woman.”
“Have the cops or the FBI looked into a connection between Brunswick and Bree’s disappearance?”
“Not that I know of.” He tipped his chin at the bartender. “I stopped by Coral Cove P.D. yesterday to request access to the Brunswick files and the Harris report. The chief is a piece of work.”
“I haven’t heard good things about him since I’ve been here. Chief Reese’s son, Dylan, is supposed to come back for the job.”
Matt grinned as he slid the check in front of him. “I had a very close relationship with Chief Reese.”
“How many times did he pull you over on your bike or ticket you for playing your music too loudly or pick you up for being out after curfew?”
“Too many times to count.”
“Yeah, I knew that rumor about your being a cop couldn’t be true.”
Matt’s hand, holding the pen, froze over the check. Then he signed it. “Where’d you hear that bit of nonsense?”
She scooted her stool back and hopped off. “I don’t know. Through the grapevine.”
Matt rapped his knuckles against the mahogany and called to the bartender. “Thanks, man.”
Matt maneuvered her through the bar tables with his hand on the small of her back. He left it there when they hit the lobby. And she let him leave it there.
He dropped it all too soon to stab the elevator button. When the doors whisked open on the empty car, he asked, “What floor?”
“Third.”
He pressed the number three button and leaned against the elevator car, hands behind his back, a grin claiming his face. “Guess the hotel put everyone working for the Harrises on the same floor.”
Kylie’s belly flip-flopped. Not only did she get to work with this hunka, hunka burning manhood, she’d be living a few doors down from him. “Coincidence.”
“You disappoint me, psychic lady.” He reached forward and touched the tip of his finger to her cheekbone. “I thought you’d call it fate.”
She held her breath as the rough pad of his finger brushed her skin. If he was trying to seduce her just like he’d done with all those silly girls in high school, he hadn’t lost his touch. Not one bit.
He held up his finger. “You had a black speck on your face.”
She wiped her hand across the spot, still tingling from his caress…touch…poke. “Probably a flake of mascara. It’s been a long day.”
The elevator jostled and then settled on the third floor. As he pinned the door open and gestured her through, he said, “Do you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning and go over a game plan?”
“You’re serious about working together?”
“Deadly.”
“All right.” Her steps slowed as she reached her hotel room. “I’m in three-twenty-six.”
“How about that?” He slid his card key out of his back pocket and flicked it. “I’m in three-thirty-six. Fate strikes again.”
She slid her key home and turned her head toward him, her shoulder wedging against the door. “See you tomorrow in the hotel restaurant at nine?”
“Sounds good.”
“Thanks again for rescuing me at Columbella. What brought you there anyway?”
“Research.” He called over his shoulder as he ambled five doors down.
Kylie slipped into the darkened hotel room and pressed her back against the door. What was she doing? Mrs. Harris had sent her to Coral Cove to do a job, and she’d planned to combine that job with a little investigation of her own into Mom’s suicide.
Now here comes Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick and all she can think about is what he’s packing in those tight jeans.
She groaned and pushed off the door, flicking on the light. She blinked. Her gaze darted from her gaping suitcase in the corner to her clothes strewn across the room.
With her heart pounding, she tiptoed into the room and poked her head around the bathroom door. She sagged against the doorjamb like she’d been punched in the gut.
Written on the bathroom mirror in her own red lipstick were the words: Your Next Bitch.
Chapter Four
As Matt dropped onto the hotel bed and crossed one leg over his knee to pull off his motorcycle boot, someone pounded on his door. He reached for his Glock tucked into the gun bag around his waist, his muscles tensing.
“Matt? Are you in there?”
