As he loaded his deliveries at the courier warehouse, he noted that he had an extra package in his pile. The list, sent to him every morning and downloaded onto his iPad, didn’t include it.
Zach jotted the details of the big box down on his iPad note app and headed for the office. Wanda was the hub of the operation, and she seldom made mistakes. The master lists were on her computer.
The office was empty, which was unusual. The computer sat on the desk in the corner, and Zach leaned over to call up his deliveries for the day.
“Hello Zach.”
Hands slid over his butt from behind, the fingers cupping him, reaching between his thighs—
Zach jumped and spun, sending the cursor skating across the computer screen and no doubt rearranging a few things that shouldn’t be rearranged.
The hands hadn’t been real. The images attached to peoples’ emotions were not always what people were actually doing, but sometimes what theywantedto do.
A woman swayed her way across the office toward him.
Damn it.He had so much buzzing going on in his brain that he hadn’t sensed her approach. And now it was too late. Because it wasn’t Wanda. It was her assistant, Vicky. And he usually avoided Vicky like the plague.
Lust.It pulsed from her, and along with it, came the imagery. What Vicky wanted was Zach. Or more exactly, herself, all over Zach.
Not that Vicky wasn’t attractive, in a predatory sort of fashion. She was a shapely woman with spectacular breasts that, as always, were on nearly full, bouncy, pearly-skinned view. She was also twice his age and had left the Winnipeg landscape littered with ex-Mr. Vicky’s. But the main issue wasn’t physical. Or at least not only physical. It was what radiated from her. Herlustcame with imagery so vivid it obliterated his reality.
She cornered him against the desk and snugged up to him, stopping only inches away. Her hands were clenched on her substantial purse, but that wasn’t where they were in her erotic thoughts. They were sliding beneath the waistband of his jeans. Reality told him the jeans fit too snug for the effort. But in her mind, there was plenty of room. To slide those long fingers down. To curl them around. And to stroke.
Zach’s breath left him in a gasp.
Vicky’s eyebrows shot up, and her pupils dilated. She was getting off on the imagery, and if Zach didn’t do something, he would too. Some guys might think that was okay. But not Zach.
Zach bolted.
Or rather, he muttered something like, “Sorry, gotta go, Vicky,” and squeezed between her and the desk. She managed a rub and grind with her hips against his as he did so, but he escaped with his virtue more or less intact. He still didn’t have his paperwork, but no way he was going to ask her for it. The label would tell him where it had to go, and Wanda could sort it all later.
He eased the van out of the warehouse with chaos in both brain and body. By day’s end, his mind boiled with the pent-up emotions of every human within a few hundred feet of him.
He returned home sucked dry from dealing with it, barely able to remember his name. The critters saved him. As always, their quiet energy recharged him, so that he could face another day. Willow stood with him as he leaned on the corral panels. She pushed against his leg, her little ears twitching slowly as he scratched her. Until his heart slowed, and he yawned.
He was so exhausted that she made it into the kitchen. Followed him right in.
Spike stared at him with reproachful eyes.The donkey isn’t supposed to be in the kitchen, Zach.
The dog was correct. Zach viewed Willow with exasperation. “Okay, you. Out.” He pushed on her hindquarters.
Willow might be small, but she was mighty. She planted all four feet and shook her head.
Zach sighed and rummaged in the metal can on the counter. Pulled out three peppermints. Walked to the door and threw them onto the porch.
The candies bounced against the wood. Willow’s ears snapped to attention. Intent on her treats, she trotted out.
Spike’s mouth opened and his tongue lolled approval as Zach closed and latched the door, then he leaned on it, rubbing his face. He was too damned tired. He needed to take a break, to stand back and re-evaluate. He was pushing his limits, and he knew it. But he didn’t want to believe that the women were dead, not until the authorities found bodies. They had to be out there. Alive, and going through hell knew what.
He was determined to find them.
* * *
Jessie tossed and turned on the cot.
But in her dreams, as she had for the last six nights, she ran.
Not on two legs. On four. And she was fast. The moon—a full moon—shone through the trees. She was running away from something. No, toward something. Perhaps both.
