I SEE EVERYTHING YOU DO
“And now there’s this, pushed under my apartment door sometime during the night. Or maybe that’s what woke me up so early this morning.”
Her hand was shaking now as she smoothed out the final note. Declan stared at the four words printed neatly in the middle of the third missive.
I CAN EXPOSE YOU
“Do you know what the threat means?” he asked. “It must have something to do with my work.” “Which is …?”
“I represent a new line of designer clothing called Voodoo.”
Declan snapped to and felt a flush creep up his neck as he placed her—that ad in the New Orleans Times-Picayune. Her lying across a red satin-covered bed, back arched, arm lazily thrown over her head, the words under the photo: Voodoo … Put A Spell On Him Tonight….
He’d wanted the woman in that ad to put a spell on him!
Clearing his throat, he said, “Sounds like this could be a stalker. Have you been to the police?”
“No police,” she said. “Not unless absolutely necessary.”
“Tell me why.”
Grace took a big breath. “Bad publicity could be devastating to my mother’s career. She’s an assistant district attorney and slated to fill a judicial vacancy. And then there’s my brother, a city council member up for re-election. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if I somehow ruined the lives of the people I love.”
As a man who believed in family loyalty, Declan was impressed. Grace’s emotions were raw, right on the surface. A person didn’t have to be an empath to read her. But as a McKenna, he could do so more quickly and more deeply than the average person. All the members of his family had some native ability—his being able to read anyone’s emotions.
“So, I gather you’d like us to provide you with a bodyguard.”
“No!” Her depthless gray eyes widened. “I can’t have someone following me around every moment. I want you to figure out who this pervert is and help me find a way to dissuade him from doing anything I would regret.”
“To find him, I would have to dig into your life. You need to realize an investigation sometimes brings to light things people would rather see stay buried.”
“I have no skeletons in my closet,” she said firmly, but suddenly she couldn’t seem to meet his gaze.
“And your family?”
“Of course not!” she snapped.
Making him certain she was hiding something. Well, that made two of them. Not that either his McKenna gift or the McKenna curse had any bearing on the case. He’d abandoned the woman he’d fallen for before anything serious could happen between them. The last time he’d seen Lila Soto, one of the serious artists his sister Aislinn represented in her gallery, her spirit had been crushed, and her dark eyes had been deep pools of pain—pain that he’d caused even though he’d left his home in New Mexico to protect her.
Grace Broussard was exactly the kind of woman he used to go for. Grace was gorgeous and sexy, but she was no Lila. Not soft and shy and funny and generous. Not the type of woman to whom he would ever give his heart.
“So you would be comfortable with whatever background information I learn about you or your family.”
“As long as you keep to a confidentiality agreement.”
Declan nodded. “Of course. All right, I’ll take the case. We charge eight hundred a day plus expenses.”
“Agreed.”
Declan had Grace fill out some paperwork and sign a waiver so that he had permission to dig where he saw fit. When she was done, a rush of something he couldn’t quite name shot through him as he held out his hand to shake on the deal.
A FEELING OF HELPLESSNESS—as though she were rushing to some inexplicable destiny—came over Grace. A sound like white noise filled her head and she found herself staring into thick-lashed green eyes with deep lids at half-mast. Bedroom eyes.
Forcing herself to concentrate, she stretched out her hand. Declan’s long fingers wrapping around hers shot a rush of heat through her and sizzled along her nerves. Shocked, she felt the room narrow as an image quickly flipped through her mind….
Declan tears off his tie … catches her by the hips and runs his lips along her naked spine….
Spine tingling from neck to hips, Grace smothered a gasp and tried to look natural as she freed her hand. It couldn’t be happening to her again. not after all these years. Good Lord, what had she just done?
Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She hadn’t really seen what she’d thought upon touching him. Not possible, because she didn’t have visions anymore.
Not even by accident!
“I’ll need you to leave the notes,” Declan said. “And I would like to get your fingerprints so I can eliminate them when I run my tests on the paper.”
His stare was so intense she could feel it all the way down to her toes. As if he’d read her mind, his full mouth quirked into a grin, stretching the faint scar on his chin.
“Fingerprints … but that would only incriminate someone who’d already had their fingerprints taken. A criminal.”
“Chances are, that’s exactly who we’re dealing with.”
“Right.”
“Don’t worry, we won’t have to mess up your fingers with ink. My cousin is an electronic junkie. Even though we’re a small business, he has to have the latest tools, including one for electronic fingerprinting. I’ll be just a moment,” he said, leaving the room.
Great. Fingerprinting. That meant Declan would touch her again. Ten times. Once for each finger. Ten more chances to flash on some nonexistent future.
But when he came back and set the equipment on the desk before her, he said, “You just need to press each finger to the screen, one at a time. It’ll only take a few moments.”
Relief washed through her when she realized Declan didn’t have to touch her again, after all. As she followed his instructions, Grace knew that she needed to get hold of herself, stop imagining the unthinkable. Get her mind back to the problem at hand.
“I need some basic information,” Declan said. “About your place of business and the people you work with.”
Though she couldn’t imagine the stalker was that close to her, Grace said, “Raphael Duhon is the owner-designer of Voodoo. And Max Babin is the photographer he uses. I really don’t work with anyone else on a regular basis.”
“You’re on good terms with both of them?”
“I am. Raphael actually owns the building where both Voodoo and Gotcha!, the photography studio, are located. It’s at Decatur and Iberville.”
“All your shoots are inside, then?”
“No, not all. I’m also the spokeswoman for Voodoo, so I do a lot of society and charity events. I’m constantly being photographed at them.”
“That complicates things. Some man you met at one of these functions could have targeted you. When’s the next event?”
“As a matter of fact, I have one tomorrow night.”
“Do you have an escort?”
“No—”
“You do now. I can scope out the people around you with a fresh eye. If anyone has taken an unnatural interest in you, I’ll spot him.”
They made plans to talk later—they