Wherever She Goes (Psychic Seasons ReGina Welling (electric book reader .txt) 📖

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Twenty minutes later, Zack was thankful when his phone rang. Somehow, he had gotten caught up in a conversation with Tyler’s great aunt Tilly that involved his looking at numerous pictures of her latest grandson.

“Sorry, official business, I need to take this.” He breathed a sigh of relief and slipped back outside to the frigid porch.

“Roman’s famous gut strikes again. It was all there, right where you said it would be—and get this—the daughter was the culprit, not the Shanahan boy. Says she was mad because Coach wouldn’t let her on the team. The girl was already having second thoughts and planned to return everything before the storm hit and then it was too late. You want me to take her in or let the principal and her folks hash it out?”

“Give Slater a call; see if he wants to press charges. I’d bet he won’t. What does your own gut tell you about her? Does she need more?”

“Nah, she’s a good kid who got mad enough to do something stupid then regretted it immediately and tried to make it right before anyone noticed. My instincts say she’s not a troublemaker and it was just an impulsive act.”

“Okay. I’ll let you take care of it and get back to the party.”

Zack hung up but did not return to the reception right away. He needed to think over what he was going to say to Kat. There must be some diplomatic way to save face but still admit he had been wrong. Too bad nothing came to mind.

Unless she had had some type of inside knowledge and used it for gain. But what would be the benefit of that? Pacing to keep warm, steam from his breath clouded the air as Zack huffed his way to a conclusion.

No benefit at all.

Kat had asked for nothing in return for the information—neither money nor admiration. Her tone of voice had made the latter quite clear. Accusing one of her best friends of colluding with a criminal would not win him any points with Gustavia either.

Nevertheless, it was the only thing that made any sense.

A white gust of frozen breath plumed from his nose while Zack paced. Since twenty more measured steps back and forth across the porch had changed nothing, Zack swung the big door open and stalked back to where Kat sat quietly amid the celebration.

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She heard him coming—the slap of each footfall, sure and purposeful, mingled in with the sounds of dancing but was still distinct enough for her to pick up their cadence She smelled him before he got close—subtle cologne mixed with soap and the cold scent of winter. That last sent a shot of tension up her spine. Was there trouble? Had Logan returned?

Julius, resident ghost and great-grandfather to the bride had been tracking Julie’s ex-fiancé for the past few days and assured them that Logan was well away and not in a position to cause trouble at the wedding. Still, she reached out to Julius with just a tendril of thought.

“All is well,” was the faint reply. Kat breathed a sigh of relief before lifting her head toward where Zack loomed over.

“How did you know?” His voice sounded like steel coated with a thick layer of scorn. Gradually, everything around her came again into focus. Now she had no doubt her returning vision was somehow tied to him.

“I could answer but we both already know the explanation is going to make you cranky.”

He snorted. Cranky?

For some reason, the snort amused Kat so instead of treating him to a scathing retort, she let her smirk tell the tale and was rewarded with a groan of frustration.

“Did someone tell you? The girl?” There were limits to her patience, ones that he was pushing past with all the finesse of a bulldozer.

Now that she could take a closer look at him, there was some small amount of pleasure in seeing the frustrated expression on his handsome face. Eyes that could crinkle when he laughed but go hard and flat when he went into cop mode blazed with indignation—one eyebrow raised as he anticipated her answer. Of course he did not want to hear what she had to say.

“Sure,” she infused the word with sarcasm. “That must be it because I’m a hack, a charlatan. Psychic confessor to confused adolescents everywhere. I see all. I know all. Come—tell me your secrets and I’ll rat you out to the cops first chance I get. Keeps the clients coming back and you know I can’t think of anything more fun than taking allowance money from thirteen-year-old girls. You can’t see it but in my head, I’m presenting you with a rude hand gesture that is greatly inappropriate for a wedding.”

“If it wasn’t the girl, then the mother?”

“That gesture? With both hands and before you ask, it wasn’t her brother or her father or the family dog.”

“Then how?” Zack settled in the chair beside her and gentled his voice while maintaining a sense of skepticism, which did not fool Kat at all.

Kat countered, “How does your “cop sense” work?”

Her question surprised him into an effort to articulate the experience, something he had never done before.

“I’m not sure I can explain.”

“Try me.” The words dropped from her lips as dry as desert sand.

“There’s no voice in my head, no spirit whispering in my ear. I just look at the evidence, talk to the victims, the suspects, read the reports, and get a tingle, see the pattern, the balance.”

“Tingle?”

“When all the pieces of a case slide into place it just—it feels right—until then, I am compelled to keep looking. Nothing psychic, just my instincts.”

“And your instincts about me? What are they telling you?” Kat was curious.

“That you don’t lie,” he admitted.

“Trust your gut,” and hearing the unmistakable sounds of Gustavia making her way to the table, that was the last she said on the subject before being whisked away to perform bridesmaid duties.

Chapter 3