“I’m going to pick up my car—at the hotel,” she told him.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”
“You didn’t know that by looking at me—staring into my eyes and through to my mind?” she asked, the slightest bit of humor in her voice.
He kept his eyes on the road, a dry smile coming to his lips. “It doesn’t work that way. If it did, I could be working on world peace and solving global problems.”
“Hmm. So, you’re a psychiatrist and a psychologist?” she asked. “Degrees in both?”
He nodded.
“I still don’t really understand what you do,” she said. “Or how it works. You work for the police—but you don’t work for the police?”
“I’m an independent consultant,” he said. “Makes it easy to travel to different places. I’ve worked with different departments in the greater Philadelphia area, but I’ve also gone to New Jersey, New York, and a few other states for various situations.”
“All these departments know you’re a mind reader?” she asked.
He shrugged. “No. It’s not as simple as being a mind reader. Sometimes, I know from a person’s words what they’re really thinking—a lot like Megan, in a way. But sometimes it’s something else—as it was with the killer in line at the coffee shop that day. People can almost cast off their thoughts. Almost like speaking aloud to yourself when you think no one is listening. And when you read the thoughts behind certain words, it makes it easier to say the right words back or know when words won’t work at all. So, with the cops, I do different things. I work negotiating hostage situations when necessary. I’m told I’m good at it.”
He kept his eyes on the road but knew she was looking at him curiously. “But, if you’re not in front of someone, how do you read their expressions, or—”
“Their minds?” he asked. “A lot is in the voice at the other end of a phone. Sometimes, you are face-to-face. But you’re right. Most of the time, you’re on a phone, or speaking through some kind of device. Sometimes,” he continued, “it is just the psychology of a human being. You can tell when someone is desperate, and you can tell when they don’t want to kill.”
“Impressive.”
“But what it comes down to is like all police work. A good cop—or a good agent—uses a mixture of hard evidence, forensic science, and gut instinct.”
She had given him an honest compliment.
It was time he did the same.
“You’ve been pretty impressive yourself.”
“Um, thanks.”
“So. What about you?” he asked. It was always difficult to explain himself. Just as he knew it was sometimes difficult for his sisters. And why they had their strange gifts was something they might never know. It was odd he had explained as much as he had to Jordan Wallace, but he was admittedly curious about her.
“What about me?”
“Yeah. I just gave you my whole sordid story. So? What made a beautiful young woman decide constantly risking her life was a great way to live it?”
He glanced her way. She smiled at that.
“First, thank you. My dad was FBI. He...he had our gift or curse, too, but long before the Krewe came about, and he kept it to himself. Anyway, I loved seeing him and his friends at my house, though he had retired by the time I was about ten. He was almost sixty when I was born—twenty years older than my mom, but they were both thrilled to have me and...they were amazing parents.”
“Were?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Just lost Dad two years ago. He was eighty and told me he’d lived a great life and had me as a bonus—the best thing in life. I loved him so much. And my mom. My mom is doing fine, living with her sister in Hawaii. I get out there when I can, and she comes here frequently.” She smiled. “She loves Hawaii—what’s not to love—but she loves coming back here, too. She was born in DC, as was my dad.” She grimaced. “I have an ancestor who was in Lincoln’s cabinet.”
“Patriots all,” Patrick said.
Jordan shrugged. “Law and order and our inalienable rights,” she said. “Absolute equality for all, um, truth, justice, and the American way.”
She spoke lightly, but he thought there was something serious in her tone. He glanced over at her. He hadn’t been lying or flattering her—she was a beautiful woman. Long, blond hair, enormous blue-green eyes, and a face that might have been sculpted by a master.
Patrick thought she was perfect for many undercover details. Because far too often, the men behind certain criminal enterprises just didn’t suspect that a woman as beautiful as Jordan might be blessed with a tremendous—and cunning—mind. The alpha dispositions that had led them into believing they could be crime lords wouldn’t allow them to see someone like Jordan as a threat.
She was passionate about her work.
He just feared her passions tended toward the reckless.
“Hey,” she said, turning to stare at him, almost as if she had read his mind. “I was careful. I just blended in with the girls at that hotel, which, as you saw, worked. Come on—be honest! Would you assume kidnappers were going to snatch you from a popular hotel pool while you were in the water?”
“Backup,” he said softly.
“Back up to what?” she asked.
He smiled. “Backup. Like making sure there’s another officer or agent in the area.”
“It’s hard to be undercover with backup. Trust me. Our agents have gone undercover alone many times. You blend in, become part of a group. You can’t draw suspicion.”
Patrick didn’t say anything. They had arrived at the hotel parking lot.
“What am I looking for?” he asked her.
“The little red compact over there,” she told him. “I can get out anywhere.”
“No, I will take you to the car and watch you get in.”
“You know, I was head of my class at the academy,” she told him. “I am pretty good at self-defense.”
“Then you should know it never hurts for someone to have your back,” he told her.
She sighed.
“Right, right, right. I get that.”
He smiled. “Yeah, well, I just had to make sure. Jackson wants us working together.”
She didn’t glance his way. He thought her jaw tightened, but then she turned to him and smiled. “We’re going to stay on this with Alfie?”
He nodded gravely, watching her.