Page 13 of Chasing Dreams
He released a reproachful little grunt. “There you go with your groundless hope again.”
She returned her gaze to his face. “He’s not lonely?”
Something moved behind those flint-colored eyes, something less callous and mocking than his unsympathetic face would have her believe. “He’s not old.”
A gnawing suspicion that she’d refused to entertain, now blotted out all of Shaine’s reasoning thoughts. “You can’t be him. You’re not old enough.”
His uncompromising expression softened. “Old is relative.”
“But all the cases solved were in the nineties.” What was he telling her?
He nodded, uneasily.
“But you would’ve been only—” The realization rocked her senses. “Oh my goodness. You were only a boy.”
“Youth is subjective, too.” He opened the refrigerator and stacked the bagged sandwiches on a shelf.
“I never guessed.”
“No one did.”
Her mind whirred with the information Tom had shared with her... and the disturbing knowledge that it hadn’t been a man at all, but a young boy who had helped detectives with those crimes.
“The police protected me from publicity so I’d have a normal childhood,” he went on with unveiled sarcasm.
Shaine allowed the new data to sink in.
He turned to her, “You’ve used my shower and eaten my food, and you haven’t even told me your name.”
“Shaine,” she said, forcing her brain to switch gears. “Shaine Richards.”
His face had relaxed some, though his dark eyes were masked and grave. His lips were stern, but sensual. He was probably the most striking man she’d ever met, not only physically, but in another, more elemental way. She’d never met him before tonight, but something about him was so...deeply familiar.
A niggle of discomfort scratched at her thoughts. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”
One side of his arresting mouth actually turned up in what could have been a grin if he’d let it happen. “I’m not a mind reader. Your thoughts are safe.”
“But the hot chocolate...” .
“I make it for myself every night.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He led her back to the seating area before the fire and hunkered down to adjust a log with the poker. “My ability is more like psychometry.”
“Which is?”
“Sensing impressions stored in inanimate objects.”
“But you’re telepathic.”
“In as much as I could sense the thought patterns of victims and killers. I never read minds.”
“You say it all in the past tense.”
“Because that’s where it is.”
“You can’t do it anymore?”
