Page 10 of In Her Eyes

He scribbles on the paper. “Name of the store where you found the necklace?”

His mouth moves in exaggeration when he says, ‘found.’ I stare at his lips. And back at his eyes. They’re so beautiful. It’s such a distraction. I guess that’s why he hides them behind sunglasses, even indoors. He’s nothing like I imagined him. I’m a jumble of conflicting emotions, and right now, the predominant one is irritation.

I look at Lynn in question. I didn’t pay attention to the store’s name.

“A Stop in Time,” she replies.

Lynn gets a genuine smile from me. “That’s the store name? Really?”

“Yes. It’s cute, isn’t it?” Lynn reverts to her easy, good-natured self, her guard down for a moment.

I try to tamp down my temper. I should be used to skeptics by now. Detective Asshole taps the desk with his knuckles. Like a judge reining in control of a courtroom.

“Address for the store?” There’s not an ounce of pleasantness to him.

I shrug. “I don’t know the exact address. We don’t live here. It’s off the main road. I’m sure you can just Google it and find out.” I show him my perfect teeth in a mock smile again. I’m pretty sure antagonizing the police is not smart, but he started it.

He opens the drawer, grabs a small device from it, and pushes a button. “Mind if I record the rest of the questions?”

“Yes, I mind it.” This is hard enough without having a recording of my voice.

He turns the device off. “Miss Bloom, you’re in possession of an object that belongs to a missing person. A person who vanished without a trace and this necklace”—he nudges the box with the pen again—“is the first clue—the only clue we have. I need to know every detail related to your finding the necklace. I ask again. May I please use a recorder? So I don’t miss any details that might help me to locate the missing woman?”

Well, damn it. When he phrases it like that—I hate being put in this position. Where saying ‘no’ makes me feel selfish or unbending. I don’t want my voice or anything that can be traced back to me made public. I can only imagine the pompous old farts at the museums getting a hold of the recording. It would destroy my career. I’d be a laughingstock. Who would trust a psychic to authenticate artifacts?

“Who else would listen to this recording? I’m not comfortable having my voice on it.”

For several silent seconds, he looks at me with those mismatched eyes. “It would be for my ears only.”

“What guarantees do I have that this recording won’t make it into the news or social media and that my name won’t be dragged all over?” Why am I even considering this?

“You have my word.” This is the first time he doesn’t look at me with some variation of disdain.

His promise lodges itself under my skin. I have no reason to believe him, but I do. He saved my life once, and something inside me says he would risk his own to save me again if it ever came down to it.

“But I don’t know you. Or the worth of your word. What I do know is that my job and my career would be on the line should any of this information, and my involvement in helping you, be made public.”

His lips press into a thin line when I challenge him. “Miss Bloom, it’s not onlyyourcareer on the line here. Taking advice from psychics is not exactly respect-earning in my line of work.”

I want to tell him I’m not a psychic, but that’s not entirely true. I hate the negative connotation that comes with it. Images of sideshows on fairs and boardwalks come to mind.

I drag in a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s the same.”

He drops the pen on top of the yellow pad. “Why not?”

“I’m a historian. I deal with facts, proof, and tests. If word of this . . .abilitygot out, it would have consequences for my career. Everything I did, all the years I put into my job, would be doubted. They would ostracize me. I want to help you find whoever killed that woman, but I can’t be publicly involved.”

He stands, hands bracing his weight on the desk, reduces the space between us, and traps my gaze with his own. I could not escape him if I tried.

“I’m a detective. I deal with facts, proof, and tests. If word got out that I have a psychic giving me tips on a case, it would have consequences formycareer. Everything I did, all the years I put into my job, would be doubted.” He throws my words back in my face and sits down. “I’m willing to take that risk to find this woman. To protect other lives.”

The room temperature drops to freezing under that stare. I suppress a shiver.

We glare at each other in a silent war. I nod my agreement very much against my better judgment. Nothing happens by chance. There’s a reason I’m here, right now.

He pushes the record button again. “Today is Monday, June twenty. Please state your name and tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

I close my eyes, gather myself, and step back to this morning. The images are fresh in my mind. I look at him again. “My name is Avalon Bloom. My friend Lynn Reynolds and I were having breakfast at a coffee shop and saw an antique store across the street.”

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