Читать книгу Seized By Seduction - Brenda Jackson - Страница 15

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I SAW HER this weekend.”

Lamar “Striker” Jennings paused from taking a huge bite of his pizza to look at Quasar. They had met for lunch, like they normally did on Tuesdays, at a place that was fast becoming one of Quasar’s favorite fast-food dining places. They not only served the best hamburgers but also had some damn good barbecue ribs and pizzas. “You saw who?”

“Dr. Randi Fuller.”

Striker lifted a brow. “The psychic?”

“Yes, the psychic.”

Striker recalled that night Quasar had first seen Dr. Fuller at the crime scene. He had talked about nothing else for days. Then he stopped talking about her...or maybe Striker had stopped listening, since he was so wrapped up in Margo Connelly at the time. He was still wrapped up in Margo. “I hadn’t heard she was back in town.”

Quasar took a swig of his beer. “She’s not. I ran into her in DC while doing that security gig at the Kennedy Center Friday night.”

“And she remembered you?”

Quasar’s lips twitched in a smile. “Let’s just say that we remembered each other.”

Striker snorted. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. The sexual chemistry between us was still too strong.”

Striker rolled his eyes. “I bet more on your end than hers.”

Quasar lifted a brow. “Why do you think that?”

Striker grinned as he took a swig of his own beer. “Damn, Quasar, she’s a psychic. Helping the police rescue me and Margo made a real believer out of me about her paranormal abilities. So there’s no reason for me to believe she doesn’t know what’s on your mind. Every damn horny detail.”

Quasar’s frowned. “For your information, Mr. Know-It-All, her psychic abilities have nothing to do with me. She says that she has a mental block where I’m concerned.”

Striker had been dousing his pizza with more parmesan cheese when he shifted his attention back to Quasar. “She says? Mental block? WTF? Did the two of you engage in conversation?”

Quasar shrugged. “I guess so.”

Striker frowned. “Stop being a smart-ass and answer the question. Did you and Dr. Fuller converse?”

Quasar couldn’t help shooting Striker an amused look. Ever since he’d hooked up with Margo Connelly, Striker was getting way too serious. “Yes, we talked. In fact, we did more than that. We spent the entire day together on Saturday.”

Quasar had Striker’s full attention. “How did you manage that?”

Quasar saw no point in telling Striker every single detail of what happened, so he decided to give him a shortened version. “I asked her to breakfast, and we decided to make a day of it.”

“Day? Not night?”

Quasar rolled his eyes. “We spent only the day together, Striker.”

After taking another bite of his pizza, Striker asked, “Whose idea was it...for the two of you to spend any time together?”

“What difference does it make?”

“None, I guess. I merely asked out of curiosity.”

“Okay, it was my idea,” Quasar admitted.

“Hmm.”

Quasar’s lips tightened. “What’s the hmm for?”

“No reason.” Then Striker asked, “And you really believe she has a mental block where you’re concerned?”

“Yes. She said that she did.”

Striker shook his head. “She was probably pulling your leg, man. I doubt psychics can turn on and off their telepathic abilities that way.”

Quasar shrugged. “I’m just stating what she told me, and I have no reason not to believe her.”

A slow grin curved Striker’s lips. “Just as well. Good thing she had no idea what you were thinking while you were with her. Those horny details I mentioned earlier.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but Striker was probably right. Most of the time he was thinking of her in his bed. “Whatever.”

“Aren’t you the least bit curious why you aren’t on her telepathy sensor? What makes you so special?”

“It’s not that I’m special, Striker,” Quasar said, trying not to get annoyed. “From the way she explained things to me, her psychic powers are meant to help others more than to help her.”

Striker’s smile faded. “Are you saying that she foresees danger for others but not for herself?”

Quasar frowned thoughtfully. He hadn’t looked at it that way. Leave it to Striker to analyze every damn thing and come up with possibilities Quasar didn’t want to think about. The mere thought that Randi could be vulnerable to the crazies out there was unsettling. “I guess so. Hell, I don’t know. All I know is what she told me.”

“And like I said, she was probably pulling your leg about what she could and could not do.”

Quasar honestly didn’t think that she was. “She didn’t know I was an ex-con.”

Striker lifted a brow. “Are you sure of that?”

“Pretty much.” Quasar bit into his own pizza.

“Did she ask you any questions about the time you were locked up?”

“No,” Quasar said, picking up his mug to wash down the pizza with beer.

“Then consider yourself lucky. When I told Margo about me being an ex-con, she didn’t give me a minute’s rest. She wanted to know every single detail.” Shaking his head, Striker then downed the rest of his beer.

Quasar eyed his friend over the rim of his beer mug. “You love Margo, don’t you?”

Striker scowled over at him. “Why are you asking me that? Damn right I love her. I told you and Stonewall I did. Hell, you two were the first people I told...after telling Margo, of course.”

“That was almost three months ago. Nothing has changed?”

Striker burst out laughing. “Shit, Quasar, falling in love doesn’t work that way. It’s a lifetime commitment. It took me forever to find a woman I’d want to spend the rest of my life with, and I can’t imagine that being any woman other than Margo. She totally has my heart.”

Quasar didn’t say anything. Striker was the last person he’d thought would admit such a thing. But then, Quasar liked Margo, and he knew that she might have Striker’s heart, but Striker had hers, as well. He’d seen how they interacted. It was easy to tell they cared deeply for each other.

“Don’t worry. Your time is coming, Quasar.”

Quasar lifted a brow. “How you figure that?”

A smile touched Striker’s lips. “Not sure. I just do.”

Quasar didn’t like that prediction. He leaned over the table, got almost nose to nose with Striker and looked him dead in the eyes. “What are you now? Some damn psychic?” he asked angrily. Any other man with a lick of sense would have thought twice before getting in Striker’s face. He was just as tall as Quasar—in fact, maybe a few inches taller—and was a total badass who worked out a lot, rode his motorcycle like a bat out of hell and spent a lot of time at the gun range, perfecting his aim.

Instead of knocking the hell out of him, Striker merely sat there grinning like he enjoyed getting a rise out of Quasar.

“If figuring that out makes me a psychic, then so be it.”

As if anticipating a brawl was about to take place, a man Quasar assumed was the manager of the establishment rushed over to their table. “Not in here, guys. Take it outside.”

Quasar sat back down in his seat. “No need. I’ll put off his ass-whipping for another day.”

Ignoring Striker’s laugh, Quasar resumed eating his pizza.

* * *

RANDI’S FINGERS PAUSED on the keyboard of her laptop as she gazed at the huge arrangements of fresh flowers that had been delivered to her earlier. They had certainly brightened up her Wednesday morning. They were from Quasar and the card simply read,

Thanks for spending the day with me, and I’m looking forward to seeing you this weekend.

She couldn’t help smiling as she recalled the last time a man had sent her flowers other than her father or her godfather, Noah. Larry had never sent her any. Probably couldn’t afford to as a college student. To say the delivery had been a pleasant surprise would definitely have been an understatement.

A few hours later, after completing her project, she swiveled her chair around to pull her cell phone out of her purse. There was no reason she couldn’t take the time to thank Quasar now. It was polite and had nothing to do with the fact that she’d thought of him a lot since Saturday. More than she really should have with all the work she had to do. Next month she would be teaching a class at Quantico. She needed to get prepared and not daydream about Quasar every chance she got.

“Hello, Randi.”

She wished she could ignore the warm sensation that flowed through her. Why did he have to sound so sexy and say her name with so much sensuality? “I got the flowers, Quasar, and they are beautiful.” She refused to trot out the old cliché You shouldn’t have, when she was glad he had. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Like I said on the card, I enjoyed my time with you Saturday and look forward to this weekend.”

And I enjoyed my time with you. “Is there anything in particular you’d like us to do while you’re here?” Too late she realized how that might have sounded. Given the opportunity, she’d bet any man could come up with several things, all sexual in nature.

“Um, I’ll leave the plans to you,” he said in that ultrasexy voice stirring her in places that hadn’t been stimulated in years.

“So tell me, Randi, how have you been?”

She leaned back in chair while gazing at her flowers. “Great. I’m teaching a class at the FBI Training Center next month, and I’m getting prepared for it. New recruits always try to challenge my mind.”

“In what way?”

“By attempting to test my abilities. They figure if I’m a psychic, I should know everything, including who’s winning the Super Bowl next year.”

“A few skeptics, huh?”

“More than a few, but I’m used to it. What I do is use my degree in analytical behavior to smooth out the doubters. I explain that not all psychics are alike and not all of them can do the same thing. Every gift is pretty personalized. And then, unfortunately, there are the great pretenders. They give those of us who are legitimate a bad rap. That’s something the doubters see as logical and making sense.”

“You’re the real thing. I’ll admit, I was a skeptic at first, but you made a believer out of me.”

“Glad to hear it. Well, I need to get back to work. I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome, and while I have you on the phone, what’s your address?”

She rattled it off to him.

“Thanks, and I’ll see you Friday around seven.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

After hanging up the phone, she picked up her cup of tea and took a sip while trying to ignore the giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She almost jumped at the sound of her phone ringing. She glanced at it, not recognizing the number. “This is Dr. Randi Fuller. May I help you?”

“Yes, Dr. Fuller, this is Special Agent Jarez Riviera of the Los Angeles FBI.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Yes, Agent Riviera?”

“You came highly recommended from Special Agent Tommy Felton in Charlottesville. He said the two of you worked together on a couple of cases.”

Randi doubted she could forget Special Agent Felton and his blatant dislike of her, mainly because he had chosen not to believe in her capabilities. The first time had been a case involving a human trafficking ring. If the Bureau had taken her findings seriously, they could have captured the leader of the group, Levan Shaw. They had managed to rescue over fifty kids and young women. However, Shaw remained at large. He was out there involved in no telling what types of criminal activities. He hadn’t resurfaced in over two years. Some thought he was dead, but a part of her knew the man was very much alive.

Shaw was the one person she’d never been able to get a clear read on. However, when it came to his criminal activities of kidnapping kids for the slave trade, she’d been able to key in. It had been the children crying out to her for help that had aided her with the case.

Because Agent Felton had blown the chance to apprehend Levan Shaw, the director of the FBI had come down hard on him, and he’d gotten overlooked for the big promotion he’d felt he deserved. He’d blamed her for it.

She would admit that in the course of the last case they’d worked together three months ago, the Erickson case, she felt she’d finally gained his respect. In a move that had surprised her, Agent Felton had approached her during her last day in Charlottesville, thanked her for all her help and apologized for his past hard-hearted behavior toward her.

“By the way, Agent Felton told me to tell you that he sends his best regards.”

“Thank you, Agent Riviera. How can I help you?”

“Rival gangs are about to go head-to-head here in Los Angeles unless we can stop them. The mother of the Westside Warlords gang leader was brutally murdered a few days ago. The rival gang, the Eastside Revengers, claim they had nothing to do with it and are being set up. We have reason to believe that’s true. We need to find the perp and make an arrest before this city is covered in blood.”