Instead, he got out of the car, cursing himself silently for still wanting her. Cursing her. For looking so good. For inciting ideas inside him that he had no business feeling.
She stirred him still, as no woman had. Not even Margo. He wanted Shauna.
Was there some other way that Shauna had really known something had happened to Andee? So much about her stories had always seemed true, too much to be coincidental. Yet he’d always prided himself on being a realist, had never wanted to buy in to the idea.
Yeah? Well, if he hadn’t bought in to it, why was he here, when what he really wanted was to be home, looking for his daughter?
He closed the car door and hurried toward Shauna. He’d accused her earlier of having something to do with the kidnapping. That had just been his anxiety lashing out, and they’d all known it. Apologies didn’t come easily to him, but he’d owed it to her.
Years ago, though, he wouldn’t have put such a terrible hoax past her, not if it would have gotten him to admit that she had the power to write stories, out of the blue, that came true. She’d always been upset when he didn’t believe her.
And maybe if he had been more accepting, he’d still be living here in Oasis, his job with the Phoenix Police Department intact.
“Were you talking to someone in L.A.?” she asked when he drew near her. Her scent was much as he remembered it. Something too soft to be exotic, too spicy to be sweet and feminine. But very appealing. It suited the mystery of her.
“Yes,” he said. “My assistant, Simon. He’s with my ex-wife, trying to get better information. So far, there’s nothing of use.” He let his tone turn scornful. “Your story’s as likely to tell me something helpful as Margo is.”
Shauna’s eyes blazed, but only for an instant. Saying nothing, she led him inside.
They entered the house through her kitchen. It was a lot smaller than his mother’s. A lot more like a small, homey forest. Shauna had plants everywhere—on her tiny kitchen table, along her gold-tile counters, even on top of the refrigerator. A few had flowers. Most were simply large and leafy and green. The place smelled more like a garden than a kitchen.
“Sit down there.” Shauna pointed to a chair beside her table. “I’ll get you more coffee and…Hunter, I have to warn you again. I don’t think you should read the story.”
“Yeah, I got that. Is it because Andee’s father is described in it as an ugly old goat who doesn’t believe in magical stories that come true?”
She leveled her gaze on his. This time, what he read in her wide brown eyes, the tilt of her head that allowed her long, blond hair to cascade to one side, wasn’t hurt or anger. It was pity.
Damn. Now that hurt. He had never wanted Shauna’s sympathy before. He sure as hell didn’t want it now. Yet the expression again reminded him of the past, of what they had shared.
And not just that he’d thought he’d loved her.
The passion between them had been phenomenal. The thought of it once more sent his blood coursing, as if a flood-gate had been opened. Sure, he could imagine himself making love to Shauna again. Hell, yes. She was every bit as beautiful and desirable as she’d been then.
But the sympathy in her eyes brought him back abruptly to why he was here.
She thought she knew the ending to Andee’s story, and it made her feel sorry for him.
He had to learn all she’d written, so he would know what she figured he’d be up against. And then he’d dash home.
Wearily he did as she asked and sat down on a chair. Covered by a thick, fringed pillow, it was more comfortable than his mother’s kitchen chairs.
“What is it, Shauna? I know I never wanted to believe your stories came true, no matter what I saw. Some of the other guys swore by what you told them. Hell, maybe you’ve been right every time.” That was why he’d taken precious time to come here before hurrying home, why his hastily crafted strategy had included seeing Shauna—just in case. “Maybe whatever you’ve written now is real and there won’t be a damned thing I can do about it. But I’ve got to know, in case there’s anything to help me find my daughter. If it’s bad stuff, I’ll fight it.”
“I know you will, Hunter,” she said with a sigh. “And you’re right. If nothing else, I can at least let you prepare for it. But, honestly, the only clue to who the kidnapper is, is that he thinks of himself as ‘Big T,’ assuming that’s actually his thoughts, not my imagination.”
He couldn’t help raising his eyebrows. This all was her imagination…except that Margo had confirmed that Andee had been taken.
“And no hints about how to find this so-called ‘Big T’?”
She shook her head. “Hunter, the thing is…” She hesitated, then turned her back and opened the refrigerator door.
“Andee dies at the end,” he supplied through gritted teeth. Prepare himself? Hell. Nothing could prepare him for that. “Right? Why else wouldn’t you want to tell me?”
He heard a sound that might have been a sob. But when she turned back to him, a package of coffee in her hands, she looked composed. “Yes, Hunter. That’s the end of my story.”
Big T swooped down and reached behind a couch in the middle of the warehouse floor, lifting his Uzi. Before he could begin spraying bullets, Hunter ducked, rolled and came up shooting. His first volley got the guy in the gut.
The kidnapper fell to the hard concrete floor, moaning, as Hunter ran to kneel beside him, his weapon still leveled on him.
“Tell me where Andee is, you perverted bastard. Now.”
Blood spurted from between Big T’s fingers as he clutched his middle. “Too late.” His gasp was a ghastly laugh. “Good luck finding her.”
His eyes closed. He was dead.
Somewhere close by, but not near enough for Hunter to find her, Andee weakly cried “Daddy” for the last time.
Of course Hunter had guessed the ending, despite Shauna’s reluctance about telling him. And maybe that had been what she wanted—not to have to say the words herself.
Still, when she acknowledged he had guessed correctly, she winced inside at the pain that crossed his face, only to be replaced an instant later by stoic blankness.
“I still want to see it.” His voice held as much emotion as if he had requested the day’s weather report.
What he didn’t know yet was all Andee went through, all he went through, before that awful end. The story wasn’t always specific, but their torment was stark and real.
But she knew he wasn’t about to give up. He would fight it. Hunter always fought everything, and everyone, that didn’t comply with what he perceived as right and just and the way things should be. He wrestled with wrongs till he had them fixed, or at least wrapped up and within his control. That was why he’d made such a good cop.
And why things had gone so wrong for him at the end of his job
