Jack Montgomery is out of his element. The former covert ops hero now works as a missing persons investigator. Problem with his current case is that the trail’s decided to go cold just as he hits sizzling New Orleans. To top it off, some psychic is making wild claims—and newspaper headlines—about his case.
Perry Brazille knows her aunt can help Jack; Della has solved crimes before with her unexplained visions. Even Perry herself can glimpse the future, and what she sees is that she and Jack will soon be lovers. What she can’t see, however, is a future built on a fling… one set against a dangerous situation that’s clearly unraveling.
“A love story set in the Big Easy. Just enough mystery and sex to keep you turning the pages.” — Patricia M., Amazon reviewer, 5 stars
“Alison Kent’s name on a book is a guarantee that it will be an excellent read.” — Laurie D., Amazon reviewer, 5 stars
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Anything I can look up or print out or local numbers you need?”
Actually, he had an idea—one that went against his grain. But with the chips down and crushed beneath his feet, and the weirdness of the last two days turning out to make a twisted sort of sense, he wasn’t above looking like a fool if doing so resulted in answers.
And he started to tell Perry everything. Only when he focused again on her face, her expression had him forgetting what he was going to say.
Her dark eyes were wide, the brows above raised while she waited for him to answer. She’d washed away what little makeup she’d been wearing before. And as much as he liked the natural look, what he really liked was that she let him see her face.
The beaded earrings that seemed her trademark no longer dangled the length of her neck. She’d pushed her froth of curls behind her ears, and for the first time he noticed the jewels piercing the upper shell. Garnets, he thought, not really up on his precious stones.
She was wearing a tank top that matched her pajama bottoms so he figured it was a set. A soft looking purple fabric, like that of a well-worn T-shirt he wished she’d tug over her head and off.
“Jack?” she prodded, reaching over and touching his wrist.
He looked down to where their skin made contact, hers cool against his that he couldn’t imagine feeling anything but hot. And then he lifted his gaze, curious, willing to take a long walk on a short plank if it would get him the truth.
“What do you see?”
She frowned. “Besides the whites of your eyes that look like road maps? ”
“Yeah. How much of your aunt’s gift did you inherit?” he asked, not certain he wanted to know if she could see the same things.
She shook her head. “None. I don’t know what she saw. All I can see is you. ”
He wanted to believe her. He couldn’t think of what she’d have to gain by lying. Even her efforts to convince him that the trick of the light he’d seen in the stairwell was some sort of spectral energy didn’t seem particularly self-serving.
He took a deep breath and an even deeper leap of faith. “Good. I don’t like everyone and his brother knowing where I’ve been.”
She pressed her lips together in that prissy way she had. “So, you think of me as everyone’s brother?”
He waited a moment, letting the seconds tick by as the skin in the hollow of her throat grew damp. “No. I don’t.”
“But you still don’t want me to know.”
He shook his head.
“Because I don’t want you to turn me down when I ask you to come over here and sit on my lap.”