When the buzzer to her apartment sounded, Raissa glanced at her watch and smiled. One hour, ten minutes. She walked over to the window and saw the unmarked police car parked at the curb across the street from her shop, just as she’d expected. She pressed the intercom button in her kitchen. “Can I help you?”
“Ms. Bordeaux?” Zach’s voice boomed over the intercom. “It’s Detective Blanchard. I need to talk to you.”
Raissa smiled at the formal yet agitated tone of his voice. “Certainly. I’ll be right down.”
Detective Blanchard stood just outside the shop door, staring at the items in her display window, a look of consternation on his face. “You’re working late, Detective,” Raissa said.
“Yes, well, given the circumstances, we all are.”
Raissa nodded and stared at him. He stared back for a moment, obviously waiting for a question or an invitation, but Raissa wasn’t about to make it that easy. Keeping Detective Blanchard off balance was a must. She couldn’t afford for him to figure out her angle. Better he decide she was a weirdo who tracked child-kidnapping cases than know the truth.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I had a couple of questions for you, if you have the time.”
“Sure. Like what?”
“I checked on similar cases, and you were right. In fact, you were too right. Every single city had a matching case file. I want to know how you got that information, Ms. Bordeaux.”
“I already told you, Detective Blanchard. I’m psychic. It came to me in a vision.”
Zach’s jaw clenched. “We both know that’s a load of horseshit. Now, you can either give me the answer I want here, or you can give it to me back at the station.”
“I know nothing of the sort, and it’s particularly bad manners, even for a police officer, to refer to someone else’s livelihood as horseshit. Especially when that horseshit is most likely going to put you ahead of Detective Morrow on the captain’s list, right?”
“This has nothing to do with Morrow or the captain.” Zach’s face began to redden. “This has to do with a child abductor that I’d damned well like to find.”
Raissa nodded. “I’d like that, too, but I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can tell you. I don’t have any more information than what I’ve already given you.”
“You’re lying. Either you took those girls yourself, or you know who did.” Zach blew out a breath. “Look, Ms. Bordeaux, it’s obvious to me you’re hiding from someone. There’s no record of your existence before age twenty-four. I know you’re not who you say you are, and if you push me, I’ll dig into your background until I get what I’m looking for.”
Raissa cocked her head to one side and studied him. “You know, I believe you would. The only problem with that is then you’d be spending all your time and energy on me, which will get you no closer to finding that little girl or her abductor. You’re going to have to trust me on this, Detective. I don’t kidnap children, and if I knew who did, I would give you that information.”
“You’re walking a thin line, Ms. Bordeaux.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“No. My past is an open book. I suggest that unless you want me to finger you for this kidnapping, you open up your own.”
“I wish you’d concentrate on the facts you have and the things you can control. I’m not your problem, I assure you.”
Zach shook his head. “You’re a problem all right. And your assurance means nothing. I don’t even know who you are. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?”
Raissa shrugged. “Then don’t trust me. Waste time chasing rabbits, and he gets away with it again. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that none of those cases yielded any clues, except the extraterrestrial kind. Do you really want the mayor’s grandchild on Channel Four saying she was abducted by ET?”
Zach’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know they all claimed aliens took them?”
“Because I could read their thoughts at the time. How do you think I knew about them at all?” Raissa stepped inside the shop. “If we’re done, I’d like to get ready for dinner.”
“We’re done for now, but don’t get too comfortable with that. I’ll be back.”
“I look forward to it, Detective,” Raissa said and closed the door behind her. She sneaked over to the far corner of the shop and waited a couple of seconds, then peeked through the blinds. Sure enough, the detective was trying to pull a fingerprint off the front door to her shop. What a shame she’d wiped that door handle clean just thirty minutes before.
She watched as he bent over and studied the handle. An even bigger shame was that such a nice butt was wasted on such an uptight man. She dropped the blinds slat and sighed. Not that she had any business admiring butts, anyway. Men were a luxury she couldn’t afford. She’d tried the occasional fling, but too many times the man wanted to get serious, and Raissa couldn’t go there. She had been safe for a lot of years. No man was worth risking her life for—not even if the sex was absolutely fabulous.
She grabbed her purse from behind the counter and slipped on a pair of lacy black gloves. The dead bolt on the door didn’t so much as squeak, and she thanked God again for whoever had invented WD-40. In a flash, she twisted the doorknob and flung the front door open, practically yanking the handle out of Zach’s hand.
He jumped back as if he’d been shot, and it was all Raissa could do not to laugh. His expression went from horrified to guilty to aggravated faster than a race car shifting gears. Raissa stepped outside and stared at him, her eyes wide with faked surprise. “Why Detective! I didn’t know you were still here.” She glanced at the handle, covered with fingerprint powder, then back at Zach, who slipped his hand with the brush behind his back.
“I appreciate the care of my door handle, but it only requires a good moisturizer. Powder really isn’t necessary.” She locked the door behind her and gave him a big smile, waving one gloved hand as she walked out into the hot summer evening.