Chapter Twenty-Seven

The disorientation Craig felt when he woke spanned several levels. Ariel lay on her stomach with her head on his chest. He pulled the cover over her shoulder in a gesture so naturally protective that it startled him. No woman had ever been…he knew her, even though they had just met. How could she know his name? How did he know hers? He had never fallen into bed with someone like this, but it felt so right. She felt so right.

She was a possible witness. He put his arm over his eyes. How unprofessional could he be? He should have left last night. Unconsciously, he caressed the smooth skin of her back with his other arm. She stirred against his chest. When he lowered his arm from his eyes, she was looking at him.

“I’m so glad you stayed,” she said, stretching languidly, unselfconsciously. She was equally at ease when she rose and stepped into the tiny bathroom. Her robe hung on the wall next to the bed.

He reviewed the circumstances that led him here. She said they had shared a psychic link, which wasn’t possible. Yet…something happened when he looked in her eyes. He didn’t feel drugged, but he must have hallucinated. He couldn’t have seen what he had seen. She couldn’t be…yet here he was in her bed.

He examined his surroundings. The motor home was organized and tidy, books shelved in every available space. There were a few quirks, like the baseball bat hanging from a strap next to the bed. The bat had, “For personal protection—love Mister D”, written on the side.

Craig rolled out of bed and found his pants. He was looking for his missing sock when she emerged from the shower. She reached over him to get her robe. She smelled of apricots and musk.

“What do you want for breakfast? Or should I say how do you like your eggs, since they’re all I have,” she said.

“I’m not sure what to say,” he replied.

“Scrambled, over easy, or poached would do.” She had an amazing smile. Without her makeup, she looked about twenty.

“Scrambled will be fine.”

“Why don’t you ask your questions while I cook?” A pan appeared from a cubby. She didn’t waste a motion as she cracked the eggs and chopped an onion. She moved the mixing bowl with his goldfish to the table like a centerpiece. “Frank the Fish, seems to be hanging in there.”

“How can I know so much about you?” he asked.

“I told you last night. We made a psychic connection.”

“I have a hard time believing it.”

“If you have a better explanation, I’m listening.” She set bread on a toaster contraption that fit over the burner on her gas stove.

This domestic scene unnerved him.

Since he was silent, she continued, “I know it takes a while for this…experience to sink in. If it’s any consolation, this is only the second time this has happened to me. If you want to change the topic, you could tell me about the serial killer.”

“I’m not positive there is a serial killer,” he said, trying to salvage some professionalism. “I just had a lead on a man who was a religious fanatic and may be threatening people who are descendents of the Salem witches. You are descended from one of the Salem witches, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but why didn’t you just ask about the guy?”

“I did ask, in a round about way. I didn’t want to spook anybody,” he said.

She chuckled. “You know we made you for a cop long before you got to my tent.” Tweety Bird on her shoulder looked at him with wide, guileless eyes. His stomach gurgled at the smell of the cooking eggs.

“We?” he asked.

“We Carnies. You really stand out. Cops have a way of observing and asking that sets them apart from regular carnival patrons. It’s obvious if you know what to look for.”

He blushed and looked at his hands. “I was trying to build a rapport. I guess I didn’t do a very good job.”

“You’d have probably been fine in the normal world. Carneys are a little more observant,” she said, patting his hand.

He decided—considering yesterday’s experiences—he really had nothing to hide from this woman. He would just fess up. “I’m not really a field agent. I decided to follow a lead my colleagues thought was useless. Not talking about a serial killer is a cop thing. I didn’t want to start a panic based on what essentially is a hunch.”

“You don’t think it’s just a hunch. The fact that you believe it is good enough for me.” She dished the eggs onto two plates and added toast. Setting the plates on the table, she slid in across from him. “What did the guy look like?”

“The description I have is he was tall, balding, and had a large mole next to his nose on the right side of his face.” He buttered his toast and took a fork full of eggs. They were delicious.

She said, “I remember a guy with a mole back in Cleveland. He was a little scary. I almost pepper sprayed him.”

“Was it before or after the tornado?” Craig asked.

“He had a reading before the tornado.”

“Did you see him after the tornado?”

“I had to go traveling the day after the tornado, so I didn’t see him, but I’ll ask around.”

“I could ask,” Craig said.

She grinned and shook her head. “No Carney will talk to you. It’s not our way.”

“You’re talking to me.”

“Yes, but I’m special.” Her smile was dazzling.

“Yes, you are.”