The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

That made things worse.

Prickles of fear shot up her spine. Besides the panic, she started picking up an odd and creepy heated sensation on the underside of her thighs. Rather than dissipating, the sensation intensified, and then spread upward to her bottom. It closed in on her from the waist down and it took all her mental strength not to leap to her feet.

Instead, she focused on the sensation. It wasn’t actually painful, but it came damn close. And it was more frightening than painful. Again, there was no sense of being touched or violated by human hands, just that insistent heat.

Claire ignored the fine sheen of perspiration that broke out all over her body. She shifted on the sofa cushion, wondering if her position would alter the feeling. Resettling herself on a diagonal, she crossed her legs and waited.

A burst of heat.

Her eyes flew open, and she bit her lip to restrain the startled cry that rose in her throat.

In her peripheral vision, she spied a flash of red under the original spot where she’d been seated. Her head turned in that direction.

A cap of hair shoved beneath the sofa cushion. Red hair.

Claire didn’t think. She just glanced behind her to confirm that Suzanne was still in the kitchen. Seeing that she was, Claire grabbed the hair and tugged it out.

A red wig. Shoulder-length. Expensively made. And screaming with myriad energy. Claire realized that some of the energy was the heat that had been building up beneath her and was now rapidly fading.

For a brief instant, she stared at the wig. Then she shoved it into her tote bag, pushing it way to the bottom and covering it up with the rest of the bag’s contents.

She now had to conduct a civil, believable conversation, and then get out of there as fast as she could.

She wasn’t sure she could pull this off. She wasn’t much of a con.

Time to become one.

“Here we are.” Suzanne returned to the living room with a tray containing two cups of tea, milk and sugar, two linen napkins and a dish of cinnamon cookies. “I thought you might like to try these. I baked them myself. They’re very light.” She set down the tray, serving Claire like a proper hostess.

“How thoughtful.” Despite her best intentions, Claire was operating on only a few cylinders. Her mind was in emotional chaos. But the few prevailing instincts she still had cautioned her that she couldn’t give herself away—not when she’d just stolen something crucial from Suzanne Fisher’s house.

“I can’t think of a more relaxing snack,” she added, reaching for a cookie and a napkin. First eat. Then drink. Both would keep her mouth occupied and her emotional turmoil from registering on her face. She took a bite of the cookie. “Mmm. These are delicious.”

Suzanne looked pleased. She settled herself on the opposite side of the sofa, taking her own napkin and cookie. “I’m delighted you dropped by.”

“I took a chance that you’d be home,” Claire said. “As I mentioned, I had the feeling you needed some company.”

“Was it a psychic premonition?” Suzanne asked eagerly.

This was familiar turf. Trying to explain to people the nature of her gift. Normally, this conversation was a frustrating one for Claire. Right now, it was a welcome reprieve.

“No, it wasn’t a premonition, just a gut feeling. Some of it was based on fact—you’ve been bombarded with difficult stimuli these past few days—and the rest of it was instinct. I felt a connection with you the first time we met. Maybe that’s why I sensed what you were feeling. I don’t know.”

Suzanne’s eyes were wide with interest as she sipped her tea. “It must be wonderful and frightening at the same time to know things without actually knowing them.”

“I wouldn’t say that I know things. I just sense them. Sometimes I’m right. Sometimes I’m wrong. Either way, it’s a huge responsibility. And, yes, it can be frightening.” Claire answered that one with total candor. “As for wonderful, it’s only wonderful when it produces positive results. When it agitates me and leads nowhere, it’s more upsetting than it is good.”

“I see your point.”

“I’m glad. It’s a hard one to explain.” Claire sipped her tea. “Speaking of frightening, has the press backed off and left you alone?”

A shrug. “The police have kept them in check. I wish they’d just go away. I want to live a normal life, to go to work, or to the market, without being followed and harassed.”

“It’ll die down. Right now, it’s overwhelming because your husband just escaped. Once that’s resolved, he’ll be in custody and you’ll be able to go back to your normal life.”

Suzanne’s back stiffened, and a flicker of suspicion darted across her face. “I don’t want to talk about Glen’s escape or the posse that’s after him. If that’s what you came here to discuss, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“On the contrary.” Claire kept her composure calm, shaking her head from side to side. “To be frank, I’m just as happy not to discuss your husband at all. I assumed you were feeling isolated and wanted to express your feelings for him. If you don’t, all the better. Because the truth is, you love and believe in him. I don’t. So why should we be uncomfortable or argue? I’m sure we have other things in common besides the issue of your husband’s guilt or innocence.”