Love Spell Read Free

girl without having her go gaga over me—unless she’s ‘of age and not descended from my great grandparents,’ is what I was told.”
    Molly’s eyebrows came up. “Considering your dating history, Clint, I’d say you’re flirting heavily with arrogance there. Have you been taking testosterone boosters lately?”
    He waved it away as the car rolled to a stop at the traffic light at the ramp’s end. “Look, I’m serious. My Touch… It’s like a drug or something. Women totally lose their minds. Especially Jane.
    “She came to my place this morning. She had it bad . There was no stopping her. I know you want details, but I’d rather not repeat the laundry list of things she said she had in mind for me. She made it very clear that she owned me. Once she started getting aggressive, I faked the urge to pee and excused myself to the bathroom. I guess you know the rest.”
    Molly nodded in quiet repose. “Did Jane ever specifically threaten violence against your person?”
    Clint considered. “Well… not criminally. No. Nothing I’d mention to the cops.”
    Molly’s head bobbed once. She turned into the parking lot of the Contra Costa Regional Medical Center, and found a spot. Clint opened his door and levered himself out of the vehicle. Molly stepped around and proffered a helping hand. Clint took it, grateful both for the help and for the fact that he could accept her assistance without worry.
    “Thanks for bringing me here,” he said. “That Jane incident wasn’t fun.”
    “You’re sure it’s not issues with her medication?” Molly asked.
    Clint shook his head. “If you knew what I’ve been through over the last several months, I think you’d understand. This needs to end.” He couldn’t spend the rest of his life unable to touch half the people he met. Even marriage was right out the window. And he didn’t even want to think about what might happen if a future mother-in-law tried embracing him at the reception.
    “As soon as the doctors let me go,” he said solemnly, “I will find the old woman and break this stupid curse. My safety and sanity depend on it.”
     

TWO
     
    8:00 a.m., Monday. Lindsay Sullivan stared at the small, silver letters on the door of her office. Of all the names she could have chosen for a private investigation firm, why in the world had she chosen “Sullivan and Self”? She should have gone with her gut and picked something cool like, “Stealthy Sullivan,” or “Lindsay’s Private Eyes” or “Seeking Sullivan,” or any of the other names she had brainstormed the day before she’d applied for the business license. Her Uncle Tom said she should come up with something more professional—it was better for business, he said.
    “But Uncle Tom,” she’d replied, “this is an adventure! If you want action-packed cases, you’ve got to sound like you mean it.”
    Tom had reminded her that she wasn’t living one of her television programs, and that people were more likely to pay her if she didn’t sound like a teenage kid trying hobby sleuthing. She capitulated, and checked out the names of other local P.I. firms.
    She hated them all.
    Ultimately, she fell back on her college degree and internships as a paralegal. Every law firm she’d ever heard of went by the names of its several partners. Only, she didn’t have any partners.
    No wonder I don’t get any calls , she thought sourly. They probably think I’m schizophrenic.
    By the time she’d realized her mistake in choosing a name her pride refused to let her change it, especially in the face of her parents’ constant badgering about getting a real job with a nice law firm somewhere in the Bay Area. Her father had arranged a dozen interviews through his business connections, but Lindsay refused to appear for any of them. At least that had gotten Dad to quit talking to her for the last six months. She ignored the small, uncomfortable feeling in the back of her head whispering that maybe he had been right