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Santos seemed stumped by the question for a moment, but then looked over to his left side. "Oh, here he comes now. But since you're psychic you probably knew he was nearly here, right?"
So very wrong. Eden took a deep breath, held it, and glanced over at the approaching figure.
Detective Ben Hanson was six-foot-two of gorgeous with a body like a Greek god and a face like a movie star. There was a reason that his last name sounded like "handsome." She'd noticed that women swooned--seriously swooned--when he walked past. And the fact that he was a cop, not to mention an unmarried cop, only added the proverbial fuel to the sexy-man fire. Eden had seen him twice before when she'd visited police headquarters at the chief's insistence. When she found out he was the one assigned to walk her through this case, she dropped everything and rushed over.
Did that make her seem completely sad and pathetic?
Yeah, well, Eden thought as she let her breath out in a long sigh. The truth hurts.
He approached and her heart did an annoying ka-thunk-a-thunk . It wasn't as though she expected them to get married and have lots of babies, but she did like checking him out.
He made her feel like a sixteen-year-old high schooler--geeky and pimply and drooling over the out-of-her-league football quarterback.
Eden was closing in on thirty now. She wasn't pimply anymore. However, the geeky thing was still up for debate. Gorgeous guys had a tendency to make her completely and embarrassingly tongue-tied.
"Is the psychic here yet, Santos?" he asked.
Hello? Had she suddenly become invisible?
Santos nodded at her. "This is Eden Riley."
That finally earned her a glance, but there was zero warmth or humor behind it. "Then let's get this over with."
Obviously, she thought wryly, he's already fallen madly in love with me, but is having a hard time showing it.
"Sounds super," Eden said, forcing enthusiasm past her nervousness. "Lead the way, Detective."
The sour-faced look that comment received from him confirmed it was official: She was still a geek.
She followed him to the average-looking house. The front door had some of that police-line-do-not-cross tape on it. He ripped it away and entered the front hallway that led to a small kitchen.
"Here's how this is going to go. The suspect vacated this location about six days ago. Our leads as to where he went have come up dry. The sergeant seems to think you might be able to"--he glanced at her--"work some mojo and tell us where he's hiding."
Eden raised her eyebrows. "Mojo?"
He waved his hand in a flippant manner. "Whatever it is you think you can do. Hocus-pocus. Mojo. You know."
He was lucky he was so hot or she might be annoyed by his rude and dismissive attitude. "For the record, Detective, I didn't ask to be here. It was requested of me." She cleared her throat. "If you'd prefer, I can take my, uh . . . mojo somewhere else."
"The chief thinks you can help."
"But you don't."
"No, actually I don't."
"Because you don't believe in psychics."
He raised his blue-eyed gaze steadily to hers. "That's right."
"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not all that convinced, myself." She crossed her arms.
"Excuse me?"
She chewed her bottom lip and tried not to feel like a big, fat fraud. "I can't seem to control where and when I see stuff. It's not a tap I can turn on and get a big glass of sparkling psychic water. I just want you to know that up front so you're . . . you're not disappointed if nothing happens today."
"I won't be disappointed. I'm expecting nothing to happen." He tilted his head to the side. "Does the chief know how you feel about this?"
"He wouldn't listen to me." She had explained that it was doubtful she'd be much use to them, but he'd insisted--although Eden suspected it had a lot to do with appeasing his enthusiastic wife. "I figure if I don't turn out to be much help, he'll start to leave me alone. Maybe I only have a knack for finding lost dogs."
