Vision Of Love (Cold Case Detective Book 0) Page 3

  “You too.” It was all Carson could manage. He was still reeling from seeing the vibrant, gorgeous man in front of him lying dead in a pool of his own blood.

  6

  Truman

  For the life of him, Truman still couldn’t understand what had possessed him to go out for lunch. He was still edgy over the whole situation with Mike Davenport.

  The last thing he wanted to do was go outside and make himself a target in case the former employee was hanging out in the parking lot. Gemtronics didn’t have any kind of security guard shack checking IDs and admitting people to the parking lot.

  All they had was one security guard in charge of issuing photo id badges. John was nearly seventy if he was a day. The only bad thing he could catch, in Truman’s opinion, was a cold. God, he was bitchy today.

  “Hello, hello!” Cassie poked her head into Truman’s office. “Brought you some goodies.”

  Goodies usually meant some of her homemade cookies and dog biscuits for Sadie. Cassie had missed her calling.

  In another life, she would have been a baker who opened her own cupcake and sweets shop. In this life, she lived with her mother after a disastrous divorce left her penniless. She’d worked at Gemtronics for the last eight months while she tried to rebuild her life.

  “I brought you cookies and a new type of biscuit for Sadie. This one is made with chicken stock.” She set two bags down on his desk and took a seat.

  “The cookies?” Truman teased.

  “Noo! The biscuits!” Cassie rolled her eyes.

  Truman opened the bag and pulled out a chocolate cookie studded with macadamia nuts. “Seriously?” These cookies were his favorite. He knew Cass had made them because of what happened on Friday. He shivered in his warm office, remembering what it felt like to go flying through the air and end up on the conference room floor.

  “How are you really doing? I got your ‘I’m fine’ messages all weekend, but I know you’re not really fine.”

  Truman knew Cassie well enough to know she wasn’t going to let this go. “I’m still a little freaked out. I’m half-afraid Mike is going to be waiting for me in the parking lot. Hell, I was waiting for him to jump me when I went to grab lunch at the Workday Cafe. I nearly jumped out of my skin when some cute guy sat across from me.”

  “What cute guy?” Cassie was all smiles. She leaned in closer with a conspiratorial smile on her face.

  Truman rolled his eyes. “The cute guy isn’t the point.”

  “Hell if he isn’t. Tru, you haven’t been on a date in months. What’s his name? What does he look like? Did you get his number?” She sighed dreamily and rested the side of her head in the cup of her hand.

  He knew she’d be like a dog with a bone unless he answered her questions. “His name is Carson. He’s so totally my type, about 5’9” with short blond hair and these blue eyes you could drown in.” God, much more of this and he’d be the one sighing and then doodling Truman + Carson on his desk blotter.

  “What about his number? Did you get his number?” Cassie was leaning so far forward over his desk that she was nearly in his lap.

  Truman shook his head. “No, I just got up and came back to work.”

  “Wait! What? You met the man of your dreams over lunch and you walked away from him without his number?” Cassie sat back in her chair, her arms folded over her chest.

  “He isn’t the man of my dreams. Carson was just some hot guy.” So what if he’d spent most of the afternoon picturing them getting it on like Donkey Kong.

  “Well, if I were you, I know where I’d be tomorrow at the same time I was there today…” Cassie grabbed a cookie and winked at him.

  Cass wasn’t his best friend for nothing. What would it hurt to go back to the Workday Café tomorrow?

  7

  Carson

  Carson had come better prepared for day two of the stakeout. He’d drunk less coffee and had run in to use the men’s room at the café he and Truman had lunch in yesterday after his quarry had gone into the office this morning.

  It had taken him a while yesterday to get the vision of a dead Truman out of his head. As gruesome as it was though, it was a good reminder to Carson about why he was sitting here in his Honda on a frigid, by his standards, December day. In actuality, it was only about forty-five degrees outside.

  His number one objective was to save Truman’s life. The only problem was, he wasn’t quite sure how to do it yet. The easiest way, he supposed, was to get close enough to Truman to get invited to that Christmas party so he’d be there to stop the shooter from killing him. Or something like that.

  If they managed to get super close, maybe he could keep Truman from going to the party at all. But what if saving him from the bullet put him in another kind of danger, like in that movie Final Destination? What if Truman’s time had come and he was meant to die?

  Carson shook his head. If Truman had been meant to die at the Christmas party, his mother wouldn’t have sent him the vision in the first place. Focus…

  Step one in this still unknown plan was to see Truman at lunch today and get his phone number, if Truman went to the café for lunch again today, that was.

  He’d told Cole all about his lunch “date” with Truman and it had been his brother who had first berated him over not getting Truman’s phone number and then encouraged him to come back today to get it over another lunch.

  Thankfully, Cole had evening classes so he’d been free to mind the store both days, but that wasn’t going to be the case for the rest of the week, so it was now or wait until next week to try again.

  Although now that Carson knew Truman’s name, he could call the switchboard at the company and ask to speak to him personally. How many Trumans could there be who worked there?

  Carson shook his head. That would be a last resort if Truman didn’t go to lunch today. How creepy would that be to call his office? He did have Corny’s charm to pull off a call like that, but still, he’d rather go with the coincidence of running into him two days in a row in a public café.

  Just as he was about to start the car to warm up again, Truman came out of the building and headed for the café.

  Carson clutched his fist in victory. From his vantage point he was able to study Truman. He was wearing light grey dress pants today that showed off his long legs and tight ass. He’d guess Truman was the athletic type and had probably played basketball or baseball in high school.

  Of course neither his athletic prowess nor his tight ass mattered right now, as much as Carson’s underactive dick disagreed. He waited a few more minutes and then hurried through the frigid air into the café.

  Truman was easy to spot. He was standing on the far side of the salad bar adding what looked like buffalo chicken tenders to his salad.

  Carson was not a salad fan, especially not in December. His mouth was watering over the homemade meatloaf and smashed garlic potatoes which was today’s special, but he grabbed a plastic salad container and walked up behind Truman.

  If the handsome man only knew the sacrifice Carson was making for him. “Hey there, stranger.”

  “Hi, Carson!” Truman’s smile was brighter than the sun.

  Maybe it was Carson’s overactive imagination, but Truman seemed genuinely excited to see him. “That buffalo chicken looks good.” God! Why being around Truman make him say the lamest things?

  “They use the Triple X hot sauce here. It burns going down and coming out! You’ve been warned.” Truman grinned and added more chicken to his salad.

  Carson burst out laughing. He guessed he wasn’t the only one who said weird things. He heaped lettuce, cukes and red peppers into his container before adding a ton of the atomic chicken. If he was going to go down in flames, might as well go down hard.

  “Didn’t know if I was going to see you again,” Truman said when they were settled at a table, this time by themselves.

  “Does that mean you wanted to see me again?” Carson was having a hard time believing this beautiful ma
n actually wanted to see him again. Had he really made a big enough impression on the man after only sitting with him for fifteen minutes yesterday?

  “Yeah.” Truman grinned. “Yeah, I did. And just so I don’t forget.” He stood halfway up and worked his phone out of his front pocket. “Here, enter your number.” Truman handed him the phone.

  “Okay.” Carson couldn’t believe it was this easy. He typed in his name and phone number. The only email address he had was associated with the store and he thought it best to keep all of that a secret for the time being.

  “So, do you work for the shoe company next door? I’d know if you worked for Gemtronics.” Truman slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “Yeah,” Carson lied. He promised he would make it up to Truman later after he’d saved his life. “How would you know if I worked for Gemtronics?”

  “I’m in HR. I do the first interviews with everyone who walks through the door and unfortunately the exit interview for every employee who leaves the company.”

  “Man, those have to be rough.” Carson forked up a bite of his atomic chicken.

  “You have no idea. Had to let an employee go on Friday and it got a little physical.”

  Carson instantly regretted taking that bite of the chicken. It was the best and worst thing he’d ever put in his mouth. It tasted amazing, but was so volcanically hot that it caused him to cough just as he’d been about to ask Truman about the employee he’d had to fire.

  As soon as he started to cough, Truman was out of his seat grabbing Carson a bottle of water and whacking his back. He thought he even heard the handsome bastard mumble that the chicken wasn’t for amateurs.

  As soon as he could breathe again without feeling like his lungs were on fire he’d discuss the merits of Truman’s last statement with him. As for probing further about the fired employee, that would have to wait.

  8

  Truman

  Hours later, Truman still couldn’t believe he’d just asked for Carson’s phone number like that. It wasn’t like him to be that bold. The question was, now that he had it, was he brave enough to use it?

  Truman was sitting on his living room sofa watching an old episode of Law and Order: SVU. He had a huge crush on Chris Meloni and nothing turned him on faster than Detective Stabler getting rough with suspect. Sadie was curled up with him, her head resting on his feet.

  “Do you think Daddy should text Carson?” He scratched Sadie’s belly.

  The dog whimpered in response.

  That was good enough for Truman. He grabbed his phone and pulled up a blank message. Now, what to write? Should he write something cute? Ask about Carson’s day? Send a joke?

  “Grrr!” Truman shook his head. “This is why Daddy is thirty and single.” He turned back to the phone, [Hey, Carson! This is Truman.] Lame, but better than sending the man his best knock-knock joke about an orange.

  He set the phone back down and gave his full attention back to Detective Stabler who was giving the business to some scumbag rapist. Truman wasn’t expecting his phone to ding right back.

  [Hey, Truman! This is Carson!]

  Wise ass… [How was your day?]

  [It was pretty good until I almost died at lunch. But a handsome man had to give me mouth-to-mouth, so it wasn’t all bad! ;)]

  Truman burst out laughing. Was Carson actually flirting with him? [I did not give you mouth-to-mouth!] But he definitely wanted to.

  [Maybe next time…]

  [At lunch tomorrow?] Truman crossed his fingers and whispered a silent prayer. A minute stretched out into two with no response from Carson. He started to think he’d blown it by being to forward.

  [Sorry, I’m booked with meetings, but I’m free for dinner. :D]

  Truman breathed a sigh of relief, Carson wasn’t blowing him off. In the next second, Truman realized what Carson was saying. [Are you asking me out?]

  [Only if you’re saying yes!]

  Holy shit! Truman felt like dancing. He would dance if Sadie weren’t sleeping on his feet. [Yes! I’d love to have dinner with you. How close are you to Salem, MA? I know this great Irish pub with killer apps!]

  [McCarthy’s on Long Wharf?]

  Was it possible Carson lived here too? [How’d you know?]

  [I live over on Conant Street. How’s 8pm tomorrow night? Gives me some time to get home from work and pretty myself up for you. ;)]

  Christ, If Carson got any more pretty Truman might not survive the night. [It’s a date.]

  [I’m counting the minutes.]

  “Me too,” Truman said to the empty room. He stared at the dark phone display unable to believe his incredible luck. Three days ago, he didn’t know this man from Adam and now they were going out on a date. He couldn’t believe how his life had just turned on a dime.

  It was about time fate shined a bright light on him. He’d been single way too long.

  Truman had never been what you’d call a serial dater. He’d had his share of bad one-night stands, but he preferred to be monogamous. His last boyfriend, Mitchell, don’t call me Mitch, Barnswell, had been a curator at the Peabody-Essex Museum in Salem.

  An art snob to the nth degree, Mitchell was a perfectionist in every aspect of his life. They’d often miss dinner reservations because Mitchell couldn’t get his hair just right or had changed his outfit ten times before being able to decide on the right look.

  This perfectionism also extended to Truman. They couldn’t leave the house for a date if Truman wasn’t dressed just so or had a ball of lint on his sweater. The relationship had ended badly. Truman had been able to see it coming a mile away. He’d kept hoping that he would be able to adapt to Mitchell’s swinging moods, but they turned more than the tides.

  There had been months of weepy voicemails from his ex promising to change and not be so anal.

  Which was another can of worms… Mitchell was the most sexually frigid man he’d ever been with. He was all for taking, but not so much for giving. He could go for weeks without being in the mood, which had made Truman question if he’d been man enough for him.

  Once the weepy phone calls and pleading text messages had stopped, Truman had been able to get on with his life. All of that ended with Mitchell fourteen months ago. He was ready for a new relationship with a new man.

  Was it too much to ask that Carson Craig was his Christmas miracle?

  9

  Carson

  Carson was sitting in his mother’s reading room staring at her crystal ball. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. The softball-sized clear ball sat in its cradle looking like it always did: unclouded and free of fingerprints. What would happen if he touched it again? Would there be more lightning and thunder? Would he have another vision? Would he see more of what happened to Truman? Would he watch again as those gorgeous eyes slowly went dark?

  “It’s not going to bite you,” Cole said from behind him.

  Carson wasn’t quite so sure it wouldn’t. “What if I touch it and I have another vision?”

  Cole walked into the room and took the seat across from Carson. It was the chair Carson’s clients usually sat in when they came in for a reading. “Is that what you’re afraid of or is that what you’re hoping for?”

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. He needed as much information as he could get to save Truman, but was terrified of seeing his lifeless eyes again. “I need to save him, Cole, but you didn’t see him lying on the floor…” Carson took a shuddering breath.

  “You’re going out with him tonight, right?” Cole smiled at his brother.

  Carson nodded, trying to shake off the vision in his mind of a dead Truman.

  “It’s a good first step. Use that Craig charm to wow him and get to know him so you can keep him safe.”

  “What if I can’t? What if I save him this time and then he dies some other horrible way?”

  “Shit! You mean like Final Destination?” Cole’s eyes popped open like he hadn’t considered that either.

  “Yeah. I don’t
know if I’m cut out to swoop in like Superman and save Truman from catastrophe after catastrophe.” Carson didn’t think his heart could handle living in a constant state of anxiety. How could he live with the man he loved being in constant danger?

  It was too soon to be in love with Truman now, but Carson was self-aware enough to realize it wasn’t going to take much for him to fall head over heels in love with the mysterious man.

  “I’m right here for you if you decide to touch the crystal ball again,” Cole offered softly.

  “As Corny used to say, ‘nothing ventured nothing gained.’” Carson took a deep breath. He realized after meeting Truman and looking into those eyes for himself that he was all in. He had to try this again.

  Cole snorted. “I’m pretty sure other people said it before our sperm donor.”

  “True.” Carson took a deep breath, trying to center himself. “Okay, Mom. I got your first message loud and clear. I know you want me to save Truman. Please show me how. If you can do it without me having to watch him die again, I’d really appreciate that.” He reached out a shaking hand toward the crystal ball.

  When the tip of his middle finger made contact with the cool glass, he could heard a faint rumble of thunder and would swear he saw a flash of light.

  The next thing Carson felt was a flash of pain in his chest like he’d never felt in his life. His eyes slammed shut and he cried out. He thought Cole gripped his other hand. He could feel part of himself falling to the floor, but oddly enough, knew he was still sitting in his chair.

  When he opened his eyes, he could see a dark tile floor and shoes, fancy high heels and dress loafers. He managed to turn his head a bit and could see a puddle of melting snow surrounding dark work boots.

  Despite the fire growing in his chest, he couldn’t help thinking how out of place those boots looked among all of the other dressy shoes. He looked up and saw the boots’ owner was wearing dark, maybe black, jeans and a tawny, oil-stained Carhartt jacket. The man was probably six and a half feet tall and was wearing a sweat-crusted Boston Red Sox cap. In his left hand was a gun.