Part 3 (1/2)

”I think you know.”

”If you need an investigator, ask your husband for help. I spoke with him before you called. He'll be boarding the company jet in about an hour.”

The thought of telling John about the visions and Maxine made her stomach flip. ”I'm worried how he'll react,” she said, unwilling to admit to her father that her biggest worry was that John would put the kibosh on having another baby if she started dabbling with her psychic abilities again. There were some subjects too personal to share with Ian.

”You won't know until you tell him.” He sighed. ”But, I'm intrigued. Tell me what you need.”

Relieved Ian was willing to help her, she relaxed. ”Once I find out the name of the victim-”

”Alleged victim,” he reminded her.

”Right. Once I find out her name, is there anyway CORE could search her phone records and bank and credit card statements? I think the alleged victim might have given up a child for adoption and tried to find her. I also think she'd kept that child secret from her family and was murdered over it.”

”Interesting. Why?”

She shrugged. ”Money. The victim has two children. Splitting an inheritance fifty-fifty is one thing, but what if she had met the child she'd given up and decided to cut her into the inheritance? There goes the fifty-fifty split, which, to me, could be motivation to keep the woman's secrets...secret.”

”Money is always an excellent motive for murder.”

”So, will you be able to do this for me?”

”You know I can, but I'm not comfortable working behind my son-in-law's back.”

”You seemed fine with it yesterday.”

”I know. But after I told Cami, she pointed out that nothing good would come from keeping Maxine or your visions from John. I think you should tell him, but I'll keep quiet about it if that's what you want.”

He fell in love with you knowing you were psychic.

Maxine's words taunted her. While they were true, John had only been with her for a week before she'd repressed her psychic side. Other than the memories of the trances she'd experienced that week, he had no idea what it was like to live with a psychic. Especially one who the dead liked to use to tell their stories.

”I'll talk to John, but please don't say anything to him until I let you know.” She looked at the clock on the dashboard. ”I'm sitting in the parking lot outside of work. I better get going. Thanks for being willing to help and for introducing me to Maxine.”

Once she was off the phone, she killed the ignition, then opened the door. Although she'd love to dig deeper into this...investigation, she had a business to run and a manager to hire.

She paused outside of the bakery doors and wondered how she should approach John about Kelly's mom. She couldn't be one-hundred percent sure the woman was even murdered. While she wanted to tell John the truth, as her dad had pointed out yesterday, her husband liked his evidence.

And visions, gut feelings or intuitions weren't enough to convict anyone of murder.

Chapter 4.

CELESTE'S STOMACH TINGLED with antic.i.p.ation when she heard the condo door open, then shut. Her husband had been gone since Sunday morning and she'd missed seeing him and having his strong arms wrapped around her when she slept. Despite the worry over whether or not to tell him about her visions, she was anxious to see him and find out how his trip had gone.

”Daddy's home,” she cooed to her daughter as she picked her up off the living room area rug.

Olivia gave her a dimpled grin, then looked around the room. ”Dada, dada,” she babbled, and squirmed in Celeste's arms. She set her daughter down, then watched with pride as Olivia toddled across the floor, managing the obstacle course of large Lego blocks and stuffed animals with ease. ”Dada, dada.” She walked around the corner, then squealed.

”How's Daddy's girl?” John asked with a smacking smooch so loud that the sound carried into the living room.

Olivia chattered in baby speak as John rounded the corner carrying her. He'd already shed his winter coat, and wore a black merino wool sweater that showed off his broad shoulders, muscular arms and trim waist. His dark-brown gaze snagged Celeste's, then slowly inched its way down her body. ”There's Mommy,” he said, dropping his voice to a husky tone. He gave Olivia a kiss on her head, then sat her in front of her toys.

”Hi,” Celeste said with a smile, then laughed when John grabbed her by the waist and hauled her close to him. In an instant, he ran his hands under the back of her loose, long-sleeve t-s.h.i.+rt, then angled his head and kissed her.

She twined her arms around his neck, ran her fingers through his hair and groaned as he deepened the kiss. When he released her lips, he pressed his forehead against hers. ”I missed you,” he said, then gave her another kiss. ”You look so d.a.m.ned s.e.xy.”

She wore her 'at home' uniform, which consisted of black yoga pants, fuzzy slippers and either a long-sleeve t-s.h.i.+rt or sweats.h.i.+rt. None of which screamed s.e.xy. ”You're looking very fine, too,” she said, running her hand down his back and giving his rear a squeeze.

His eyes darkened with hunger. ”Any way we can put Olivia to bed early tonight?” he asked, also grabbing her rear and pressing her closer.

”She has two more hours, and you haven't seen her in four days.”

While the hunger remained in his eyes, he let out a guilty sigh. ”I'm a bad dad.”

”No, just a h.o.r.n.y one.”

He chuckled, then let her go. ”Come here, munchkin.” He bent and lifted Olivia, who protested at the loss of her blocks. ”Okay, okay,” he said, sitting her back down.

”Hungry?” Celeste asked, then rolled her eyes when his gaze locked onto the apex of her thighs. ”For dinner, gutter boy. I made beef stroganoff.”

”I have something you can stroke-”

She laughed. ”Really? Did you have to go there?”

He gave her the crooked grin she adored. ”What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”

”We eat in ten,” she said, still grinning, and headed into their kitchen to finish dinner. He brought out the best in her, too. Which only compounded the guilt she'd been carrying since she'd had the vision yesterday. Her dad and Maxine were right. She should tell him what had happened.

She checked the rolls in the oven, then opened the fridge and brought out the salads she'd prepared earlier. By the time she'd finished setting the kitchen island which served as their kitchen table with gnome plates, napkins and silverware, she decided to wait and see how the evening played out. He'd been gone for four days and needed to unwind, not worry that his wife might be involved in a murder investigation. Plus, she still lacked that little thing called evidence.

She let him know dinner was ready, and when he entered the kitchen carrying Olivia, she asked, ”What do you want to drink?”

He placed Olivia in her highchair. ”Do we have any bottles of the pinot noir left? If I remember right, that should go well with the stroganoff.”

G.o.d, her husband was adorable. He might not appreciate the term, but there it was. A few months ago, they'd started taking wine-tasting cla.s.ses for something to do, other than sitting on the couch catching up on their DVR or playing backgammon. Since then, John had developed quite the palate and had started to enjoy wine.

”I'm not sure, wino, let me check.” She looked through their pantry, found the pinot, then grabbed two wine gla.s.ses. ”Looks like you're in luck.”

”Play your cards right and you'll be getting lucky later.”

She shook her head and laughed. ”If I play my cards right? Pretty sure of yourself.”

He uncorked the wine, then began pouring. When he was finished, he looked to Olivia, who tugged at her bib. ”Your mommy kissed me first.”

”I did not.”

”Did, too. You practically threw yourself at me.”