A Hero in Her Eyes Page 11

  “Doesn’t prove anything,” he told her.

  It did to her. “There should be an oak tree in the field behind the house.”

  Skepticism refused to let go. “All right, let’s go see.”

  Walker began to go to the front of the house. He intended to drive around to the back and to the oak tree that might or might not be there. In either case, he figured they could use the headlights from the car for illumination.

  But as he began to walk, he heard the creak of the back door as it opened and then closed again. He turned around. “Eliza?”

  She was gone.

  “Now she’s Houdini.” Muttering under his breath, Walker hurried after her down back stairs that had lost their railing a long time ago. “Eliza!”

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she was running away from him and through the grass.

  Walker made out her form in the dimming light and marveled at the distance she had already put between them. He’d had no idea she could move that fast. The woman was a font of talents, he thought, breaking into a run himself.

  He caught up to her at the tree, not even realizing, at first, that it was there. His attention was focused on Eliza.

  Grabbing her arm, he turned her around. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  She was breathing hard, her chest heaving. “Yes, but I knew you’d follow.”

  He tried to ignore the rhythmic movement. How could he be attracted to her at a time like this? What was wrong with him? he upbraided himself.

  “Why were you running? The tree wasn’t going anywhere.” And then he stopped to look as the import of his own words hit him. “The oak tree.”

  She nodded, catching her breath. “The oak tree.”

  He stepped back, looking at her with something akin to awe and just a hint of unease. “Is it…where you saw it in your dream?”

  She walked backward, away from him and the tree, keeping the farmhouse in the distance. Framing the scene in her mind.

  “Yes.” Eliza stared at the tree as if it were an entity that could communicate. Crossing back to it, she ran her hand along the rough bark. A warmth sprang to her fingertips. “Bonnie leaned against this tree, trying to hide from someone. This was where she was when she was calling to you.”

  Each word stabbed at his heart. His little girl had been here, sometime after the kidnapping. Crying for him. And he hadn’t been able to come to her.

  Walker curled his hands at his sides, trying to control emotions that threatened to erupt. The urge to kill was very strong, but there was no outlet. He banked it down.

  He became aware that Eliza had dropped to her hands and knees and was searching for something in the dark around the base of the tree.

  He crouched to her level. “What are you looking for?”

  Eliza rocked back on her heels. She wasn’t looking. She had found it.

  “This—”

  She held up her trophy. Moving in the breeze was a dirty piece of pink ribbon—the kind that might once have been attached to a little girl’s toe shoe.

  Chapter 10

  Like a man in a trance, Walker reached for the ribbon Eliza had in her fingers.

  Taking it from her, he held the slender scrap of material in the palm of his hand as if it were a fragile flower. His heart pounding, he stared at it for several moments as twilight ushered dusk away.

  The only light came from the moon. The flashlight he’d used to illuminate their way through the farmhouse and the field had fallen from his lax fingers when Eliza had held up the ribbon.

  Bonnie’s ribbon.

  Logic would have placed the odds against the ribbon actually being a broken lace from Bonnie’s toe shoe. There were no real identifying marks. A pink ribbon was a pink ribbon, nothing more. It could have come from a dress, from a wayward pigtail…

  And yet he knew it had belonged to his daughter. Knew with a certainty burning in his gut.

  He looked up at Eliza. The brightness of her eyes was not diminished by the lack of light. They seemed to shine right into his, saying things to him that came from her heart even though her lips never moved.

  She knew, he thought. Even before him.

  Still, he heard himself saying, “It’s Bonnie’s,” half in question, half in firm statement.

  “It’s Bonnie’s,” she replied, the quiet tone of her voice belying the excitement she felt. Though Eliza had been sure they were on the right trail coming to this farm, it was gratifying to find evidence that proved her right. Just touching the ribbon had brought visions of Bonnie to her.

  He closed his hand over the ribbon. So near and yet so damn far. Where was she?

  “But Bonnie’s not here. How do we—?” The very question choked him, and he was unable to think, he who had always been able to arrive at logical conclusions so easily.

  But logic had nothing to do with this—neither with his daughter’s abrupt disappearance, nor the appearance of this fey woman in his life.

  “We go to the county records office in the morning and find out who owns this piece of property. We’ll track him or her down,” she promised. She didn’t know if the owner had been the one who kidnapped Bonnie, but he or she knew something about the abduction—that much she could swear to.

  Maybe it was the moonlight, but she thought she saw tears shimmering in Walker’s eyes. For a moment, Eliza didn’t know how to proceed, whether to acknowledge the tears, or ignore them and give Walker his privacy. Even from her limited experience, she knew men weren’t big on showing emotion. In all likelihood, Walker probably would prefer if she just pretended she didn’t notice.

  But the immense capacity she had for empathy overwhelmed any practical judgment she was wrestling with. Eliza covered the tight fist that was holding Bonnie’s pink ribbon with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  Struggling with his thoughts, Walker raised his eyes to hers again. He could feel her empathy, feel her excitement. It was as if she were telegraphing it to him somehow.

  His breath caught in his throat.

  Was it the emotion-packed moment that had him hallucinating this way, or was there something about this woman that spoke to him? Something that delved into his innermost being and somehow connected with what he kept hidden there?

  Walker’s head began to hurt.

  He couldn’t deal with all that, with the import of what these jumbled thoughts he was having might mean. He was accustomed to dealing with facts and the reality he could see.

  Still, there was something…

  He made no movement to withdraw his hand, enjoying, instead, the warmth he felt emanating from her. “Thank you.”

  His thanks embarrassed her. She hadn’t yet accomplished what she’d set out to do. “Save that for when we find her.”

  When, always “when,” not “if.” Eliza was such a positive force that she seemed to sap the energy out of the negative thoughts that resided in his mind, the negative aura he had lived with for so long. He’d never been accused of being a happy-go-lucky person, but the double tragedy that had upended his life had sent him plummeting down to the fiery depths of a hell few could actually imagine. With her continuously optimistic outlook, Eliza was like his lifeline back to the land of the living.

  He continued to be mesmerized by her eyes. “You’re always so positive. Doesn’t being up all the time tire you out?”

  It would if it were a conscious effort. But it wasn’t. It was just the way she approached things. “On the contrary, it helps make the bad things in life bearable, and it energizes me.”

  “Energize,” he repeated, laughing shortly, acutely aware of the fact that her hand was still on his. “You’ve got enough energy for both of us.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Suddenly realizing that her hand was still covering his, Eliza dropped hers to her side.

  Almost shyly, he thought, watching her turn away to lead the way back to the farmhouse and his car. There were so many things going on inside him right now, he couldn’t
begin to put a label on them.

  And Eliza was responsible. For all of it.

  “Eliza,” he whispered.

  She turned around, not looking quite as confident as she had a moment ago. Looking, it occurred to him, almost vulnerable. Why, he had no idea. But he knew that what he saw caused an overwhelming surge of feeling within him.

  The next moment, still holding the ribbon, Walker framed her face with his hands and then lightly kissed her lips.

  That was all it was supposed to be. A small kiss born of gratitude, of happiness for being able to hope again, for even just a little while.

  But contact had added something else to the mix. Kissing her once made him want to kiss her again. And again.

  Slipping the ribbon in his pocket, he took her into his arms and deepened the kiss, turning a single lyric into a song and then a symphony.

  Kissing her satisfied nothing, ended nothing. Instead, it unleashed a ravenous hunger he hadn’t been aware of harboring.

  It made him want to make love with her.

  The realization scorched him, as if someone had suddenly raked a red-hot poker over his flesh. Jolted, he backed away, his eyes wide as he looked at her.

  He could only guess what she must think of him. “I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

  It took Eliza a second to catch her breath. Walker’s kiss had depleted her lungs even as it had filled her body with the most delicious sensations.

  “I didn’t mind,” she murmured.

  Was that wrong? Should she have said something witty that would put this all back on a strictly business level?

  But it wasn’t on a strictly business level. She couldn’t divorce herself like that, couldn’t place Walker and the case into a neat little box and seal a lid over it. Not when she was spending her emotions like this. Not when she was turning herself inside out and using every shred of her being to uncover his daughter’s whereabouts.

  An awkwardness slipped over Walker. He shouldn’t have done that, no matter what she said. “I guess I’d better drive you home.”

  It was the moment that had caused him to get carried away, he thought, promising himself to be in control again by the morning.

  “You’d better,” she agreed with a smile. “It’s a long walk from here.”

  He looked at her oddly, then dismissed her words with a shake of his head. He didn’t know why Eliza’s having a sense of humor took him unawares the way it did. He just didn’t expect it from someone like her.

  The path back to the house was uneven, made worse by the darkness. Eliza was surprised when he took her arm. Surprised and pleased.

  The sound of the doorbell made its way into the kitchen. Eliza glanced at the wall clock: 7:05. Later than expected, she mused, making her way to the front of the house.

  Granted, seven in the morning was not a time when she ordinarily entertained company, but after last night’s find, she’d assumed Walker would be champing at the bit to get going.

  She wasn’t disappointed.

  He was on her doorstep, a man in conflict, nonetheless eager to set wheels into motion. The conflict, she sensed, had to do with her.

  She’d already made up her mind to make it as easy as she could for him, pretending that he hadn’t kissed her almost senseless last night. Pretending that the last dream she’d had before waking up hadn’t been of him. Of things, she thought, that probably would never be.

  She had no way of knowing, one way or the other. It would be nice, she mused, if the abilities that allowed her to glimpse both the past and the future of other people’s lives would allow her to see into her own life once in a while. But it was as if that somehow was forbidden by the rules of this game she was compelled to play. She could peer into other people’s lives, but her own remained a mystery.

  She opened the door. “I expected you about half an hour ago.”

  The woman had the ability to render him speechless. “Really?”

  She could almost see his mind working, chewing on her words. “Logical deduction,” she told him before he could ask. “Come on in.” Eliza stepped back, allowing him access, then closed the door behind him. For once, his common sense appeared to have deserted him. She rather liked that. “You do realize that government offices do not open up at seven, probably not even for the president.”

  Yes, he realized that he was early. Realized, too, though he wasn’t quite sure how, that she’d be up at this hour. Maybe it had been wishful thinking.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he confessed.

  Most of it had been due to the excitement over finding the ribbon, which was now in his right pants pocket, tucked away there for luck. But some of it had been because of Eliza, because of what he had felt when he had kissed her. He tried to tell himself that what he was feeling was because of the situation. It was the victim–rescuer, patient–doctor mentality that caused a person to see someone who came to their aid in less than realistic terms, turning them into a god-like being. Or, in Eliza’s case, a goddess-like being.

  But somehow, all the logical arguments he had used on himself had not managed to penetrate his mind. They certainly hadn’t been able to erase the feeling that was within him now.

  He wanted to be with her. Intimately.

  The last part crept up on him unannounced, and he banked it down. What the hell was wrong with him? They were looking for his daughter. How could he be thinking of making love to a woman in the middle of all this? Was he losing all reason?

  He was going to have to exercise more control over his thoughts, he admonished silently.

  Still, looking at her delicate, upturned face, at the compassion in her eyes, it was hard not to be drawn to her.

  It occurred to him that this was probably something she encountered on a regular basis. The last thing in the world he wanted was to be some kind of “psychic groupie,” especially when the jury was still out over how he felt about such phenomena.

  “I was just about to have some coffee,” she told him, tightening the robe’s sash, which insisted on inopportunely sliding loose. “Would you like some?”

  He blew out a breath. “Seeing as how we have no place to go yet, all right.”

  Walker followed her to the kitchen, trying not to notice how her hips gently swayed beneath the fabric of her silk robe as she led the way. Each step made him warmer. He forced himself to look at the back of her head, instead. A whole lot safer that way, he thought.

  “We don’t have anyplace to go yet, right?” he prodded, hoping she’d contradict him. Maybe coming here was a bad idea. Meeting her in her office was probably a lot more sensible.

  There was a coffeemaker residing on the far end of the pink-and-gray tiled counter. Picking up the coffeepot, Eliza turned to the two cups and saucers she’d taken from the cupboard just before he’d rung the doorbell.

  Watching her pour, he realized that she really had been expecting him. Was he as predictable as she had implied, or was that her “gift” telling her he was going to be here?

  The question, even without an answer, didn’t bother him nearly as much now as it might have a little more than a week ago. Did that mean his thinking was getting more progressive, or that the desperation of the situation had made him suspend logical thinking? He still wasn’t certain.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder as she poured. “And by ‘anyplace,’ you mean…?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed again, shaking his head. “Go back to the farmhouse in the daylight to poke around some more.” He looked at her. “Or maybe you had another dream?”

  She set the pot back on its burner, buying herself some time before answering. Remembering the dream she’d had. The one with him in it. It had been very vivid, but she knew that it had been created by her own needs, not by her “gift.”

  Still, thinking about the dream made it difficult to keep the blush from creeping up her neck and coloring her cheeks. Eliza shook her head. “No, no new dream.”

  The oddest thought that she was hol
ding something back crossed Walker’s mind, but he let it go, telling himself he was getting paranoid. So far, Eliza had been incredibly forthcoming, even in the face of his ridicule. She definitely would have told him if there was something to tell, especially since he was encouraging her now.

  “How about going back to the farmhouse?” he suggested. Maybe they would find something in the light of day they’d missed in the dark. A flashlight wasn’t the best source of illumination.

  “We could do that,” she agreed slowly. She knew why he wanted to return, but it would just be a waste of energy. She already knew he wasn’t destined to find anything more there. “But I think we should save our energy for the county records office. Not everything has been input into the computer yet, and we might have to do some heavy-duty digging.”

  Moving forward to offer him the coffee she’d poured for him, Eliza caught the edge of her sash on the corner of the counter. At the next step, the silk sash came undone, allowing the two sides of her robe to hang open, framing her body.

  He didn’t mean to look.

  He couldn’t help it.

  She was wearing a short, lacy nightgown that brushed against the tops of her thighs. The pale pink color contrasted with the light olive cast of her skin.

  It also caused Walker to feel as if he were in danger of swallowing his tongue.

  He took the cup she was offering him, telling himself again that he was supposed to avert his eyes. Somehow, he couldn’t quite manage the simple action.

  “Maybe I should let you get ready,” he said, finally able to tear his eyes away from what was, quite likely, the most enticing female form he’d seen in a very long time, and addressing the words to the black liquid in his cup.

  “Good idea,” she agreed, grateful for the excuse as she started to retreat to her bedroom.

  He suddenly became aware of the cup he’d wrapped his hands around. Coffee. Black.